During a fifteen-minute break, I was sorting through work emails on my phone when a familiar voice interrupted. “You’ll need these.”
Looking up, I found Terrence, the older volunteer whom I’d met last time I’d come, holding out some papers to me. I took them. “What are these?”
“Application to the church ministry.” He lifted his chin in the direction of the pew I sat in. “Scoot over. Been here all day, and my old dogs need a break.”
I slid over to make room but held the papers he’d given me back out to him. “Thank you. But I’m not joining the church.”
He didn’t lift a hand to take the papers back. “You have to be a member in order to try out for the choir. You’ll need to do a membership class and the water baptism, but they’ll let you try out if the application is in process. Just fill out those papers, I’ll stamp you in, and you’re good to go.”
“I’m not trying out.”
Terrence squinted. “You’re not trying out, and you’re not joining the church, yet here you are for the second time in a week. What did you come for, then?”
I shook my head and laughed at myself. “I have no clue. Wait, actually, that’s not true. I’m here because Goldilocks has me turned inside out.”
“Ah.” A look of understanding crossed Terrence’s face. “A woman. And one that makes you question yourself.”
I scoffed. “She makes me question myself alright—mostly whether I’ve lost my mind.”
He smiled. “She sees you for who you are, and it makes you want to be a better man. Don’t let go of her.”
“It’s not like that.”
Terrence put his hand on my shoulder. “Would you be here, sitting in this church, if it were not for her?”
I thought about it. “No, probably not.”
“Has she made you question how you should treat others?”
Dorothy instantly popped into my head. A few months ago, I’m not so sure I wouldn’t have fired her. “She has a unique way of looking at things, which seems to have caused a lapse in my judgment on more than one occasion. But she’s an employee of mine, maybe a friend in a loose sense of the word. Nothing more.”
Terrence scratched his chin. “What if I told you your Goldilocks was out on a date tonight with a strapping young bachelor?”
My jaw clenched, and Terrence’s eyes zeroed right in on it. He chuckled. “That’s what I thought. You’re still fighting it. I bet you’ll come around. And my guess is, this isn’t the last time I’ll be seeing you in this pew, either.” He stood and held out his hand. “But until then, keep the application and take some advice from an old man who has learned from more mistakes than you even realize you’re capable of making yet. One man’s overlooked blessing is soon another man’s gain.”CHAPTER 19
CHARLOTTE
“Reed Eastwood’s office. How may I help you?” I answered the phone via my headset and took another giant stride into my next lunge as I waited for the caller to speak. It was my lunch hour, but no one was around to answer the phone, so I’d eaten the salad I’d brought at my desk and then proceeded to do lunges and squats in my office. If the president of the United States could find time to exercise, damn it, so could I.
“Is he in?” the caller snapped.
I scrunched up my nose at the attitude from the woman on the other end of the phone and pushed farther down onto my back toe to tighten the lunge. “No. Mr. Eastwood won’t be back until later this afternoon. Can I take a message or assist you with making an appointment?”
The breath of sour air on the other end of the line sighed loudly. “Where is he?”
What a bitch. I stood between lunges. “I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to disclose that information. But I’d be happy to assist you by setting up an appointment or taking a message.”
“Tell him to call Allison as soon as he gets in.”
I knew the answer but asked anyway. “May I have your last name and ask what this is in reference to, please?”
Another loud sigh—although somehow I doubted it was because she was doing lunges on her lunch hour while answering a phone and trying to hold her patience with a rude person on the other end. “Baker, and it’s in reference to our honeymoon.”
Well, that last bit of information was confusing. “Umm . . . okay.”
Click.
The bitch had hung up on me.
“Well, you have a nice day, too,” I mumbled.
After that, I plugged my headset into my iPhone, turned the music up, and lunged with renewed vengeance.
Chin up.
Chest lifted.
Back straight.
Long stride.
Heel pointed to the ceiling.
And . . .
Hold positioning. God, that woman had nerve. What the hell did she have to be so pissy about? She’d had it all—the feather dress, the gorgeous and wealthy fiancé, a man who wrote her romantic notes. I should be the pissy one. What did I have? Her bad-luck dress that I couldn’t zip, no man in my life, and her romantic fiancé had turned into a man that now wrote hate notes on his same haughty stationery.