I looked down at his hand and then back up into his bright eyes before sticking my hand out and shaking his.
"Grace Miller," I said brusquely. "It's nice to meet you Adam Wallace. Now, what can I get you for dinner?"
"It's nice to meet you, Grace Miller," he said as he gripped my hand firmly and held my gaze. I could feel the warmth and smoothness of his skin pressing against mine, and it unsettled me. He continued, "I'm sorry I acted like an ignorant city person. Can you forgive me?"
"I'll think about it," I said tugging my hand away from his grasp. "Now, what about dinner?"
"Man, you're really all business, aren't you?" he chuckled. I ignored his amused expression and walked around to the backside of the counter. "Okay, fine. I'll take the chicken and some of that potato salad."
I quickly pulled out a box and used the tongs to put several pieces of chicken into it before tossing it in the microwave and hitting the button. I grabbed a plastic container and spooned potato salad into it before snapping the lid on and placing it on the counter. The microwave dinged and I grabbed the box, pushed the edges down so that it was closed before grabbing the potato salad, and put everything in a plastic bag with a set of plastic silverware and some napkins before heading for the cash register.
"Whoa, missy!" Adam laughed loudly. "What else do I need to complete my dinner?"
"My name is Grace," I reminded him. "And I'd say this is more than enough."
"What about dessert?" he asked with a smile. "Don't your people make great pies—or is that an offensive stereotype as well?"
"Yes, we bake," I said more tersely than I'd intended as I walked a back around the counter and pulled a cherry pie off the top of it. Adam grinned at me as I cut him a large slice and put it in a container. I added the container to the contents of the bag. I gave him an irritated look as I asked, "Happy now?"
"Very," he nodded. "Thank you."
As Adam followed me to the front of the store, I could feel his eyes on me and I wondered what he was thinking. At the register, I quickly rang up his purchases and said, "Seven eighty-two."
"That's all?" he said in a surprised tone. "I thought it would have been at least double that!"
"We're in Corner Grove, not Chicago," I said as I took the ten-dollar bill he offered and made change. A surprised look crossed his face as I mentioned Chicago, and I was certain that that was because he saw me as an ignorant country girl who had no knowledge of the world outside Corner Grove. He made me even more irritated when I held out his change and he shook his head.
"Keep it," he said as he grabbed the bag. "Consider it a tip for having taught me how to tame my impulse to stereotype."
"This is a store, Mr. Wallace," I said holding out the change. "Not a charity."
"Well, then hold on to it until I come in again," he said as he headed out the door without taking the money.
"What a jerk," I muttered under my breath as I put the money back in the till and slammed the drawer shut.
After he'd left, I stood looking out the front door wondering why Mr. Adam Wallace was in Corner Grove in the first place and hoped that he and his crooked grin wouldn't be staying long.
Chapter Ten
Adam
I had enjoyed the dinner that Grace Miller had sold me immensely while sitting on the front steps of the Yoder house watching nightfall in Corner Grove. There was something soothing about small town noise, which was made up of mostly crickets and the occasional car passing by on Main Street. Through the windows of the surrounding houses, I could see lights and the flickering of television sets as the homes' residents settled down after dinner. Most of the houses around the Yoder place were owned by what Mrs. Yoder termed "the English," which I took to mean non-Amish folks like me.
Once I was full of crispy fried chicken and mustard-based potato salad, which I topped off with the entire slice of cherry pie, I groaned and leaned back against the steps as I looked up into the night sky. Unlike in the city, I could see a wide swath of open sky above me. The stars shined more brightly than I'd ever seen them and I wondered about what it was like to live in a community like this your whole life. As I contemplated the mysteries, my thoughts turned to Grace Miller.
She was a stubborn woman, but she was lively. I hadn't expected an Amish woman to be so outspoken, but then I thought about how she'd accused me of stereotyping and I shook my head realizing I was at it again. She'd been dressed so plainly that she almost disappeared into the scenery, but her face was extraordinary. Grace Miller wasn't beautiful in the way that most women I knew were; instead she seemed to possess an almost otherworldly kind of beauty. She looked like the stereotypical country girl with blonde hair and piercing, blue eyes that missed nothing.
I wondered what her life was like at home and tried to envision it. There was something not quite right about the way she had dealt with me in the store. She wasn't as submissive as I imagined Amish women would be, but then again, as I thought about bossy Mrs. Yoder, I had to admit to myself that I knew nothing about these people and their lives. I did know that I wasn't dealing with the hard-edged Chicago women I was used to meeting, but in the end, Grace Miller was Amish and I was one of the English.
I stood up and headed to my car where I grabbed my bag from the trunk. I headed back into the house where Mrs. Yoder sat knitting in almost exactly the same position she'd been in when I'd arrived a few hours before.
"Ah, Mr. Wallace, did you get yourself some supper?" she asked with a cheerful smile.
"Indeed, I did," I nodded. "Ms. Miller fixed me a nice dinner over at the grocery store and I enjoyed it on your front porch."
"Wonderful, wonderful!" Mrs. Yoder crowed. "Miller's Grocery has been a tradition in this city for years. It's a wonderful place to get groceries and a hot meal!"
"So I see," I said. "Are they related to Bishop Miller?"