Ten Million Reasons

by Heather Gray

Published by Astraea Press

www.astraeapress.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

TEN MILLION REASONS

Copyright © 2013 HEATHER GRAY

ISBN 978-1-62135-189-4

Cover Art Designed by Book Beautiful

in celebration of my Savior

in memory of my daughter

with pride in my son

with gratitude for my husband

For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some have been led astray from the faith in their greed, and have pierced themselves through with many sorrows. But you, man of God, flee these things, and follow after righteousness, godliness, faith, love, patience, and gentleness.

1 Timothy 6:10-11

Chapter One

How do I always let myself get sucked into these things? Genevieve Mason sat at her own little private booth in a large room with at least a dozen other people. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, reminding her this was not where she was supposed to be. For some reason she’d never understood, Genevieve had difficulty saying no to surveyors. She invariably felt sorry for the ones who had to stand out in the walkway of the mall trying to entice complete strangers into their offices to take the silly things. While she didn’t generally mind completing a survey, she simply didn't have the time today. Yet, here I am. Taking a survey. When will I ever get a backbone about these things?

A tall, model-thin woman, with straight blonde hair and professionally done eyebrows, clapped her hands twice. “Alright ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming in today. I am going to explain what you need to do, and then I will answer any questions you have. The project should only take about an hour of your time, and you will each be compensated with a twenty-five dollar mall gift card. You can use your gift card at any retailer, including the food court.” The woman, who would doubtless look less severe if her eyebrows weren’t quite so brutally perfect, paused briefly before launching into what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech by a drill sergeant.

I wonder what she pays to get her eyebrows done. Surveying must be more lucrative than I thought.

“Today you will receive a windfall.” People gasped in surprise, but Genevieve wasn’t biting. She’d been through too many of these to get pulled in with a line like that. “You will be given a hypothetical amount of ten million dollars,” the woman continued, speaking over the disappointed sighs of some of Genevieve’s comrades-in-arms, “to spend any way you wish.”

Tapping her foot loudly, the woman who Genevieve had begun to think of as Model-Talker stared around the room until everyone was quiet. Then, continuing her speech, she said, “There is a computer screen in front of you with two columns. In the left column, you will give a description of how you are spending your money. On the right of the screen, you will enter the amount you wish to spend. You will see a tally at the bottom. The tally is keeping track of how much you have spent. When you get to ten million dollars, stop and raise your hand. I, or one of my assistants, will submit your entry and see that you receive your gift card.”

Arms raised all around the room as people began to have questions. Model-Talker held up her hand to halt people’s inquiries and added, “Let me give you a couple of guidelines first. Then I will answer your questions. Your survey will be assigned a coded number. When you are done, you will complete a form with your name and contact information in case we have questions at a later date. Your name will never appear on your survey. The information you enter will not be shared with any other companies and will be reviewed by only one other individual in addition to myself.”

Genevieve wondered how efficiently their survey data could be processed if only two people would see it. Reining her wandering thoughts in, she listened to the rest of Model-Talker’s speech. Talk faster! Some of us need to get somewhere.

“The items you wish to spend your money on have to be items you can purchase in a single day. You cannot spend any of your pretend money on buying a house, for example, because the paperwork and closing for a house take several days. While you can invest money in the stock market or a CD, you cannot open a trust fund because the legalities of opening a trust generally take more than a single day.” Three quarters of the hands in the room went down.

“Any questions?” Model-Talker’s chilly, businesslike voice and expression shamed the remaining people into putting their hands down.

For crying out loud, lady! It’s not as if you’re going to get the plague by answering a question. Genevieve stifled her laughter. She didn’t want to cause Model-Talker’s gaze to zero in on her.

“Alright, everyone. You have one hour to complete the exercise. Begin.”

Genevieve began typing away on her keyboard, entering totals, as she thought about all the ways she could spend the money. Ten million dollars... She wasn’t ever likely to have that kind of money, but it was sort of fun to think about.

Within five minutes, a short woman, muscular and dressed like a construction worker, raised her hand to indicate she was done. Genevieve wouldn’t have noticed except that Model-Talker tsked as the woman left the room. Once some of the other people saw how quickly it could be done, they began finishing hastily, too.

They’re probably dumping it all into a savings account or the stock market. Why wasn’t I born with that kind of cavalier attitude?

She, however, wanted to give careful thought to her expenditures. In order for the results to have any value, she needed to answer honestly. Although, at the rate the other people are leaving, I’d say the data compiled from today will be good and skewed.

Despite her best efforts to ignore it, the repeated ker-thunk of the door opening and closing demanded her attention. They obviously haven’t heard the honesty-in-testing lecture enough times. As she watched the next couple of people leave the room, something struck her.

They’re all women. There’s not a single man in this room. Maybe it’s a study into the female psyche. She was sure she’d heard Model-Talker say “ladies and gentlemen.”

Thinking about the lunch date waiting for her, Genevieve swiftly typed in her remaining entries and watched the tally at the bottom of the screen climb. When she got to nine million five hundred thousand dollars she sighed. Who’d have thought I’d have so much trouble spending money? What can I lavish half a million dollars on? Finally struck with inspiration, she entered her final imaginary expenditure and raised her hand. She completed the paperwork and left the room, casting one last pitying glance at the three remaining women who continued to studiously peck at their keyboards.

****

Genevieve sprinted the last twenty yards or so to the food court hoping her date hadn’t left. She clipped a stranger in the side with her shoulder, yelled an, “I’m sorry!” over her shoulder and continued on her path. Zipping around the corner, she found herself confronted with an overcrowded food court, people spilling over everywhere she looked. How am I supposed to find him?

“Aunt Gen, over here!” Genevieve turned her head this way and that until she saw her nephew waving his hands wildly over his head in a far back corner of the food court.

Relief coursed through her. Thank goodness! She’d been worried he would think she’d stood him up. Poor guy had enough trouble in his life. He didn’t need another reason to be disappointed in those he loved.

“I’m late, aren’t I?” she asked, the sound of her words shaped by her winded voice.

Max laughed at her. “Aunt Gen, you’re always late.”

“Will you ever forgive me?”

“Buy me lunch, and I’ll think about it,” her fifteen-year-old nephew said with a twinkle in his golden brown eyes.

Sliding two twenties across the table to her nephew, Genevieve said, “You know what I like. Get whatever you want. You deserve it for braving the masses to order.” As her nephew jumped over the handrail behind their table and began maneuvering his way in and out of the different lines, Genevieve sat back and closed her eyes.

Thank you for keeping Max here until I arrived. It was a small but heartfelt prayer.

She opened her eyes, looked around at the crowd and caught a glimpse of herself in the large mirror along the back wall of the food court. Why do they insist on using mirrors to make it look like there's more seating – and more people – than there actually is? She didn’t care to spy on other people while they ate and instead studied her own reflection. Genevieve scrutinized her large green eyes and fair complexion. She had curly hair that her family insisted on calling red even though she always wrote auburn whenever she had to enter the color on a form. It was shoulder-length but tended to stand out away from her head rather than lying down gracefully. I certainly don’t need any of that shampoo advertised to add body! In a family of Irish-Italian descent, she was the only one that actually looked Irish. Everyone else had been born with the requisite bronzed skin and black hair of their Italian heritage.

She sought out Max in the mirror. He stood in line waiting for the slow progression of customers to move him forward so he could place his order. Max looked more like her father, his grandfather, with each passing year. He’s too handsome for his own good. It won’t be long before he realizes how much the girls notice him. Max spent much of his time seeking approval from his family; enough in fact, that he hadn’t yet detected the way the fairer sex was always trying to get his attention. If he has seen it, he certainly hasn’t let on about it.

Genevieve’s sister had divorced three years ago. Max had been twelve at the time, his sister Jenny fourteen. Jenny had fared better in the divorce. She saw her dad a couple times each month, and he doted on her, buying her all the pretty things she wanted. That was his way of making up for his absence, and she was okay with that. Sadly, Max had been much more wounded. He hadn’t wanted the latest toys and gadgets. Instead, he had wanted time, and his dad hadn’t been willing — or perhaps able – to supply it. At an age when he was growing from boy to man, he’d essentially lost the one person who was supposed to be most qualified to help him understand what it meant to be a man.

Maureen, Genevieve’s sister, had done her best, but the divorce had forced her to change jobs in order to support her kids. Instead of working part-time and being home in the afternoons, she now worked fifty or more hours each week and hardly saw her kids at all. Genevieve had always been close to her nieces and nephews, but after the divorce, she went out of her way to spend time with Jenny and Max. She and Max did lunch at the mall every other week. She and Jenny got mani-pedis together. It seemed like the least she could do. It sure beats spending good money to get my eyebrows tortured when I can do that at home free of charge!

“You know, Aunt Gen, you’ve never once been on time to lunch.” Max was still laughing at her as he set the food down.

Snagging one of his egg rolls and putting it on her own plate, she said, “What makes you say such a mean thing to your dear old auntie?”

“You were worried I’d think you’d blown me off. I could see it on your face when you came ‘round the corner.”

Genevieve shrugged. “Okay, so I was worried. Sue me.”

“You’ve never stood me up. Until you do, I’ll always believe you’re coming.”

Warmth moved through her middle, but it had an icy edge to it. Genevieve was both touched by Max’s words and saddened that he’d had enough experience with his parents in the past few years to know what it felt like to be stood up. His dad wasn’t the only one who hadn’t always been there for his son. There had been more than one sporting event in recent years where she’d been Max’s entire cheering squad. She always saved a seat for her sister, but the seat was rarely ever filled. Max deserved better, but as Maureen often pointed out to her, Genevieve didn’t know how hard it was to be a single mom working to support two teenagers.

Max and Genevieve ate lunch, swapped funny stories from their week, and discussed schedules for the upcoming month. He had decided to try out for the cross-country team.

“I don’t stand a chance, but I want to try.”

“Why? Running is so boring.”

“You run.”

“Yeah, but only because it’s slightly less monotonous than sitting at the computer when I have writer’s block.”

“The practices are long, and they’re in the afternoons when Mom’s usually working, so this will give me something to do. I get bored killing time at home so much. It’s dull there now that Jenny got a job and is gone all the time.”

“How does she like her job?” Genevieve asked, with interest.

“I don’t know about the job, but she sure does like the money,” Max answered, waggling his eyebrows comically.

Ah, to be a teenager with the simple worries of acne medication and a pretty dress. Then Genevieve corrected herself. And divorce. Don’t forget that simple worry.

“So why were you late today?” Max asked.

“You’d never believe me if I told you,” she answered.

“Try me.”

Rolling her eyes, Genevieve answered, “I got sucked into another survey.”

Max almost spit chow mein at her as he laughed. “You have got to be kidding me! Can you even walk through the mall without taking a survey?”

Trying not to laugh, Genevieve crumbled a napkin to throw at her nephew. “I got a gift card out of this one.” Then, slapping the palm of her hand against her forehead, she said, “I should have used it to pay for lunch! What was I thinking?”

“You can use it next time.”

“Do you honestly think I’m going to remember that?” Her voice was filled with dry humor.

“No worries,” he said. “I’ll remind you.”

“What would I do without you, Max?”

“You’d be lost without me, Aunt Gen, and you know it.”

The two cleared their table, and then Genevieve linked her arm through Max’s as they began weaving their way through the crowd to head toward the front of the mall. “You know, Max, I think you might be right. I would be lost. Who else would know to buy himself an extra eggroll just so I could snag it?”

When they got to her car, Genevieve entered Max’s cross-country tryout into her phone’s calendar and told him, “I can’t promise, but I’ll do my best to be there.”

“It’s okay if you can’t make it.” His voice was rock solid. “I know it’s in the middle of the day.” Max, whose every emotion generally came out in the way he spoke, only sounded this steady when he was trying to mask something.

He doesn’t want me to know he’s disappointed.

“No, it’s not that,” Genevieve said. “You know how bad I am with dates. I need to double-check my desk calendar at home and make sure I don’t have something written down there that I forgot to put in my phone.” Staring at the device in her hand as if the calendar in it would magically give her an answer, she finally shook her head and said to Max. “I’ll text you the morning of to let you know for sure one way or the other, okay?”

Max nodded and said again, “No worries,” as he climbed into her car.

It was a beautiful day in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains. They drove with their windows down and, since Max was in control of the radio, their music blaring.

Genevieve dropped him off at home. Jenny was still at work, so she didn’t pop in to say “hi”. Instead, she headed back to her own home to try and get some work done.

She was bumping up against deadlines for articles with three different magazines. That’ll teach me to stay up all night reading a book! Releasing a deep sigh, Genevieve admitted to herself that she’d been putting off the articles because they’d all sounded so boring. I have got to start getting pickier about the assignments I accept. What’s the point of freelancing if I can’t stand any of the work I do? I’m not sure this even counts as freelancing anymore.

Chapter Two

The next couple days passed in a whirl of researching, typing, and submitting those articles. Genevieve made all her deadlines, but it was far from fun. Finally taking a minute to check her email, she saw offers for five more articles due within the next month. Yes! Genevieve read through the article offers. “Really?” she asked the empty room. “I don’t want to write about monkey mating habits, the chemistry of turtle urine, or the nature of flea families!” Oh great. Now I’m yelling at my computer.

When Genevieve’s phone rang, she was so relieved to be distracted from her abysmal writing offers, she picked it up with gusto and answered, “Please tell me something good!” Her enthusiasm was met with silence. “Uh, hello?” she asked, feeling her embarrassment in the heated flush moving across her neck and face.

“Miss Genevieve Mason?” The voice was male, deep, a touch gravelly, and slightly delicious.

“Who’s asking?”

“Is this Miss Mason?” The voice had moved from delicious to downright arrogant.

Somebody's got too much starch in their shirt!

Genevieve’s ire rose, and her words were clipped. “Well, generally when you call someone, you introduce yourself. I don’t recognize your voice or your number, so it wouldn’t be wise of me to give out my name prior to knowing who you are. Safety and all that. Who’s asking?”

“My name is Richard, and I’m calling about the survey you recently took.”

“Which one?” she asked.

“Which one?” he echoed.

“Yes. Which survey?” Is this guy dense or something?

“You’ve taken more than one survey?”

“I walk through the mall a lot. I end up taking surveys.” Chagrin snaked its way through her middle and up her throat. Trying to swallow it back down, she defensively added, “I can’t be the only person who gets stuck taking surveys all the time. I’ve never gotten a call about one before. Which survey is this for?”

“You took a survey asking how you would spend ten million dollars if you had a day to do so.” Was that judgment she heard in his voice?

Fantastic. Some people tell stories about the crazy cat lady. He’s going to be telling stories about the crazy survey lady!

“Oh, that one,” she said airily. “I remember it. What can I do for you?” Genevieve still wasn’t sure this guy Richard was on the up-and-up, but since he knew which survey she’d taken, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Without revealing any personal or pertinent information, that is. She hadn’t forgotten everything from the Technological Self Defense course she’d taken a few years back. Sure, she’d only taken it so she could write a series of articles about it, but still, she’d learned a few things.

“As I was saying,” the arrogance had seeped out of his voice, “my name is Richard, and I’m calling about the survey you took.” She tried to picture the face that would go with the rich velvety tones now coming across the phone line and making her ear tingle. Unfortunately, the only picture that came to mind was the short, skinny, balding, yellow-toothed man who usually conducted the surveys.

Great. Even my fantasies mock me.

When he said nothing more, Genevieve pulled herself back into the present and said, “Hi Richard. Nice to meet you. Well, sort of. I don’t think we’ve actually met.” Way to make a winning impression! Throw in a stutter and some slurred speech, and you should have it made! "Did you need something specific or is this a general follow-up?”

Richard cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m… new at this. At surveys.”

That's definitely in my favor! Maybe he hasn't talked to enough people yet to realize I sound like a lunatic.

Genevieve could understand being new on the job. Who couldn’t? With all her experience taking surveys at the mall, she’d often wondered if she should write an article or two about the survey-taking world. Richard might be a great source, someone who knew said world from the inside but was new enough to it that she’d still be able to consider him a fresh pair of eyes. “Say, Richard,” she began, “how long have you worked in surveys?”

“Surveys?”

Then again, maybe he’s not the best choice. It’s hard to interview someone who parrots back everything you say.

“Yes, surveys. You said you are new on the job. Exactly how new are you?”

“Oh,” Richard said. He hemmed and hawed before finally answering, “I have been working on this survey exercise for about three weeks now.”

“I’ve been thinking about writing an exposé on the world of surveyors. Would you be interested in an interview?”

“An interview?”

I had to go and say it out loud, didn’t I? What was I thinking? I can’t interview someone who doesn’t know how to use sentences!

“Well, yes, an interview. Um…but if you’re too busy, I understand. It was only a passing thought. Never mind.” That was some fast thinking! Glad I got out of it. Now, to end the call.

“I would be happy to meet you for an interview. Name the time and place.”

“Wh-what?” Genevieve croaked. Why do these things always happen to me?

“I have a fairly flexible schedule. Tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.” Richard was back to sounding scrumptious. He was using complete sentences, too.

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

“Um, let me look at my calendar.” Genevieve shoved a stack of magazines aside in search of the large calendar she kept on her desktop. Looking it over quickly, she said, “I have an opening this coming Tuesday afternoon. Otherwise, it’ll have to be the following week.”

“Tuesday afternoon will work fine. Where would you like to meet?”

“Meet?” Great. Now I’m the parrot.

“I assume you don’t want to meet at your house. You don’t know me. Safety in the modern world and all that. My office is downtown, and no one ever likes to come downtown during the day if they can avoid it. So, tell me where you’d like to meet, and I’ll be there. Will two o’clock work for you?”

“Two will be fine,” Genevieve managed to get out.

“And where should I meet you?”

Annoyed at Richard for suddenly sounding so suave and, in turn, making her sound unsophisticated, Genevieve answered briskly, “At the mall. Food court. By the Chinese concession. You can buy me a late lunch. Two o’clock Tuesday afternoon.”

“Okay. Tuesday, two in the afternoon, mall food court by the Chinese place. But since you’re interviewing me, don’t you think you should be buying me lunch? I happen to know you got a mall gift card.”

“How…? What? Who do…?” Genevieve sputtered her displeasure before Richard’s chuckle came through the line.

“I meant it as a joke. Honest. I’d be happy to buy you lunch.”

“Well then.” Argh! Is that the best I can do? Her left eye began to twitch. “You already have my phone number, but perhaps I should get yours in case anything comes up.”

After Genevieve had Richard’s number, she hung up the phone and fumed silently before deciding that a jog would be a good idea to work out her frustration. When she took off toward the park two miles away, she was running full-tilt. About halfway to the park, she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and exclaimed, “He never even told me why he was calling!” Letting out a loud laugh, she turned back toward home and began jogging again, this time at a more relaxed pace.

He’s either smooth or socially awkward. Guess I’ll have to meet him to figure out which. Even if I don’t get an article about surveys out of this, I should at least get some useful material.

Titles for articles began running through her head. “Worst Pick-Up Lines Ever,” “First Dates that Kill Relationships,” and “Do I Have Spinach in My Teeth?” were just a few.

Chapter Three

Tuesday morning dawned bright and beautiful in sunny Winkston, Virginia. Genevieve went for an early morning jog then put in a couple hours outlining the article she wanted to write about the world of survey taking. She hoped that by interviewing Richard she’d be able to get an inside scoop. While she didn’t relish the idea of wrongdoing, she secretly hoped there was some deep, dark secret about survey scams that would make her article more marketable. Commentaries about how everyone was doing exactly what they were supposed to be doing never did sell very well.

As she stood in her home office looking at her desk calendar, her phone chimed. Her calendar was alerting her to something. Funny... I don’t remember entering Richard on my phone calendar. She took her phone out of her pocket and glanced at it. Wrinkling her nose, she said to the empty room, “I can’t believe I did that!” Today was Max’s cross-country tryout, and she’d told him she’d do her best to be there.

Genevieve went over her potential choices. Call him. Text him. Stand him up. Loving modern technology and the way it allowed her to communicate with people without having to actually speak to them, she hurriedly typed a text to Richard. Something came up. Can’t make it. So sorry.

The immediate reply came, We can reschedule. I’m free today. A different time perhaps?

Who uses words like perhaps while texting?

Genevieve replied, School track tryouts. Promised I’d be there. Completely forgot.

No sooner had she hit send, than a reply came back. “I’ll meet you there. Tell me when and where.”

Genevieve mulled over her options. Richard seemed a little too eager. It was, however, a large school, and there would be a lot of people there. Safety in public places counted for something. He might meet Max though, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to expose her nephew to the stranger. She was sure Maureen would have a fit if she did. “Aha!” she yelled to the room. Quickly texting Richard back, she told him, Winkston High. Track field. 1pm. Tryouts weren’t until two. If she didn’t like Richard, she’d get him out of there before Max ever showed.

Then, remembering her words to her nephew, she sent him a quick text. Will be there today. May have some1 w/. Break a leg! Max would know she was joking, but she still added a smiley face. Teenagers can never get too many smiley faces.

****

Genevieve got to the school early and checked in at the office.

“I’ll be out at the track,” she said to Liz, the elfin, blonde secretary. “I’m expecting a guest, too. He should be along shortly.”

Liz waved her on before turning back to her computer screen.

School security being what it was, Richard would have to check in at the office and leave his ID with them to obtain a visitor’s pass. The security guard would also walk him out to the track to meet her. As an adjunct with the school’s journalism club, she had a little more leeway than most whenever she was on campus.

While in the process of getting settled on the track bleachers, she checked her phone for messages. There was a missed call from Reptile Monthly.

Great. They must be getting desperate if they’re calling. I’ll bet it’s the article about turtle urine. Genevieve couldn’t remember how she got so entangled with animal articles. Being an animal journalist wasn’t anything she’d ever set out to accomplish. She’d had this brilliant notion that freelance journalism would allow her to write whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, while magazines clamored for her articles.

Yeah right! That hadn’t quite turned out to be the case. When a magazine had contacted her with a specific article they’d wanted written, she’d jumped at the chance. Even if it was something she had no interest in, it was a sure thing, a real payday. With her mortgage payment coming due and no food left in her pantry, the idea of being a starving literary artist had long since lost its appeal. Before she knew it, there were a dozen animal-related magazines contacting her about articles they wanted to contract out. Articles, of course, they couldn’t get anybody else to write.

While such articles paid her bills and kept her in clothes and cash, she eventually found it tedious and mind-numbing. Because she much preferred coming up with her own ideas, she had begun to cull down the magazines she would accept assignments from. Getting pickier had definitely put a pinch in her pocketbook, but it was also allowing her more time to work on the sorts of articles she enjoyed. Like writing about survey taking. Genevieve laughed out loud at the thought.

Okay, so survey taking doesn’t actually sound interesting. Admitting the tingles sent down her spine by the sound of Richard’s voice were what prompted her to consider an article about surveys, Genevieve hoped she got something worthwhile out of the day. A second date would be nice. I haven’t had one of those in ages. A small giggle escaped. Swell. I’m here for an interview, and I’m thinking about it like a date just because I like the sound of the man’s voice. If that doesn’t scream Desperate! I don’t know what does.

“It’s not like I’m the pickiest person in the world,” she said with a sigh.

“That’s good to know,” said the strong male voice behind her.

I have got to stop talking out loud when I think no one’s around!

Genevieve whirled to see a man standing there. She found herself at a disadvantage as he towered over her seated position. How he’d gotten this far up in the bleachers without her noticing him was a mystery. Lost inside my own head again.

“Uh, hi there. And you are…?” Genevieve stood so she wouldn’t feel at such a handicap. This was probably Richard, but she didn’t want to assume. The situation already felt awkward enough as it was.

“Richard,” he said with a teasing grin. “You are Miss Mason, I presume?”

Yep. His voice is even more delectable in person than it was over the phone.

Holding out her hand for the customary shake, she answered, “Yes, I’m Genevieve Mason. Nice to meet you in person, Richard.” After he took her proffered hand, she added, “Please, have a seat.”

Once they were both sitting, Genevieve got right down to business. She needed to ferret out enough information to determine whether or not to get this man out of there within a half hour or let him stick around for Max’s tryouts. Notepad in hand, questions written down, and pen at the ready, she began, “So how long have you been involved in survey taking?”

“Three weeks.”

“What prompted you to get into this line of business?”

“Necessity.”

“Everybody’s got bills to pay, huh?” Build a sense of camaraderie and the interviewee will feel comfortable with you. Relaxed people reveal more.

“It’s not exactly like that.”

Genevieve raised her left eyebrow in question, a trick she’d learned years ago when caring for nieces and nephews. No one could fib to her when they saw the eyebrow go up. “Then how exactly is it?”

Richard stretched his legs out in front of him. He was wearing a grey suit but had taken the jacket off and set it nearby. She was loath to tell him that what appeared to be quite an expensive suit jacket was probably lying on top of muddy footprints. As she waited for his answer, she took in the thick, dark blond hair, the tan that said he didn’t spend all his time indoors, and the broad-shouldered physique that spoke of someone who exercised regularly. From there, she let her eyes wander to his posh tie, crisp blue shirt, expensive-looking watch, and – Oh my goodness! Are those silk socks? Everything about the man screams wealth. How did I not notice this when I first saw him? He’s no ordinary surveyor.

“How exactly is it?” she asked again, her voice sharper this time.

Looking relaxed, Richard answered smoothly, “I own the company that commissioned the survey. The survey center provided the workers who stood out in the mall inviting people to participate, as well as the space to use, but my personal assistant was the one actually conducting the survey.”

“Model-Talker belongs to you?” I did not just say that out loud, did I?

“Model-Talker?”

Well, that answers that. “Uh, she looked like a model and did all the talking. I sometimes make up monikers for people when I don’t know their real names. She’s Model-Talker.” Shrugging lightly, she said, “Not my most original, I admit.”

Richard laughed. Where he had before appeared handsome, he now crossed the threshold into dangerously addictive. No one should have the right to be so good looking. Genevieve felt out of her depth with this man. Self-consciously, she reached up to pat her corkscrew red hair back into place, a futile effort in the sudden breeze.

“You should have seen my previous personal assistant. He’s a retired marine, a cross between a mastiff and a grizzly bear.”

“A marine for a personal assistant?” Genevieve was becoming increasingly curious about who this man was, and what he wanted with her. The notebook in her lap with its list of questions was the furthest thing from her mind.

“I learned early on that when you have wealth, all kinds of people come knocking. I never wanted to be defined by my wealth, so I’ve carefully restricted those I let into my inner circle. Since people have to get past my personal assistant to get to me, having a personal assistant that terrifies people seemed like a good idea.”

“What happened to him?”

“He and his wife retired to Arizona a couple years back. We stay in touch. He’s a good man.” Fondness was evident in Richard’s voice.

“How did you go from a scary-looking ex-marine to a model? Seems she’d attract more people than she’d scare away.”

“Once a Marine, Always a Marine. Never tell someone they’re an ex-marine. It’s kind of an insult.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.”

“As it happens, Miss Watts was recommended by my former assistant.” He leaned closer and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “She’s a marine, too. And trust me, when she puts her mean face on, she’s terrifying. Even I’m scared of her sometimes.” Richard winked then shifted back from her. Genevieve thought she was going to melt into a puddle of goo right there on the metal bleachers.

Is it really possible for eyes to be that shade of blue?

Trying to pull her thoughts together, she felt the notebook in her tightly clenched hands. Since he wasn’t technically a surveyor, most of her questions were now irrelevant. Keeping her notebook tilted away from Richard’s view, she pretended to look over her notes while forcing herself to breathe evenly and waiting for the sound of her heart to quiet down enough so that she could hear herself think. Finally gathering herself, she asked, “What prompted you to commission this particular survey?”

“It’s a long story. How about I give you the short version now, and you promise to meet me for dinner sometime later in the week? I’ll give you the long version then.”

“Why don’t you give me the short version now, and then I’ll think about whether or not I’m interested in the long version?” I am a savvy, single woman in a modern world. I will not be manipulated! Now give me a good answer, mister, because I want to see you again.

“Fair enough,” Richard answered, his eyes dancing. “I have found myself in a position by which I need to acquaint myself with…”

“Stop right there,” Genevieve said, holding her hand up to emphasize her command. “Dump the lawyer mumbo-jumbo and speak to me in plain English or there will definitely never be a follow-up meeting. When someone hides behind confusing language, I assume they’re trying to conceal something.” She could generally untangle the words to find out the truth behind them, but it was still a personal pet peeve of hers. Truth, she’d found, did not require such big words.

Richard gazed out at the track for a couple of heartbeats before returning his attention to Genevieve. “It’s complicated and will sound awful if I blurt it out sans the explanation.”

Genevieve hitched her left eyebrow up again. He didn’t look the least bit intimidated, but at least he started talking, and this time it sounded sincere.

“It’s imperative that I find someone with good values. I have a proposition of sorts that I need to make to such a person. The proposition is unique and possibly even objectionable. As I thought about how I could find someone who had the right kind of character, I had the brilliant idea to host a survey. After all, the way people spend their money tells a lot about their priorities and character.”

Genevieve, not sure what to say, kept quiet. Richard must have taken her silence as permission to go on because he continued to explain. “In three weeks, we’ve surveyed over a hundred people. A total of twelve percent of those people allocated their money in such a way that they spent more on others than on themselves. And of those people, only a small portion included any mention of giving money to a church or religious organization.”

“And these are requirements for the position you need to fill?” Genevieve was skeptical.

“I could interview hundreds of people for this… job… but people always put their best foot forward in an interview. Much as they do on a date. I’m in a time crunch, and waiting for someone to get over being on their best behavior to show me who they truly are isn’t a viable option. It’s imperative that I quickly get to the heart of the matter and find the right person for the… position… I have to offer.”

“I see.” Who am I kidding? I don’t see anything. “Am I to assume, then, that you are considering me for this job?”

Richard nodded and said, “I realize it’s all a bit unorthodox.”

A bit! Is he listening to the words coming out of his mouth? Genevieve pondered what to say. She wanted to demand he tell her what this supposed job was. Every time she looked at him with the intent to speak, though, her mouth became dry, and her eyes were drawn to his golden hair and mesmerizing blue eyes until all coherent thought fled. What is it about him that makes me feel so off-balance?

More time had passed than Genevieve realized. Kids started streaming out onto the track, and a smattering of parents and supporters began climbing up into the stands. Seeing Max, she stood up and waved. There was no need to swing her arms wildly to get his attention as he’d done at the mall food court. She always sat in the same place, and he always knew where to look for her. Max waved back, and Genevieve regained her seat.

“That’s a fine looking boy,” Richard said.

When Richard didn’t ask the obvious question – Is that your son? – Genevieve spun to him and asked, “You’ve already checked me out, haven’t you? Done an investigation or whatever?”

Not the least bit shame-faced, he answered, “Yes.”

“You realize I don’t even know your last name, and yet you probably know all about me, my work, my family?” When Richard said nothing, she added, “We are a far cry from any kind of a second meeting.” That’s the last time I fall for a sexy voice on the phone.

Reaching over to where his suit jacket lay, Richard reached into the inner pocket and removed his wallet. Opening it up, he pulled out a card and handed it to her. It read “Richard Blakely, Esq.”

“I get a name but nothing else?” Genevieve asked, eyes on the field where Max was warming up.

Cross-country was the only team with tryouts today. Other practices and activities were getting underway on the field encircled by the track, though, so the place was bustling. Her nephew was going to have to run four miles. The coach started the cross-country runners, assigning them the outer two lanes of the track, one for running and the other for passing.

Genevieve bit her lower lip as she watched the runners begin their trek. Max immediately dropped back until he was in second-to-last place. He didn’t look nearly as energetic as the other runners. One mile into the run, he got lapped. At two miles he’d been lapped by six runners in all. With only fifteen runners trying out, his position seemed precarious. Genevieve scooted forward. Max was rounding the bend and would again be passing in front of where they sat on the bleachers. As soon as he came into hearing distance, she shouted out, “Come on Max! You’re doing great! Keep it up!” When he passed out of hearing range, she sat back down and sighed.

“He’s doing better than you give him credit for.” Richard’s opinion was not welcome. She gave him a look to make sure he knew it. “Cross-country runners have to pace themselves. Watch the lead runners. Mark my words, they’re going to start slowing down and falling back soon. They dumped all their energy into getting that quick start, and they won’t have the staying power to make it all the way to the end.”

Genevieve’s eyes were glued to Max. She continued to shout encouragement each time he passed the stands. When, at two and a half miles, he passed the runner in front of him, she jumped up screaming, “Way to go Max!” Never mind that he was on the other side of the track and couldn’t possibly have heard her. By the time he completed his third mile Max had moved from fourteenth place all the way up to ninth place.

Sparing a quick glance to Richard, she asked, “How do you know about running?”

He shrugged and said, “I know a few things besides how to insult a beautiful woman.”

Genevieve directed her attention back to the track and allowed herself to get caught up in Max’s race rather than distracted by the man beside her. Did he just say I'm beautiful? Max continued to slowly move up through the ranks. As he closed in on his last lap, he was in sixth place. Trying to contain her excitement, Genevieve leaned forward. Before she realized it, she was clutching Richard’s arm and jumping up to shout her support when Max finished in fifth place. She didn’t know whether or not that would be good enough to make the cut, but she was proud of him. Pivoting toward Richard, she gave him a spontaneous hug.

Uh, hello? Realizing she was publicly embracing a man she hardly knew and certainly didn’t yet trust, she released him and said, “Sorry about that. Got caught up in the moment.”

He shrugged as if it was no big deal, but she caught a glimpse of something in his smoky-blue eyes, something that said he’d enjoyed their brief contact as much as she had before her inner voice had so rudely interrupted them.

As they sat waiting for Max to join them, Richard tried to start a conversation. “Do you come to tryouts often?”

“Whenever I can.”

“I’ll bet you’re at all his games, too.” She had to give him credit. He wasn’t giving up without a fight.

“I try to be. It’s important.”

“I can understand why it would be important to his parents, but you’re his aunt. Why is it important to you?”

Genevieve gave Richard the most scathing look she could muster. It was hard under the circumstances, because she was still so pleased for Max. “Being an aunt is a privilege and an honor. I don’t take it lightly.”

Richard held his hands up in surrender. “Sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it. I don’t have any aunts, so I speak in ignorance.”

“No aunts? You poor thing.” Her voice sounded sincere and caring rather than sarcastic and cutting, as she had intended. Drat.

Max came bursting up the bleachers right then with all his youthful enthusiasm. “Aunt Gen, did you see? What do you think?”

Genevieve jumped up and gave her nephew a high five. “That was fabulous Max! All those other kids raced ahead of you, and I thought you were done for.”

Max puffed up with pride at his aunt’s words. “I did some reading online about long distance running and have been trying to build up my endurance using Mom’s treadmill.”

“You did good out there, Max. You should be proud.” The words came from Richard. Genevieve had almost forgotten he was there.

Max, ever the gentleman, held out his hand to shake Richard’s and introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Max Wilson. Are you a friend of Aunt Gen’s?” Gen snorted, drawing odd looks from Richard and her nephew.

“Hi Max. Nice to meet you. That was some great running out there. Your Aunt Gen was sitting on the edge of her seat. When she wasn’t screaming, that is,” he said with a chuckle.

He’s got to be a lawyer. Who else dodges questions that well?

Max gave Richard a funny look then turned to his aunt. “I’m going to go shower and get changed. Think I can get a ride home with you afterward?” When Genevieve nodded, he added, “Coach said we should know before we go home today whether or not we made it.”

Ever his champion, Genevieve said, “Well, he’d be a fool to cut you. And you can tell him I said so.”

“Sure thing, Aunt Gen,” he yelled over his shoulder as he jogged back down the bleachers.

“He’s a good kid,” Richard said.

“The best,” she answered.

“I had you checked out – you already know that.” Genevieve gave him a guarded look. “You deserve to know that, while I am aware who your siblings and nieces and nephews are, I didn’t investigate any of them. They were names on a piece of paper in a report, nothing more. I didn’t think it was fair to invade their privacy.”

“But it was okay to invade mine?” she asked, slowly crossing her arms.

“If you understood the entire situation, I think you’d agree with me that it was the best course of action.” His cryptic words did nothing to thaw the look she was giving him.

“Are you ever going to explain why you lured me here under false pretenses, or will you continue dancing around in the shadows as you half-tell me what’s going on?” She was royally irritated at the man for investigating her. The feeling of intrusion did not sit well. Despite her feelings, the intense curiosity that had made her long to pursue a career in journalism was not to be quieted.

“I hardly think I can be accused of luring you here when you’re the one who invited me.” His voice, balmy like a sunny spring day at the beach, made her want to smile with him, but she fought the urge. "Why don’t we take Max out for ice cream? Maybe a bite to eat? Celebrate his making the team.”

The moment she thought she had him figured out, the man went and did something to surprise her. “I’d have to check with his mom,” she answered. “She’s probably expecting him home.”

Richard smiled at her and said, “You’re quite good with that phone of yours. Why don’t you text her and find out?”

Doing exactly that, Genevieve sent a text to her sister then also texted Jenny to see where she was and if she’d like to join them. Maureen replied, texting, Working late. No dinner at home. Jenny got back to her too, saying she was heading to work and wouldn’t be home until after eight.

Genevieve was frowning at her phone when it chirped to life, causing her to yelp in surprise. After reading the text, she sent Richard a piercing gaze and said, “Max is going to meet us out in front of the school.” I hope I don’t regret this.

Genevieve stood. She began gathering up her notebook and the other items that had managed to get scattered about her as she’d watched Max run. “Do you really think he made the team?” she asked, attributing her breathlessness to excitement for Max.

Richard stood and collected his decidedly wrinkled suit jacket. Offering her a hand down the bleacher steps, he answered, “Unless things have changed, yes. The first seven finishers generally make the varsity team. Everyone else gets put onto JV.”

“I run sometimes,” Genevieve volunteered. “But I don’t know a thing about the sport.”

This time it was Richard who raised an eyebrow. “How can you participate in a sport but know nothing about it?”

“I run when I’m upset or when I can’t think what to write next. It helps me clear my head.” She shrugged then admitted, “That’s not strictly true. I just run until I’m so exhausted that all the different writing voices racing around in my head pass out from oxygen depletion and give me some peace and quiet so I can think.”

Richard’s eyes had turned deep cobalt. She couldn’t read what was going on behind his eyes, and it made her want to take a step closer to get a better look. In this case, close might mean dangerous.

Richard watched her intently, and she had the sudden feeling she wasn’t doing nearly as good a job masking her feelings as he was. He didn’t remark on it, though, and instead picked the conversation back up. “That’s one use for running, I suppose.”

Genevieve shrugged. “The way I see it, tons of people ride bikes without knowing a thing about competitive bike-riding.” She didn’t realize how defensive she felt about the subject until she heard it in her voice. She swallowed before saying, “I’m just like them.”

He didn’t comment on her tone. Instead he said, “I’ve never heard it talked about quite like that, but then I have the feeling you see a lot of things differently than most people do.” With a grin, he added, “If I’m wrong, and he didn’t make the team, then we’ll take him out for a consolation meal instead. He’s a teenager. Food fixes everything, right?”

She didn’t want to say it out loud and ruin the mood, but the words swirling through her mind commanded her attention. Unfortunately, no. Food doesn’t fix everything. Not even for teenagers.

****

She and Richard were approaching the front exit of the school when someone yelled out, “Hold it right there!” Genevieve swiveled to see Reggie, one of the security guards, hustling toward them. It was definitely unsettling to see the large guard swiftly moving in their direction. “Howdy, Miz Mason,” he said congenially, contradicting his fierce bulldog appearance. “Sir, I need you to sign out and turn your visitor’s badge in before you leave the premises.”

Richard looked sheepish. “I suppose I ought to collect my ID, too, while I’m at it. Excuse me,” he said, nodding to Genevieve.

“I’ll wait out front,” she said, before heading through the doors. She spotted Max and strode toward him. “We’re taking you out for a bite to eat and some ice cream if you want,” she told him.

Max hesitated and said, “I should probably check with Mom. She might have something planned for dinner.”

Genevieve reached a hand out to touch Max’s arm. “I already texted her. She’s working late and won’t be home for dinner.”

“Oh,” was Max’s glum response.

Forcing some joviality into her voice, Genevieve said, “The meal is to celebrate your fantastic tryout today. So it’s your choice. Wherever you want to eat. We’re only along for the ride.”

“I don’t know.” Max’s lack of enthusiasm tore at Genevieve’s heart. It shouldn't be like this. Life should still be carefree at his age.

Who am I kidding? Life’s not going to get any easier. Maybe it's time I start encouraging him to develop a thicker skin.

“Alright everyone, where are we going?” Richard’s voice came from right behind her, and Genevieve swung around to see him standing there, backlit by the sun. His hands were in his pockets, and he looked like a man who had all the time in the world. He didn't look like a man who wore silk socks and talked about wealth with ease. Richard glanced briefly between her and Max before saying, “I used to do a little cross-country back in college, and I can tell you, that was a fantastic run today, Max. We need to celebrate.” Giving them both a smile, he added, “What is it that teenagers eat these days, anyway? Cantonese? Peruvian? Peanut butter pie?” When no one responded, he added, “Oh come on guys. You’ve got to give me something to work with. Sushi? Haggis?”

Max still didn’t say anything, but the face he made at the mention of haggis was all the encouragement Genevieve needed. “Come on, Max. You have to pick something, or we’re going to end up eating some poor animal’s internal organs. Please save me from such a horrid fate!” She threw in a dramatic sigh and fluttering hand to the forehead for emphasis.

Shaking his head, Max asked, “Who’s driving?”

The question caught Genevieve off guard. Do I trust Richard enough to get in a car with him?

Before she could answer, the man with the dark blond hair and disturbingly blue eyes spoke up. “Your aunt hasn’t decided yet whether or not to trust me, so why don’t we let her drive?”

So he’s a mind reader now, too, huh?

Max rolled his eyes. “She drives a puddle jumper. It’ll be a tight fit.”

Richard rested his arm briefly across Max’s shoulders and told him, “You have a lot to learn about women. A tight squeeze in a car is a small price to pay for your aunt’s peace of mind.”

Giving them both a look that said he thought Richard was talking nonsense, Max said, “I’ve got my permit with me. Are you gonna let me drive?”

Oh my. I should have trusted Richard to drive. Digging her keys out of her purse, she tossed them to Max, who raced ahead to her economically sized car. Max let out a “Woo-hoo!” as he ran. I definitely should have let Richard drive.

Richard volunteered to take the back seat, but Genevieve didn’t have it in her to be that mean-spirited. She squeezed into the back and belted in.

“You’re not going to make me regret this, are you, Max?” When her nephew grinned at her in the rearview mirror, she put her hands over her eyes and said, “I hope your life insurance is paid up, Richard.”

****

Max picked a trendy new pizza place. The three of them chatted as they waited for their meal to be served.

“So, what did the coach say?” Genevieve asked.

Looking unusually bashful, Max answered, “I’m in.” Shouts and high fives took over at their table for a minute until Max said, “But I’m having second thoughts about joining.”

“How come?” Richard asked. Max shrugged. The look on the boy’s face told Genevieve it was likely about his family, but Richard couldn’t possibly recognize that expression. He told Max, “You’ve got real talent. I didn’t once see you react out there to the other runners, either when they were passing you or when you were passing them. Some people take years to learn how to run smart like that and not let their emotions rule their actions.”

“I don’t know,” Max said. “I’m not sure it’s for me.”

“When is practice?” Genevieve asked.

“Monday, Wednesday, Friday.”

“What time?”

Max rolled his eyes. “I get it Aunt Gen. Mom’ll be at work when I’m at practice. Still, all the events will be on Saturdays. And they usually take up most of the day. It means I won’t see Mom or Dad much anymore.”

Softly, Genevieve said, “Maybe they’ll come watch you race.” The teen gawked at her as if she’d just picked her nose and offered him what she’d found. It broke her heart that he’d lost faith in his folks. “Max, I know you’re tired of being let down, but you have to give them a chance. Remember what we talked about? If you assume they’re going to say ‘no’, you never ask, and then they never get a chance to say ‘yes.’ You have to keep giving them opportunities to be better parents, because if you stop believing they’re capable of it, then…” her words trailed off as their pizza arrived.

“Hey, Richard, you want to bless the pizza?” Max asked.

Looking as comfortable as could be, Richard bowed his head and offered up a brief prayer, “Dear Lord, thank you for everything you’ve given us. Please bless those that prepared our food and those who delivered it. See to any special needs they have. Thank you for how well Max did at his tryout today, Lord. Give him wisdom as he makes his choices. Amen.”

Quickly on the heels of ‘amen’ all three were savoring their first bites of dinner. The previous conversation was dropped.

“This is good pizza, Max. Where’d you hear about this place?” Richard asked.

“Heard some kids talking about it. Figured it’d be easier for you to impress my aunt here than at some ordinary pizza joint,” came the teen’s cheeky reply.

Genevieve almost choked on her food. Once she got her pizza swallowed and was breathing normally again, she drilled Max with her eyes. He threw his hands in the air and said, “Hey, I’m only trying to help you out, Aunt Gen.”

Shaking her head, she said, “Okay, Max, I get the point. I’ll drop the subject of your relationship with your parents if you stop trying to help with my dating life.” Or lack thereof.

“Nah, it’s okay,” he said. “Let’s not talk about it anymore today, though, okay?” Genevieve nodded. “One more thing, then we drop it,” he added, his voice more authoritative than usual. “I don’t have to keep giving anybody opportunities to do anything. I have a choice.”

As Genevieve’s heart began to sink at his words, she remembered what a spectacular kid Max had always been. He’d already given his folks far more chances to be in his life than most kids would have. She was confident he wouldn’t write them off quite yet.

While they continued to eat, Richard regaled them with stories of his cross-country days in college. “I was the most mediocre runner on the team.”

“No one can be that bad,” Max said.

“Au contraire. I have the trophies to prove it. Four of them. One for each year I was on the team.”

Laughing, Genevieve asked, “What does it say on the trophy?”

“Well, the first trophy says ‘Most Mediocre.’ The next two years were slightly more creative. Those trophies both said ‘Mediocrity Medallion.’ Despite the honor of those first three trophies, the fourth remains my uncontested favorite. They renamed the trophy in my honor during my senior year. It has the same name to this day.” After a dramatic pause, he said, “The Richard Blakely Do-the-Best-You-Can-Even-When-It’s-Not-Good-Enough Award.”

Laughter burst out of Genevieve before she could stop it. She was about to ask how on earth they’d fit all those letters on a trophy when Max spoke up, “No way! You’re Richard Blakely?” Looking to his aunt, he asked, “Why didn’t you say anything Aunt Gen?”

Baffled, Genevieve glanced from man to boy.

Max said, “You’re kidding me! You don’t know who he is?” After she shook her head, he went on, “He’s, like, one of the wealthiest men in the country!” Genevieve continued to look at him blankly, and Max sighed. “And you call yourself a journalist?”

“It’s okay, Max, really,” Richard said. “I kind of liked that she didn’t know who I was.”

Max gaped at Richard and slowly shook his head in that I-will-never-understand-the-lunacy-of-adults way. Then he returned his attention to an important matter, his pizza.

When Genevieve kept staring, Richard finally said, “You’re not going to let me off the hook, are you?” She shook her head, and he said, “Can we at least drop it for now and simply enjoy the remainder of our meal?”

****

After the pizza had been demolished, they all walked across the street to enjoy some ice cream. “Double Chocolate Fudge Brownie Monster Chunk for me!” declared Max.

“Peanut Butter Marshmallow Chocolate Madness please!” Genevieve added. Then she and Max went to sit down while Richard ordered the ice cream.

“So, Aunt Gen, you honestly didn’t know who he was?” When Genevieve shook her head, he said, “You’ve got to look him up online. His family grew up around here. Old money. Maybe back to Jamestown. Lots and lots of old money.” She raised her left eyebrow, and Max shook his head and laughed at her. “I know. Money doesn’t make the man. Blah, blah, blah.” After a second he asked, “So, was this supposed to be a date or a business meeting today? You never said.”

Right as Genevieve opened her mouth to tell her nephew it most decidedly was not a date, Richard’s voice came from behind her, “A date, of course. How many business meetings have you been on that include pizza and ice cream? Business meetings have boring foods like salad and steak and desserts you can set on fire because people are busy trying to impress each other.”

Is he out of his mind? Of course he is. Genevieve watched Max and said, “Not a word, you hear me?”

“Not a word about what?” Richard asked.

“Oh, come on, Aunt Gen. If I go to school tomorrow and tell people my aunt is dating the Richard Blakely, do you know how much my stock will go up?”

“Not a word. I mean it.” Max rolled his eyes, let out a loud, over-exaggerated sigh, and threw himself into the kind of relaxed slump that no one but a teenager could master. “Max…”

“Alright, alright, but if you make it to a third date, all bets are off.”

Genevieve shook her head in mock despair, her red curls gamboling with the movement. Then she looked over at Richard and did a double-take, “Since when do men eat girlie ice cream?”

Richard spied his colorful cone and asked, “Girlie ice cream?”

Max tried to warn him, “Don’t argue with her. Trust me. Let her lecture you and get it out of her system. Eat the ice cream as fast as you can. If she can’t see it anymore, she’ll get over it quicker.”

Richard inspected her, slowly took a bite of his cone, and said, “Did you just insult my ice cream?” Then, putting on a hideous fake western accent, he added, “Them’s fightin’ words, don’cha know?”

Max tried to hide his laughter as Genevieve, face dead-pan and voice matter-of-fact, said, “Only girls eat fruity ice cream.”

Richard eyed her ice cream cone and said, “You’re a girl, and I don’t see any fruit in your cone.”

“No man! You never say that,” Max said in sympathy.

“I, Mr. Blakely, Esquire,” Genevieve wound up, “am not a girl. I, Mr. Blakely,” she said his name with added emphasis, “am a woman of sophisticated tastes. You, on the other hand,” she waved her hand dismissively, “are eating girlie ice cream.”

Richard tried to defend his choice of ice cream but was told again and again, “Only girls eat fruity ice cream.”

Finally, Max asked, “So exactly what flavor is that, anyway?”

Shamefaced, Richard answered, “Pineapple Pom Pom Sparkleberry Cheer.” Max and Genevieve laughed uproariously, and Richard joined in. When their laughter settled down, he told Max, “And you are most definitely not allowed to tell your friends at school about that, my boy.”

“Are you kidding me? I’d be shunned for life, a perpetual outcast of the high school social strata. I’m taking that secret all the way to the grave.”

“Alright, gentlemen, the evening grows late. I am supposed to have the prince home before he turns into a frog.” They all pitched in to clear the table off before heading back out to Genevieve’s micro-mini car. “Hand over the keys, kid.” When Max tossed her the keys without complaint, Richard looked at her in question. Shrugging, she said, “Let’s just say I’m not yet brave enough to let him behind the wheel after dark.”

****

After Max was waved off with more congratulations for making the cross-country team, Genevieve and Richard got back into her car, and she swung it around to head toward the school. “Thank you for spending time with us this afternoon,” she said. “That was nice of you, and it cheered Max up. I’m sure you’re a busy person.”

“It was my pleasure, Gen.” When she gave him an odd look, he asked, “Should I not call you that?”

She shrugged and answered, “Just sounded different coming from you.” Liar! In truth, hearing the familiar name on his lips had sent a shockwave of energy ricocheting through her body.

After a moment of silence, Richard asked, “Would you like me to tell you about my family?”

She forcefully kept her tone light as she said, “Since you know all about mine, I think it’s only fair.” Maybe if she kept him talking and concentrated on listening, she wouldn't be quite so cognizant of their close quarters. As it was, Genevieve was keenly aware they no longer had a teenage chaperone.

Richard chuckled softly, as if he was flipping through a favorite photo album in his mind and trying to choose which of the family pictures to share with her. Fondness filled his voice as he said, “My grandfather is the key to the story, but you need to know a little about my great-grandparents in order to understand him better. My great-grandparents came through the Depression. They struggled to survive, and that shaped who they became. Even when the economy began to turn around and get better, a lot of depression-era people kept habits formed during that time. Some people became hoarders, but thankfully, my great-grandparents didn’t go down that road.” The man was a great storyteller. She had to give him that. His voice wove a spell that made Gen want to step into the tale and see it with his eyes.

“Still, they remained extremely frugal. They didn’t spend money unless they had to. Nothing was replaced unless it was beyond all hope of repair. That’s the world my grandfather grew up in. Every piece of clothing he had from the time he was born until he left home was handed down, handmade, or given to the family. He went to college, but he had to work two jobs in order to pay his tuition. College, he often told me, wasn’t about learning a trade. It was about learning how other people lived. His goal was to do business with upper-class people, but he knew he’d never succeed unless he could fit in with them. So he went to college.”

“He sounds like a smart man,” Genevieve said.

Richard smiled, “He was indeed, but he never let it go to his head. I suppose my grandmother helped with that. They met at a social gathering he’d accidentally been invited to.”

“How does one get accidentally invited?” she asked him, whether out of curiosity or to stretch out her time with him as he told the story, not even she was sure.

“He did a good job of fitting in. The family that invited him thought he came from money. They’d never have invited him if they’d known the poverty from which he hailed.”

Richard stretched his legs as much as the small car would allow, and Genevieve continued to drive, deciding the scenic route back to the high school would do just fine tonight. Maybe he won’t notice that we’re heading in the opposite direction of the school.

Picking the story back up, Richard said, “It was love at first sight for both of them. My grandmother’s parents approved because they thought he came from money. When he told her the truth about his financial situation, she knew her parents would denounce him and forbid her from seeing him again. Perpetrating a lie against the family wouldn’t be the problem. The hardship from which he came would be his undoing. The thing over which he had no control would be his biggest offense in her parents’ eyes.”

Genevieve braked at a red light and glanced over at Richard. He seemed lost in the tale. His expression was almost vulnerable, not something she would have associated with him up to this point. Of its own volition, her hand began reaching out toward him. Before she could touch him, though, the light turned green. She pulled her hand back and continued driving. What on earth am I thinking?

“My grandmother,” Richard continued, never having missed a beat to begin with, “convinced my grandfather to run off and elope with her. So that’s exactly what they did. Her parents cared a lot about appearances. Once the two were wed, they couldn’t allow their daughter to live in a tenement with a working-class husband – it would be too embarrassing for them. Instead, they gifted the newly married couple with ten million dollars.”

“That’s quite a generous gift,” she interjected. Her shock that anyone could talk about such a large sum of money so casually only emphasized, in her mind, the immense chasm between her and Richard’s worlds.

He shook his head, “It wasn’t so much a gift as it was a bribe. They wanted my grandfather to take their daughter and go far away.”

“Oh,” Genevieve said. “That seems awfully harsh.”

Richard nodded. “That’s an understatement.” He went on to say, “My grandfather had a different idea about how to handle the situation. There was no way he was going to let his wife’s family shame her. Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was love. Either way, he took that ten million dollars and put it to work. He had a brilliant mind for figures and business. He instinctively knew where and how to spend his money. They never did move away, and my grandmother’s parents never forgave my grandfather for that. In their own twisted way, they managed to take it as a personal insult when he became successful.”

Genevieve, who had never been able to resist cheering for the underdog, said with triumph in her voice, “I’m glad he was successful.”

Richard looked at her with his eyes that, even in the dim interior of the car, shone brightly, and said, “Within the first twenty years of their marriage, my grandfather converted the ten million dollars into more than two hundred million, and then he kept going from there.”

Genevieve’s gasp filled the car. He looked at her sadly, ostensibly knowing she saw an unscalable wall of differences between them.

“You wouldn’t have known it to spend time with them. My grandparents were wonderful.” His voice had taken on a wistful quality, and Genevieve’s heart sank.

This is never going to go anywhere. Why does he have to be so nice? Seem so ordinary? It would be easier to walk away if he were arrogant and pretentious.

“Kindness, generosity, and love were the benchmarks by which my grandparents measured their own worth. They supported many different charities and gave anonymous gifts to people in need all over the community. And they loved me unconditionally.”

The warmth in his voice changed to sadness as he said, “My grandparents were only ever blessed with one child, a son. They did their best to raise him well. Nevertheless, he developed a taste for the finer things in life and didn’t see why he should have to work when there was so much money lying around for the taking. His choice for a wife reflected his ideals. My mother was vain and self-involved. They were well-suited. They were each their own top priority and saw no reason to deny themselves or limit their excesses. My father died when I was twenty. Cirrhosis of the liver. My mother died of complications following plastic surgery when I was twenty-five.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Genevieve said kindly, wishing she didn’t hurt for the young man he’d been when he’d suffered those losses.

“Thank you,” he said. “It was hard, but having my grandparents to love me made all the difference. I moved in with them when I was in high school and had been living with them for a month before either of my parents realized I’d moved out. I loved my folks, but as you can imagine, we weren’t that close.”

“Your grandparents are both gone now?” she asked.

Nodding, Richard said, “They were killed in a car accident two years ago.”

“I am so sorry,” Genevieve said. “I can’t imagine suffering so much loss.”

Melancholy drifted through the car like a shadow in the waning daylight. Richard shrugged and said, “Death is a part of life. I still miss them, some days like crazy, but they taught me from a young age that death is not the end. I’ll see them again someday, of that I’m sure.” Then, evidently trying to lighten the mood, he added with a grin, “Just not too soon, I hope.”

Genevieve drove in silence for a while. She had so many questions, but despite her meandering, they were nearing the high school. Richard sighed in the seat next to her. Running his hand over his face as if trying to wipe away a memory, he said, “I still have a proposition for you, but I’d like to meet you at my office sometime later this week to explain it.”

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

Richard chuckled mirthlessly. “Life has taught me a few things. I have money, which means I don’t often meet sincere people. I think you, Genevieve Mason, are the genuine article. The least I can do is give you a couple days to check me out, dig for dirt, do whatever you need to do so you know who you’re dealing with.”

“Is there much dirt to find?”

Stiffening slightly, he answered, “We all have dirt, Gen. Having money doesn’t clean people up any more than not having money does.” When she nodded her agreement, he continued, “I’ve not been a saint, but I’ve tried to live a good life. Regrettably, having money makes me a target. There are a lot of rumors and accusations out there. If you are going to enter into an agreement with me, I want you to know who you’re getting into bed with.”

“B-bed?” she choked on the word. Why does he have to be so good looking?

Wincing, he said, “Not the best cliché I’ve ever used.”

Genevieve pulled into the high school lot and parked next to the lone remaining vehicle, a swanky luxury sedan. Turning in her seat to face Richard, she felt the smallness of her car wrapping itself around them. Does he have to be so close? I can't think. Forcing herself to concentrate on the conversation, she said, “I’d feel better if I had some idea what this was all about.”

Richard looked apologetic as, with a soft voice, he said, “I know, and I’m sorry, but I can’t give you any more information right now. Take a couple days, see what you can dig up about me, and then we’ll meet.”

Genevieve felt as though she was falling as she gazed into Richard’s eyes. I understand now what all those romance writers mean when their heroines say the air is getting too thick to breathe. Basic respiration, something she’d always taken for granted, became a struggle. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Great, now I’m doing Lamaze.

“Gen, are you listening?”

She shook herself as she realized he’d been speaking to her and she’d been too busy trying to breathe. “W-what?”

A tender look on his face, Richard reached out and gently traced her cheek with the back of his fingers. “You’re a beautiful woman, Genevieve Mason. Why don’t you come to my office on Thursday? Will that give you enough time?” She nodded, numb.

Thursday. I get to see him again in two days.

“Will four o’clock in the afternoon be okay?” Again she nodded.

Come on already! You’re not a mute. Use words. Still, she sat there staring at him.

“Alright then. I’ll see you Thursday,” he said.

Richard was out of her car and into his own more quickly than she would have liked. He could have at least pretended he didn’t want to leave yet. Genevieve restarted her car and pulled out of the parking lot. She kept her eyes on Richard’s car as long as she could. He was right behind her for part of the way, but then they turned in opposite directions at the second intersection, and he was soon out of sight.

Genevieve wasn’t planning to go to sleep until she’d read everything she could find about him. She stopped at her favorite fast food place for a large coffee then headed for home. Might as well get some caffeine to help me out. After she pulled into her garage at home, she climbed out of the car and flipped open her phone. Dialing Max, she waited only long enough for him to answer before saying, “Alright. Dish. Everything you know about Richard Blakely.”

What followed was an hour of interesting history on the family, much of which Richard had already told her. Max, however, included additional details that were new to her. “He gives tons of money to charity. He has endowments at each of the local high schools, providing scholarships to students who wouldn’t otherwise be able to afford college, or who would have to go into debt to pay for it.” Genevieve scribbled notes down as Max chatted. “The local press talks about him a lot. Most of the time it’s, ‘Richard Blakely was seen at so-and-so’s party.’ Sometimes it’s more gossipy. Anytime he’s photographed with a woman there’s lots of talk about whether or not she’s the next Mrs. Blakely.”

“Next? Has he been married before?”

“I don’t think so,” Max said, “but you’d have to check for yourself. It’s more about the name. His mother was Mrs. Blakely, and so was his grandmother. It’s a wealthy name, and people want it.”

How is it that I've not heard of him before? “So, basically, women are constantly throwing themselves at him?”

“I’d say so. Wish I had those kinds of problems,” answered Max cheerfully.

“Don’t push your luck, kid. You can surround yourself with quality or quantity, but you probably can’t have both. Which would you prefer?”

“Aunt Gen,” he whined. “Not everything has to be a lesson in character development. Let me envy the guy for a few days. I won’t be forever ruined.”

A chuckle in her voice, Genevieve said, “Alright Max. Thanks for all the help. If you think of anything else important, call or text. I’ll leave you alone so you can envy him in peace.” Then, before she hung up, she asked, “Hey, how do you know so much about him, anyway?”

“We had to do humanitarian reports on local celebrities for a class I had last year. Almost all the girls chose Richard Blakely. Some of the reports were interesting. Some were a complete joke. One girl spent the whole time talking about a smear campaign that had been launched to make people believe he dyed his hair. Seriously! A ten minute report about whether or not the man’s hair color is natural.”

Laughing, she rang off.

Chapter Four

Genevieve took the notes she’d jotted down while talking with Max and used that to begin an extensive internet search into the life of one Richard Blakely, Esquire. She was shocked by some of the headlines she came across. Several articles claimed Richard had fathered illegitimate children by different women. There were stories about drugs, rehab, wild parties at clubs, and more. As she dug, she uncovered additional layers to the story of Richard Blakely, including numerous accounts of his philanthropy and good deeds. Now, as always, the challenge of a good journalist was sifting through to determine which stories were based in truth and which were built on fabrication.

Well into the next morning, Genevieve finally crawled into bed. She slept through most of Wednesday, waking up barely in time to shower, get a bite to eat, and head to evening church. Wednesday was their big night for children’s ministries and she was filling in for a friend by helping with the kids’ games. She was supposed to provide an extra set of eyes and ears. Ah, who am I kidding? My job will be to take little kids to the bathroom when they have to go during game time. Saving the world by instilling the habit of proper hygiene and hand-washing one child at a time!

As she left the church after services, she ran into her brother. “Hey Jake, I didn’t see you there,” she said, as she grabbed on to his arms to keep her balance.

“No problem, Sis. How’s your day been?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“That bad?” he asked.

“Not bad. Just trust me. You don’t want to know,” she answered.

“Stayed up all night working and then slept all day?”

“Seriously? How do you know me so well?” she demanded, hands on her hips.

“I grew up with you, remember?” Laughing, Jake waved to his wife and four children to let them know he’d be along shortly. Genevieve had already said her hellos and goodbyes to each of them. “So,” Jake began, “I hear you had a date yesterday.”

“Who’d you hear that from?”

If Max spilled the beans…

“One of the men saw you getting ice cream with a teenager and some old geezer,” he said.

“Old geezer!” When Jake laughed, she knew she’d been had. “Well, you can tell your men that unless their powers of observation improve, they’re going to get busted back to traffic cop.” Jake, lead detective with the local police force, always did seem to have eyes everywhere.

The two laughed together for a moment before Jake asked, “So, anything serious?”

Not wanting to lie to her brother, Genevieve shrugged. I don’t suppose I should tell him Richard has a delicious voice.

When both Jake’s eyebrows went up, she knew she was in trouble. “No denial?” She gave her head the slightest shake, and Jake let out a low whistle. “How long you been seeing him then? And why haven’t I heard about him?”

“What do I have to do to get you to drop the subject?” she asked hopefully. No point trying to hide anything. He sees right through me every time.

“Answer those two questions plus tell me who he is, and we’ll consider the subject dropped.”

He’s not going to budge on this one at all.

“I met him yesterday. I don’t know him very well, but I think I might like him.” Puh-lease! Understatement alert! “His name is Richard.”

“Richard? You’re not going to give me a last name?”

“So you can go home and get your police buddies to help you dig for information? Not on your life.”

“Gen…”

“It’s okay, Jake. I barely met him yesterday. I’m not picking out wedding invitations. Yesterday wasn’t even really a date. It was an interview for an article.”

“So the guy takes his teenage son with him to interviews? Or were you interviewing the kid?”

Genevieve swiftly lowered her eyes and bit her bottom lip. If he finds out it was Max, I’m done for! Max’ll cave if Jake turns on his bad-cop questioning.

“What aren’t you telling me?” asked Jake, impatience at the edge of his voice.

“I love you, Jake, you know that, right?”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“It’s my business and mine alone. I didn’t even have to tell you as much as I did.” I need to buy a couple of days to decide how I feel about Richard.

“I don’t like it. But I’ll give you ‘til Sunday. Then I’m hunting you down and getting some answers.”

“Think you can give me two Sundays before you break out the handcuffs and heated interrogation lamp?”

He grimaced and let out a heavy sigh before finally saying, “Okay.”

Genevieve threw her arms around her brother in a big hug, kissed him on the cheek, and said, “You’re the best brother ever!”

Jake gave her a return hug, saying, “And don’t you dare forget it.”

****

Hoping to clear her head, Genevieve went for a run Thursday morning. Developing a strategy for her meeting with Richard was her first priority of the day. She needed to remember her professional skills and her common sense. It had been many years since she’d last been so tempted by a man. There was something about him that made her want to stare at him dreamily and agree to anything he said. Maureen, her sister, had long teased her for being the prude of the family, and it was probably true. Her mom had trained her well. If a man isn’t marrying material, then he isn’t dating material.

Genevieve had rarely found a man she considered dating material, and generally by the end of the first date, she would know for sure he wasn’t matrimonial material. In the past five years she’d had a total of three second dates, and none of those men had made it to a third date.

As she returned home from her jog, she headed to the kitchen to get a drink. Before she made it to the fridge, her phone rang. Jake’s name was on the screen. She almost ignored the call, but then worry that something may have happened to one of her nieces or nephews got the best of her, and she answered, “Mike’s Mortuary. You stab ‘em, we slab ‘em.”

“You’ve got to get some new material, Gen.”

Okay, so that one wasn’t my best.

“What’s up, Big Brother?”

“You make me sound like a government conspiracy.” He never did like it when she called him that.

“Wellll?” She drew it out and let it hang, knowing it would annoy him.

His sigh gave her great satisfaction. Then he had to go and ruin it, “Look, I only have a minute, but I was calling to apologize.”

Say what?

“What’d you do this time?”

“About last night,” Jake began. “Look, I know you’re kind of picky about your men.” Genevieve’s quick intake of breath couldn’t go unnoticed. “Sorry, sorry. Let me rephrase that. I know you’re choosy about your men, and that’s fine. I tease you, but it’s all in fun. I don’t want you to ever think you can’t talk to me is all.”

“You’re a man, Jake. I get it. You want to fix everything and protect me and all that stuff. It’s who you are and it’s one of the things I love about you.”

“Are you going to tell me anything about the guy?”

“Not a thing.” After a brief silence, she asked, “Does the family seriously think I’m too picky about men?”

The awkward silence that followed was her answer.

“What do you always tell me, Gen? If you’re going to get stuck spending the rest of your life with someone, you want to at least enjoy their company, right?”

“Yep. Sounds like me,” she answered.

“I think you’ll know when you find the guy, and I hope when you do find him, the rest of your life isn’t spent enjoying his company.”

“Ah, that’s sweet. You’re a softy at heart, aren’t you?”

“Come on, Gen. I’m trying to be serious. I’m not good with words like you, and you know it. I love my wife, and I’m happily married. Sure, I enjoy her company. There’s a whole lot more to it, though. I want you to be in a relationship that brings out the best in you, and I don’t want you to settle for anything less than what you deserve.”

What can I possibly say to that? He had to go and be sweet. Now he’s going to ask for information about Richard, watch.

“And if you repeat what I said to any of the guys, I’ll arrest you for slander.”

Laughing, Genevieve said, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Big Brother.”

Chapter Five

Genevieve enjoyed a long hot shower and spent way too long digging through her closet looking for the perfect outfit. She hadn’t given it a second thought on Tuesday when she’d thought she was meeting a run-of-the-mill survey taker. Richard Blakely, however, was anything but run-of-the-mill. Even his shoe laces shouted wealth. After an hour trying to put together something fashionable and sophisticated, she finally gave up. “It’s not me. I’m a jeans and sweater kind of a woman. I don’t come from money, and no matter how hard I try, I’ll never look as if I do.” Her wardrobe did not answer the complaint.

She settled on a comfortable long black peasant skirt and a bright yellow shirt, adding a silk scarf in shades of blue and green. The scarf contrasted nicely with the yellow while bringing out the green in her eyes. This is as good as it’s going to get. Then, gathering up her satchel with her notebook, she got into the car and headed toward Richard’s office.

Not the least bit surprised to see Model-Talker upon arrival, Genevieve politely waited for her to get off the phone before asking to see Richard. Was she talking in Russian? What kind of world do these people live in? She was shown into Richard’s suite of offices and told, “Mr. Blakely got caught in a meeting on another floor and will be up shortly. He said for you to make yourself at home.”

As soon as Model-Talker left, Genevieve wandered around Richard’s office. She wasn’t comfortable venturing into the other rooms. Besides, there was plenty to see here in this room. One wall had several candid pictures of Richard with his grandparents and a couple with his parents, as well. There was a collection of sculptures that appeared to be made from glass. Who am I kidding? It’s probably priceless crystal. Touch it and alarms go off! Snatching her hand back from the precipice of temptation, she moved on.

Genevieve was taking in the view from the office window when she heard the door open behind her. She twisted to see Richard approaching, looking more disheveled than she’d expected. “Rough day?” she asked.

He ran his hand through his blond hair and said, “Not the worst day ever, but more than a few things have definitely gone wrong today.”

“Everything is okay, I hope?”

Richard nodded and said, “It’ll all work out. Every business has good days and bad days.” Then, nodding toward the window he asked, “What do you think of the view?”

“It’s breathtaking,” she answered. “I’ve lived near the Blue Ridge mountains my entire life. I suppose, at some point, I started to take them for granted. Your view here reminds me how amazing our God is.”

With a smile, he said, “I couldn’t agree more. It’s why my grandfather chose to keep his corporate headquarters here rather than moving to Richmond or closer to DC.” Before the conversation had a chance to stall out, he asked, “Would you like anything to drink?” When Genevieve shook her head, he said, “Let’s sit down then. I assume you have some questions for me.”

“Ah, yes,” she said. “I was commissioned to learn about who I’m potentially getting into bed with.” I did not just say that. Oh no. I did just say that, didn’t I? Genevieve quickly spun away and busied herself with getting the notebook out of her satchel. Hopefully, Richard wouldn’t notice the blush she could feel heating her face. A gentleman would let the remark slide.

“Would you like the couch or the chair?” he asked.

Ah. A gentleman indeed.

Genevieve opted for the couch and made herself comfortable. Gripping her pen and notebook, she said, “I have a list of questions here I’d like to ask you. My problem is that I don’t think it’s fair for me to pry into your personal life. If I knew what you were proposing, then maybe I’d understand why it’s significant.” Shrugging in apology, she added, “Were I writing an article about you that would be different.”

Nodding, Richard said, “I can respect your position. Please understand, I give you permission to ask me anything you wish. I am an open book for you today.”

Frowning, Genevieve inspected her list of questions. She made eye contact and straightened her spine before asking, “Do you have any illegitimate children?”

“No.” The question didn’t appear to catch him off-guard, as she’d hoped. Journalism 101: Keep your interviewee guessing, and you’re more likely to get honest answers. If people have no idea what your next question is going to be, they don’t have time to prepare a falsified answer.

“Any children at all?”

“No.”

“Is it true you settled out of court on a paternity suit?”

“Yes.” His answers were monosyllabic, but his voice continued to be matter-of-fact, his expression open.

“Why would you settle on a paternity suit if you’re not the father?”

Richard sighed and half-said, half-asked, “It’s complicated?”

Now we’re getting somewhere.

In reply, she simply said, “I’m listening.”

“I knew the woman in question. We had, uh, been intimate at one time. It was not my most stellar moment. She got into some trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” Genevieve asked.

“I don’t want to drag her name through the mud.”

“You said you’d be an open book,” she countered.

“Yes, but this is her book, not mine. It’s not fair for me to open her book to you.”

Nodding, she said, “Fair enough. Then tell me your chapter in it.”

Richard crossed his arms and stretched his feet out in front of him. “Through me, she met someone I knew in college. He ended up making some bad choices. She got pulled down with him. Drugs, everything. Shortly after he died of an overdose, she learned she was pregnant. She sued me for paternity.”

“But the child wasn’t yours?”

“No, not mine,” he said.

When she asked, “Baby belonged to the overdose friend?” he nodded. “Why did you settle?”

“I knew the baby wasn’t mine, and she knew the baby wasn’t mine. Thinking I would reason with her and get her to drop the suit, I went to see her. The place she was living in might have once been called a hovel but had since sunk far below that title. For the baby’s sake, she was trying to stay clean, but all her neighbors, everyone around here, were using. She wanted to do right by the baby and was terrified of getting pulled back into the life. She was a good sort who got trapped in a bad situation because I had introduced her to a man who got her hooked on drugs.” When Genevieve continued to stare at him expectantly, he continued, “I wanted to help her out, but if I gave her money and she dropped the suit, it would look like bribery, an admission of guilt.”

“Settling the suit looks like an admission of guilt,” she countered.

“Tell me about it. At the time it seemed like the best idea. The terms of the settlement were clear. I would not be named on the birth certificate, and she would never again claim I was the child’s father.”

“That’s her part. What was your part of the settlement?”

“Money,” he answered, with a nuance in his voice she couldn’t name.

“How much?”

“I paid for her to get into a special rehabilitation center for the remainder of her pregnancy. It kept her clean so her baby could get the best possible start in life. My attorney set up an independent fund to pay for the baby’s college when the time came. I also bought her a modest house in a decent neighborhood out in a Midwest community near her family to help her get on her feet.”

“Do you stay in touch?”

“I get a Christmas card each year. She stayed clean and met a wonderful man. They’re married with two more children and are living the American dream.” His clipped tone said he was done discussing the topic.

“You never contact her?”

Richard, resignation in his eyes said, “I can’t. It would feed the rumors, and neither she nor I would ever get any peace about it. The boy doesn’t need to be confused. I’m not his father. If I were a part of his life in any way, the media would have never let it die. Her husband legally adopted the boy and loves him like crazy. Keeping as far removed from them as possible is what’s best for everyone.”

“How do I know I can believe what you tell me?” Genevieve thought she saw a flash of sadness cross Richard’s face and almost wished she hadn’t said those words. She couldn’t say why, exactly, but she did believe him. The journalist in her, however, had asked the question anyway.

His posture forcibly relaxed, Richard answered, “You have to decide for yourself whether or not you can trust me. It’s important you figure that out. The sooner the better.” He got up then and walked over to a refrigerator hidden in the woodwork of the office. Pulling out a bottle of water, he asked her, “Do you want one?” When she shook her head, he opened his and took a long drink before returning to his seat. “Next question?”

Genevieve felt off balance. She couldn’t say exactly what had changed, but she knew she’d lost control of the interview. Discomfort settled into her stomach like sand: hot, angular, and heavy. She didn’t want to keep prying, but neither was she ready to leave. Seeing nothing for it, she asked the next questions. “Have you ever taken drugs?”

He laughed. “You’ve got to brush up on your journalistic skills, Gen. Yes, I’ve taken drugs. Over-the-counter pain meds, an occasional antibiotic, those sorts of drugs. Have I ever taken any illegal drugs? No. Have I ever abused legal prescription drugs? No.”

“Do you drink?” Then, catching the look he gave her, she added, “Alcohol. Do you drink alcohol?”

“I drank socially when I was younger. Teenage rebellion, I guess you could say. Seeing how my father’s drinking tore my grandparents up put a stop to that. Then, when he died, I knew for sure I’d never touch another drop of the stuff.”

“Tell me what you think are the most destructive rumors in circulation about you.” The remaining questions in her notebook seemed trite at this point, but she didn’t want him to stop talking.

“To be honest, Gen, I don’t pay a lot of attention to the rumors. I know who I am, so I don’t worry about what other people say.”

“Do the rumors ever scare people away? I read one article that painted you as some sort of evil genius plotting to take over the country. Another said you were paying off certain members of congress to smooth over business deals you have with the government. They both had a lot of ugly accusations in them.”

“Did you believe them?”

“No.”

“Why not?” He sounded genuinely interested in her answer.

“There were a lot of wild claims about you but no verifiable facts. In my experience, when a person has proof, it gets used. When there are no facts to back up the assertions, the writer spins it to make it sound believable but provides no evidence to support the statements being made.”

Richard gave her a sad smile and said, “The people whose opinions matter to me know me well enough to know when to discard something they hear and when to worry.” Setting his water bottle down, he added, “I don’t read the tabloids or follow the gossip columns. None of those people know me, and none of their opinions matter to me.”

He leaned forward then and said, “I would hazard a guess that the reason you didn’t recognize me on sight is because you don’t read those things either.”

Genevieve first regarded her notebook then Richard. It was true. She didn’t read the society page and avoided tabloid journalism altogether because she found it so unreliable. She finally sighed and put her notebook away.

Surprise lighting his blue eyes, he asked, “Are you through?”

Not sure she was making the right choice, Genevieve said, “I’m done asking questions. I don’t promise that I won’t have other questions in the future, but I’d like to hear this proposal you keep talking about.”

With a smirk that spoke of self-derision, he said, “Then I guess it’s my turn to do the talking.” He stood again, fidgety. After he took his suit jacket off and got another drink of water, he began.

“When my father graduated college, my grandfather wanted to give him the same chance in life he’d been given. He cut my father off financially.” Genevieve raised an eyebrow but listened as he continued. “I guess I should rephrase that. Granddad cut off any monthly allowance or ongoing financial support to my father. Instead, he gifted him with ten million dollars and told him to go make a name for himself in the world.”

“Your grandfather sounds both honorable and prudent.”

“I like to think so,” Richard replied. He began pacing as he continued his explanation. “My father, sadly, didn’t see it that way. He used the money to find himself a rich heiress. That’s where my mother came in. She was the sole child of a very wealthy family, old money wealthy. Her family had been in the tobacco business for over two hundred years. Putting his ten million dollars to good use,” he said, his voice laced with sarcasm, “my father enticed a wealthy woman into marriage and ended up with hundreds of millions more without ever having to work a day in his life.”

Genevieve frowned but stopped herself from saying what was on her mind. What a waste.

“When I graduated college, my grandfather sat me down for a man-to-man. Father was dead, and Mom was becoming alarmingly self-absorbed by then. My grandfather gave me the same speech, told me he was going to give me the same chance in life he’d been given. He gave me ten million dollars and encouraged me to get out there and make a name for myself, told me he was trusting me to do it right. I knew what he meant.”

“Your grandparents didn’t want you to end up like your parents.” Genevieve wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Her family might be overbearing at times, but they were all good hardworking people who loved and supported each other. She couldn’t imagine having parents so awful that growing up to be like them was something to be frowned upon, or worse, feared.

“It’s okay,” Richard said, ostensibly sensing Genevieve’s discomfort. “If I feel pressured not to end up like my parents, it’s my own doing. My grandparents could have used the way my father turned out as an excuse to either be really hard on me or overly permissive, but they didn’t. They never once compared me to my father. I’m sure it had to be on their minds, but they never said things like that to me. They simply loved me and tried to teach me by example. I could always count on them to praise me when I made right choices and to call me on it when I made bad choices.”

“They were fair,” she said.

“Yes,” he replied. Then, running a hand through his hair and looking uncomfortable, he went on, “Within three years I got myself involved in the acquisition and sale of two different dot coms. Instead of ten million dollars, I had over four hundred million.”

Genevieve didn’t outwardly react. She’d read about this during her research, but hearing him say the words still stunned her. I can't even comprehend how much money that is.

“It was insane. Life became crazy. I became famous, and I didn’t want to be. My grandparents helped to keep me grounded and to navigate the shark-infested waters of big money. Wealth had been a part of my life from the time I was born, and I was used to people wanting to use me for my name or money. Despite that, I was anything but prepared. Making it big in the technology business brought out a whole new breed of hunter, and I was the game being mercilessly stalked and cornered.”

“That sounds miserable,” she said, sympathy tugging at her heart. Since when did it occur to you to feel sorry for someone because they’re rich?

Richard smiled, enthusiasm lighting his face. “It was awful, and it made me decide to get out of the world of internet start-ups. So, wanting a change, I started this company.” Richard’s expansive wave encompassed everything around them. “We are a multi-national financial conglomeration. I buy struggling businesses, get them on their feet again, and then sell them for a profit.” Having apparently given up on pacing, Richard sat down again but continued tapping out a nervous rat-a-tat-tat with his toe.

“Doesn’t that get boring after a while?”

“Never!” The smile on Richard’s face was genuine. “Resting on my laurels is out of the question. I have to constantly learn new things. Buying companies in different countries means I have to understand their customs and cultures, discover ways to make the business successful within that context. Even if all I bought were American companies, I’d still never get bored because there are so many different enterprises out there. Learning the individual markets, sometimes even the process of manufacturing or designing, not to mention the competitors – it never gets boring. Last year was sardines, this week is newspapers, in six months it may be toilet cleaner or marble countertops. It never gets old. And it’s almost always fun.”

Enthusiasm sped his words like a locomotive on a downhill stretch of track. “I get to meet interesting people in different parts of the world who are in different situations and circumstances. There are some detestable people out there. There are also, however, some amazing people who have faced horrible obstacles and found a way to overcome them, people who have found something to strive for in life against all odds. I can’t imagine ever doing anything else.”

“That’s not all Blakely Enterprises does, though, is it?”

Shaking his head, Richard added, “Not by a long shot. We are quite diverse, but while I oversee everything, I don’t necessarily keep my fingers in every pot.”

“It sounds fascinating,” Genevieve said, “but I still don’t know what it has to do with me.”

Richard leaned back in his chair, his face suddenly guarded. “My grandfather changed his will after my mother died. He left everything in trust with two conditions.” Genevieve didn’t know what to say, so she remained quiet. “I would inherit everything on my thirtieth birthday, but only if I was married.”

She knew his age from her research. Twenty-nine. His thirtieth birthday would be next month. “And if you’re not wed?” He wants me to write an article to help him find a wife?

“If I’m not wed, it all goes to charity. Granddad named the charity in his will.”

“Okay…” Genevieve let the word hang. She couldn’t put a name to it, but there was a distinctively uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“I knew about the will long before my grandfather died. I was fine with it until last month when I learned something that turned everything upside down.”

“What?”

“The charity the money was to go to has changed hands. Apparently the new owners bought it because they were aware of the will. They are waiting for my birthday so they can get their hands on the money, and then they plan to close the charity.”

“Can they legally do that?”

“Because the charity is privately owned, yes, they can. But I won’t let them. It’s imperative that I get married. I won’t let everything my grandfather worked for go to waste financing a bunch of people who are looking for quick money and the easy way out.”

“Your birthday is next month. What happens if the charity owners find out you got married only to prevent them from getting the money? And how do you plan to find a wife?” Genevieve’s voice hitched on the last word. Come on, he was never mine to begin with. I won't be a baby about this! We never even got to a second date. Technically, we didn't even have a first date. Let it go.

“People get married for convenience all the time. I don’t think that’ll be a problem, but it would be best if no one was told about why the wedding is taking place so quickly until the trust is fully settled. I don’t want to give the charity a chance to contest the will. As for the other…” He cleared his throat and studied her face for a moment.

“That’s where you come in,” Richard said kindly. “I thought the survey was a great way to find some women who had good priorities.” Then, offering her an intoxicating smile, he pulled out a sheet of paper, “Do you remember what you spent your imaginary millions on?”

Shaking her head she said, “Not entirely, no.”

“Let me refresh your memory,” he said, before beginning. “You bought six hundred thousand dollars in savings bonds to be divided among your six nieces and nephews to help pay for their college. Then you bought brand new hybrid vehicles for your mother, father, brother, sister, sister-in-law, and yourself. Your sister’s mortgage got paid off next, followed by your brother’s and your own. Thirty thousand dollars was allocated for diapers, wipes, and other miscellaneous baby supplies for your brother’s family. I’m assuming that’s enough to last them quite a while,” he said, with a quirked eyebrow. “You spent over a hundred thousand dollars buying clothes for all of your nieces and nephews.” Then, after a brief pause, he asked, “The note you typed in says ‘size up’ for the clothes. What did you mean by that?”

Discomfited at the discussion of her imaginary expenditures, she said, “They’re all still growing. I was going to buy clothes for the sizes they are now and then each size after, too, so they’d have clothes to grow into. It made sense at the time.”

Giving her a reassuring smile, Richard said, “Rightly so. It does make sense. Good thinking.” Looking back down at the list, he said, “Then you went on to spend forty thousand dollars purchasing gift cards for department stores, grocery stores, and online retailers for each of the adults in your family. You also gave half a million to one local church and half a million to another. What made you decide which churches?”

“I grew up attending one, and I attend the other now. They’re both good churches with fair people who would take the money and do something productive with it.”

Smiling, he said, “I didn’t think you’d randomly selected two names.” He winked at her before continuing, “You gave another half million to support a missionary fund and a quarter million to a Christian school for their scholarship fund.” Laughter in his voice, he said, “Then you went and got a little wild with a shopping spree for yourself. Clothes, new furniture, landscaping, plus a new air conditioner and roof installed on your house for a grand total of seventy-five thousand dollars.”

Genevieve was uncomfortable, “I know it sounds extravagant…”

Richard cut her off, “Not at all. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you. Let me finish, and then I’ll explain.” He went on to say, “You set up everyone in your family with generous retirement accounts then went on to give one million dollars to a charity that helps families of soldiers killed in action and another million to a charity helping soldiers wounded in the line of duty. Then,” he said, with a smile, “when you got to the end, and found you still had about a quarter of a million left to spend, you gave it all to a clown college scholarship fund.”

Genevieve was looking down at where her fingers were strangling the material of her skirt. She wanted to defend her choices, but she kept quiet, hoping he wasn’t making fun of her. His voice was exotic spice glazed in sweet frosting when he said, “Gen, look at me.” Unable to resist the magnetic pull, she raised her eyes to his. “I’m not laughing at you, hon, honest.” Hon. The way he said that one word sent chills down her spine.

“You’d be surprised what money tells you about people.” Waggling his head back and forth a bit, Richard corrected himself, “It’s not the money so much as what people do with it. When you watch how people spend their money, it tells you a lot about them.”

“What does my list tell you about me?” Genevieve asked, torn between embarrassment over what felt to her like outrageous expenditures and avid curiosity about what made him think she was worth the time he was spending with her.

Smiling again, Richard said, “You have given God a place of priority and importance in your life. Your family matters to you. You esteem others higher than yourself.” When Genevieve tilted her head in question, he said, “A fraction of that money was spent on things that personally benefited you. Here’s a general breakdown. You spent almost half the money on relatives, one fourth on Christian entities, and one fifth on charity. You spent only a tenth on yourself.”

He paused for a moment, and Genevieve took the opportunity to process the figures he was throwing at her. He was the kid who always got A’s in math and ruined the bell curve for the rest of us.

“The money you spent on yourself includes a complete redecoration of your home, a retirement fund, a new car, and paying off your mortgage. You made your money go far.” Again chuckling he said, “Then, when you got to the end of the survey and knew you still had money to spend, did you go back and add it to your retirement fund? No. Did you go out and buy a yacht? No. What did you do? You gave the money to a clown college. That, my dear, tells me you have a delightful sense of humor.”

Continuing, he said, “I also learned how sensible you are. You put money aside for college and retirement – that’s forethought. In addition, you gave your family members gift cards to grocery stores so their current needs could be met.”

He makes me sound almost… special. Genevieve still wasn’t sure what to say, but at least she didn’t feel as defensive now as she had a moment ago.

Richard leaned back in his seat and said, “In short, Genevieve Mason, you are the complete package.”

Finding her voice, she asked, “What does this have to do with your grandfather’s will? Are you asking me to help you find a wife?” At least I got the word out this time without tripping over it. Why does the thought of finding him a wife bother me so much? I hardly know the man!

“No,” Richard said seriously. He leaned forward in his seat and rested his forearms on his legs. Looking her directly in the eye, he softly said, “I want you to be my wife.”

Genevieve jumped off the couch faster than a feline fleeing the threat of bath time. He can’t have said that. Richard remained in his chair while she moved quickly around the room until the couch stood between them. She stared at him. The look on his face was… sincere. Still, she could not think of a single thing to say. Her eyes moved around the office seeking understanding, and settled on the door she’d been led through when she arrived. Panic clawing at her throat, she bent over the back of the couch to gather her belongings. She fully intended to get out that door.

As she scratched at her notebook, trying to pick it up with numb fingers, Richard’s hands enfolded hers. She stared at them. His hands were big and warm and held hers oh so gently. She tried, albeit weakly, to stop them, but her eyes sought and found his stunning blue ones of their own volition. Unable to speak, she shook her head.

“Please hear me out,” he said. “Please.” That last word came out soft, pleading.

This is craziness!

Richard released her hands as she stood up. Her notebook and pen remained on the couch. He carefully picked up her belongings, put them inside her satchel, and made sure nothing had been left behind. Then he sat the satchel upright and within her reach. Backing away slightly, he said, “We’re talking about almost a billion dollars. I don’t want the money for myself, but I can’t let it get into the hands of greedy people who will squander it all on their own frivolous, self-seeking pleasures.”

Running his hand through his dark blond locks again, his face almost desperate, he said, “When I started this, I thought I’d find someone with whom I could get along. We’d get married, and even if we didn’t share each other’s lives on a daily basis, we’d have similar priorities and would suit well. You have no idea how many surveys I read through. I started to think I’d never find anyone, that the search would be futile. Then your survey landed on my desk. By the time I finished reading through it, I was certain you were the one. You love God, you love your family, you are practical and grounded, and you support clowns. What more could a guy ask for?”

“L-love. Shouldn’t you be looking for love?”

Richard contemplated the woman before him, and then sat back down, his movements tightly controlled. “Love is a choice, isn’t it?”

“H-how do you mean?” Genevieve couldn’t stop her voice from quavering.

“Love is the way you treat someone, how you talk to them, whether or not you honor them. It’s not always as simple as falling for someone.”

“I-I’m the last in my family…” her words trailed off as she lost her train of thought.

“I know, Gen. What I’m asking is a lot. You have a brother who is happily married, and a sister who is divorced. You’ve seen good and bad marriages.”

“I want a good one,” she said softly.

“I’m putting you in a terrible position, and I get that. Believe me, I get it. My whole life people have wanted to be around me because of money, and I’ve hated it. Now I’m asking you to marry me because of money, and I’m hoping…”

“What are you hoping?”

Richard sounded exasperated as he let out a sigh. Standing up again and walking around his office like a caged animal he said, “You know, I imagined how this conversation would go. I was a lot more urbane when I rehearsed it in my head.” Genevieve wrapped her arms around her middle and wondered what to do next. She knew she should grab her things and run for it.

But I don’t want to run.

After the silence had settled in around them, Richard said, “You haven’t said no yet. Does that mean you’re at least considering it?”

Genevieve let out a small, tight laugh, “When you said you had a proposal for me, I didn’t think you actually meant to propose.”

Giving her a smile that made her insides feel like jiggly gelatin, Richard said, “Let me buy you dinner. We’ll get out of here, spend a little time together. You can ask me more questions if you want. Or we can talk. This entire subject can be off-limits if you want. We can pretend it’s a regular second date.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be very good company. I-I don’t even know what to say to you right now. Besides, we never had a first date.”

“You’re not yelling or throwing things at me. That’s great conversation already as far as I’m concerned.”

How can I resist?

His sapphire eyes filled with promise, he added, “And like I told Max, it was pizza and ice cream. That’s a date in anybody’s book.”

Genevieve wanted to say yes, but she was afraid that the moment she walked out that door with him, her fate would be sealed. She didn’t trust herself to resist his charm if she spent any more time with him.

“What were you hoping for?” she asked again as she tried to regain her equilibrium.

“Come to dinner with me,” he said. “We’ll relax and enjoy each other’s company. Then maybe I can find the words to answer your question.”

She laced her fingers through the curls of her red hair. Tightly wound… my hair and I are on the same page for once. Giving Richard a brief nod, she said, “Okay.”

****

Richard took her to an exclusive restaurant. They were in a quiet corner, tucked away from the foot traffic and out of eyesight and earshot of other people. The menu was in a language Genevieve didn’t recognize, and there were no prices listed. She reviewed it for a moment then closed it and sat it down on the edge of the table.

“Do you know what you’d like?” Richard asked. His eyebrows lifted in question as he awaited her reply.

Genevieve shook her head. “Would you please order for me?”

They sat there in silence for a while. Genevieve was still in shock. “I should have gone home,” she finally said. Who am I kidding? He’s out of my league. He takes me out to eat, and I can't even read the menu!

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“I don’t know what to say.” After she rearranged her silverware – I think that’s real silver! – she looked up at Richard and, finally pulling her thoughts together into something cohesive, said, “I was so shocked by what you said, I never gave you a chance to explain what you had in mind.”

“You gave me a chance,” he said, “but I kept bungling it.” He gave a self-derisive smile then continued. “Do you want me to put all the cards on the table?”

Her voice strained, she said, “That would be my preference.”

He gave a quick nod then said, “I have a general idea what this whole thing will look like. Some points are set in stone, like the deadline. Others are flexible. Everything is open for discussion. This is nothing but my idea of how it could go. In order for this to work, we need to be able to function as a team. Your input is essential.”

He took a deep breath before continuing, “The way I see it playing out is like this: There’s a quiet ceremony in which we get married. I file all the paperwork necessary to meet the terms of my grandfather’s will. We live in the same house together, but we don’t need to share a room if you’re not comfortable with that. Once we’re married, we can take time to get to know each other and go through all the normal courtship steps. It wouldn’t be fair of me to expect you to fall madly in love with me the moment we sign on the dotted line, but I do hope you’ll give me a chance. I think we could build something solid and lasting.”

“What about kids?” I can’t be seriously considering this!

Drawing in his breath, he held it for a minute before saying, “I’d like to have a family. Maybe it’s asking too much too soon, but I’d like us to get to a point where we have a real marriage. If you never feel comfortable like that with me, we can always adopt. I want to be a dad, but I want our home to be stable before we think of bringing any children into it.”

“How many kids do you want?”

Richard shrugged, “I grew up kind of lonely. I’d like more than one, but I don’t want so many that none of them get the personal attention they need. Growing up in this world is hard enough, and wealth complicates it even more. Falling through the cracks, or ending up like my parents – that’s not what I want for any of my children. I want them to be grounded and hard-working. For that to happen, we would both need to be an integral part of their daily lives.”

“Were you raised by a nanny?”

Nodding, Richard said, “Most of the time. When I got old enough to rebel, I went to go live with my grandparents. Having a nanny’s not a bad thing, the way I see it, but letting the nanny be the one to raise your children is. Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” she answered. “Do you have any family? Maybe cousins?”

Shaking his head, Richard said, “No. Both my parents were only children. All my grandparents are gone. There are some distant cousins here and there, but they’re not people I grew up with or know.” Then, “Yours is wonderful.”

“We are far from being a perfect family.”

“None of us are without flaw,” he said ruefully. “You are important to your brother and sister and to your nieces and nephews. I don’t want to get in the way of that. Growing up surrounded by such a wholesome family could only be good for any kids we have. Your family – those are the kinds of aunts and uncles I’d want doting on our kids.”

Our kids? Her heart skittered and jumped a beat at the thought. “I still don’t understand why you chose me.”

When Genevieve watched Richard questioningly, he said, “What I saw on your survey caught my eye. It made me like you. When I met you on Tuesday and saw how genuine you were, well, that sealed it for me. You are perfectly ordinary.”

Rolling her eyes, she said, “Thanks.”

“Okay, maybe that came out wrong.”

Is he actually blushing?

“You think?” she asked, fighting the urge to laugh. She lost the fight, and a snort escaped.

The corners of his mouth turned up as he said, “I want to be married to someone who treats me like a regular person. A wife who is intimidated by my wealth or, worse, who sees it as a weapon to use against me, isn’t what I want for my life.”

The meal had long-since ended. Their conversation, however, continued.

“So, in other words, you want a wife who will expect you to take out the trash, won’t hesitate to nag when you don’t, and will love – or hate – you based on who you are rather than what you have?”

“I think that more or less sums it up.”

“You do realize this is ludicrous, right?”

Wincing, Richard said, “I was hoping for a word like unconventional. Or eccentric. Ludicrous is a bit harsh.”

Genevieve shook her head as they left the restaurant. “I’ll give you that. It is an eccentric and certainly unconventional request. It’s still ludicrous, though. I’m not giving that one up.”

“Will you at least consider it?” Richard asked as he opened the car door for her.

After he was settled behind the wheel, she said, “You mentioned that my faith is one of the things that caught your eye.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he responded while pulling out of the parking lot.

“You’ve never said anything about your faith, what you believe. That’s important to marriage, isn’t it?”

Richard gave her a quick glance before returning his eyes to the road. “It is,” he agreed. “I accepted Christ as a teenager while living with my grandparents. Granddad was friends with a pastor. We lived in Winkston, but we drove about forty miles west of here for church. It was a small congregation, and after the original shock of having the Blakely family there wore off, people treated us like regular folk. My grandparents loved it. The church has a different pastor now, but that’s still where I attend.”

“You mentioned seeing your grandparents again someday. Were they saved?”

“They didn’t find their way to God until later in life, but, yes, they were. Their biggest regret was that they waited so many years before listening to God. If they’d gotten their priorities straight earlier on, my father might not have gone down the road he did, or so they always believed.”

Silence filled the car again, but it was a familiar and comfortable silence, much different from the tense one that had surrounded them on their drive to dinner. Before long, Richard was pulling into the parking garage at his office building. He pulled up next to Genevieve’s car, cut the engine, and turned to look at her.

“Gen, all I’m asking is that you think about it.”

“If I say no, what happens then?” she wondered.

“Honestly, if you say no, then I don’t know what I’ll do. Everything in me is telling me you’re the one.”

“You can’t fight the will in court?”

“My attorneys say it’s iron-clad, and I can’t break it. I tend to agree with them.”

“What’s so wrong with letting somebody have the money? If they waste it, who are they actually hurting?”

“Gen, you have to remember how I grew up. I know what happens when people live that kind of life. Trust me, they’re not the only ones to get hurt. How can I let that be my grandfather’s legacy in this world?”

“What will you do with the money if you get it?”

“You’d have equal input on this, but I’d like to set up a charitable endowment. All the money would go to supporting non-profits around the country. We’d need to bring an investigator on-staff so we can check out charities we consider gifting, and there’d be a lot of paperwork, so an attorney and at least one or two administrators. More staff might be needed as the endowment becomes better known and more grant applicants begin coming in. My preference would be for the money itself to go into a trust. The interest alone could be used to give grants to hundreds of charities per year, allowing them to be better able to help others.”

“I’m not making any promises, but I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Genevieve started to climb out of Richard’s car then stopped and turned back to him. “Why would your grandfather have set up his will like that? Everything you’ve told me about him indicates he was astute and business savvy. He had to have known that something could go wrong with the charity he’d selected, so why’d he do it?”

Richard’s face was cast in shadow within the interior of the car as he answered. “When he told me about the changes he planned to make to his will, I raised those same questions. He said he knew in his heart it was the right thing to do. My whole life I’d witnessed Granddad make one successful business deal after another. Sometimes there was no rhyme or reason, and his only explanation was that he knew it was the right thing. When he gave me that answer, I believed he knew exactly what he was doing and that, like always, it would work out beautifully against all the odds.”

Genevieve had no idea what to say to that. I can’t exactly argue with a dead man, but still… She offered Richard a quietly spoken, “Goodnight,” before climbing into her car. She locked all her doors, started her engine, and began the drive home. Before she knew it she was pulling into her garage, still numb with shock.

I want to say yes.

Chapter Six

A week passed, and Genevieve thought of little else. She went through the motions of everyday life. There was a mani-pedi with Jenny, church, and a get-together at Jake’s house where she did her best to dodge her brother and his questions. Max decided to join the cross-country team and began hounding her to run with him. Two articles got completed and submitted, but she couldn’t remember a word she’d written. She hoped the articles were at least a step above gobbledygook.

Friday morning came, and Genevieve got dressed for a jog. She stepped out her front door and began walking toward her driveway only to find she was blocked in by a familiar, swanky luxury sedan. Richard sat there in the driver’s seat. Why isn’t he moving? Upon closer inspection, it appeared the man was asleep. Genevieve tapped on the passenger window, and he jumped, hitting his head on the roof of the car. I’d say he’s awake now.

Richard climbed out of the car and stood there looking at her. “You fell asleep,” she said. He nodded. “In my driveway.” Again, he nodded. “How long have you been here?”

Eyeing his watch, Richard shrugged. “You didn’t call. I thought I’d wait till the sun came up at least before knocking. Didn’t mean to nod off.”

“You look awful.” Okay, I might need to work on my tact a bit. The truth was Richard did look terrible. He had dark circles under his eyes, his clothes were wrinkled, his hair was mussed, and he’d lost weight. “Is everything okay?”

“You didn’t call.” It was a short answer, but there was a myriad of emotions in his words, scratching at his voice like a wool blanket on a hot summer day. The fractured look on his face pulled at her heart.

They stared at each other a moment before Genevieve finally said, “I know. What was I supposed to say? ‘Hi, Richard, about the proposal you mentioned…’ It sounded so awkward.”

“Spend the day with me.”

Feeling vulnerable and exposed, Genevieve took a step back and said, “I don’t know.”

“What has you so spooked?” he asked. Then, wincing, he said, “Forget I asked that.” He rubbed a hand across his face and mumbled, “I think I’m still waking up.”

Crossing her arms, Genevieve said, “I’ve done nothing but think about this since last Thursday. Over and over again I have asked God for advice. He keeps telling me the same thing, but there’s one question I can’t get past.”

“Maybe I can answer it.”

“What happens if I fall in love with you, and you never return the feeling? How can I spend the rest of my life like that?”

A dark and brooding turmoil washed across Richard’s features then quickly dissipated. “Love is a choice, Gen.”

“You’ve said that already, but I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

Resting his hands on the roof of the car that still stood between them, he said, “I always loved my parents, but I was never a priority to them. They could have chosen to put me first in their lives, but they didn’t. I won’t make that mistake.”

“But what if…”

Richard cut her off, “It’s so simple, Gen. After God, you will be the number one priority in my life. Any children we may have will come next, my company after them. I can’t promise you the moon, but I can promise that I will never consciously give you cause to doubt how important you are to me.”

“But what about love?” A tenacious need for a satisfying answer wouldn’t allow her to let the question go. Genevieve didn’t know what sort of answer she expected from him, but she believed she’d recognize it when he gave the right one.

“You’re talking about love as an emotion. I’m talking about it as an action. I believe the emotion follows the action. If I treat you with love, I will come to love you. You might not hear harp music or see dancing cherubs when we kiss, but I can promise you that I will do everything in my power to protect, cherish, and honor you every day that I get to spend with you here on this earth.”

“Okay.” When Richard stood there looking at her, she repeated, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” I guess that's what I was waiting for. Protect. Cherish. Honor. I can't say no to that.

“You’ll do it?” When Genevieve nodded, Richard let out a whoop and slid across the hood of the car like a teenager who’d just gotten his first taste of victory. He wrapped her in a hug filled with all his promises. As he held her close in his arms, she could feel the strong steady beat of his heart.

How can I already be in love?

“You won’t regret this, Gen.”

I think I already do. She didn’t see how someone like Richard could fall for someone like her. A one-sided marriage sounded like a recipe for perpetual hurt, but she saw no way around it. Saying no would hurt worse.

When her conscience nudged her about his promise to protect, cherish, and honor her, she shushed it. I need to be practical about this. I can't let myself get starry-eyed.

****

Genevieve decided to forego her run. Instead, she agreed to spend the day with Richard. She ran back into the house and changed out of her jogging clothes, then joined him in his car. He was taking her back to his place to fix an early lunch.

When they pulled up to Richard’s house, she was speechless. It appeared to be at least three stories tall, but she suspected there was another level below what she could see. The windows on the front of his home were easily taller than she was and afforded the home a breathtaking view of the Blue Ridge Mountains. The garage was around the side of the house and boasted two double garages. Relief coursed through her when he pulled into the garage bay and she spied only one other vehicle there. I’m going to have to get used to the wealth, but I’m glad he’s not ostentatious enough to own a dozen cars.

Rather than give her a tour of the house, Richard told her to wander around at her leisure while he prepared something for them to eat. The man liked to cook, and she wasn’t going to argue. As she explored his home, she saw artwork and furnishings that put hers to shame. I’ll bet that couch cost as much as I made all of last year. The display of wealth was understated, though. Everything in his home fit together in a way that demonstrated masculine elegance. Those aren’t two words I’d normally put together.

“Are you ready to eat?” Richard’s voice intruded on her musings.

Genevieve joined him in the kitchen and took in the cozy table in a corner nook overlooking the acreage behind the house. “It looks delicious,” she said politely as her attention was drawn to the salad of mixed greens tossed with what smelled like orange vinaigrette, a shrimp and vegetable stir-fry and, if she wasn’t mistaken, almond-crusted grilled chicken.

Once they were both seated at the table, Richard offered to bless the food. When Genevieve nodded, he began, “We are humbled to be in your presence today, Lord, and we ask that you bless our time together as well as our upcoming union. Guide us daily so that we continue to walk with You. Amen.”

“My father,” she said as she stabbed her fork into the salad on her plate, “always asks God to bless the person who prepared the meal.”

Richard laughed. “My grandfather always asked God to bless the hands of the one who did the cooking, but when I’m the one who’s done the cooking, I can’t quite get past how egocentric that sounds, so I skip it.”

Genevieve swallowed her salad. Oh my. Then she took a bite of her stir-fry, and began to suspect something. After she tasted her chicken, she knew for certain. He’s a far better cook than I am. Not wanting to tell him he was going to have to do the cooking or get used to macaroni and cheese from a box, she grabbed on to the next topic she could think of and said, “I can’t tell my family until after we’re married.”

Richard’s eyebrows shot up in response, “I thought you’d want them there.”

“When the pastor asks if anyone objects, my family will stampede.”

“Even if you tell them it’s what you want?”

“My family thinks I’m picky,” she answered as if that explained everything. When Richard continued to look at her in question, she added, “If I suddenly announce we’re getting married, they’ll believe something’s wrong and will try to stop the wedding until they get to the bottom of things.”

“And how will it help anything if you wait till after we’re married to spring it on them?” Richard’s voice vibrated with unease about her plan.

“Marriage matters. Even with Maureen’s divorce, marriage is still important in my family. They won’t ever do anything to try to break our marriage up unless they believe you’re hurting me.”

“Alright then, if you think that’s best.” He wasn't doing a very good job of hiding his skepticism.

“I do,” said Genevieve with a firm nod.

“Just remember those words when the pastor asks,” he joked.

After lunch they went to the courthouse and got the marriage license. They were on their way to the county clerk’s office when Richard asked, “Do you have a date in mind?”

“Tomorrow, if we can.”

His eyebrows again shot up, and he said, “You’re full of surprises, Gen. Are you sure you don’t want to wait? Maybe shop for a dress or any of the other things that women usually do before a wedding?”

She shook her head and tried to dislodge the doubts assailing her. “If we wait too long, I’ll have second thoughts.”

“I don’t want you to feel so rushed that you end up regretting that we didn’t take more time.”

Genevieve shrugged and lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “If we wait, it’ll just make me sad. If I can’t tell my family, then there’s no point in going wedding dress shopping because I’d have to do it alone. There’s no reason to have a program printed or taste samples of wedding cake. Besides, I’d never be able to keep this big a secret from my family, so we’re better off just getting it over with and then dealing with the fallout afterward.”

“I appreciate your pragmatic approach,” said Richard, “but I don’t like that you have to sacrifice getting a real wedding day.”

She remained adamant that she’d prefer to get married sooner rather than later, and Richard finally called his pastor and set up a time the following morning. It would be the two of them, the pastor, his wife, and Richard’s personal assistant.

When they stepped out of the courthouse, Richard tucked Genevieve’s hand into the crook of his elbow and then placed his hand on top of it. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? No one to walk you down the aisle?”

“It’s not what I envisioned, but I can’t see any way around it.”

“If you’d like, we can shop for a wedding dress.”

Genevieve shook her head and said, “I can’t see spending all that money on a dress for such a small ceremony.” It’s not even going to feel like a wedding anyway, so why bother?

“Okay, if not a wedding dress, then a new dress, something special to mark the occasion? Anything you’d like.” When she shrugged, Richard said, “I know just the thing.”

Before she knew what he was up to, they were sitting in a posh boutique with a friendly woman who brought out dress after dress for Genevieve to look at. A couple caught her eye, and she tried them on, modeling each for Richard. She settled on a gauzy dress of soft yellow. Springtime and new beginnings came to mind when she looked in the mirror at how the dress floated around her as she turned this way and that. “It’s perfect,” Richard said. A short while later, they left the boutique with the dress, matching shoes, and every accessory she could possibly imagine.

When he offered to take her out for dinner, too, Genevieve declined. “I think I want to turn in early this evening.”

The drive from the boutique back to her house passed slowly. Richard tried to start a conversation more than once, but she couldn’t find the energy to meet him even halfway in his efforts. She would be getting married tomorrow. It was the right choice, but the emotional weight of her decision was settling on her shoulders like a chainmail tunic.

When they arrived back at her house, Richard walked her to the door. He stood there, looking hesitant to leave. Genevieve wondered if he was going to kiss her. Yeah right! We’re nothing but strangers! Instead, Richard took both her hands in his and said, “I know what a sacrifice this is for you, Gen, and you have my undying gratitude.” With that, he was gone.

Genevieve stepped inside, closed the door behind her and leaned her back against it. “Gratitude,” she said to the empty house as she blinked back tears, “is not what I want from the man I’m about to marry.”

Chapter Seven

Richard’s pastor wasn’t at all what Genevieve expected. He was middle-aged with brown hair just starting to turn grey. Whereas his appearance wasn’t particularly remarkable, his jovial demeanor drew her notice. Despite his age, he made her think of a doting grandfather. His wife, while not exactly dour, had a more solemn countenance, as reflected in the brown, tweed dress suit she wore and the fading blonde hair pulled back into a severe bun.

The church itself was homey and comfortable. Nothing about it shouted Multi-Millionaire Attends Here! The carpet was ecru, and the pews were burgundy. Together with the simple wooden pulpit and well-aged piano, they filled the sanctuary with a sense of welcome.

Genevieve, wearing her new dress, stood with Richard at the front of the sanctuary as the pastor led them in reciting their vows. Model-Talker and the pastor’s wife – aka Lady Old Fashioned – were seated together in the front row.

“…and thereto I pledge my faithfulness till death do us part,” said Richard, completing his vows.

The pastor then turned to her and said, “Repeat after me. I, Genevieve Mason, take thee…” Thankfully the ceremony was over before her mind had a chance to wander again. She couldn’t remember any of it, but she must have spoken the right words at the right time.

When she heard, “You may now kiss the bride,” her eyes flew to Richard’s in panic. They’d never even kissed before, and she didn’t want the first time to be here in this room with these people watching. Her husband might know them, but to her they were strangers.

Before her apprehension had a chance to take flight, Richard put his hands on her shoulders and leaned in. His eyes begged her to trust him, and his touch warmed her, washing away the icy panic that had rushed through her at the word kiss. Richard’s lips brushed softly against her cheek, and the remnants of tension left her body. Suddenly weak, she reached out to steady herself, grabbing hold of his arm as he turned to face their audience of two. He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her out of the church to his waiting car.

With the exception of her reaction to the almost-kiss, the entire ceremony felt anticlimactic to Genevieve. She wondered why since she’d hardly had time to build up any expectations in her mind. Duh. I’ve been planning my wedding day since I was six years old. Of course I had expectations! Genevieve had never been the sort to spend hours wiling away the day looking at bridal magazines. Much like every girl in America, however, she had thought about the dress she would wear, the flowers, the cake, the groom. To have it all over and done in such a short time with none of the pageantry or people she’d always envisioned somehow felt…inadequate.

As they pulled out of the church’s parking lot, Richard behind the wheel, Genevieve asked, “So what now?”

Richard glanced at her, and she got the distinct impression he had no more answer to that question than she did. After a moment, he said, “We could get on a plane and go anywhere you’d like, spend some time together, do something you’ve always dreamed of but never got around to. Whatever you’d like.”

Genevieve bit her lower lip before saying, “I can’t go disappearing on a trip without telling my family what’s going on.”

“Do you want to go see them now?”

She quickly shook her head. Then, rolling her eyes, she said, “I don’t know why I’m acting like this. My family’s always accused me of being scatterbrained, but even then, I’m usually pretty decisive about things.”

“I think you’re allowed to feel off-kilter for a little while. This is going to be a major life change for both of us.”

Genevieve stared out the window. After a moment, she turned and asked Richard, “What will happen to my house?”

“We can sell it, or you can rent it out, or you can keep it and turn it into an office, where you go to do your writing. Whatever you want. Did you have any ideas?”

“No. I hadn’t thought of it yet. It just now occurred to me that something would have to be done with it. I think it’s going to take a while for this whole thing to sink in.”

Shrugging, Richard said, “We don’t have to decide right now.” They drove on in silence for a while before he spoke up again, saying, “People sometimes date for months or even years before they get engaged. Then they take months to plan the wedding and organize every little detail of what their lives will be like after they’ve tied the knot. We, on the other hand, went about it backward, and that’s bound to be with us for a while. Things are going to come up. Questions will arise. We’ll just deal with them as they come, okay? We don’t have to figure everything out today.”

Genevieve nodded, and gave Richard a relieved smile. He’d put voice to some of the very fears that had been bubbling just beneath the surface of her emotions.

After a couple minutes, she said, “Tomorrow is a family dinner at my folks’ house following church.”

Smiling, Richard asked, “Is there a dinner every week?”

Genevieve shook her head, “It’s mandatory once a month. The rest of the Sundays are hit and miss.”

“Let me guess. Tomorrow is mandatory.” When she nodded, Richard said, “Will you be ready to tell them?”

“I’m going to have to be. I can’t lie to them.”

Richard nodded, but to Genevieve’s eye, he appeared slightly less confident than he had a minute before.

“I’m not pressuring you, but when do you think you’ll be ready to move into my house? Or,” he asked, “would you rather we buy a new house together?”

Genevieve shook her head, “Your home is lovely. I wouldn’t dream of making you move.”

“I’d do it if you thought it would make all this easier for you.”

She shook her head, “No, really. Your home is fine. I can’t imagine living in a finer place.”

“Okay. If you change your mind, you need to tell me.”

“I know,” she answered. After a moment, she said, “Take me to my place, and I’ll pack some basics to bring to your house. If I put this off because it feels strange, I’ll never get it done.”

“It’s your wedding day. Are you sure you want to spend it packing? We can do anything you want. Isn’t there anything special you’d like to do to mark the day?”

“Don’t you mean our wedding day?”

Richard chuckled and said, “I was led to believe that the wedding day is all about the bride. That it’s her day and hers alone.”

Genevieve smiled at his words, but tension clutched her stomach. “My mom always said the wedding is just one day. It’s the marriage that really matters. I guess that’s kind of how I feel. Today is the first day of our marriage, and we ought to spend it doing something that will help move us toward that togetherness that comes with marriage.”

Richard didn’t say anything, but he did take the interstate exit leading toward her house rather than his. When they got to her place, Genevieve asked him to go up into the attic and grab her luggage, which he did without complaint. Once he handed the last piece down to her, he descended from the attic and asked what else he could do. She set him to work ridding her fridge of anything that might spoil in the next week and then emptying the garbage cans in the house. Meanwhile, she packed as though she were going on an extended vacation. She’d never had a green thumb, so there were no plants to water, and she’d never taken to having pets, so there were no arrangements to be made. If all those animal magazine editors only knew!

By day’s end, Genevieve was comfortably ensconced in a luxurious suite of rooms in Richard’s house. She had a bedroom, sitting room, bathroom, and dressing room all to herself. This suite has more square footage than my entire house!

Richard was as solicitous as could be, but he seemed as much at a loss as she did. “I don’t want to rush things with you,” he said as he stood in the threshold of her suite to wish her a good night. “Take a couple days to settle in, and then we’ll figure out a good routine that works for both of us.” She nodded, not quite understanding what he meant, and then closed the door as he walked away.

Genevieve moved across the floor until she stood in the middle of her bedroom. She ogled the giant bed, thick soft carpet, and beautifully appointed furniture. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to feel so alone on my wedding night,” she said. Then, sighing, she grabbed a pillow and blanket and went to sleep on the couch in the sitting room. That bedroom is way too big and empty. It’ll take a while to get used to it.

Chapter Eight

While Genevieve heard not a single word of the sermon, she did catch the numerous glances people cast her way. Or, rather, Richard’s way. Well, what did I expect? Some people gaped with obvious envy. With the exception of Max, everyone in her family did a double-take upon seeing them together. She’d never brought a man to church before. Jake was fit to be tied as he drilled her with his don’t-you-dare-try-to-get-out-of-this look.

Genevieve grabbed Richard’s arm and practically dragged him out of church while the closing hymn was still being sung. She knew her family had questions, but she’d rather answer them in private.

“I regularly face boardrooms full of corporate giants. I’ve been in congressional meetings and even sat in with the joint-chiefs-of-staff a couple of times. Yet here I am, going to meet a loving family, and I feel like I’d rather face a firing squad.” When Genevieve said nothing, he added, “This is where you’re supposed to tell me how wonderful they are and reassure me that I have no need to worry.”

With a mirthless laugh, she said, “I’m too busy wishing for my own firing squad to comfort you. Sorry.”

Richard took the scenic route, and Genevieve appreciated the delay. Lost in thought, she glanced down at the ring on her finger. He’d told her it was temporary, that they would go ring shopping when they had a chance. As she studied the delicate pattern of the band, she hoped he forgot about it. The ring had belonged to his grandmother, and the patina of age showed it to advantage. The band was gold with a filigree overlay in silver, diamonds nestled into each curve and turn of the intricate design. Like her husband, the ring was neither showy nor garish. Rather, its elegance was so obvious it need not be stated.

Genevieve lifted her eyes from the ring on her hand as Richard pulled up to her parents’ house. The crowded driveway told her the rest of her family was already there. He opened her door and gave her a hand out of the car. They both stood by his car, not quite ready to go in. Eventually, he said, “We’re in this together, right? You’re not going to throw me to the wolves, are you?”

Genevieve graced him with a smile and said, “We’re in this together. I won’t throw you to the wolves as long as you don’t throw me under the bus.”

“Not a chance,” he said. Then, “Is there a bus nearby? I want to plot my escape route in case things get hairy in there.” As the two mounted the front steps, Genevieve reached out and took Richard’s hand in hers.

We have to present a united front. That’s all. It’s not because I want to hold his hand. Honest. A nervous giggle escaped her as Richard reached for the doorbell button.

****

“You’re what!” Jake’s bellow was loud enough to make the windows rattle and the baby cry. Genevieve stood there next to Richard, and regarded the family before her. Her mother had not even bothered to start putting food out on the table. The entire family had all been lying in wait, marking time until she and Richard arrived so they could demand an explanation. They’d known something was up.

I’ve always been transparent.

“We’re married,” she repeated.

Pandemonium broke out as everyone began yelling at once. Maureen was telling her what a fool she was to jump into marriage. Jake was yelling the loudest, but nothing he said made any sense. He only talks nonsense when he’s good and angry.

After a moment, Genevieve’s father got up from his seat, strode purposefully over to where they stood, and reached out. Richard shook his hand, and the yelling in the room instantly stopped. Deathly quiet surrounded them as everyone stared, waiting for her father’s reaction. Turning to his wife, he said, “I think Genevieve wants to help you put lunch out, dear.”

What she was about to say flew in the face of all the respectful obedience drilled into her since she’d been a child. “Only if Richard can come,” she said to her father. He looked at her sharply, his surprise evident. She expected him to correct her as he would have when she’d been a child. The moment stretched into eternity for Genevieve as she stood there waiting. Finally nodding his consent, her father gave her a look that only she could see. I think he’s proud of me for not backing down. Before anyone could stop them, Genevieve rushed toward the kitchen, dragging Richard along behind her.

As they stepped through the door, she said, “I told you I wouldn’t abandon you.”

Looking rattled, Richard said, “You’re going to have to go to the bathroom eventually.” Genevieve laughed and felt the tension inside her abate. She lifted her eyes to see her mother watching them both closely.

“Alright, then,” Mom said, “I think it’s time we get started. Gen, show Richard where the dishes are, and he can set the table.”

A few moments later, Richard peeked out into the living room and reported back to Gen, “They’re grilling Max.”

“You know Max?” Mom asked.

“Richard had lunch with Max and me after his cross-country tryout a few weeks back,” Genevieve said.

“Oh?” was all her mother said.

Before much longer they were all seated at the dinner table and passing food around. Jake held a baby in one arm and was using his other hand to feed a toddler who was sitting at his side. Genevieve would have to thank her sister-in-law later. She’d once told Gen that whenever she wanted to make Jake be quiet, she simply put a baby in his arms. He never raised his voice when he was holding a baby. Maybe that's why they've given me so many nieces and nephews.

Unfortunately, by the time the meal concluded, said baby had fallen asleep, and Jake went to go lay her down for a nap in one of the bedrooms. When he returned to the dining table, he asked Jenny and Max to take the other kids out into the back yard to play. Then, rolling his sleeves up like some brash detective in a b-rated cop movie, he said, “So when did you two meet?”

“A while ago,” Genevieve answered.

“Gen…” Jake’s voice was threatening, but it was hard to take him seriously when she’d just seen him cradling one child while gently tending to the needs of the other. “This is the guy, right? The one you had ice cream with?”

From the corner of her eye, she could see Richard’s eyebrows lift in surprise. Jake stood up and leaned forward, resting his palms on the dining table, and reiterated, “I want answers.”

“I have no answers to give you,” she said. “We met. We spent time together. We decided to get married. We got married. Here we are. That’s all there is to it.”

Jake jumped up from his seat and yelled, “That is not all there is to it. I want to know what’s going on! You met this guy, what, two weeks ago?”

Richard calmly stood, pushed his chair into its spot at the table, and faced Jake. The two men stood there, one looking like a bull sharpening its horns, the other looking more like a matador. A chasm, the table stood between them as they faced off. Without blinking, Richard said in a deceptively soft voice, “You will not speak to my wife like that.”

Jake, who did not know how to back down, looked ready to charge right over the table. Richard stalled that action when he said, “If you have a problem with me, you take it up with me. If you’re angry, you take it out on me. If you have a bone to pick, I’m your man. I will not, however, allow you to speak to my wife with anger or disrespect. She deserves better.” His voice dropping even further, he added, “You know I’m right.”

When the silence in the room grew taut with unsaid words, Genevieve stood up and pushed her chair in. Standing next to Richard, she said, “I’m sorry to have disappointed you.” Addressing everyone, she added, “I gave this a lot of thought, and I sought God’s counsel just as I’ve always been taught. I know I’ve done the right thing.” Voice firm, she said, “I stand by my decision. And by my husband.” She again reached out and took his hand in her own. Richard gently tugged on her hand until she stood close beside him, arm touching arm.

“Mark my words,” Maureen said, “you’re going to regret this.”

“We simply want to understand,” said Mom, her voice scratchy with the unshed tears Genevieve could see in her eyes.

“I know, Mom, and I’m sorry. You need to allow us some privacy. There is an explanation, but we need some time to settle in together as a family before we go opening our private life up for others to dig through.”

When her mother started to protest, Genevieve said, “I’m sorry, Mom, I really am. This is the way we need it to be.” Turning to her husband of one day, she said, “It’s time for us to take our leave.”

****

“You stepped in it good, Aunt Gen,” Max said as they ate lunch at the mall later in the week.

“I did, didn’t I?” she commented.

“Has he stayed as nice as that one day?”

“Yeah,” Genevieve replied.

“Is he good for you?”

“I think he will be,” she answered.

“Do you love him?”

Genevieve watched Max. She knew this question was important. “Max, let me tell you something about love. Some people think it’s an emotion. Other people say it’s a choice. I say it’s a little of both. Richard has treated me with nothing but kindness and respect. He makes me laugh, and I look forward to seeing him. Whether or not I feel like I love him, I need to treat him with love. If I do, the emotions follow.” And sometimes the emotions race ahead of the actions.

“I don’t get it,” was all the teen said.

“It’s okay. I think you’ll understand when you’re older.”

Max handed her an egg roll, which she quickly dunked in hot mustard. Before taking a bite, Genevieve asked him, “So how are things going with your folks?”

He shrugged and reached for his drink. “Turns out the only reason I was able to make the cross-country team is because five people from the varsity team graduated last year.”

She let him change the subject and asked, “Are you glad you joined?”

Nodding, Max took a drink. When he put the cup down he pulled out the straw and began fiddling with it. “I’ve made some friends on the team. They usually keep up with training even in the off-season, running together at least once a week.”

“That sounds like it might be fun,” she said, polishing off her eggroll. “Do you think you’ll try out for the team again next year?"

"Yeah. I like the running, and I feel stronger since I started. Jenny says I’m in a better mood since joining the team, too.”

“From what I’ve seen, you’re already a better runner than you were when you first tried out. You seem more confident in what you’re doing.” She’d been able to make it to a couple of his events and was impressed with the camaraderie among the team. It was a good fit for him. He seemed to be thriving in the environment.

Putting the now mutilated straw down, Max said, “I was tired of being alone, and I blamed Mom and Dad whenever I got stuck at home by myself. Joining the team has taught me I can do something about it so I’m not bored all the time.”

“That’s a good thing, right?” It sounded like Max had more to say, but Genevieve didn’t want to push him.

Moving on to the napkin, he folded it accordion style and then pinched one end and fanned out the rest. Concentrating on what he was doing with his hands, he said, “Yeah, it’s good. Maybe it’s a little bit like you said. Even if I don’t always feel it, I need to treat Mom and Dad with love.” He put the napkin down and picked up the fortune cookies, handing one to Genevieve.

She smiled at him as she took the proffered dessert. “You’re one smart cookie, Max Wilson.”

He rolled his eyes at her pun. “That was bad, Aunt Gen, even for you.” Then he polished off his cookie and asked, “Are you sure marrying him was the right choice?”

Genevieve took a second to catch up with the swift change in topic. Once she did, she nodded and answered. “Yes. Absolutely certain.”

“It’s not going to be easy. Not with our family, and not with the rest of the world either.” His wisdom far outpaced his years.

“I know. Still, as long as I’ve got you on my side, I’ll be able to weather it fine.”

Chapter Nine

More than a month passed. Genevieve and Richard attended the next family luncheon. It was tense but not as explosive as their first had been. The life of the ultra-wealthy turned out to be more hectic than she had imagined. That shared meal with her family had been one of the few things they’d done together as husband and wife in the weeks since they'd wed.

Most mornings Richard was gone to work before Genevieve got up. She was often immersed in her work when he got home. He fixed dinner, and she would join him for the meal. Then she tended to bury herself back in her work. Richard always stopped to say goodnight to her before he went to bed. Other than living in a bigger home and having someone there to cook meals for her, very little in her day-to-day life had changed. It was almost as though she’d never married at all.

Genevieve knew they were heading in two different directions. Everything in her told her marriage wasn’t supposed to be this way. She didn’t, however, feel secure enough to go to him and tell him something needed to change. How do I tell him I feel so out of place that I’m sleeping on a couch in my sitting room rather than in my own bed? The bed still felt too big and empty to her. She hadn’t even brought any of her own furnishings in so that she could make the space feel like her own. The very idea made her feel uncomfortable, like an intruder in Richard’s life.

After a couple nights of restless tossing and turning, she woke up late one day, made herself a cup of coffee, and then went to sit on the back veranda of the house. It was time to have a heart-to-heart talk with her best friend. She’d been avoiding Him these past weeks, and her whole life felt out of synch because of it. In a comfortable chair, her mug in-hand, she said, "Alright, God. I’m here, and I’m listening now. I’m making a mess of the marriage You’ve given me, and I need Your help."

A couple hours later, she rose from the chair on the veranda. Her coffee cup had long since been drained, and she was stiff from having sat there so long, but she felt better than she had in weeks.

Following a quick shower, she made her way to the kitchen. It was time to make some changes in her marriage, and she knew just where to start. She rummaged through the cabinets and drawers until she found the ingredients to fix a simple spaghetti dinner. Richard was almost always home by six, so she planned her day in order to have a hot meal ready for him when he arrived.

Six o’clock came and went with no sign of her husband. Genevieve didn’t give it too much thought. Traffic was unpredictable at best. The clock next ticked past seven o’clock, and she began to worry. When eight o’clock rolled around, she tried not to panic.

Picking up her phone, she found him in her phonebook and pressed “dial.” Richard’s voice filled the silence. Genevieve began to speak to him only to realize it was a voice recording. Once she heard the beep, she said, “Richard, it’s Genevieve. It’s after eight, and you’re not home yet. I… I wondered where you were.”

Tidying up the kitchen, she cleaned the dishes and put away the uneaten meal. She had always been a night owl and was often up until one or two in the morning, which was part of the reason she and Richard were always crossing paths rather than walking on the same one. When midnight came with still no sign of Richard and no return call, she didn’t know what to do. If he’s been in an accident, will anyone know to contact me? Do people even know he’s married?

In the wee hours of the morning, she heard a voice calling her name. Genevieve fought through the fog of sleep to find herself in an unfamiliar location. In her state of half-sleep, she couldn’t identify her surroundings and wasn’t even sure if what she was hearing was real or part of a dream. The voice calling her name became increasingly insistent, frantic even. “Gen? Gen?” Suddenly surrounded by blinding light, Genevieve covered her eyes and burrowed further into the couch cushions. “I couldn’t find you.” She felt herself being wrapped in a strong embrace that warmed her as she drifted back off to sleep.

****

Sunlight was streaming through the windows. Genevieve could feel it on her face. She began to stretch and then realized something wasn’t right. Her hands didn’t hit the table by her couch, and her toes weren’t curled up between the couch cushions. “Mmm,” she said, “I think that’s the best sleep I’ve had in weeks. Richard’s couch is way more comfortable than mine.” Saying his name reminded her that he’d not come home last night. Her eyes flew open, and she reached for her phone to try to call him again. When her hand found nothing but soft bedding where the table was supposed to be, she tried to fight off the remnants of sleep and get her bearings.

Confused, she stared fuzzily at the blanket clutched in her left hand. It wasn’t her blanket, and she wasn’t on the couch. Whirling around, she saw Richard sitting there, watching her. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he said.

“Where am I?” Worst question ever!

“Well, I’d say in bed, but I could be mistaken.” A glint of humor and something else she couldn’t name lit his blue eyes.

Genevieve shook her head, rubbed her eyes, and stared at Richard where he sat. On his bed. A few feet away from where she’d been lying as she woke. “You didn’t come home last night. I was worried.”

“I didn’t get your message until I pulled into the garage,” he said. “I’m sorry you worried. I had a meeting in DC. I thought I’d told you.”

“I made dinner.” Stop babbling!

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stand you up.”

“When you didn’t come home, I didn’t know what to do. I lay down on the couch in your sitting room to wait for you.”

Genevieve knew he had to be exhausted, but somehow Richard managed to look rested and content. That shouldn’t be possible. When I’m tired I look it!

“I had originally planned to stay the night in DC but decided at the last minute to come home. It was three in the morning before I made it back.”

“Oh.”

“I was listening to your message when I came in through the garage, so I thought I’d stop in your room to let you know I was home, but you weren’t there. Once I checked all your rooms and couldn’t find you, I started calling your name. You didn’t answer.”

“I thought I was dreaming,” she said. “I remember hearing my name.” A frown starting to pull at her mouth, she added, “I guess I should apologize for not being where you’d put me.”

Giving her an odd look, Richard said, “This is your home. You can be anywhere you want. When I found you in my rooms, I was…relieved.”

Looking around her, Genevieve asked, “How did I end up in your bed?”

Smiling, Richard said, “I put you here. Then I lay down and got some sleep. I wanted you where I could keep an eye on you. And I figured that way, if you woke up, you’d know I was home.”

Suddenly feeling shy, she asked, “Did, uh, did…” and then let her voice trail off as she realized she didn’t know how to ask the question.

Richard laughed, “Well, my dear, if we had, and you couldn’t remember, then I’d be quite disappointed in myself. As it is, all we did is sleep.”

Rolling her eyes, she said, “Dumb question. Sorry. My brain’s not awake yet.” Richard stood up and stretched. My, he looks magnificent.

“I mean it, Gen. I’m sorry. I thought I’d told you about the meeting.”

“You probably did. I’m always forgetting to put things on my calendar. Or I enter them into different calendars without realizing it.” Genevieve cast her eyes about the room, trying not to look at him as he took his time stretching. He’s my husband. It can’t be wrong to want to stare. Her eyes landed on the clock. She gasped and said, “Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

Richard gave her a broad smile and said, “I’m taking the day off. Why don’t you go take a shower, and I’ll do the same, and then I’ll meet you downstairs for breakfast?”

“I’m not a very good cook,” she said in reply. “I barely know how to fix a couple of passable dishes. My family used to take pity on me a lot and bring me casseroles so I wouldn’t starve.”

“I wasn’t asking you to fix me breakfast,” he said, clearly puzzled by her remark.

She shrugged, self-conscious, and said, “It seems that a wife ought to cook for her husband is all. I—I’m not sure I’m a very good wife in that regard.”

“Lucky for you,” he said, watching her intently, “I happen to enjoy cooking.” He looked as if he wanted to say more, but then he flashed that grin that made her weak in the knees and said, “I’ll meet you downstairs in a few.” As Richard wandered into his dressing room, Genevieve got off the bed, found her phone, and headed back to her own room.

****

I woke up in bed with my husband and don’t even remember how I got there. This has got to be the most bizarre marriage ever. Genevieve entered the kitchen to find Richard deftly dishing up omelets and pouring coffee. “Much obliged,” she said as he handed her a steaming cup.

Once they were both seated at the table, Richard said the blessing. “Thank you, Lord for your provision. Please bless our marriage.”

He wouldn’t pray for our marriage unless it mattered to him.

Genevieve tilted her head and said, “There’s something different about you this morning.”

“I hope so,” he answered.

“That’s a bit cryptic, don’t you think?”

“Have you been sleeping on a couch all these weeks?” Genevieve immediately broke eye contact and concentrated on her plate. “When you woke up this morning,” he went on, “you said something about my couch being more comfortable than yours.” She continued to studiously stare at her plate, and he said, “It’s only a question, Gen. I won’t get mad.”

She finally peered at him and said, “I looked at that big bed on our wedding night, and I couldn’t make myself sleep in it alone. The bed is massive, and the room is so cavernous it sounded hollow. So I slept on the couch. It kind of became a habit after that. I’ve been sleeping on it ever since.”

Richard seemed sad as he asked, “Should I have done something different on our wedding night? I didn’t want to rush you.”

Genevieve no longer felt like eating. She put her fork down and picked up her coffee instead. Her hands needed something to do. “I had a long talk with God yesterday, and He pointed out a few things I’d been ignoring about myself, things that were affecting our relationship. We’ve been heading in two different directions and living two different lives. That’s not what I want for my life, for my marriage.”

“I came to the same conclusion. Yesterday, in fact. That’s why I returned home instead of spending the night in the capital.” Richard took a bite of his omelet and chewed thoughtfully before saying, “Do you want to tell me what you learned from spending time with God yesterday?”

“I’m a night owl, Richard. I always have been. You’re a morning person. You go to bed as I’m starting to get my second wind. I need to change.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a night owl.”

“No, there’s not, but there is something wrong with putting myself above our relationship. You have to keep a certain schedule for work. I don’t. It’s easier for me to change. Our marriage needs to be important enough to me that I’m willing to change. If it’s not, then I never should have gotten married.”

Richard stilled at her last remark. “Do you regret it?”

Genevieve scanned the room hoping to find inspiration. When she found none, she answered him honestly, “No, I don’t regret marrying you. I wish things could have been different. I wish we could have had more time to get to know each other. We’re still strangers in a way, which makes me sad. At the same time, though, I haven’t done anything to change that, which I do regret.”

The tension left Richard’s shoulders as she spoke “Okay, then,” he said. “For the record, I, too, wish I’d have handled some things differently these past weeks, but I don’t for a minute regret marrying you.”

“I shouldn’t have rushed the wedding,” she told him, emotion tugging at her until her words sounded hoarse. “Looking back on it, I’m not sure what I was thinking, but I should have told my family and allowed them to be at the wedding.”

Richard gave a slight bob of his head and said, “We can always have another ceremony and reception. It can be as big as you want with as many people as you’d like.”

Genevieve sighed in relief. “I’d like that. Thank you.” It took her a minute to build up her courage to finish what she needed to say. Evidently sensing her need to talk, Richard remained quiet, slowly eating his omelet. She finally took a deep breath, and the words rushed out. “I handled things wrong with my family by not telling them before we got married. Then I felt guilty about it, but I didn’t want to admit to having been wrong, so I blamed you. I let my own guilt twist around into something that I used to hold you at arms’ length, an excuse not to bend and meet you halfway these past weeks. I’m going to tell my family how sorry I am, but I needed to tell you first.”

Richard looked at her, and peace filled his eyes. “Apology accepted, and I’m sorry for letting it fester as long as it did. I knew something was wrong, but I was afraid that if I pushed too hard, you’d pull even further away.” He sat back in his seat and said, “So what do you say to a fresh start? Where do we go from here?”

Genevieve smiled at him and said, “I’m going to start setting an alarm in the morning so I can get up and have breakfast with you.” After a beat, she asked, “When do you get up, anyway?”

Richard laughed and said, “I’m up at five-thirty.” When Genevieve winced, he said, “but I don’t eat breakfast until seven, and then I’m usually out the door by quarter of eight.”

“I can handle seven,” she said, brightening. “Then, I figured, I should set a work schedule for myself so I get my work done during the day when you’re gone. That way I’ll be able to spend the evenings with you once you get home.”

“I’d like that,” he said.

“There might be a time now-and-then when I try to fix you dinner, but I’m warning you now, unless there’s a miracle, you’re probably going to end up wishing I hadn’t.”

“I don’t mind fixing something when I get home,” he said. “Who knows, maybe we could even go out in public together once in a while, get a bite to eat, something like that.”

I like it when he jokes with me.

“Or — and this is a novel idea — maybe we could go jogging together sometime. I usually stick to a treadmill these days, but I think I’d like running a lot more if I were with you.”

Genevieve shook her head. “You don’t want to jog with me.” When he lifted an eyebrow in question, she said, “My family tells me I’m scatter-brained. I’m still not sure I entirely agree with them, but the truth is, when I run, I’m all over the place. I speed up, slow down, wander in every direction, and basically don’t do any of the things I’m probably supposed to be doing.”

“Okay,” he said with an indulgent smile. “We’ll revisit that one since all you’ve done is make it sound more appealing rather than less.” Then he asked, “Did you have anything else you wanted to talk about?”

“When you have out-of-town meetings, I’d like to go with you.”

“I would enjoy that,” Richard said. “A lot.”

Genevieve sat back in her seat. She had made such a habit of keeping him at arm’s length that she wasn’t entirely sure how to go about letting him in. Making time for him in her life was a good start, but she needed to open up to him more about her thoughts and feelings.

With that in mind, she said, “When Maureen’s husband left, I gave her a lecture about how she hadn’t been intentional in her marriage, how she hadn’t made a point of putting her husband first. She then lectured me — quite vehemently, I might add — about giving advice about things of which I knew nothing. And she was probably right to do that. Recently, I was reminded of those words, and I realized I haven’t been intentional with you. Like I said, if I’m not willing to make room for you in my life, then I was wrong to get married.”

A shuttered look came over Richard’s face, chasing away the hurt that showed for the briefest of moments. She rushed on to say, “I’m willing. I am. It just took me a little while to realize why I’ve been acting the way I have.” I need to think before I speak. He hides it well, but he has to have insecurities, too. Who wouldn’t with the way his parents treated him?

“While we’re laying all the cards out on the table, can I bring up an awkward subject?” When Genevieve nodded her consent, Richard said, “We need to talk about our physical relationship.” Genevieve took a drink of her lukewarm coffee and hoped the mug would hide her blush. “I would like to know what your expectations are.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“I know I said I’d give you as much time as you needed and that if we never went down the road to physical intimacy together, it would be okay. The problem is, I can’t read your mind, and I don’t know what you want.”

Finally braving eye contact, Genevieve said, “I’m not sure how to answer you.” She bit her bottom lip and then said, “I don’t think I know what I want, but I’m also not sure that, if I knew what I wanted, I’d know that I knew it.”

Confusion on his face, Richard said, “You do know that I’m a man and could not have possibly understood what you just said, right?”

Chuckling, Genevieve said, “Okay, maybe that wasn’t my best sentence ever. Here’s the thing. I don’t have a lot of experience with men. I’m not sure I would realize it, even if I had figured out what I want, as far as the physical side of marriage goes.”

Puzzling over her words, Richard asked, “Then how would you like to handle it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Richard got up a couple of minutes later to clear the dishes from the table. Genevieve kept her seat, not sure what to say in order to tear down the wall that had gone up between them at the mention of intimacy. Then, from behind her, she heard Richard’s voice, “It’s like this, Gen.” She swiveled around to give him her attention, and he continued, “I got home last night and couldn’t find you. I was terrified you’d left or worse. I didn’t want to face that possibility. When I found you…”

It seemed like Richard was struggling with what to say. “Once I had you in my arms, I didn’t ever want to let you go. And I know you were asleep, but you wrapped your arms around me and I felt like a king. I want that. I want to be able to kiss you and hug you and hold you. If we don’t have sex today or tomorrow or next week or next month, it’s fine. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. In the meantime, I want to feel I have the freedom to reach out and touch you. Right now I’m afraid to, because I’m not sure if it’s something you’d welcome, and I don’t want to scare you away.” Richard ran his fingers through his dark blond hair and then asked, “Does any of that make sense?”

Genevieve nodded then set her coffee cup down on the table. She stood and walked over to where Richard stood. She settled in close to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, laying her head against his chest. It took all of two heartbeats for Richard to wrap her in a tender hug. He held her close in the circle of his arms and rested his cheek against the top of her head. Neither of them said a word as they stood there together, united in an embrace.

****

That night after dinner, Genevieve told Richard she was going to turn in early. “Tomorrow’s the weekend,” he replied, “so you don’t have to set an alarm for breakfast.”

“It’s okay. I should start getting in the habit now so I’m not too crabby come Monday morning,” she said.

Then she went up to her rooms and dug through her closet until she finally found what she was looking for buried in the far left corner in an overnight bag under her suitcase and a couple boxes of shoes.

****

A short while later, Richard decided to retire as well. He stopped by Genevieve’s rooms and said, “Goodnight,” through the door. When he got no response, he assumed she’d fallen asleep and headed down the hallway to his own rooms. As he stepped across the threshold, the moonlight reflected off something by his bed. He swiveled to see what it was, and all thought fled. Blood pounded through his veins as he took in the sight of his wife in a silky white nightgown climbing into his bed.

“Gen?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. She watched him but said nothing. “Gen, before I get into that bed with you, I need to know what you want.”

Richard advanced to the bed but didn’t sit. As he got closer to her, he was able to see the blush on Genevieve’s face and the embarrassment the moonlit shadows had hidden.

Taking both her hands in his, he said, “Gen, I will never force myself on you. You have my word. You’re in my bed though, and you look… so good. If this doesn’t mean what I think it means, you have to tell me. I will honor your wishes, but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me.”

Gen stood up, the length of her gown reaching all the way to the floor. She looked elegant and alluring and… inviting. Richard searched her face. She gently tugged her hands from his grasp and reached them up to hold either side of his face. “Richard Blakely, will you please kiss me?”

Chapter Ten

A couple months had passed since that fateful night when Genevieve fell asleep on Richard’s sitting room sofa. She had remained committed to making time and space for him in her life. In doing so, Genevieve discovered that, as she invested time in her husband and got to know him better, her attraction for him only grew.

She and Richard were hosting the Sunday afternoon meal this week. The honor was a rite of passage in her family, an important part of their tradition. Their home still had a way to go before anyone would consider it truly childproof, but they were off to a good start. Breakable works of art had been removed from downstairs, and baby gates were scattered everywhere to keep the little ones out of rooms deemed unsafe, such as the kitchen.

As everyone began arriving, Genevieve threw open the front door and welcomed her family into the home she and Richard shared. There was a lot of ooh-ing and ah-ing. Jenny, by far, was the most taken with the show of wealth. Genevieve winced when she noticed one of Jake’s girls with grape jelly on her hands touching the wall and leaving a trail of purple grime behind. She glanced up in time to see Richard had noticed it too. He winked at her and smiled, and she was reassured, not for the first time, that everything was going to work out.

The menu was extensive with a little something for everyone. Pork loin served with roasted vegetables, ham with an orange glaze, grits with a tomato and bacon gravy, homemade buttermilk biscuits served with butter and honey, collard greens, and a watermelon fruit salad filled the table until Genevieve thought there wouldn’t be room for the people to sit. In what felt like the blink of an eye, the food was devoured.

Then the teasing began. “He doesn’t actually let you in the kitchen, does he?” “Does he know how many times you’ve caused one of us to go the hospital with food poisoning?” “Richard is a brave soul to eat anything you’ve touched!”

They were family, and the teasing felt wonderful to Genevieve. They’ve decided to like him. Despite the fact that she had pulled her entire family together and apologized to them for the way she’d handled the wedding, relations had still been awkward and a little tense between her husband and her family. She blamed herself for the rocky start, but as she watched them all interacting today, she knew they were moving in the right direction. Before long they’d be treating him just like one of the family, laughing at his foibles most days but standing in solidarity with him when the storms of life assail.

The main course came to a close, and Genevieve began dishing up strawberry shortcake for everyone when Jake said, “So, tell me, Richard, what made you fall in love with Gen?”

Genevieve’s breath caught in her throat. Truth be told, she was head-over-heels in love with her husband. She hadn’t yet told him so, and he’d never said the words to her, either. It had taken a while, but she’d finally decided she would be okay even if he never made a declaration of love. There was enough love in her heart, she figured, for both of them. Besides, even if Richard never said it, he still treated her with love, whether he realized it or not.

“Well, Jake,” her husband answered slowly. “It wasn’t just one thing that made me fall in love with your sister.” Genevieve kept her eyes down. She knew she’d make a spectacle of herself if she looked up. “There are, in fact, ten million reasons why I fell in love with her, and it happens to be my good fortune that I get to continue discovering new reasons to love her each and every day.”

****

Later that evening, after all the family had gone, Genevieve was sitting at a barstool in the kitchen enjoying a cup of coffee. Richard walked in and asked her, “Everything alright? You look miles away.”

She gave her husband a smile and said, “Everything’s fine.”

“Anything you want to ask me?”

When she looked up at him, she saw forever in his eyes. “This thing between us, it’s actually going to work, isn’t it?”

“If I have anything to say about it, yes. I meant what I said, Gen. I love you.”

“When did you first know?”

“Looking back, I’d say I was half in love with you by the time I finished reading your survey results,” he answered. “By the time you made fun of my girlie ice cream, I was already a lost cause. There was no turning back.”

“What if I’d turned down your proposal?”

“I would have let the money go. There was no one else I wanted as my wife. Winning your affections would have become my daily goal.” Moving in close to where she sat, he tipped her chin up so she was looking straight into his eyes. “I am incalculably blessed to have you in my life. I love you.”

Genevieve wrapped her arms around his middle and cuddled in close to her husband.

“Want to know when I started to fall in love with you?” Her voice was muffled against his shirt. Richard pulled back a bit, giving himself a better view of her face. Smiling, she said, “When you let me make fun of your girlie ice cream.”

After a heartbeat, he said, “That’s when you started. Have you finished falling in love yet?”

Genevieve shook her head, “Nope, not yet.” She saw the question in his eyes and didn’t have the heart to tease him for long. “I plan on spending the rest of my life falling in love with you a little bit more each day. I don’t ever want to be done.”

Richard leaned in. His fingers tangled in her hair as he claimed a kiss that left her breathless and wanting more. When he eventually pulled back, Gen looked into the endless blue of his eyes and asked, “So, about that clown college…?”

Richard’s laughter rang out around them and echoed through the house only to be silenced when his wife, hands on his shoulders, pulled him closer until their lips again met.

Acknowledgements

I want to express my gratitude for those who helped make Genevieve and Richard’s story possible. Had it been left to me, I’d have completely bungled any discussion of cross-country running. Thank you Jonathan Lewellyn for your help! Any remaining errors are wholly my own. I’d also like to say, “You rock!” to my husband, who made sure I got that coveted peace and quiet when I needed to concentrate on edits and the paperwork associated with having a book published.

About the Author

Aside from her long-standing love affair with coffee, Heather’s greatest joys in life are her relationship with her Savior, her family, and writing. Years ago, she decided she’d rather laugh than yell. Heather carries that theme over into her writing where she strives to create characters that experience both the highs and lows of life and, through it all, find a way to love God, embrace each day, and laugh out loud right along with her.

Also from Heather Gray:

Chapter One

Larkspur, Idaho Territory

April 1878

Sarah had noticed a number of new faces in town over the past few days, and it was beginning to make her more than a bit uncomfortable. The new faces were all men. Sure, men outnumbered women in every frontier town, but Sarah had seen more than a dozen new men and had heard rumors that Mrs. Ginty’s boarding house was full-up, which had never happened before. Larkspur was a small frontier town in a territory sparsely populated, and Sarah had never before heard of Mrs. Ginty having to turn away customers.

New people in town can sometimes mean good news. Businesses certainly like having more customers. It can mean trouble, too, though, when the newcomers start to outnumber the homegrown townsfolk. Sarah had heard tell of towns where ruffians had swarmed in, taking over the town and practically holding the locals prisoner by sheer force of number. A small shudder overtook her at the thought of such brutality.

Sarah’s papa had well trained her how to take care of and provide for herself, but ever since he passed away, she had no one to protect her should the need ever arise. Sighing, she forced her loneliness back down, beating it into submission by sheer force of will.

Keeping her eyes directed down, Sarah walked from the small house she had once shared with Papa. She was heading to the stage office for a long day of work and, with all these new people in town, did not want to make eye contact with the wrong individual. The workday hadn’t even yet begun, but Sarah couldn’t wait for the day to be finished. This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it, Sarah quoted in her mind as she reminded herself to be grateful. She was looking forward to sharing a meal with her dearest friend tonight. Dinner with the Smiths held much more appeal than another long day at the stage office. Visiting with Minnie and her folks was always delightful. Sarah also hoped Minnie’s father, who was mayor of Larkspur, might be able to shed some light on the flood of strange men showing up in town.

Sarah heard a commotion to her left. Before she could even raise her eyes to see what was going on, someone came barreling out from the mercantile and plowed right into her. Sarah’s feet flew out from under her, and she landed out in the street, far from the boardwalk on which she had a moment ago been walking. Before she could take stock of the situation to determine if she’d landed in mud or manure, at least a dozen hands were reaching out to help her up. Frightened by all of the men crowding in around her and not sure of their intentions, Sarah scrambled to her feet and backed up from the growing crowd. She did not recognize a single face from the group that continued to step closer to her.

As she scurried backward, Sarah ran right smack into a wall. She didn’t remember a wall being there in the middle of the street, but sure enough, she was trapped between the wall behind her and the wall of men walking toward her.

“Pardon me, gentlemen, but I think you have frightened the lady here.” Sarah stiffened as she heard the wall behind her speak. Her head whipped back and up. With the sun shining right into her eyes, she couldn’t see the face of her rescuer, but his voice was confidently calm, loud enough to carry to all of the men who had been reaching toward her without actually sounding as though he’d raised his voice. “Miss, are you okay?” It took Sarah a moment to realize the talking wall was speaking to her.

“Y-y-yes, thank you.” Sarah struggled to get the words out past a suddenly dry and scratchy throat.

“That was quite a fall you took. Are you sure you are alright?”

Glancing down at her dress, Sarah saw that, thankfully, she had landed on a dry patch of dirt and, though dusty, was not covered with mud or worse. She knew she would be sore later, but she was still in too much shock right now to feel the effects of her fall into the street. Thank goodness a horse or carriage had not been riding by at the time – she could have been badly hurt!

“Yes, sir, thank you. I am fine and must be on my way now.”

Sarah considered the path up Main Street toward her destination and saw what now appeared to be more than twenty men standing around ogling her. Completely beside herself with discomfort at the situation, she tried to take a step back only to be reminded of the talking wall behind her.

Without removing her eyes from the crowd of men, she spoke to the one behind her. “Pardon me, sir, but could I be so bold as to request your assistance in a small matter?”

There was a smile behind the man’s voice, Sarah was certain of it, as he softly answered, “I will accommodate you if I can, Miss. With what do you need assistance?”

Sarah felt the hint of a shiver she knew could not be attributed to the weather. It was either fear because of the men in front of her… or something else because of the man behind her. Not wanting to dissect her feelings quite yet, she uttered, “I need to pass these men to get to the stage office. I find that…” Sarah tried to think of a delicate way to say she wasn’t sure if she’d make it there safely if she went alone.

Before Sarah could even take a full breath, though, or find the correct words, she felt herself lifted by the waist and placed back up onto the boardwalk. The talking wall immediately joined her and offered his arm to her. Sarah tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, still not knowing the man’s name.

In the shade now, after having been blinded by the sun, Sarah took another glance up at her talking wall but still could not make out any features on the man’s face. She knew he was quite tall, but Sarah could not even identify the color of his hair, let alone any distinguishing features.

“I wonder what all of these men are doing in town. It’s a trifle disconcerting,” she said to the man walking beside her.

“Ah,” he replied. “I believe they are after the same thing most people are after.”

Not sure how to take that answer, Sarah asked, “What, then, is it most people are after?”

“Love.”

Sarah was surprised at the laugh that bubbled up inside of her, for she was the serious one, not prone to outbursts of laughter, or so she had always believed. Not sure what to think of her own laughter, she instead puzzled over the companion’s answer. She would not have associated a fanciful notion such as love with the talking wall that had rescued her.

She heard the smile in his voice again as he went on, “Either that, or someone to raise their children and do their laundry.”

“A wife then?” Sarah questioned. “Why would anyone come to Larkspur looking for a wife? We have no more women than any other town in the territory.” Certain the man beside her was having a joke at her expense, she waited for the punch line, but none was forthcoming. They arrived at the stage office where, without delay, Sarah unlocked the office door, stepped inside, and began opening the curtains.

“Thank you for escorting me. Could I offer you some coffee, Mr….” Hoping the talking wall would provide her with the information she sought, Sarah let her sentence hang. What she got for her effort was a deep-throated chuckle that seemed both sincere and humor-filled, and again she felt the joke was somehow at her expense.

Disgruntled, she put her satchel away and then stood there next to the percolator specifically not making any coffee. She gave him the best Do-As-I-Say look she could muster under the circumstances and made not a single move toward the coffee tin as she awaited his response. Sarah was shocking herself with her own audacity. Something about this man was making her act different, bolder. Sarah quickly decided she liked this new side of herself and that she also liked the man who drew it out of her.

“My apologies, Miss. You reminded me so much there of one of my cousins I couldn’t help but laugh. I sincerely meant no harm.”

Sarah relaxed her shoulders, somewhat mollified by his words.

“The pleasure of escorting you was all mine, I assure you. No thanks are necessary.”

As she continued to look at him pointedly, he held out one hand and began ticking off fingers as he spoke to himself in a voice intended to carry. “Let’s see. She thanked me for the escort, and I responded. When she didn’t like my laughing, I apologized. She offered me coffee… aha!” Looking up at her with a distinctive twinkle in his golden brown eyes, he said, “Why yes, Miss, I would enjoy a cup of coffee if it’s not too much trouble.” Winking at her, he added, “Samuel Livingston at your service.”

Sarah tried to be unaffected, but the way he swept his hat off and bowed as he introduced himself had her heart fluttering faster than a bumblebee in a field of clover. As for his wink, Sarah wasn’t sure which was more scandalous – the fact he winked or the way her heart raced at the sight of it.

****

The moment Sarah got the small stove lit, Cesar Martinez came into the office. “Good morning, Miss Jenkins.” He tipped his hat to her and asked, “What do you need me to do first this morning?”

Sarah instructed Cesar to sweep out the office and the front walk. She was going to send him on an errand, but she didn’t want him to go quite yet. Being alone with the talking wall no longer seemed the wisest choice. As Cesar collected the broom to start sweeping, Mr. Livingston hung his hat on the hook near the front door and leaned against the counter behind which Sarah normally worked. His relaxed posture made him seem less formidable. Without his hat on, Sarah could get a good look at his face for the first time. Casually stepping behind the counter, she hoped to get a better view of her talking wall without being obvious.

“Are you alright, Miss?” asked Mr. Livingston. Sarah nodded and glanced over to where the coffee was not quite ready. He was, by her own design, directly in her line of sight. All hope for an unobtrusive glance at her rescuer quickly fled as she absorbed the sight of him with all her senses. She was stunned to realize how beautiful he was. Never before had she seen a man whose mere presence took her breath away. Her heart no longer fluttered like a bumblebee. It thumped like a herd of wild mustangs.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Sarah allowed his image play across her mind’s eye. He was tall, but she’d already known that. He had intense eyes, chocolate brown at the outer edge and pure glittering gold around the pupil. His hair was cut short but remained just unruly enough to hint at being curly, and it, too, was filled with various hues of gold. He was tan but not the weather-worn dark tan of a rancher or farmer. He had a strong jaw, a straight nose, and lips that curled up in laughter even when he wasn’t laughing. He was dressed like a businessman, only flashier. The suit he wore was a fairly traditional grey, but his vest was bright red. He had a flair about him that Sarah could not quantify. One thing was certain, though. Sarah was sure she would drown in those eyes, forever losing herself, if she stared too long.

“Are you alright, Miss?” Mortified at her own imaginings and wandering mind – something she was definitely not prone to – Sarah tried to control her staring eyes and nodded, then quickly blushed. Feeling the heat of embarrassment climb up her neck and into her cheeks, she quickly turned her back on the man and went back over to where the coffee was percolating. Grabbing two mugs, she filled them both, handing one to Mr. Livingston and taking the other back over to her work counter. As she set her mug down she realized the brew appeared no stronger than what you might give a baby to drink. Groaning inwardly, Sarah hoped the man liked weak coffee. Who was she kidding? It wasn’t weak coffee. It was colored water!

As Sarah was about to apologize for the coffee, Cesar came through the door to tell her the morning stage was approaching. She peeked at the clock and said to no one in particular, “It’s an hour early. I hope nothing’s wrong.”

Cesar put the broom up and went out to greet the stage.

Sarah resumed her post behind the counter. Most all of the stage drivers knew her from when her father ran the stage office, but sometimes there were new drivers or unruly passengers, and so when her father passed away, Sarah had stopped going out to greet the incoming stage. Each driver was directed into the office to meet her there. She provided them with coffee, a kind word, and often a bite to eat, but she did not go out onto the platform if she could help it.

“How old is the lad who helps you?” asked Mr. Livingston.

“Cesar? He is 14, I think.”

“Awfully young to be working here. Shouldn’t he be in school?”

Sarah nodded. “Cesar and his brothers do not attend the local school. We used to have a teacher in town that had a problem with the family, so their mother started teaching them at home. A new teacher came along a few years back, but the family had settled into their routine and decided to keep it. All three of them are well ahead of their school-bound peers in their learning. Their mother does an excellent job with them.”

“Doesn’t working here keep him away from his studies, though?”

“May I ask why you have such an interest in my hired help?” Sarah did not want to sound surly, but she was not used to people questioning business decisions, such as her choice in employees.

“I am visiting town on a business matter and staying with my cousin and her husband. He is the school teacher in town. A person who spends any time at all with John will naturally learn to be attentive to educational matters and sensitive to the needs of rural families. For example, parents sometimes pull their kids out of school because they need the money their labor can bring.” Following an almost imperceptible pause, Mr. Livingston continued, “Larkspur is lucky to have such a caring teacher.”

Sarah gave Mr. Livingston a genuine smile, for she knew the school teacher and his wife well. They attended the same church as she and would, on occasion, invite Sarah over for dinner. They were wonderful people. Sarah remembered they had been praying for safe travel for a relative but could not at the moment recall anything more on the subject.

Nodding at Mr. Livingston, she said, “You can ask Ida and John about Cesar. I am certain you will be pleased with what you hear. John has helped Cesar’s mother obtain books and other materials whenever needed for her boys’ education. He checks in on them periodically, too, at the parents’ request to make certain the boys are not falling behind in any of their studies. Cesar and his two brothers all work here at the Stage Office. As the youngest, Cesar only started a month or so ago and works one day here by himself and sometimes comes in on Saturday to help as well.”

She couldn’t be certain, but Sarah thought she saw appreciation in Mr. Livingston’s eyes. His smile seemed genuine and quite dangerous in its charm. “Who helps you the rest of the week?”

There didn’t seem to be anything amiss with Mr. Livingston’s questions. After all, he knew Ida and John. However, habits of self-protection are hard to break, and her father had taught her from the time she was little that sometimes, when people ask questions that seem innocent, they are actually trying to get information that could cause harm. Sarah’s gut told her it was okay to trust Mr. Livingston, but she could hear her father’s voice telling her to do her due diligence. She would check with Ida and John about her talking wall before she revealed any additional information to him about the stage office, herself, or the wonderful family she employed at the office.

As she made her decision, the front door banged open and Cesar came in carrying a sack of mail and dragging another behind him. “My goodness!” said Sarah as she rushed to help him.

“There’s more,” Cesar said. “Lots more.”

“What on earth! We don’t get this much mail in a month of Sundays, let alone on one single stage.” Trying not to appear as discombobulated as she felt by this influx of mail, Sarah asked Cesar, “Where are the passengers? Does anyone have anything to store or need assistance finding accommodations?”

Cesar’s eyes searched wildly around the room as though seeking an answer in the wood and plaster. He almost seemed afraid to say anything more. Then, looking over his shoulders as if searching for someone lurking behind him, he whispered to her, “There are no passengers. This isn’t even the real stage. The stage will be here on time with passengers and mail. This is all the extra mail they couldn’t fit onto the coach. There’s about six more bags out there, and the driver is fit to be tied. No one planned on an extra trip out here this week, but the mail has been getting backed up at the last stop. Their office is small, and they couldn’t keep our mail there any longer waiting for room on the stages – so they sent it over straightaway to get it out of their office.”

Sarah glanced out the window at the office platform, saw the bags of mail being pulled from the stage and piled up there. “Oh my,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen the likes.”

Table of Contents

Ten Million Reasons

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Acknowledgements

About the Author

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