Love Has The Best Intentions (5 page)

All of Becca’s worries and theories about
needing a great body to attract a great man had been left
splintered on the pavement of the parking lot. This man, this
gorgeous, thoughtful man, was telling her it was her inner self who
mattered to him.

Bending to kiss her again, Zach said, “Let me
tell you that I’m also a guy who appreciates beauty. Tonight I
walked in the moonlight and kissed a beautiful woman. Moonlight
becomes you, Becca. You’re perfect, just the way you are. If a guy
doesn’t appreciate the real you, he’s not worth trying to change
yourself for him.” His lips brushed her cheek. “Drive carefully,
sweetheart.”

Becca floated home about two inches above the
driver’s seat. Zach’s words had freed her from the dragging weight
of a poor self-image. The person who looked back at her in the
rearview mirror and laughed had the sparkling eyes and flushed
cheeks of a woman who knew she was beautiful.

The future seemed as bright as the moonlight
silvering the pavement and somehow Becca knew Zach would be a part
of that future.

Once inside her apartment, Becca realized she
felt ravenously hungry. Had she managed to eat anything at dinner?
Did the waiter ever bring any food? She hadn’t noticed.

Lady BoJangles followed her out to the
kitchen and watched with disapproval as Becca pulled a personal pan
sized pizza from the freezer and put it in the microwave.

The cat meowed and Becca chuckled at her
pet’s attitude. “Don’t worry, Lady Bo,” she assured her. “It’s
going to take a lot of nourishment to keep my figure at its current
level of perfection.”

THE END

Flutter of
Wings

“No.” My sister’s voice was firm. “Drag me to
the beach without sunblock, use a harsh cleanser on my bathroom
sink, or buy me a ticket for a punk rock concert—no matter what the
torture, I won’t throw you a party.”

“But, Linda, my apartment isn’t big enough to
even play double-handed solitaire! I’ll scrub your kitchen floor
and baby-sit for a month—all you have to do is loan me the grill
and your backyard.” I am not above groveling for a good cause.

My sister shifted in her chair. In her eighth
month of pregnancy, she was somewhat sensitive about references to
beached whales. “And,” Linda announced, “I refuse to wear an apron
that says ‘Kiss the Cook.’”

“I’ll handle every detail.” I played my trump
card. “I need to find a way to get Sam into an unpressured social
setting.”

“A man’s involved?” Linda stretched out her
legs as if to check whether she could still see her toes. “Where
did you meet him?”

“My current night class. Sam and I go out for
coffee every Thursday after class.”

My sister sets me up with each eligible man
who strays into her orbit, and I could tell she had mixed emotions
about my mention of Sam: delight at the prospect of a possible
wedding in my future and disappointment that she had nothing to do
with it.

But she gave in with a graceful nod. “All
right. I’ll loan you the backyard, if you’ll babysit and help clean
the house.”

“Thanks.” I blew her a kiss and headed for
the door. “Sam and Gail seem perfect for each other.”

“Lori! I thought you and Sam ...”

“I’m still waiting on the Lord, Linda.”

“Waiting on the Lord means being sensitive to
God’s leading. News flash! When the right man enters your life,
don’t expect bells, sirens, whistles, or the Angel Gabriel to
appear and say, ‘Hey, here’s the guy for you...’”

“Since God created me, He knows I’m often
oblivious to what’s right under my nose, and He’ll have to send a
special messenger. Any angel will do if Gabriel’s busy.” I patted
Linda’s shoulder and she stuck out her tongue at me. “Anyway, I
happened to mention Sam to Gail and she wants to meet him.”

“I didn’t know Gail was such a close friend
of yours.”

“She’s an acquaintance, but I can still do
her a favor. You’re not the only matchmaker in the family.” I made
my escape before she could retract permission for the party.

After our next class, I told Sam that the
preparations for Saturday’s barbecue were progressing. “I still
need to scour the grill and help clean house. All you have to do is
show up and be charming.”

“And you think I’ll like Gail.” His smile
seemed somehow lopsided.

“She’s bright, witty, and gorgeous. What’s
not to like?”

He stirred his coffee, his expression
thoughtful. “Gail sounds perfect. But will she be perfect for
me?”

I thought I detected an odd note of
reluctance in his voice. I smiled. Sam deserved the best. “You’ll
get along like toast and jam.”

“As good as we do?” He chuckled, and I
thought smugly that Gail couldn’t help but be enchanted by this
man.

When I called Gail to assure her Sam was
coming, she tried to pump me for personal details, but other than
describing him as nice looking and friendly, I was at a loss.

Sam and I don’t discuss superfluous issues
like net income or careers. Instead, we conduct intense debates
about social problems and our favorite old movies. We talk about
the importance of seeking God’s direction in our lives and share
our dreams for the future. I’d never asked him if he belonged to a
health club or whether he had great benefits at work.

Although dissatisfied with my crumbs of
information, Gail vowed to give me her firstborn child if this
relationship made it to the altar and said she’d see me on
Saturday.

Novice that I was at nurturing the tender
sprouts of romance, I began to dread the barbecue. What if Sam and
Gail took one look at each other and decided that they preferred
English muffins and peanut butter?

After a frenzied morning spent rounding up
tricycles from the latest demotion derby in the back yard and
fixing salads, my hair looked like I’d been tumbled in the
dryer.

“Don’t blame me,” Linda chirped as I wiped
strained carrots off the kitchen floor. “I warned you my youngest
was in the food-throwing stage.” She patted her rounded tummy
covered in yellow cotton. “How do I look?”

My own stomach felt as if someone had set up
an abacus inside and was sliding beads across the strings with
vicious thrusts. “Like a straw with a beach ball in it.”

By the time the guests arrived, we were
speaking again, and the back yard soon sizzled with the scent of
grilling meat and the sound of lively conversation.

Gail drifted up. “Where’s Sam?”

I shaded my eyes with a loaf of French bread.
“Guess he’s fashionably late.”

She showed her perfect teeth in a barracuda
smile. “I turned down a tennis match with a CPA to meet this man,
Lori. You’d better deliver.”

Leaving the ‘or else’ part of the threat
unuttered, she moved over to sample the dip. Regretting that I’d
gone to so much trouble for someone as congenial as a case of
hives, I placed the bread on the buffet table.

Turning, I saw my sister deep in conversation
with a man on crutches, his left leg in a cast from the knee down,
and I hurried over.

“Sam, what did you do to yourself?” I
demanded, horrified. “You were fine on Wednesday!”

Snatching a child from under the wheels of a
speeding car or slipping on the deck of one’s yacht were equally
acceptable answers, but Sam looked sheepish. “Fell down the steps
at the track on Friday morning. I’m having a little trouble getting
around.”

Gail, who’d trailed over after me, sucked in
her breath. I remembered her partiality for briefcases, sports
cars, and pension plans and launched a missile glare that said “be
nice” in her direction.

My sister smiled. I distrusted that
smile.

After the standard introductions, Linda
chirped, “We were talking about Sam’s job—it sounds so fascinating.
Tell Gail what you do for a living, Sam.”

I wished this subject had been raised later
than sooner, after Sam and Gail had had a chance to get to know one
another. From his assured manner, I’d assumed Sam held a position
in the business world, but we’d never gotten down to specifics.

“I guess you’d say I’m a mechanic.”

My heart sank. A blue-collar guy would clash
with Gail’s rapidly purpling features. Linda, always helpful,
shoved a bowl of olives under Gail’s nose as if they were smelling
salts.

“Thanks for setting me up with a grease
monkey in need of Gamblers Anonymous.” Snatching an olive, Gail
turned away. No firstborn child for me.

Attempting to gloss over her rudeness, I took
Sam’s arm and steered him toward the buffet. “Hint: avoid the fruit
salad. A few of my fingertips might be mixed in with the melon
slices.”

He chuckled, a warm, rich sound that always
made me smile.

Handicapped by the crutches, Sam indicted his
selections, and I filled his plate. While he began the awkward task
of maneuvering his injured leg under the picnic table, I went back
for my own food and our drinks.

As I set a glass of lemonade by his plate, he
said with a shrewd glance in my direction, “So, that was Gail.”

My cheeks flamed as hot as the grill. “I’m
sorry it didn’t work out. You’re sweet and have a great sense of
humor. She just didn’t hang around long enough to find out all your
great qualities.”

“But you’ve certainly done that.” He toyed
with a forkful of potato salad. “Since Gail doesn’t want me, how
about you?”

I spilled coleslaw in my lap and took a hasty
sip of lemonade to clear my whirling head. Scraping cabbage off my
shorts, I recognized what had been staring me in the face all
along. Sam was a man I found very attractive. And I’d tried to fix
him up with Gail! Obviously, the damage to the ozone layer was
having a dangerous effect on my brain.

Sam continued with a smile. “I didn’t come to
meet Gail today. I came to be with you. Does the idea of my working
with my hands bother you, Lori?”

He held out his calloused hands, hands that
courteously pulled out my chair at the coffee shop on Thursday
evenings and gestured so eloquently when he talked.

Remembering his crooked smile the night I’d
babbled on about Gail’s qualities, I realized he’d been indicating
an interest in me all along, but I’d been too caught up in my own
plans to notice.

I recalled something else. “Remember the
first time we went out for coffee? You changed a flat tire for a
pregnant woman in the parking lot. Everyone else walked by, but you
stopped. That incident made me think of the story of the good
Samaritan. I think your hands are beautiful, my good Samaritan, and
as long as you wash them before meals, I don’t care if you feed
lions at the zoo.”

Those beautiful hands reached out to
encompass my fingers, sticky shreds of cabbage and all. “I have a
confession to make, Lori. When I brought my nephew in to register
for college and heard your bubbling laugh, it was as if God grabbed
me by the shoulder and said, ‘Hey, that’s the woman for you!’ I
decided to sign myself up for the same class that you did—whether
it was folk dancing or ceramics.”

Unprepared for such frankness, I tried to
pass his words off with a joke. “It’s a good thing you didn’t hit
it off with Gail. Because if you had, then I’d have had the job of
breaking you two up after going through all this trouble to throw
you together.”

Sam smiled, looking over my shoulder, and I
turned to see my sister bouncing merrily between knots of people
scattered throughout her backyard.

“To be honest, I didn’t want to hit it off
with Gail—that’s why your sister brought up my job right away.”

“That was Linda’s idea?” I bit my lip and
decided to apologize again for that crack about the beach ball.

“And as long as I’m confessing, although I
work with engines and I still consider myself a grease monkey at
heart, I actually spend quite a bit of time at the office since I
invented something that improves the fuel economy in race cars. Now
I have my own corporation, and during the racing season, I spend a
lot of time flying around the country to research and make
adjustments that help the top drivers keep their edge.”

“Corporation?” I gulped.

“You’re spooning fruit salad into your
lemonade, Lori.”

I looked down. So I was. “But, Sam...!”

He winked at me. His eyes were a warm brown,
with dazzling flecks of gold, tiny reflections of the sun. “I
promise I’ll wash my hands before leaving the office. So, any more
questions?”

Dazed, I shook my head. My career as a
matchmaker was over before it ever started. I had reached the
pinnacle of the profession, having fixed myself up with the perfect
man, even though Linda had been the first to recognize my interest
in Sam was personal.

Imagine my own sister, a special messenger
from God! I grinned as she gleefully flashed me the “OK” sign.

She wasn’t Gabriel, but when she hurried
past, I thought I heard the flutter of wings.

THE END

When Hearts
Collide

The sound of breaking glass was actually the
shattering of a pleasant fantasy, but at the time Katie was aware
only that she was involved in her first auto accident.

Shaken by the impact of the collision between
the Camero and her elderly Mustang, she squinted apprehensively
through the dazzling glare of the sun on her windshield at the
other vehicle.

Moments before, the driver of the Camero had
his hand upraised in casual greeting. Horror swiftly replaced the
smile with a look of shocked disbelief as he realized her Mustang
wasn’t going to stop. Unfortunately, Katie’s frantic spinning of
the wheel as her brakes refused to hold coincided with the other
car’s evasive action.

Echoes of the crash still ringing in her
ears, Katie unfastened her seat belt with shaking fingers, climbed
out of the low-slung bucket seat and wobbled forward. After two
steps, she had to lean against her car’s fender for support; the
ground seemed to be heaving beneath her feet.