She smiled at him. “The best in quite a while.”
“Glad to hear it. We didn’t have as much time together as I hoped. Sorry about that.”
They hadn’t had more than five minutes at a time all day, but she’d spent most of the day observing Brian Henley, and learned a lot about how he viewed and treated people. Even strangers like the boy sitting alone in a booth at the pizza parlor. “You have great rapport with your group, Brian. They listen to you and respect you.” Clearly, he had earned both. “Samuel had fun, too.” She laughed. “All those pretty teenage girls gushing over him.”
“Every boy’s dream.”
“I had ten babysitters begging for work.”
“And all of them hoping to someday have a cute little baby just like him.”
“Hopefully not under the same circumstances.” She spoke without thinking and blushed. When Brian looked at her, she lifted her shoulders. “Not all of us were as wise as you and Charlene.”
“Is it something you want to talk about?”
Was he putting on his counselor’s hat? “Not today.” Maybe never. So much depended on how well she and Brian got along.
Brian didn’t press. “I’d like to see you again. Outside church activities.”
“I’d like that, too.” Grace opened the driver’s side door and slid into the seat. She put the key in the ignition and lowered the window. Hooking on her seat belt, she looked up at Brian. “Thank you for inviting me along today.”
Brian put his hands on the door and leaned down. “Glad you could make it. How about dinner Monday night? It’s my day off. I’ll pick you up at your place? All I need is the address.” Pleased, she gave him the information. She hadn’t expected him to ask her out so soon, if he did at all. Especially after her precipitous remark. He pushed himself back from her car. “Drive carefully. I’ll see you day after tomorrow.”
Even on such short acquaintance, Grace felt certain Brian had all the qualities she dreamed of for a future husband and father for her son: a man of God, honest, dependable, intelligent, and attractive. Someone truly nice, someone who loved children, someone who worked for a living. She wasn’t sexually attracted to Brian, but that could be a good thing. She didn’t want emotion clouding her judgment.
Lord, Brian Henley is the kind of man I want to marry someday, if I ever marry again. He’s a good, solid, dependable, nice guy who could love someone despite glaring faults and failures. Someone like Brian could love Samuel like a son. So, I’m asking. If this is your plan, Lord, please make it clear. You know how stupid I can be, how blind to who people really are. Please, Lord. Protect me. I don’t want to pick the wrong guy again.
Roman awakened late Saturday morning, head pounding, and thirsty. Now that he was awake, he wanted to get back to Topanga Canyon. He shaved in the shower and called the valet to have his car brought around. Tossing clothing and toiletries into his duffel bag, he zipped it shut and slung it over his shoulder. He picked up a five-dollar coffee from the lobby vendor and headed out of the hotel. Grace made better. Saturday and Sunday were her days off. He’d have to wait for a good cup of java until Monday morning.
It was midafternoon before Roman pulled into his garage. His mail was on the kitchen counter, opened and neatly stacked in chronological order, sticky notes on the more important items that needed his personal attention. She’d balanced his accounts and left a computer report of his income and expenses, everything neatly logged in categories. His tax accountant was going to love her.
On his way to his bedroom, he saw the guest room. He took a step back. Grace had chosen a mahogany sleigh bed, nightstands with lamps, and a high dresser. She hadn’t stopped with bedroom furniture, but added a comfortable chair, reading lamp, and Persian-style rug. Roman dumped his duffel bag in the hall and went in to look around. Blues, greens, touches of red and yellow, but no pastels. The room was masculine without being macho. She’d hung two sets of blue towels in the bathroom. On the counter were three clear glass canisters, one filled with seashells, another with colorful river rocks, and the smallest with wrapped soaps.
He’d left his own bedroom in all its glory: bed unmade, towels and clothes on the floor, closet doors open. Embarrassed at the contrast with the immaculate guest room, Roman stripped his bed. He gathered the dirty towels and headed for the laundry room. Maybe it was a good time to go over to the cottage, tell her he was back and she’d done a good job on the guest room. He knocked on her front door. No answer. He tried again, listening. No footsteps. No radio playing. She didn’t own a television.