A November Bride
ZONDERVAN
A November Bride
Copyright © 2014 by Beth Vogt
ePub Edition © October 2014: ISBN 978-0-3103-3918-2
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zondervan,
Grand Rapids, Michigan 49546
Scripture quotations taken from the Holy Bible,
New International Version
®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
Holy Bible
, New Living Translation. © 1996. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved.
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Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Interior design: James Phinney
To Those Still Waiting for Happily Ever After “. . . happy are those who trust in you.” Psalm 84:12b (NLT)
Contents
An Excerpt from Love At Mistletoe Inn
“Give thanks to the Lord for he is good . . .” Psalm 107:1a NIV
T
he Lord has been so good to me. He’s allowed me to live my dream of being a writer—and expanded that dream in unexpected ways. As I wrote Sadie and Erik’s story, I was encouraged and supported by many other people:
Rachel Hauck:
Thank you for suggesting that I be part of the A Year of Weddings writing team. Your belief in me inspires me. Thank you, too, for helping me brainstorm
A November Bride
. You’re brilliant—have I mentioned that?
My family:
With every acknowledgment I write, I realize again that I can never truly express the importance of my husband’s and my children’s support. They make the difference between writing and not writing for me. They understand writing is my dream-coming-true—and they cheer me on and pray for me as I pursue the doors God opens for me.
The Zondervan Team:
• Becky Philpott (editor)
• Karli Cajka (associate editor)
• Natalie Hanemann (freelance editor)
Thank you for your professionalism every step of the way as we produced
A November Bride
. It has been a delight working with all of you.
Rachelle Gardner:
Thank you for always having my back. You answer my questions—even more, you
anticipate
my questions. Your representation is invaluable—and your friendship is a blessing.
Nate Huntley:
I created a heroine who is a personal chef. The only problem is, I don’t spend that much time in the kitchen. Thank you for bringing all your culinary expertise to the rescue and answering all of my cooking questions, starting with “So, what should Sadie cook in this chapter?”
Melissa Christian (a.k.a. Mel):
Thank you for helping me understand the Broadmoor Culinary Apprenticeship Program. I respect you and what you do more than you know!
The My Book Therapy Core Team:
Led by the inspiring Susan May Warren, My Book Therapy’s “battle cry” is “Get Published. Stay Published.” I would add to that:
Find lasting friendships that will encourage you along the writing road.
With each book I write, I am reminded how much I have learned from My Book Therapy, and how thankful I am to be part of this talented team that includes:
• Rachel Hauck
• Reba Hoffman
• Lisa Jordan
• Michelle Lim
• Melissa Tagg
• Alena Tauriainen
• David Warren
T
his was Sadie’s star moment. The reason she collected recipes and watched cooking shows. Why she made color-coded, computerized grocery lists cross-referenced by availability and quality of items, store locations, and layouts. Spent hours shopping for fresh produce and meats and poultry—and sales, always sales.
At last, it was time for the presentation of the prepared dish.
She turned from the professional-grade oven, heat wafting against her back, dampening the cloth of her white chef jacket.
Was it still clean?
With a flourish and a well-practiced smile, she held the steaming dish aloft in her gloved hands. Inhaled the aroma of chicken in the bubbling sauce of Italian dressing, and topped with lightly browned, grated Parmesan cheese. At the last second, she remembered to nudge the oven door closed with her shoulder.
Hold the smile. Always hold the smile.
“Oh, this smells delectable.”
Ugh. Maybe not the best word. Too late now.
Sadie set the deep red stoneware dish on the waiting trivet, turning it just so, knowing a trusty cameraman would capture just the right angle. “Boneless chicken breasts. Grated cheese. Italian dressing. And, for those of you who are gluten-free, I used a coating of crushed cornflakes instead of bread crumbs.”
She stood tall, despite the tightness in the small of her back, recounting the other dishes she’d made that day.
And smile.
“There you have it. A week’s worth of dinners: chicken Parmesan, chicken piccata, salmon Sedona cakes served with English muffins, crown rack of lamb, and braised beef short ribs.” She resisted the urge to push the bangs back from her face. The focus was on the meals she’d prepared, not her. “On the next segment of
Your Personal Chef
, I’ll share another week’s worth of dinners, including—”
When notes from the Peer Gynt Suite No. 1 sounded from her smartphone on the desk in the corner of the kitchen, Sadie closed her eyes, her mouth twisting. “A call? Really? We were almost finished.”
Silence—and then her phone sounded again.
“It’s a good thing this show is a figment of my imagination, or I’d have blown some network’s budget a gazillion times with all my retakes.” Sadie tugged off one padded oven mitt with her teeth and tossed it on the counter. Pulled off the other one and laid it next to its partner.
If anyone ever knew she talked to herself—and an invisible
audience and production crew—while she cooked for her clients, they’d take away her culinary school diploma and parboil it.
Her phone rang again.
“I’m coming. And you, whoever you are, just ruined my cooking show.” Sadie slipped off her navy blue clogs and pulled off her tie-dye bandana. She’d wash her hands and redo her hair before returning to the kitchen.
Wait.
She’d set her phone out, hoping to hear from Matt so they could firm up plans for their date tonight. Sure enough, Matt’s photo showed on the display.
S
ADIE
–
NEED TO CANCEL
.
Again?
D
O YOU
HAVE
TO WORK LATE
?
Sadie tapped her sock-covered toes against the tile floor as she waited for Matt’s reply. So they wouldn’t be seeing that new action movie getting all the great write-ups. She could always toss together dinner and take it to him. Pasta was simple. And a Caprese salad . . .
Matt’s next message interrupted her musing.
D
ON
’
T KNOW HOW ELSE TO SAY THIS
. I
T
’
S BEEN FUN
. B
UT
I’
M DATING SOMEONE ELSE
. M
ET HER AT WORK
.
Sadie’s fingers froze on the keypad.
What?
Her mind scrolled through the past few weeks.
How many times had Matt backed out of their dates? He hadn’t been working late
.
Who knew what he’d been doing?
She didn’t want to know. She wasn’t naïve—she just didn’t want details.
With deliberate precision she erased Matt’s last message, ignoring the new ones appearing on her screen. With each
ping
she hit the red delete button. She didn’t want to read his excuse. His apology—if he even offered one.
Delete.
Delete.
With her phone silent, Sadie blinked away the sting at the back of her eyes, rubbing her finger against her left eye. When would she break the nervous habit that had begun in grade school? Some habits you never outgrow . . . and some things you learn to ignore or cover up with a fake smile. A glance at the clock showed she didn’t have time to indulge in a cry that would redden her nose and turn her face a blotchy mess. The Hartnett children would arrive home from school in a couple of hours—with their too-inquisitive nanny—and she needed to have the chicken Parmesan stored in the fridge and the kitchen immaculate. After that, well, after that, she needed to head home. By herself. Speed-walk to her front door because, with the fall weather lingering in the warmer degrees, kids were bound to be playing in the park across the street from her house.
Why hadn’t the Realtor told her before she bought the house that the city planned to put in a playground? Sadie could only hope her neighbors didn’t notice her daily ignore-the-park routine. She could handle kids one, maybe two, at a time. But assembled all together on a playground? Of course, the Realtor would have no way of knowing about her memories of elementary school and how some days, just the sight of kids gathered around a swing set or slide reduced Sadie to a grade-schooler again.
Once safe inside, she’d make herself dinner. Ensure the kitchen was spotless. And do her Monday routine. After all,
Matt dumping her was no reason to break her now predictable evening. It was beginning to feel as if being dumped by text was a certainty too.
