From Scratch (16 page)

She must have left her scarf somewhere reasonable.

One more breath. Slowly in. Steady out.

A haunting melody about being courageous for Christ cracked the cocoon of fear that had quickly consumed her and wafted into her consciousness. She inhaled the words and allowed them to swallow the worry that seemed to perpetually plague her.

How she longed to be a strong and bold example for Jesus, but could she really live a life for Christ when everything she did was based on a lie? How could she fully embrace God's love for her, if she wasn't able to be honest about who she was, even with herself? She flattened her palms against the floor and stood. She scrubbed a circle over her face and rolled her shoulders. She was safe. Staying safe was her number one priority. She was succeeding, for now.

She padded into the living room and slid onto her second-hand loveseat, grateful when the music shifted to a hopeful worship song reminding that God's love wasn't dependent upon anything she did or didn't do.

“Father,” she began to pray aloud. “I don't know where to start. I haven't been doing a bang up job of making sure I align my will with Yours and I want to change that. I want to be more in-tune with You. I am so afraid. I know You've told us not to fear, but Lord, I've been holding on by a thread. Please,” her voice trailed to a hiccupped whisper. “Please, Lord, send me some help. Send me a champion, someone to protect me. I don't know how much longer I can do this all alone.” She dropped her head against the arm rest and swiped a single tear from her cheek. “Yep, this isn't pathetic at all.”

Shaking her head she lifted her gaze heavenward; a twist of a grin at her lips. “Single girl sits at home, alone, on a Friday night. Drinks tea. Listens to sad music, and talks out loud to God. I'm surprised every cable network on the planet isn't beating down my door to make a reality series.”

Three loud bangs on her door had her jumping from the couch as if the cushions were hot coals. Her heart sped, but she forced herself to walk to the door and look through the peephole.

Sean leaned against the door frame, his tie yanked loose and his dress shirt open at the neck. He looked rumpled. He looked agitated. He looked breathtaking.

She twisted open the deadbolt and the unlatched the chain lock. Glancing toward the ceiling, she imagined God in heaven and lifted an eyebrow.

Silence was the only response.

Releasing a long slow exhale, she opened the door. “Hi.”

One hand was propped against the door frame as he leaned forward. “I missed you tonight.”

Maggie dropped her gaze, biting her lower lip.

“Why didn't you stay at the party?” he asked.

“I wasn't invited.”

“About that,” he said as he dropped his arm and stood straight. “I am sorry. I meant to invite you, I think I even thought I asked you, but my mind gets a little mushed when you are around.”

Her heart flipped over with the simple confession. She motioned for him to enter. He passed her without touching, but she caught the light, woodsy scent that always followed him. She lifted the chain and slid it back in place over the closed door.
Lord, please direct my steps and give me strength. You were listening, right? Is he my champion? Are we just supposed to be friends? Can You give me a clear answer? This can't be just some whacky, cosmic coincidence.

She glanced down at her torn and paint-splattered University of Maryland sweatshirt and matching men's sweatpants with a faded number seventeen on the thigh. Her hair was twisted in a bun, still damp from a shower. Her shoulders slumped. Dressed in decade-old hand-me-down clothes, a mop of wet hair, and not a smear of make-up on her face. The Lord was making sure she'd be more than safe tonight. Definitely friend-zone all the way.

Sean wasn't waiting for her to give him permission or direction. He was examining her apartment like a detective looking for clues.

She glanced at the clock on the microwave. The policeman's ball should still be hopping. What was he doing here? “Can I take your coat?” she asked.

“Thanks.”

She hung the jacket on the coat rack, shoving the worry over her scarf to the back of her mind. “Can I get you some tea?”

“Tea would be nice.”

She moved to the kitchen and lifted her tea kettle. She filled the kettle and shifted the flame to medium high, then she set the water on to boil. “Should be ready in few minutes.” She shuffled around the island, her arms wrapped together, the sweatshirt bunching over her chest. Stopping three feet in front of him, she dropped her gaze toward her bare feet and waited for him to start.

Did she mess something up at the party? Was she not going to get paid? Was she losing her shop because she accidentally poisoned someone with the baklava she added at the last minute to the dessert buffet? Was the person dead? Was Sean here to arrest her? Her arms tightened around her middle as her heart sped up.

Say something!

He yanked at his tie, slid it off, and tossed it over his jacket. Turning back, he let out a soft sigh. “Do you mind if we sit?”

Sitting was good. He couldn't arrest her if they were sitting.

He sat and fidgeted, driving the bubble of nerves rolling in her stomach to a steaming boil. She sat opposite, drawing her knees up under her chin and folding her arms around her shins. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she began to gnaw on her bottom lip.

He shoved his hand through his short, blond hair and began kneading his neck. He was upset about something. He lowered his hand and shifted his focus to her. His eyes were dark and unreadable. “Maggie…”

A high pitched whistle came from the kitchen and they both twisted toward the noise.

“Tea.” She stood.

“Oh, right, tea.”

She moved to the kitchen, lifted a mug from a hook, and plopped in a mint tea bag.

He followed her, taking three strides into the kitchen space.

Trying to ignore him, she lifted the tea kettle and clicked the stove knob off. Steaming water sloshed into the cup as she bobbed the bag up and down to steep the tea. She handed the mug to him. Leaning against the counter, she laced her arms, and watched him blow above the rim of his mug. “Sorry, I only have mint tea up here. I try and keep caffeine out of the apartment. It's nice to have a place that's relatively stimulus free.”

“Mint is fine.”

“It'll need to steep about five minutes. If you want, we can sit back down and you can tell me why you are at my home on a Friday evening when you should be at a party you are hosting.”

The corner of his mouth twisted into a partial grin. “Sounds good.”

They both resumed their previous positions.

Instinctively, she hugged her arms around her chest as she watched him settle into his seat. Forget water-torture, the silence of this man could break even the strongest of soldiers.

Sean set his mug on the trunk.

The woeful sound of a sad song rose.

“Maggie, I should be at the party. I should be shaking hands and laughing with my friends. I should be eating dinner at Morton's with Jane, Millie, and their husbands. I should be a lot of different places, but the only place I wanted to be tonight was right here, on this couch, with you.”

The blood seemed to rush from her head and pool in her heart making each beat thud in her chest. “Huh…”

Tilting his head, his brows drew together. “‘Huh?' I tell you I want to spend time with you and you respond with, ‘huh.'”

“Sorry,” she said. “I'm not really sure what I should say. I thought we were spending time together. It seems like we are spending time together every day. Aren't we friends, now?”

Sean began pacing in front of the trunk, twisting the space between his neck and his collar bone until she thought he might actually rip his shirt.

Maybe I said the wrong thing.
She stood, reached up and laid her hand on his shoulders to stop his pacing. “Sean, I'm glad you came over tonight. I like that we are friends. It's nice not fighting with you.” She chuckled. “Well, at least not as much.”

He pivoted mid-pace and stared directly into her eyes.

Her stomach dropped to her feet. “Ummm…hi?”

“Hi, yourself.” His lips twisted into a soft smile. His hands lifted and tugged the half dozen bobby pins from her hair. He dropped them to the trunk with a tiny clatter and unwound the heavy, curly mass from its bun. “You have the most beautiful hair, but you always have it tied on top of your head.”

The release of the weight sent tingles shooting over her head and down her spine, detonating a warning siren in her head. She swallowed against her heart that seemed to be lodged in her throat. Biting her bottom lip, she willed the pink heat spreading across her cheeks to retreat. “Oh, well…it's kind of a mess. I took a shower as soon as I got home. I'm actually kind of a disaster.”

“I think you look wonderful.” He ran his hands lightly over her hair. “Comfortable, relaxed …wonderful.” His hands rested on her shoulders and gently kneaded the stiff muscles.

Shivers careened through her system triggering a cacophony of alarm signals in her mind.

Who was this? When did Sean Taylor start doling out compliments like a romantic hero in…well, any chick flick ever made? Just yesterday they'd debated the finer points of using two percent over skim milk in a latte and he bored her with statistics over the coming college basketball season. He'd treated her like a buddy, a friend, an acquaintance—not like someone whose hair he was going to untangle or whose shoulders were in need of a massage.

She jerked free from his hands. “What are you doing?”

“I am trying to relax you.”

“To do what, Chief? Why are you here? I don't think we've established that properly.” Crossing her arms, she wished the sweatshirt wasn't four sizes too big.

“I told you. I wanted to see you tonight.” He smiled and shifted a step closer.

Sliding backwards, she hit the half exposed brick wall leading to the bedroom doorway. She was stuck. She extended her hand. “Stay where you are.”

He closed the gap.

“Hey, I said stay.”

“I'm not a dog, Maggie. And you're going to listen to me.” He rested his hand on the wall, forcing her to lean back as he lowered his face to hers. “You aren't going to run, or make tea, or find one of the million other distractions you have used in the last few months to avoid me.” His voice was low and deep, as if he'd just woken from sleep. “I like you, Maggie McKitrick. I like how you treat your customers as if they are the only people on the planet when you are with them. I like how you get all fired up about the silliest thing and then realize it's silly and blush with embarrassment. I like how your nose crinkles when I say something you disagree with, kind of like you are doing now. I like you. And I would like to get to know you better. I get that you have stuff in your life you don't want to discuss. That's OK, for now. I just want the chance to get to know you and to see if what I'm feeling for you is as big as I think it might be.” He rested his forehead against hers. “Maggie, I don't want to be just your friend or your landlord. I want to be something more. So…what do you think?”

Her breath came in shallow spurts.

His nearness seemed to suck all of the oxygen from the room.

Forget about words forming or an opinion. She would be happy with a simple air-in-lungs scenario.

A soft grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “In the six months I've known you Maggie, you've never been speechless. Give me something.”

She sucked in a shaky breath. “Whoa…”

“I'll take it.” He chuckled and lowered his lips to hers. His touch was light and with it a shock wave of heat shot through her, sparking like kindling to a wild fire. He moved slowly, deepening the kiss with determination, but with the unspoken understanding that she could stop anytime she wanted. His mouth moved against hers, teasing with breathless anticipation, banishing the last of her resistance.

Maggie curled her arms around his neck and she fully opened to the kiss.

He lifted her to her tiptoes, crushing her to his chest.

And she let go. For the first time in nearly a decade, she was wholly in the moment. Pure heat poured through her veins and she rode each wave as it crashed through her system. Time seemed to speed up and slow down simultaneously. And as she felt Sean slow the kiss and loosen his hold on her, she stepped forward, seeking him as an anchor.

He lifted his lips to her forehead and kissed her with a sweet gentleness that turned the fire burning inside her to a warm pool of calm anticipation. He leaned back, his arms still laced around her, and tilted his head. “So, now that we've gotten that out of the way…I think we need to talk.” With a chuckle, he laced his fingers through hers and guided her back to the sofa.

Resuming their positions, she was thankful for the space for the Holy Spirit between them on the couch. Her mind seemed to be filled with cotton and she couldn't trust her heart to not pull a Jeremiah 17 and deceive her into thinking that a little cuddle on the couch was a good thing…even if it seemed a stellar idea at the moment.
C'mon brain. Kick back into gear.
Conscience? Morality? Anyone listening?

He stretched his arm across the back of the sofa, nearly, but not quite, touching her shoulder. “So,” he started. “Before I say anything else, I want you to know I have wanted to kiss you since the first moment you walked into the empty space with Jane.”

Her head tilted to the side. “Why?” The question floated through her lips in a breathy voice she did not recognize.

He chuckled. “I don't know, exactly. I can't explain why I am drawn to you. I just am.”

He leaned his head against the back of the sofa as his eyes closed. His steady breathing punctuated the subtle sounds of the sorrowful tune acting as the evening soundtrack.