Happily Ever After (28 page)

Opening day Mona rose early and greeted the rose-hued dawn from her perch on her favorite boulder overlooking Lake Superior.
The parchment pages of her Bible rustled in the morning breeze. She’d turned, almost without thinking, to her father’s favorite
verse, Jeremiah 29:11, and as she let the words soak into her heart, she realized why he quoted them so often. “For I know
the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.”

She determined to cling to that verse as she opened the doors to the Footstep of Heaven.

They would just have to open without a spectacular personality to hail their first moments. The Footstep of Heaven Bookstore
and Coffee Shop would have to make it on its own two feet.

As soon as Mona returned from her devotional trek, she set up the menu board on the porch, writing the daily specials in chalk.
She had made three kinds of muffins for the day—chocolate chip, bran, and strawberry, courtesy of the Garden. Maybe later
she would attempt wild blueberry with the berries gathered from the hills around Deep Haven. If she lasted that long.

As the sun crested over Lake Superior lighting the lake on fire in dimpled brilliance, the aroma of brewed coffee escaped
into the street. The music of Chopin tickling the ivories swirled through the bookstore, filling the shop with elegance and
a hint of anticipation.

Liza descended the stairs decked out in a fringed wraparound skirt and a white leather vest. “Just thought I’d jazz up the
local flavor a bit,” she explained when Mona eyed her with arched brows.

Mona acknowledged that they were definitely breeds apart. She had on a decidedly conservative cashmere peach cardigan and
a khaki skirt.

When Mona turned over the Open sign, she was thrilled to see a figure on the porch, pacing as if impatient to sample a taste
of Heaven.

It was Chuck, their Realtor. “How’s it going?”

Mona hunched her shoulders. “We’ve only been open one minute.”

“Right. Gimme a café au lait.”

After an hour of business, Chuck was still the only customer. Mona stood on the porch and rubbed her arms, worried.

“Don’t worry, honey; they’ll come. It’s early.”

But by ten o’clock, the muffins were crusting over, and Mona was desperately clinging to the verse from her morning devotions.

Liza sat with her on the steps, biting her lip. “I know what we need,” she announced and bounced to her feet. She headed to
the porch and wrote on the menu board.

Mona followed her. “Why did you write that?”

“To help us keep our perspective.”

“Amen,” Mona said. No matter what happened, she would look heavenward and let God, the author of her dreams, delight her with
His love.

“Good morning, Mona dear.” Edith Draper’s voice spliced through her thoughts. The older woman breezed into the coffee shop,
dragging behind her four of her cronies dressed in their polyester Sunday best.

Mona’s enthusiasm dipped. Now her mother would hear all about her failure. Perfect.

“Is he here yet?” Edith’s gray eyes danced. She exchanged a bright look with a shorter woman who wore a similarly gleeful
expression.

Mona blinked at her. “Chuck?”

Edith laughed. She sidled up close, as if they were sharing an intimate secret. “Why didn’t you tell me? I had to find out
from Mabel down at the dime store.” Before Mona could stammer a reply, Edith winked.

“We’ll just get our coffees and wait.”

“I just love Jonah,” Edith giggled.

Mona stared at her as if Edith had turned purple.

A shiny, red, antique Corvette cruised up in front. Mona watched from the window as a man, decked out in black jeans and a
matching Stetson, headed for the Footstep, a sign under his arm.

“What are you doing here, Joe?” Mona marched down the sidewalk, shocked at her angry tone.

Joe tugged the brim of his hat as if he had never seen her before. “Howdy, ma’am. Reese Clark. I’m here for my reading.”

Mona gawked at him.

“Mona, close your mouth or a seagull will fly in.”

“You tricked me,” she finally growled.

Joe’s smile evaporated. “I didn’t trick you. I just didn’t tell you everything. Some things are private.”

“Like your being a best-selling author and acting like a handyman?”

“I was a handyman, remember? I fixed everything.”

“Well, you can’t fix this, buddy.” Mona turned and stalked toward the house.

The good news was that she sold out of her supply of Jonah books, even the ones Reese had brought in the trunk of his Corvette,
and took two pages of back orders besides. Her muffins vanished at an alarming rate, and the coffeemaker gurgled like a contented
baby all day.

“This is a darling place, Mona,” Edith commented as she walked out, clutching a bulging bag of books. “It certainly lives
up to its name. I think it is just what Deep Haven needs.”

Edith’s warm words only added to Mona’s quandary.

Liza sold pottery like hotcakes as soon as the locals discovered her creations included a seagull etched on the bottom, as
if she were a born-and-bred native of Deep Haven. As her stock dwindled, she compiled a list of orders long enough to keep
her blissfully hibernated in her pottery shed throughout the winter.

When the doors finally closed, Mona and Liza dropped into an exhausted heap on the stairs.

Even Reese seemed worn out from all the admiration. “Not bad, eh?” he said, tucking his thumbs into his belt loops.

“I’m not talking to you,” Mona said. She wanted to surrender to gratefulness, but the sting of his betrayal bit at the impulse.
Gratitude stayed locked inside her tightening chest. She glued her eyes to the floor lest confusion unfurl in the form of
tears.

Liza, however, grinned at the rogue. “I’m going to take a bath and order a pizza.” She stood up. “Thanks, Joe . . . uh . .
. I mean, Reese.”

He smiled sheepishly. “Actually it is Joe. Or, really, Jonah.”

Both women gaped at him.

“Reese is my pen name. Jonah Michaels—” he thumped his chest—“that’s me.”

“You named your character after yourself?” Liza gasped.

“It seemed to fit at the time.”

“I might need some chocolate-chip ice cream too,” Liza muttered and headed upstairs.

Jonah was real. . . .

Joe toed his black cowboy boot into the shiny wood floor, avoiding her eyes, as if he had just handed her his heart and now
waited for her to pummel it.

“I have something of yours,” she offered quietly, her anger peeling off at his palpable discomfort. Mona fled to her room
and grabbed his journal from her nightstand. Shame seeped through her. She’d had no right to read it, and when she handed
it back to him, she saw the question flicker in his eyes. “Yes, I read it,” she admitted. “I’m sorry.”

He winced. “It’s okay.”

They stood there for a moment, he blowing out painful sighs and she rubbing her cashmere-covered arms.

“I know about Gabe, Joe.”

That seemed to knock the wind from him, for he gave her a look so desperate, her last embers of irritation died. He opened
his mouth, but no words emerged.

“He’s a wonderful man. I bought all my strawberries from the Garden.” She smiled with compassion.

Chagrin colored Joe’s face in the form of a blush. “I’m sorry, Mona. I should have introduced you to him.”

“Did you think the fact that he has Down syndrome would matter to me? That I would love him any less?”

“It mattered to my father,” he answered bluntly. “He left us because of Gabe.”

Pity swelled inside her. “Well, I wouldn’t leave. I would trust the Lord and find a way to see His blessings.” She tightened
her gaze. “Would you leave?”

He paused, stared at the floor. “I did. I ran away from Gabe and all the pain my father left behind.” When he looked up, his
agony wrenched out her heart. “I was afraid to get close toGabe, to my father . . . to you.”

She put a hand on his arm. “Joe,” she said tenderly, “why did you leave?”

He stiffened. “Isn’t it obvious?”

Mona frowned.

“You said you loved Jonah for his honesty.” Joe’s voice grew ragged. “But I was living here, deceiving you with every slam
of my hammer. I knew when you said that, you could never forgive me.”

His face reddened, and he looked away as he continued. “I even came here at first thinking I might be able to write another
Jonah story. Something about Jonah saving a young woman’s dreams. But it didn’t take long before I didn’t want it to be just
a story. I didn’t want it to be something I dreamed up, watching from afar. I wanted Joe to be your hero, and I wanted . .
.” His voice trailed off to nothing, and Mona bit her lip to keep from crying. “But I know now that I was just fooling myself.”

Tears pushed into Mona’s eyes. Bravely, she stole closer. “If God can forgive me for killing my father, and you can forgive
me for blaming you for the Footstep disasters, I think I can forgive you for pretending you’re a handyman.”

Mona hurled him a semi-cross scowl. “And a best-selling author—only my favorite, I might add—and you knew it!” She clamped
her hands on her hips, feeling a swell of sickness in her chest. “You were probably rolling over inside with laughter when
I told you my impression of Reese.”

His tender voice soothed the pain around her heart. Besides, how could she doubt the sincerity in those disarming blue eyes?
“So, it was you I met last fall at the Mall of America?”

“Yep.” He looked so mournful it reminded her of Rip hiding from her after he’d tracked mud through the house.

She suddenly wanted to laugh. “Did you follow me here?” she asked, stifling the urge to laugh.

“No! That was purely God’s doing. But it didn’t take me long to remember where I’d first met that delicious smile or seen
that dirt-streaked face.”

Mona glowered at him in mock fury.

“I didn’t set out to deceive you,” he said, abruptly serious. “I was just trying to keep things simple. I thought if you met
Gabe and found out who I was, and that I had a passel of fans who might invade your life, you’d send me packing. I didn’t
want anyone to get hurt.” He rubbed a hand behind his neck. “In fact, I prayed that when I showed up I would be a blessing
to you.”

As if to confirm her rampaging doubts, he turned abruptly. “I’m glad I could help you, Mona.”

He swallowed hard, as if working up the truth, and she heard the echo of her fears.

Joe finally met her gaze. His eyes blazed with an inferno of unspoken emotions so warm it made her mouth dry. “I wanted to
help you. It seemed you were trying so hard, and I wanted it to work for you. I heard about your problem through my publicist
and knew God wanted me to come back. I realized then that He’d given me a gift—a successful writing career. I could either
hide from it or use it to help you.”

“Oh.” It was worse than pity. Joe had reverted back to handyman mode . . . fixing the black holes in her life, but this time
doing it by flexing his author muscles. It didn’t have anything to do with romance or the love she thought she’d felt emanating
from his warm smile as he’d helped her build her dreams. “Thank you,” she said through her knotted chest.

He tugged his hat, as if he had just walked her across the street, and turned toward the door.

God had given her everything—her forgiveness, her Footstep, and her Jonah right off the pages. She wouldn’t let Joe run away.
Not if her love could bring him home.

“Joe, did you mean what you wrote about me?”

He whirled, and the look on his face made her want to cry. Achingly raw and desperate. “I meant it.”

“Then let me finish the story for you,” Mona whispered. “Jonah stops running. He finds the woman of his dreams in some tiny
town and decides he’s going to have to risk someone invading the privacy of his heart . . .just like the rest of us.”

An odd look filtered into Joe’s eyes. Mona swallowed her heart, which had lodged in her throat, squarely cutting off her air
supply.

A smile spread across his face. “I like it.”

“I love you, Joe. Don’t leave.” Summoning her courage, Mona nudged closer, nearly into his arms.

Joe’s eyes searched hers, piercing, intimate, testing her words. He reached out and traced her cheek with his fingers, sending
a ripple down Mona’s spine and igniting every nerve ending.

“I love you too.” His voice trembled when he spoke. “You’re all I’ve been thinking about this last week, you and the Footstep
and Gabe. . . .” He closed his eyes, obviously fighting a wave of emotion.

Mona waited, her pulse nearly flinging her into his arms, longing to comfort, to soothe. Instead she leaned her head into
his hand as it cupped her cheek.

“Mona, after I left you, I went to see my father.”

She saw his face change subtly, like the effect of the sun moving from behind a cloud through a thick forest. His emotions,
once hooded, began to shine. Passion swept through his voice. “I told him I forgave him for leaving us, and when I did it
. . . okay, here goes—I felt like I could breathe again. Suddenly I had all these places in my heart that were wide open .
. .” His eyes roamed her face. “And just waiting for you to move in.” He cradled her face with both hands, causing her entire
body to quiver.

“Mona, I’ve loved you almost since the first day I met you. Your crazy, wonderful dreams make me want to put down roots and
build a life here in Deep Haven. I don’t care if I get hurt, or if something happens and you leave me. I’ll take the risk
if you’ll let me love you. Let me fix all your broken pipes, your leaky roof, mow your lawn. I don’t even have to write anymore.
Not one word. I just want to be with you. I’ll be your handyman. Forever.” He swallowed, and she felt his nervousness strum
through her. “Mona Reynolds, will you marry me?”

She went weak. “Marry Jonah?” she teased in a shaky voice. “I’d be the envy of women across the world.” Her head spun. Marry
Jonah . . . her dream man?

He held her gaze with those beautiful eyes that could turn her bones to jelly. “Yes, marry Jonah. Marry me. I can’t promise
that it will be easy. We’ll always have people peering into our lives. But I think, with you beside me, I can bear it. Will
you share my world and let me into yours?”

Mona nodded, unable to speak, to breathe, to do anything but let her tears flow.

When he gave her a tender smile, she could have danced to the music in it. Then Joe bent and kissed her, tentatively, lingeringly,
as if the touch of her nourished his soul. Mona put a hand on his chest and relaxed against him, tasting tears in their kiss.
When he pulled away, she felt his body tremble and saw in his eyes the magnitude of his love. Her heart filled with a swirl
of joy.

“What about Reese Clark?” she murmured, drinking in the fragrance of his cologne and the intoxicating scent of flannel that
always surrounded him. “Your book plots take you all over the world. What will happen to Jonah?” His lips were close to hers,
and she longed for his strong, capable arms around her.

He entwined his fingers through her hair and smiled, those beautiful blue eyes turning rapscallion. “I was serious about being
your handyman.”

She laughed softly. “Well, I might employ your services occasionally. But you can’t stop writing. What would your public say?”

Worry shifted into his face. “Are you sure you’re ready for my public?”