One Little Kiss (Christian Romance) Page 5

  He needed to focus. The problem was his roommate. Logan’s arrogance had surpassed its previous levels in the last couple of days, and he continually brought up his date with Tessa. Obviously, Logan had sensed the small spark of interest Henry felt toward Tessa and wanted Henry to care, and maybe even be jealous. But Henry was growing tired of Logan's games to get back at him for… what? For Henry being himself? They were both doctors and with that should have come a certain level of maturity.

  Starting right that moment. He was putting it out of his head for good. Logan and Tessa, with their socially acceptable interests and personalities, were perfect for each other. Now figuring out the plot of the road show, that was important.

  Instead of a princess, the girl in their road show could be the bishop's daughter. And instead of getting turned into a frog, the prince could be an arrogant medical doctor who doesn't get the girl in the end, because who really liked young, successful doctors anyway? No one.

  This was good stuff.

  A chorus could begin the play by singing to the tune of Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes:

  Once there was an ugly frog

  Ugly frog

  Ugly frog

  Who kissed a real princess

  And she rejected him.

  "With this sort of brilliance, you should forget about studying insects and look into screenplay writing," he muttered to himself after singing the song a few times, and deciding to show it to Tessa when he saw her Sunday. He also had an idea for a song to the tune of Popcorn Popping involving the frog's head bursting off his body—metaphorically, of course.

  Logan and Tessa had been out for about an hour. They were probably eating dinner.

  Not that he cared.

  He stood and grabbed his notebook. What he needed was a change of scenery.

  He drove out of downtown Tucson, past the university and all of the little shops and apartments, and headed for the west side of town. He rounded “A” Mountain and continued west until most of the city disappeared and desert surrounded him. His dad’s house was tucked into the side of the mountain with a few acres of saguaro-dotted land surrounding it. Quiet, calm, and remote—all three things he needed more than ever.

  Her parked and walked inside.

  "Anyone here?" His words echoed over the marble tile and up through the vaulted ceiling in the entry way. The lights were all on, but that could be a function of his dad's forgetfulness and not indicative of anyone being home. His dad worked as a consulting engineer in the mornings and as a professor at the university in the evenings, and often had his head more on numbers and projects than he did on mundane things like turning off lights and the stove.

  "Henry?" His younger sister, Ava, called from the back of the house. "I'm in the kitchen."

  He walked past the great room and curving staircase, and rounded the corner to the kitchen. Ava stood at the marble island, her hands deep in dough. The house smelled like sugary baked goods, and when Henry's stomach growled, he realized he hadn't eaten since breakfast. He grabbed three muffins from the basket on the table. He didn't know what they were, but if Ava made them, they’d be amazing. He snagged a stool and scooted it around to the opposite side of the island.

  Ava stopped kneading, her elbows locked over her dough. "Please tell me you haven't been wearing those glasses to church."

  Henry peeled back the wax paper on a muffin and popped it into his mouth whole. "I lost mine," he said through the food.

  "So you took Dad's old glasses?" She threw a piece of dough at him, getting him square in the forehead. "What's wrong with you? Those are like thirty years old."

  "And still work as good as the day he bought them." Henry grinned while unwrapping the second muffin.

  "I can't even." She glared at him before going back to working her dough. "And don't get me started on what you're wearing."

  He looked down at his clothes like he didn't see a problem with the neon green shirt and white-washed jeans. "What?"

  "Henry. This has to stop." She waved her doughy fingers up and down, flinging bits around the room. "This isn't you."

  "It is now."

  Her hands attacked the dough with vengeance. "Sometimes I wish I could strangle Chelsea." Tension grew between them at the mention of Ava's former best friend. "I heard she's back from her mission."

  "Yeah, well." He pushed Chelsea's image from his mind and forced himself to eat the last muffin, even though the crumbs had turned to dust in his mouth. It had already been eighteen months since she left; twenty-one months since she'd returned his engagement ring with little more than an apology that he was not what she was looking for in a future husband.

  And how could he argue with that? Forgetful guys who were obsessed with insects didn’t usually get the girl in the end. But he was past it now, far enough anyway to tease his sister, who had lost almost as much as him when Chelsea did what she did. "I'd hate for you to go to jail for murder, because then I'd have no one to cook for me."

  "Stop dressing like a four-year-old let loose in a nineties outlet and maybe you'd meet a girl willing to cook for you."

  "Or maybe I'll meet a girl who doesn't care what I look like."

  "Not if you push them all away." She rolled the dough into a ball and lifted her arm to wipe her forehead on the sleeve. "Hand me that bowl."

  He slid her the oiled bowl and she placed the dough in it before covering it with a towel and then washing her hands.

  "What kind of muffins did I eat?"

  "Cranberry white-chocolate bran. Mostly healthy."

  "As always."

  Ava ran a popular cooking blog in addition to doing a weekly cooking segment on Saturday mornings for a local news station. Her theme was "Mostly Healthy" but her food was always all the way delicious. It was something Ava began doing after their mom died four years earlier, and like with everything else she did, she worked hard at it until she became the best.

  Henry used his foot to snag another chair and drag it over for Ava.

  She sat gratefully. “Did you read Adam’s latest email?”

  Henry shifted in his chair with guilt. Their youngest brother, Adam, was on a mission in Guatemala and every email seemed to be a rehash of what a fantastic missionary he was. “Not yet.”

  “Well, I’ll save you the trouble. The people of Guatemala certainly know that the Church—and Elder White—are true.”

  Henry chuckled and shook his head. “I thought missions to third world countries were supposed to make you more humble.”

  “Yeah, well. Adam was born with double the ego—his and the one you were supposed to get.”

  “Ha ha,” he deadpanned. “Just for that—” He reached around her and grabbed two more muffins.

  “I was going to bring those to you later anyway.” She folded her arms and leaned back against the chair. "I got into ASU."

  Henry blinked. They’d been raised on a steady diet of blue and red, wildcat pride. The University of Arizona’s school motto, Bear Down, had been their family motto. Henry didn’t get into the theatrics of the rivalry between the University of Arizona and ASU, but their dad sure did. "Oh. Wow. That's great."

  "Stop faking that you're happy for me. I don't even know if I'm going to go."

  "I'm not faking."

  She glared at him.

  "I’m just surprised. You’ve been telling us for a couple of years that college isn’t for you. And you picked ASU of all places. But if you go, figure out how to mail me food."

  “You and the food.” She grabbed a muffin and pulled off the wax paper, rolling it into a ball. "Dad's been acting weird."

  He squeezed her shoulder in sympathy. "He hates ASU. I’m sure he’ll come around."

  "Not about that! I haven’t told him yet. I mean at the station. When he comes to watch my segments." She sighed with frustration, likely bugged Henry couldn't keep up with her rapid change in topics. "It's hard to explain."

  "Weird how? Like he needs to see a doctor weird?"

  "No!
" She put her head in her hands. "I don't want to talk about it. You’ll need to come see."

  Another one of his sister's talents was the ability to drum up drama. Dad acting weird could be anything from him whistling seventies rock songs in public to spasming on the ground heart-attack style. "Want me to come down to the station sometime?"

  "Yes!" She grabbed his arm and shook it. "When can you come?"

  He had to work down at the border next Saturday morning checking fruit trucks for insects, but he told her the one after that would work.

  "I'll text you a reminder.” She gave him a pointed look. It wasn't like he wanted to forget things, but his mind was so full of school, and now the road show, that other information slipped his mind. Their dad was the same way, which made it amazing that he'd managed to hold onto these glasses for so long. It was like they refused to be lost, based on ugliness alone.

  "Any hints about this weirdness?" Henry asked. "Should I be concerned?"

  Her mouth flattened into a grim line. "I don't know, but I don't like it one bit."

  Chapter 9

  Tessa walked into sacrament meeting and searched the room for Logan. He sat in a side bench, sandwiched between several girls. He caught her eye, but then someone touched his arm and said something to him, and he turned his attention back to her. Tessa’s smile froze and she let Layla take her arm and lead them to the end of a middle bench.

  "You should go over there and win him back," Layla whispered.

  "How?"

  "Push through those girls and sit..." Her voice drifted as she checked out the situation. “On his lap, since it's the only available space."

  Even though the situation wasn't funny, Tessa still let out a snort-laugh. "Can you imagine if I actually did that?"

  "I'd pay a lot of money to see it."

  "As motivating as that is, I'm going to refrain from throwing myself at him." She folded her hands in her lap and tried to pretend she hadn't gone home after their date and filled four pages in her journal describing their kiss alone. He hadn't kissed any of those girls, most likely, and he had told her he wanted to see her again. He couldn't be blamed for being hounded all the time. He was an attractive, successful man. One she wasn't ready to give up on, even if she refused to sit on his lap to be near him.

  "Tessa." Henry stood beside her bench and pointed at the spot next to her. "Can I sit here for a second?"

  "Sure," she said, slowly. She pulled her purse into her lap and scooted over a few inches. Layla was talking to a guy who'd sat on her other side, Rob, the Sunday school teacher.

  Henry leaned close, his voice a soft whisper. "I've been thinking about the road show this weekend, and I have a few ideas." He handed her a notebook with The Anura Prince written on the cover. "Let me know what you think."

  "Okay. I'm having the bishop announce our first meeting for Thursday night in the courtyard of my apartment. We'd already set the date before he called you. Will that work for you?"

  He seemed to be mentally rifling through his schedule. "I think so."

  "Good. We probably won't have a finished script, but I'd like an outline at least, and people can adlib, too." She flipped open the first page and read a song he wrote about the frog getting rejected. She giggled at the silliness. It wasn't quite the direction she’d planned to take, but Henry was funny. Speaking of, he stood to walk away but she leaned across the bench and grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?"

  He pointed a few rows back. "To sit."

  "Bring your stuff over here. In case I have questions about your notes," she quickly clarified.

  "Okay." He grabbed his scriptures and sat beside her, his body a little wider than she'd realized. His shoulder brushed hers and she smelled something pleasant. A hint of cologne and cinnamon. "They're all stupid ideas, but it might give us a jumping off point."

  "They're not stupid."

  "You've only read the first page," he pointed out. His arm brushed hers again while he opened his scripture case and she wondered when he'd gotten so broad. Had his arms always been so muscular? "Do you work out?"

  "Sometimes," he said with a lifted brow. "Why? Do you need some heavy lifting?"

  Her cheeks heated. She scrambled for an explanation that didn't involve her checking out his biceps. "For the play. Sets and costume boxes and ... stuff. I'm going to read your notes now."

  He gave her a half-smile before turning his attention back to his scriptures. They were falling apart at the seams and marked up like they were well-read and well-loved. Even though she knew it was wrong, she peered over his shoulder and read his precise handwriting in the margin near one of the verses in John. Mom’s favorite.

  Curious, she read the underlined portion of the verse beside it. In the world ye shall have tribulation; but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.

  She couldn’t help nudging his arm, and indicating the scripture when she got his attention. “That’s sweet you marked her favorite.”

  He ran his finger over the verse. “She used to end all of my missionary letters with a scripture, and this was in the last one she sent me.”

  “She saved her favorite for last?”

  “In a way. She died in an accident a few days after sending this, about six months before I was scheduled to come home. Sometimes I wonder if she knew I’d need to hear it.”

  Tessa’s heart dropped. “I’m so sorry.”

  His chin dipped in acknowledgement. “Being on a mission helped keep my mind busy. My youngest brother, Adam had football and all of his friends. My sister Ava had the hardest time, I think. Besides my dad.”

  “I can’t even imagine.” She struggled under her parents’ expectations, but she’d be devastated to lose one of them. She thought again about the verse, imagining it as his mom’s final message. “It’s a great verse.”

  His smile softened the weary lines around his eyes. “It is.”

  She went back to his notebook while Henry continued to read his scriptures, but her mind strayed to their conversation until Layla's hand came down hard on Tessa's leg. "Look up," she hissed.

  Tessa did and was shocked to see Logan standing at the end of their row. "Room for me?" he asked, pushing in past Henry. He stopped between Henry and Tessa and waited for her to scoot over so he could sit between them. Henry looked over at her and they shared a surprised glance before Logan's head popped up between them. He slung an arm over the back of the bench, and Henry's face disappeared.

  "What brings you over here? You looked so comfortable."

  "Why sit by ten mediocre girls when there are two great ones over here.” He winked at Tessa. “Besides, I can’t let Henry have all the fun.”

  Chapter 10

  Tessa rang the bell at her parent's house and used the reflective glass to fix her hair before her mom opened the door and pulled her into a hug. More than once, her mom had said this house was Tessa’s house, too, but since Tessa had never lived there, it felt weird to walk in. Her mom and dad had moved there after she graduated from high school.

  "Come in!" her mom said, keeping her arm around Tessa's waist while they walked through the door. "Dinner's ready."

  The scent of herbs and chicken made Tessa's stomach growl. Her mom was talented at many things, including cooking. She didn't do it often, but when she did, it was always a treat. "Chicken cordon bleu with roasted potatoes and asparagus and a raspberry cheesecake."

  Tessa’s mouth watered. Cheese, butter, sugar. Three of her biggest weaknesses, all in one meal. Her mom didn't understand why Tessa always wanted to drop another couple of pounds, citing that she was well within the normal range for her body mass index. But Tessa's freshman fifteen had turned into the sophomore twenty and it had taken her a whole year to drop most of the weight. She had five more pounds to go before her pants fit exactly the way she wanted them to, and she promised herself she'd never give Jenkins a reason to call her "plump" again.

  "I special ordered you the new pillow I told you about." Mom held up a hand when Tessa
tried to argue. "I know you don't want us spending money on you, but you're our daughter, and I can spend my money wherever I want. And believe me when I say that this pillow will change your life."

  Tessa sighed, but gave her mom a side hug. She'd confessed to her parents about the hotel room a few weeks before, but instead of disappointment, they'd been thrilled that she'd used the credit card for once. "Thank you," Tessa said, deciding to be gracious. "I'm sure it'll be amazing."

  "I'll call you when it arrives. It'll probably be a few weeks."

  Her mom had been raving about this handmade pillow stuffed with the shed feathers of singing doves, or something mystical like that. It was unlike her mom to spend money on something as frivolous as a pillow, but a long-time patient told her about it, and now she was hooked.

  They arrived at the dining room and Tessa sat at her usual spot, facing the wall of glass windows where she had a gorgeous view of the Catalina Mountains. Her dad sat at the head of the table to her right, and her mom across from her. They'd brought out the nice china like they did every Sunday and had made Tessa's favorite drink: homemade strawberry lemonade. She had good parents. And they believed in her so much more than they should. More than she believed in herself.

  Tessa went to pour lemonade into her goblet, but Dad stopped her. "Before we eat, Jenkins said he has some news for us. We told him we'd video call him when you arrived."

  Good news from Jenkins. Was there any other kind of news from him? She retracted her hand from her glass and waited while Dad set up the connection on the tablet, then set it in a stand so Jenkins could see everyone.

  The Internet connection was moving slowly, so while they waited, Tessa asked her parents about their week.

  "Three surgeries this week," her dad said. "Two appendix removals and one stomach repair on a newborn not much bigger than this." He cupped his hands together.

  "What's it like doing surgery on someone so small?" Tessa asked, trying to picture it, but immediately wishing she hadn’t. If she followed in her dad's footsteps the way she planned, that could be her someday, but her brain short circuited at the thought of pressing a knife through flesh—even to save a life.