Love Starts with Elle Read online

  She’d just decided to close up and click on the air conditioner when Julianne came through the front door with Rio in tow.

  “Wow, it’s hot.”

  “The air is cranking.” Elle stooped down to embrace her niece. “Hey there, pretty girl.” To Julianne she asked, “You’re taking me to the airport tomorrow morning, right?”

  “Yes, and Mama is picking you up when you come home. We’ve worked it out.” Julianne collapsed on the couch. “It’s an oven in here.”

  “Looky, Auntie Elle.” Rio stuck her little behind up so Elle could see her pink backpack. “We went to Wals-Mart.”

  “Wals-Mart? I’m jealous.” Elle turned Rio toward the hallway. “Run to your room. I have a surprise for you.”

  Rio didn’t need to be told twice. At Auntie Elle’s, she had her own room. With her mama, she shared. And for the hundredth time, Elle thought Rio was possibly the most beautiful child she’d ever seen.

  “What’d you get her?” Julianne propped her feet on Elle’s tired but sturdy coffee table.

  “Just new a coloring book and crayons.”

  “Can you keep Rio for me tonight?”

  “Where are you going?” Elle shuffled through a pile of linens she’d pulled from the hall closet. She’d pack her new towels and washcloths, left the rest for the renter.

  “Out.” Julianne shoved off the couch and headed for the kitchen.

  “We just ate at McDonald’s. Got any fruit in here?”

  “To relieve your fast-food guilt?” Elle heard the fridge open, followed by the hiss of a Coke can.

  “Naturally.”

  Rio ran to the living room with her new coloring book and a box of crayons.

  “Color on the coffee table, Rio.” Watching her made Elle’s heart ache. In a few weeks, these impromptu visits would cease.

  Julianne came in from the kitchen with a Diet Coke and a bowl of grapes. “Eat these, Rio, please.” She set the bowl on the table next to the coloring book, then plopped onto the leather couch just inside the shade. “So, can she stay?”

  Elle leaned over the back of the couch propped on her elbows. “If you tell me where you’re going.”

  “I told you. Out.”

  “With whom? And to where?”

  “Really, Elle, you ask too many questions.” Julianne popped a grape into her mouth. “Rio, good job on the picture. I love a solid purple cat.”

  “Seems I remember someone asking me a lot of questions the other day,” Elle said. “Rio, remember to color between the lines like I showed you.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want to color between the lines.” Julianne tossed a grape at her sister.

  “Maybe if she learned to color between the lines first, then she’d be an expert at coloring outside the lines.” Elle arched her brow at her sister and tossed the grape back.

  “I’m not telling you where I’m going. It’s my business.”

  “Let’s see, wasn’t it you prying into my life just a few days ago? Now I can’t ask where you’re going if I keep your daughter overnight?” If Jules really needed an overnight sitter, she’d have no choice but to go to Mama or one of their other sisters. And if she hated Elle asking questions . . . ?

  “I have a date.” Julianne seemed to think these four words sufficed as an answer.

  “An overnight date?” Elle suspended “date” for emphasis.

  “No, but we’re going to Charleston for a play. I’ll be home late. Besides, I have to pick you up at the crack-o-seven anyway. It just seemed easier.”

  “Who is he?”

  “A man.”

  “Do we know him?” Elle motioned toward Rio with her eyes. “You can’t go around with just anyone.”

  “If you don’t want to watch her, just say so.” Julianne fired off the couch for the kitchen. “Finish up, Rio, we’ve got to get going.”

  Elle caved. “Jules, I’ll watch her, but what’s the harm in knowing where you’re going to be and with whom? Do I know this date?”

  Julianne picked up her handbag from the coffee table. It rattled with keys and who knew what else. “Call my cell if you need me.” She stooped to kiss Rio. “Be good for Auntie Elle.”

  Elle followed her out to the front porch. “Do not be late to pick me up for the airport.”

  Julianne stopped at the bottom step. “You don’t have to marry him, Elle.”

  “Stop hinting, Jules. What are you trying to say? You don’t like him, do you?”

  “Yes, I like him. A lot. I don’t like him taking you away, and I’m sure you don’t either.”

  Elle shook her head, turning for the house. “Good night, Jules. See you at seven, and don’t be late.”

  FOUR

  DALLAS

  Thunderstorms rolled over the plains and delayed Elle’s fight to Dallas by three hours. When the wheels finally barked against the tarmac, she exhaled tension and subtly stretched the knots from her shoulders and legs.

  The only thing that made this horrid day and dreadful flight worthwhile was the anticipation of seeing Jeremiah at the end of the Jetway. She’d covered all of her apprehension and worry with daydreams of the week.

  House hunting, kissing, planning their future, kissing, meeting her new church family, kissing, watching old movies and eating pizza, kissing . . .

  Given the all-clear by the flight attendant to use electronic devices, Elle fished her cell phone from her bag and dialed Jeremiah. As it rang, she gazed out the plane’s rain-splattered window. She couldn’t see much of Dallas from the airport’s gate, but just beyond the gray horizon a patch of blue was breaking through.

  Jeremiah’s voicemail popped on. “You’ve reached Jeremiah Franklin, I’m unavailable at this time . . .”

  Elle listened, rising from her seat, hunched forward under the overhead bin, waiting for the passengers in the forward rows to deplane.

  “Hey, babe, it’s me. I’m here. Finally. I cannot wait to see you. This trip has been an ordeal.” She smiled “thanks” to the man who reached in the overhead and tugged down her bag. “Starting with Julianne being late to pick me up. Then some kid spilled chocolate milk down my back in Atlanta . . . You know what? I’m sorry, this can wait. See you in a few minutes.”

  Elle tucked her phone into her bag as she strode down the Jet-way. Just before stepping into the gate area, she paused to fluff her hair, adjust her top and jeans, inhale, exhale, and prepare to see Jeremiah’s handsome face searching for hers.

  But when she emerged, he wasn’t there. Hmm. She checked the gate next to hers. No Jeremiah. Ah, of course, he’d need a ticket to get past security. Elle joined the rest of the annoyed and testy passengers moving toward baggage claim.

  Jeremiah wasn’t in baggage claim either. By the time the carousel’s warning beep sounded and the conveyor began its slow, squeaky rotation, he’d not called or appeared.

  Elle scanned the waiting passengers, then glanced out the exit doors to see if he was waiting in his car, but there was no sign of him.

  All right, Jeremiah, where are you? Her stomach ached, anticipation mingling with frustration.

  As her overstuffed brown suitcase appeared on the carousel, she reached for it. Her two smaller bags followed. She’d definitely over-packed. But she’d never been to Dallas before and she wasn’t sure of all she’d need. Would the days be warm and the evenings cold? Did they dress up for church or go casual with jeans and nice tops? Did Jeremiah have dinner plans for them? If so, should she dress for Texas BBQ or fine dining?

  So far, she’d only heard plans for a Sunday-night potluck dinner and days upon days of house hunting. She hoped to find an old Texas ranch house rich with ambiance and cowboy heritage.

  Dragging her luggage off to the side, she dialed Jeremiah again. Listening as his phone rang, she imagined a quiet evening, ordering pizza, watching a movie, and stealing kisses.

  His phone bounced to voicemail again. “Hey, it’s me. I’m at the airport waiting. Call me.”

  Elle carted her suitcas
es out to the curb and perched on top of the big bag to wait. Other passengers from her flight hopped into waiting cars or climbed aboard shuttle buses. The first few minutes, she watched folks come and go, but as time passed and the dew of the rainy day seeped into her skin, Elle grew angry and impatient.

  Shivering, she dialed Jeremiah, clamping her sweater closed with her chilled fingers. Voicemail. She clapped her phone closed as a Texas-sized blue word slipped off the end of her tongue.

  Jeremiah pulled into DFW forty minutes late. Elle was cold, tired, and hungry. And angry. Her first night in Dallas and they fought— from the moment he put her luggage in the trunk to the moment he pulled into Steak n Shake for a quick bite.

  “What’ll you have?” The waitress glanced between them, hands on her waist.

  “I’ll have a burger and fries with a large chocolate shake.” Elle’s bracelets clattered against the table when she snapped her menu closed.

  “I’ll have the same,” Jeremiah said, calm and collected, making Elle feel like a loon for being upset.

  “I still don’t understand why you didn’t call or text.” Elle tore at the edge of her napkin. If she looked at Jeremiah, she’d burst into tears. And frankly, she didn’t have the energy for it.

  “Babe, what do you want me to do? I was late. I’m sorry. We have a Wednesday-night leaders meeting and it went long. My phone was supposed to be set on vibrate, but I’d turned it off somehow.”

  “Fine, Jer, I understand long meetings and phones turned off, but didn’t you even think to check the time. It makes me feel like you weren’t anticipating my visit at all. I thought of you all day.”

  “Of course I anticipated you coming. I’ve thought of you being here since we decided on the dates. Don’t make it sound like I dissed you on purpose. But as the leader, I can’t just get up and walk out in the middle of an important discussion.”

  “I see, so if you’re in a meeting and I call to say, ‘Honey, my water just broke, the baby’s coming,’ I can only hope you’re not leading an important meeting?”

  “Elle, that’s not fair. I can’t believe—”

  “No, it’s not fair. Neither is you letting me sit there alone without even thinking to call. Why did you even go to the meeting? If I’d arrived on time, what were your plans for me?” The debate exhausted her.

  “Your host family, the Farmers, were going to take you to dinner.” Jeremiah slipped from his side of the booth into Elle’s. “Babe, come on, let’s not fight. Sets a bad tone for the week.”

  His kiss cooled her ire. “Please, Jeremiah, don’t make me feel like an afterthought. Ministry is important, yes. Any career takes a certain level of commitment. But not at the expense of our relationship.”

  He wrapped his fingers with hers. “You are far from an afterthought, Elle.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder. “I guess it feels like it tonight.”

  “Let’s forget tonight, then. Start fresh in the morning. We’ll go out to a nice brunch, see a little of Dallas.”

  Elle lifted her eyes to his, kissing him. “Best news I’ve heard all day.”

  Seven days of house hunting. Seven days of headache. Elle walked the length of this brand-new home’s living room listening to the sound of her heels click against the hardwood and bounce from the beige wall to the sculptured ceiling.

  At what point had all of her expectations started falling apart? Could she rewind to where they were intact and start over? To the day before she arrived?

  Jeremiah’s voice resonated from the foyer where he talked with their Realtor, Lyle Dubois, between answering phone calls.

  Today, of course, his phone is not accidentally turned off. Elle grimaced at her silent sarcasm. Did she not expect bumps in the road, especially with a man like Jeremiah whose high energy inspired everyone around him to move and shake?

  Three months on the job and from what Elle observed and heard during the Sunday-night potluck dinner, Dr. Jeremiah Franklin had 3:16 Metro Church on the move.

  While she loved his success, Elle struggled to see how she fit in the big picture.

  Jeremiah’s cell rang for the fifth time that hour. “Maurice, what do you have for me?” Maurice Winters was Jeremiah’s assistant and longtime friend and the reason Jeremiah first heard of the senior pastor job.

  Elle walked the length of the living room again and peered into the grassless backyard. Beyond the spattering of trees, the Texas sky darkened with more rain.

  “Elle.” Jeremiah angled his head into the room from the foyer, phone to his ear, the mouthpiece even with his jaw. “Lyle said the developer plans to lay the sod before we close.” Back to his phone without waiting for her response.

  “Thanks,” she said. Lyle nodded a “You’re welcome.”

  This week had been a whirlwind week of discovery. Meeting the congregation—all of whom Elle found warm and charming. Jeremiah had announced he’d been asked to host a weekly television show with the intent to start local and go national by the end of next year. After consulting his leaders, he’d agreed to start the pre­production process as early as April.

  Two days later, while walking through the house Elle loved the most—a farmhouse outside the city limits with a big yard, trees, and a small, trickling stream—Jeremiah took a phone call, talked briefly, then announced to Elle he’d agreed to write a book to go along with the theme of the television show. Now he constantly jotted notes on napkins and the back of receipts.

  Was she feeling overwhelmed? Big fat yes. Life was happening to her, not with her.

  “Well, babe, what do you think?” Jeremiah clicked his phone closed and walked toward her.

  “It’s big. Lovely.” Too new, too cold. “The yard is the size of a saltine. And there’s not a tree in my line of sight.”

  Jeremiah circled the room’s perimeter, commenting on the crown molding and the unique use of the floating staircase. “I love it. Lyle, what’s the price on this one?”

  Elle’s temples tightened. Of course he loved the house. It was the image of him. Haute couture. Stylish, modern, pristine, and structured with intricate details not easily duplicated.

  But she longed for vintage. An older home with creaking floors, odd-shaped rooms, hidden nooks, and a history of love and laughter.

  “The price is in your range, Dr. Franklin.” Lyle walked toward the center of the barren living room. “And in this buyer’s market, we can offer several thousand less than the asking price.”

  The skinny Realtor under a cowboy hat shoved back his bright orange jacket, set his hands on his belt, and glanced between the two of them. Poor Lyle, caught between their tug-of-war of wants.

  “Elle, what do you think?” Jeremiah nodded slightly. “Yes?”

  She hated to sound like a worn, scratched record, but for the moment, the kind of house she moved into after her wedding and honeymoon was the only thing she had control over in her pre-Dallas existence.

  “I don’t know, Jeremiah. Isn’t it a bit expensive?”

  “Excuse us, Lyle.” Jeremiah shuffled Elle out the back of the living room into the dining room. “I guess we haven’t been able to talk in-depth about money.”

  And whose fault is that, Cell Phone Man? “It’s been crazy, I know.”

  “Money is not an issue, Elle. I had the good sense not to squander my endorsement money from my football days.”

  “Oh, gr-great.” His good sense tackled her last argument. “I’d never considered your football career.”

  “Elle, I make a good salary, but the board knows I have investments. Other than buying a nice house, I don’t intend to flash money around. I’m keeping the Honda, not going to drive anything fancy. But I don’t want to come home from a long day and hear you tell me the plumbing needs fixing or the attic is leaking.”

  Listen to his heart, Elle. How could she not agree? If Mama sat on her shoulder right now, she’d say, “Just go along, Elle. Do this for your man. You’ll make it a home in no time.”

  “Your
hesitation tells me you don’t like it.”

  Did he hear her at all, read her language, understand her protests? “I’d feel like I was living in a hotel all the time. It’s big and drafty. Everything is stainless steel and brass. The farmhouse we looked at is out of the question? I know the first house I liked needed too much work, but there has to be more like it around this great big city.”

  His eyes narrowed, but only for a second. He planted a quick kiss on her forehead. “Okay, Lyle, the woman of the house isn’t feeling it. What else you got? Can you show us something with a little more character.”

  Elle slipped her hand into his and followed him to the foyer. “Thank you.”

  FIVE

  At Jeremiah’s small, bachelorlike kitchen table, he reviewed the house situation. Elle munched on a piece of toast and listened.

  “You leave tomorrow and I think we’re close. Do you like this one?” Jeremiah held up a picture of the Victorian home they’d toured yesterday.

  “It was nice, Jeremiah, except for being in a crowded neighborhood amid twin and triplet Victorian replicas. No yard.” She met his gaze. “Are you sure we can’t go back to the mid home Lyle showed us the day before yesterday? It’s not a fixer-upper, but warm and homey with a yard and a big maple in the front. And it’s near I-35. The drive to the art district would be about twenty minutes.”

  Jeremiah gathered the printouts, then picked up his coffee cup, leaving the table. “About the gallery, Elle . . .” He filled his coffee cup.

  His tone made her scalp tingle. “What about it?”

  “Elle, seriously, when are you going to have time to run a gallery?” Jeremiah straddled the chair, sipping his coffee.

  “What else am I going to do? If you’re worried about it burdening our new marriage, I’ll start slow and small. Open a few days a week, on special weekends.”

  He stopped her with a low laugh. “Being senior pastor of a large, growing church comes with a lot of responsibilities, expectations, and duties, Elle. I need you with me. I’m already on several ecumenical boards, praying at city council meetings, leading a study on culture and race in the church, never mind the church’s calendar. Are you saying you don’t want to minister with me? There’s travel on my horizon. The television people want to develop segments with you, too, over the next year. You do want to minister with me, don’t you?”