Grace Alive (A Christian Romance)

Part 8

Chapter 7

I was so nervous! I’d spent two hours just picking out my outfit this morning. Finally I had decided on a lacy off-white shirt, a soft pink pearl necklace, black skinny jeans, and high black boots. I’d curled my hair with a clampless curling iron so that it looked beachy, and I’d applied a little more makeup than I normally do. I didn’t want to look like a bum. I was clutching a tiny silver purse that held my wallet, keys, and cell phone like it was my lifeline. I’d gotten to the café an hour early. I’m a freak like that. I hated being late for anything. Even coffee. I found a nice cozy spot in the corner, where I felt like it was private but not overly private. What was I going to say to him? Hi I’m Zoe, and my life sucks. No, I probably shouldn’t go with that one.

Maybe, Hi, I’m Zoe, and I’m a pastor’s daughter. Crap. That would probably make him run for the hills. People are kind of afraid of pastors sometimes, and admitting that I was the daughter of the no nonsense preacher of Northern Michigan made people’s eyes fill with terror. I think they were afraid that my dad was going to turn them over to Satan. Like those guys in the Bible. Ugh! I’m so morbid!

I pulled out a notepad and started writing down some random thoughts for my book. I’d had a few ideas this morning as I showered and got dressed. I hadn’t had a chance to actually write down any of them. I tapped my lips with my pen. I needed to pull this ending together. How was she going to get her happy ending? Pretty soon an hour flew by, and I heard the door open. Branson casually walked in. He spotted me and gave me a smile and a wave. I waved back as he came over to me.

“Hi, Zoe,” he said as he pulled out the chair across from me and sat down. I shut my notebook and set down my pen. I had gotten so lost in my thoughts that I’d forgotten to put that away before he came.

“What are you writing?” he asked. His sandy brown hair was messily spiky but in a good way, he was sporting a nice, black, long sleeved shirt with a small logo of a panther, and dark washed jeans. He looked good. I realized he’d asked me a question and blushed. Geesh.

“Oh, just thoughts for my book,” I said before thinking twice.

“You’re a writer?” he asked, with an interested tilt of his head.

“I…try…” I fumbled. Why did I leave that dumb notebook open?

“I bet you’re great,” he said with a warm smile. “What kind of coffee do you want?” He looked over at the board and scanned the menu. I followed his gaze and happened to look at his arm flexing. This was bad. I needed to not be looking at this guy. He’s bad news. My dad would absolutely kill me. But I felt such a strong pull toward him, and what about God’s voice?

“I’ll take a mocha with lots of whipped cream,” I said. He walked up to the counter, ordered our coffees, and came and sat back down.

“So, tell me about your book,” he said. My book? Oh man. He was going to think I was a weirdo if I told him about my love story I’d been writing for like twenty years. Okay, not twenty but close enough.

“It’s a love story.”

“Yeah? Awesome,” he said with genuine interest. Normally I tell a guy I’m a writer and that I’m writing a love story, and they glaze over like a krispy kreme donut. I began to tell my main plot points and could feel my excitement growing. Whenever I used to tell people about my books, I’d always feel so excited and happy. I hadn’t really talked about my writing with anyone in ages. It felt nice. When I was done rambling, he leaned back.

“Wow, I’m impressed. I think you’re going to be the next J. K Rowling.”

I laughed nervously. “Yeah right, I don’t think so.” Our coffees were done, so he went up and grabbed them from the counter. I sipped at my mocha and got lost in its yummy, yumminess. When I came out of my chocolate world, he was smiling at me.