Angels Everywhere - Debbie Macomber [58]
Monica drew in a deep, wobbly breath as her resentment flared bright and then slowly burned itself out. She covered her face with both hands and attempted to pull herself together, which was difficult when she was shaking so badly.
After several moments had passed, Monica straightened, and ripped the sheet of paper from the typewriter with a vengeance. Having vented her feelings, there was no need to mail the letter. Any further communication between them whatsoever was completely unnecessary. Her hand automatically reached for the mustard-seed necklace dangling from her neck, fingering it. She’d worn the piece every day since Chet had bought it for her, until it had become habit.
Chet had made his views on life plain. If anything she should be grateful that he’d put an end to this madness when he had. One small part of her, however, refused to conform. One small rebellious corner of her soul yearned for the discoveries he would have shown her.
The thought terrified Monica into accepting how far she’d slid toward sin.
Well, she was safe. He was out of her life now. Good riddance was all she could say.
A knock came softly from the outer door.
“Come in,” she snapped, then realized she sounded like an old shrew, and said it again, softer this time. Church secretaries weren’t supposed to be confrontational.
Michael opened the door and stepped inside. “Hello, Monica.”
“Hello,” she said, tossing the crumpled-up letter into the wastebasket.
“Your father said I’d find you here.” He stepped into the office, his stance doubtful. His gaze hesitantly met hers as if he were unsure of himself.
“What can I do for you?” she asked, working hard to keep the impatience out of her voice. All she needed now was for him to load her down with extra work. Having wasted a good portion of the morning writing Chet and telling him exactly what she thought of him left her with a backlog of unfinished church business.
“I realize it’s short notice but I’d like to take you to lunch, that is, if you’d let me.”
The invitation was so unexpected that she didn’t know what to say. “Lunch?” She had to look at her watch to check the time. The morning had sped past on the wings of her aggravation. “I suppose that would be all right,” she said without much enthusiasm.
“Great.” His eyes lit up and she realized what nice eyes Michael had. He loved his music and had done wonders for the church choir. It was because of his efforts that the small band had formed. He’d volunteered several hours a week to church work.
Monica liked Michael. She’d always liked him—there wasn’t anything to dislike about the young man. He was godly, principled, and sincere. Everything she should want in a man.
But didn’t.
“If you have no objection I thought we’d go to the Pancake Palace. They serve a decent lunch.”
“Sure.” The Pancake Palace. That was the problem. Michael was a wonderful man, God’s own servant. Humble, gentle, the perfect choice of a mate for a preacher’s daughter, only . . . only she’d dined on pancakes most of her life and she was ready for some salsa.
There’d been a trace of hot sauce in Patrick. That was what attracted her to Chet, she realized now. He’d been daring and fun and he’d made her laugh. He’d also badly wounded her pride.
“I’ll get your jacket for you,” Michael offered. “I wouldn’t want you to a catch a chill.” He took her navy blue wool coat from the rack and held it open for her.
Michael was a gentleman and Chet was a rogue. If she had a lick of sense, she’d cultivate the relationship with Michael and thank God there were still men like him in this sick and decaying world.
Since the Pancake Palace was only two blocks away, they decided to walk. Monica buried her hands in her pockets and struggled to keep her attention on