A Scarlet Cord (7 page)

“I guess not. Don keeps telling me this is my baby. I’ll want the
committee’s input on the final design, of course, but it looks like I’m on my own for the preliminaries.”

“Okay … I don’t suppose you could come by this morning? I just finished the sketches, so they’re all laid out on my drawing table. I have a meeting later this afternoon, but if you could come in anytime before noon, I’d have time to show them to you. Or we can do it another day this week …”

“I can be there in fifteen minutes if that works for you.”

“Oh … great … perfect. I’ll just have the receptionist send you on up when you get here.”

“Sounds good. I can’t wait to see what you’ve come up with.”

She hung up the phone and turned to her computer. Opening the art files one by one, she printed them out in a larger size for Joel to take back with him. She examined each one as it came from the printer, and slid the pages into a folder. She realized that her palms were damp. She still got a little nervous before presenting her work to a client, but it wasn’t as if Cornerstone were a make-or-break account.

She glanced at the clock. Joel would be here any minute. She went into the small rest room off her office, checked her lipstick, and fluffed her hair. Then she went to look over the layouts one more time.

Joel followed the receptionist to the elevator and thanked her as the doors glided shut. A minute later, he was standing in Melanie LaSalle’s office.

“Hi, there.” Melanie met him with an outstretched hand and that warm, open smile she always seemed to wear. “Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

“Not a problem,” he told her. “I’m anxious to see what you have for us.”

“They’re right over here.” She started toward the drafting table
where they’d sat together the day she gave him a tour of the building. He followed and took a seat at the high stool she indicated. She perched on a stool beside him.

“Now, on this first row”—she motioned toward the drawings on the table—“I used variations on the lettering … using the initials as a design element; mostly text, very little artwork on these. With the rest, I tried to incorporate some of the architect’s drawings like we talked about.”

He’d expected to see rough pencil sketches and vague ideas, but the samples she was showing looked like finished artwork to him. Not that he knew much about art, but still he was impressed. He spent several minutes studying the drawings, then looked up to see Melanie watching him. With her hands clutched in front of her and her eyes wide, she reminded him of an anxious child. He smiled at her. “These are beautiful, Melanie. How in the world am I supposed to choose just one?”

She laughed, relief obvious in her voice. “I’m glad you like them. What I usually suggest is that the client just go with first impressions. Pick out two or three that really grab you. Then we can work from there narrowing it down, incorporate ideas from more than one logo into the final design, even go back to the drawing board …”

He held up a hand. “I can tell you right now that
that
won’t be necessary. Every one of these are great.”

She beamed, then looked almost embarrassed. “Well … I’m glad you think so.” She was silent for a few minutes while he looked over the drawings, then she handed him a folder. “I made some larger copies of the thumbnails if you’d like to take them with you. I can e-mail you digital files, too, if you like. Then we can iron out the comps and start working with layouts.”

“Whoa!” He held up a hand. “You are speaking a totally foreign language there, but … whatever you say.”

“I’ll walk you through it,” she laughed. “I promise.” She spent a few minutes explaining the process—this time in layman’s terms.

Finally, she looked up from the drawings and glanced at the oversized clock on the wall across from the railing.

“I’ve kept you long enough,” he said, taking the hint.

“Oh no. No problem. My meeting isn’t until 2:00.”

“Could I take you to lunch?” The words were out before he could even think through the ramifications.

To his dismay, she seemed flustered by the invitation.

“Lunch? Well … I suppose …”

He thought he understood. Hadn’t she told him just a week ago that she felt out of place in the singles world, that she still felt married? Yet that was exactly why he’d felt comfortable asking her. He wasn’t looking for a relationship either. But she couldn’t know that. She probably had to fend off men all the time, and here he was making her do it again.

He cleared his throat, feeling compelled to explain himself. “I … I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done …”

He motioned toward the drafting table and her designs. “For the work on this project, for making me feel so welcome here, all of it.”

She looked at him as if trying to assess his sincerity. “I’d love to have lunch with you, Joel. Thanks for asking.”

He tried not to let his relief show. “My car is parked in the front lot,” he said, fishing his keys from his jeans pocket.

She hesitated. “Just so I’m back by 1:30. I’ll turn into a pumpkin after that.”

“No problem, Cinderella.”

She laughed at his joke, and it somehow warmed his heart. That hadn’t happened in a long time.

Melanie had been thrilled at Joel’s invitation to lunch, but now, after just a few minutes in the car, they’d seemed to run out of things to talk about. Uncomfortable with the silence, she reached up to touch
a length of red silk cording that was draped over his rearview mirror. “Ah, you must have been an honor student?”

He turned to her, his eyes questioning.

“It looks like the honor cords that graduates wear,” she explained. “You know—on your cap or gown—if you graduated summa cum laude or were valedictorian or whatever? Not that I’ve ever seen one up close.” She laughed nervously, feeling silly now that the words were out.

He batted at the cord. “No, it’s—” He looked at his lap, seeming embarrassed.

“Ah, I get it … It’s a souvenir from an old girlfriend?”

When he didn’t respond, she cringed. “Oh … or maybe a not-so-old girlfriend?”

At that he laughed and shook his head. “No, nothing like that. It’s just—a reminder … of a Scripture passage, actually. One that … means a lot to me.”

Curious, she arched a brow in his direction, but he ignored her questioning gaze and changed the subject. “Where would you like to eat?”

Okay, I can take a hint
. “I’m not picky,” she told him. “What sounds good to you?”

“I really haven’t been here long enough to know what’s available. Why don’t you decide? I’m open for anything.”

“Okay. How about Larkspur? It’s nice … kind of a bistro atmosphere.”

He rolled his eyes and laughed. “Spoken like a true woman: Never mind the food, how’s the ambiance?”

She cocked her head and grinned. “Oh, excuse me, did I mention they have great sandwiches?”

“No, you didn’t. But don’t mind me. I’m just giving you a hard time. Anything’s fine with me.”

When they walked into the restaurant’s lobby, the hostess met them with menus in hand.

“Would you care to sit on the patio?” the model-thin young woman asked. “We have the burners going, so it’s really quite comfortable out there.”

Joel raised his brows, tacitly leaving the decision with Melanie.

“It’d be fine with me. I’m dressed plenty warm,” she assured him, rubbing the sleeves of her wool-blend jacket. “And I love dining alfresco.”

“We’ll take the patio,” Joel told the hostess.

“Right this way, please.” She led them through the large dining room to the patio outside. Several other diners had already been seated at the umbrella-canopied tables. With the trees still leafless, they had a clear view of the river and the town’s spare winter skyline. The tall radiant burners on either side of their table kept the air temperature comfortable, and the hostess adjusted the table umbrella so that the sun warmed their shoulders.

When they were settled and the hostess had gone, Joel turned to Melanie. “So you’ve been at By Design for how many years now?”

“Going on seven—not counting the months I took off when Jerica was born. It’s the only place I’ve worked since I graduated from college.”

“That’s kind of unusual.”

She shrugged. “I guess I don’t know anything else. I take it your work history is a bit more checkered?”

He appeared startled by her question. Then he smiled and took a sip of his ice water. “Just a bit,” he said.

“Where did you work before coming to Silver Creek?”

He took several gulps of water and wiped his lips on the linen napkin before answering. “I … I taught English.” He cleared his throat.

“Oh yes. I remember reading that.”

“You read it? Where?”

“In the church bulletin, I think.”

“Oh yes … of course.”

“Where was it you taught?”

“At a small college. You … probably wouldn’t have heard of it. It was back East.”

“Ah, back where your English made sense to them?”

He warmed to her teasing. “Hey! My English is impeccable.”

“In the East, maybe.” She grinned at him and knew she was flirting again. What was it about Joel Ellington that brought out that annoying coyness in her? She pushed aside the thought that she had business lunches with male clients all the time and never felt the need to flirt as shamelessly as she was doing now.

A college-age server appeared at their table. “Good afternoon. My name is Alec, and I’ll be your server today.”
Ah, saved by the waiter
. “May I get you two something to drink?”

“I’ll have coffee, please … black,” she told him.

“The same,” Joel said. The waiter left, and Joel turned to Melanie again. “So, how’s your little girl? Jerica, isn’t it? That’s an interesting name.”

“She’s named after Jerry and Erika,” Melanie explained, warming to her favorite subject.

“Oh, sure. That makes sense.” He nodded his understanding. “She’s five, did you say? Does that mean she’s in kindergarten?”

“She’ll turn five in April. She won’t start school until next year. She attends Cornerstone’s preschool during the mornings.”

“Oh, I’ve probably seen her, then. The preschool kids keep things at the church pretty lively.”

“I’ll bet,” she laughed. “That’s another thing in favor of the new wing—it’ll move the kids a little farther from the administrative offices.”

“I really don’t mind the noise. It’s kind of nice, actually. Reminds me what this work is all about.”

“That’s a good way to look at it.”

The waiter came and poured coffee. Melanie took a sip and asked, “So, are you starting to feel at home now?”

“In the job, you mean?”

“Well, the job, the town … the whole thing. Are you getting used to the Midwest? That was probably the biggest adjustment. A bit of culture shock, I’d imagine.”

“You could say that. The other day I told someone I was going to get a soda, and they seemed to have no idea what I was referring to.”

“And just what
were
you referring to?” she joked.

“Apparently what you people call ‘pop.’ ” He pronounced the word with a nasal twang, laughing.

She was growing to love the sound of his laughter. “Ah, yes, pop. You ask for soda around here, and you’ll get baking soda. Where exactly did you live back East?”

His smile faded, and he lingered over a sip of coffee before replying. “Several places, actually. Most of them in New York State. But my parents were part-time missionaries, so we sometimes spent summers out of the country with them.”

“Oh, really? Where?”

“South Africa. The Philippines. Those are the two I remember best.”

“What a rich childhood that must have been. Are your parents still doing mission work?”

He looked at his plate. “No … They were … killed in a plane crash … several years ago.”

“I’m so sorry, Joel. I can’t imagine …” She could sense that the wound was still tender and grasped for a way to change the subject. “Do … do you have brothers or sisters?”

He brightened a bit. “I have a brother. He’s two years older than I.”

“And is he on the East Coast too?”

Joel nodded. “Yes. He is.” He seemed lost in thought, and Melanie felt terrible for opening such a tender issue.