One Small Chance: a novella (a Love Story from Portugal) (6 page)

Before the timer went off, she turned off the gas stove and waited. When it beeped, she reached a gloved hand for the tray and set on the counter. The batter had popped over the rims, dark brown and enticing.

“What are those?”

She poured confectioner’s sugar into a small sieve. “Chocolate soufflés,” she said in a low voice.

Slowly, she moved two of the dishes from the tray to their own white plates, then dusted their tops, the edge of her finger hitting the side of the sieve with a few taps. She took a pinch from a small bowl and added the contents to the top of each soufflé. She stood back and smiled at them.

“Did you just smile at your dessert?”

A scowl quickly replaced her smile. She reached in her pocket and checked her phone. “Cristina was supposed to be here, but she bailed on me for her boyfriend.” She put the phone back. “Which is only fair since last week she bailed on him to take care of me after some biker mowed me down.”

“You have no idea how worried I was about you all weekend.” He hadn’t meant to confess it with so much emotion in his voice.

Isabel raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. She placed a dessert spoon on the plate and pushed it in his direction. “Looks like you’re my guinea pig tonight, Mr. Ackerley.”

Simon pulled the plate closer and touched the top of the batter. It was warm, and a soft aroma wafted to him. The soufflé sprang back at the first contact with the spoon and Simon pressed harder. The batter had turned airy and spongy, and when he took a bite, his eyes closed.

“Mmmm.” He actually moaned. When was the last time he’d moaned about food? “Wow, you do have super powers.” His eyes flicked to the front of her T-shirt.

“Hardly.” She looked at him expectantly. “Well, is that all you’re going to say?”

Simon scraped the bottom of the dish. “It has a sweet, full flavor. It’s fluffy too.”

“Did you just say fluffy, Mr. Ackerley?” She didn’t hide the amusement in her tone.

He set the spoon down and resisted the urge to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yes, Isabel, I said fluffy. But I hardly have the words to describe this piece of culinary perfection.”

She placed another soufflé on his plate. “Have another one. These won’t keep.” Then she pulled a small notebook out of her apron pocket and wrote some notes while eating her own soufflé at a leisurely pace.

Simon watched her as he ate. He had found a chink in her armor. A delicious chink.

* * *

Isabel remained seated while the postlude music played softly from the organ. She pulled out her tablet and kept her eyes down, avoiding eye contact. Around her, people exited to their next classes and parents tried to corral their young children. Where was the reverence at the end of the religious services?

The childhood memories of Sunday mass stood out in great contrast, almost the polar opposite. Here, it was light instead of dark; noisy instead of quiet. And it was warm instead of impersonal. These Mormons, these Latter-Day Saints, as they called themselves, put all their focus on family relationships. Well, she was one of them too, but she didn’t understand everything yet, far from it.

Avó Marta had been gone for a few months now. Isabel could have stopped coming to church. No one remained to ask her about it. But how could she say no to Grandmother? In a way, she had promised her she’d keep coming, and her love for Avó Marta ran too deep to lie to her, even after death. Or maybe especially after death. Forever families, indeed.

Someone touched her shoulder and Isabel startled. It was one of the bishopric guys.

“Irmã Isabel, I’m so glad to see you.” He shook her hand with more vigor than necessary. This business of calling everybody brother and sister was still a little foreign to her.

She nodded, not knowing what to say. Thank you?

He pulled at her arm to stand. “I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

Isabel lagged behind him. Almost every time she came, someone introduced someone else to her, particularly to guys of marriageable age. What was it with this church and pairing off unattached people? Did they stop to think that maybe her single status was by choice and not default? She enjoyed being single.

He turned to a man with his back to them. Isabel stopped. The man in question wore a dark gray suit and he wore it very well.

But the back of his head. His red hair. How many redheaded guys were there in Lisbon? How many of them were this exact height?

Isabel stepped back, but the bishopric guy took her by the elbow.

Then the man in the gray suit turned around.

It was him, of course.

“Irmã Isabel, this is Brother Simon Ackerley and he doesn’t speak any Portuguese. Brother Simon, this is Sister Isabel.”

“I know.” The words escaped her lips before she could put a stop to them, and the bishopric brother looked at her with a quizzical expression.

Simon’s eyes widened but he recovered quickly and shook her hand, smiling. “What a pleasant surprise, Sister Isabel.”

Why did he have such nice, long fingers? Isabel returned the shake and suddenly wished she had a church program to fan herself. It felt like someone had upped the heat, though autumn had barely started. His green eyes smiled at her and even his freckles looked different today. The necktie was a mustardy color and it matched ridiculously well with his suit and eyes. Did he dress with the aid of a color wheel? Most likely he had a fashion-savvy girlfriend waiting for him in England. Or maybe she’d come along too.

“We already know each other,” Simon Ackerley said with a twitch to his lips.

Isabel looked for the nearest exit when the bishopric guy spoke. “How wonderful. Where did you meet?”

“At the academy,” she and Ackerley replied at the same time.

Simon Ackerley spent the next few minutes answering the guy’s questions about his work and her work and what they did at the academy. Isabel tuned out, nodding when they looked in her direction. Where
was
the nearest exit? She just had to think of an excuse and she’d be on her way. Her eyes darted around.

The man from the bishopric shook their hands again. “Well, that’s great, then. I’m so glad it worked out, and that you two already know each other. I think you’ll find the other ward has wonderful things to offer.”

“Wait. What?” She hadn’t been paying attention and they were trying to rope her into something.

Both men looked at her. Ackerley had an amused smile, probably guessing she didn’t know what they talked about.

“The singles ward is having an activity next week,” the bishopric guy said. “They actually have activities quite often. I can get you a schedule. I think it’s a wonderful idea that you can accompany Brother Simon and introduce him around, since he doesn’t speak Portuguese.”

“But everybody speaks English, Bishop,” Isabel said. There was no way she was going to any activity that had the word “singles” in it. She didn’t like the sound of it.

“I’m the first counselor, actually. Brother Silva. And no, not everybody speaks English. But you do, and since you two work together, it will be easier for you to show Brother Simon some Portuguese hospitality.” He gave Ackerley a calling card with his email address, shook their hands again, and left.

So much hand shaking in this church, so many kisses on the cheek. At least there were rules for when to do those, and as a single woman with only acquaintances in the ward, not many people greeted her that way. If only the other rules were as easy to remember.

Isabel exited the chapel and passed through the foyer. Once outside she took a breath and touched her forehead. The one place she never thought she’d see him and here he was.

She’d come to church looking for peace of mind, time to sort her feelings and recharge her inner balance. After the week she’d had at work, she didn’t feel her position there was as safe as she’d believed, and everyday brought a level of stress she wasn’t used to. Mr. Ackerley’s presence in the church building was a reminder of everything that had gone wrong.
Brother
Ackerley. He’d probably argue they were at church and not at the academy. As unfair as it was to blame him for it, she didn’t have the courage to stay and expose her vulnerable heart to more emotional strain. It was better she left. At least he could enjoy the rest of the meetings.

“So, have you been to the singles ward yet?” Ackerley said at her side.

Isabel jumped. “Stop sneaking up on me.”

He held his hands up, a contrite expression on his face. “Sorry. I thought you knew I was right behind you.”

She’d hoped he’d stayed behind. Isabel started walking down the street.

“Wait, you’re not staying for the rest of the meetings?”

She gave him a backward glance as he stood on the sidewalk. “I’m no longer in the mood for it.”

He didn’t follow her. Isabel’s hopes raised. Maybe it was easier to get rid of him than she thought.

But when she rounded the corner, he caught up to her. Isabel stopped. “You’re not staying either?”

His lips quirked. “I’ll go back later. I’ll walk with you for a little bit.”

As long as he didn’t intend to follow her home. A public garden lay ahead and maybe she could lose him there.

“What can you tell me about the singles ward, Sister Isabel?”

Isabel pursed her lips. “Drop the sister, Mr.—Ackerley.”

He chuckled lightly. She hadn’t intended the bad taste rhyme. Isabel headed for a bench in the garden, in the shade of a bougainvillea, and she sat down, purse in her lap. Ackerley paused for a moment and then sat at the other end.

“You don’t want me to address you as Sister Isabel? I have to say, I really like the way they use first names with brother and sister here in Portugal. Much more personable than last names.” He glanced at her, but she didn’t react to his observation. He went on, “Well, we’re not at the academy, so I’m not going to call you Miss Antunes.”

“You still don’t know how to say Antunes right.” It was petulant and childish, and she couldn’t stop herself. Her heart twisted with a pinch of guilt over the way she’d treated him at the academy. She’d watched him around all week. He was always cheerful and ready with a smile. He really was one of the good guys. It would be so much easier to dislike him if he were a rude, older man. Why did he have to be good looking, polite, and so pleasant to be around? Already the students loved him and went out of their way to greet him.

He leaned back and crossed his ankle over his knee. “What about Isabel? Do I say that right?”

Too well for her liking. And his accent— much too charming for his own good. Funny, since she usually preferred a British accent.

Isabel nodded at him. “To answer your question, Mr. Ackerley, I’m not quite sure what a singles ward is. Everybody keeps talking about it, but I don’t know what or where it is.”

“Call me Simon. We’re not at the academy and we’re not at church.”

He was persistent, she gave him that. “Simon.”

He smiled. “A singles ward is for members of the church who are between the ages of eighteen and thirty.”

Wow, those smiles of his. So genuine and warm. “The equivalent to a marriage mart, I’m guessing?”

Simon tossed his head back and laughed heartily. He had an honest laugh. “Well, yes, that’s the main purpose even though nobody likes to admit it.”

Just as she thought. “I’m turning twenty-nine soon so I guess I’m almost over the limit, or whatever they call it.”

“Officially, they don’t kick anyone out until they turn thirty-one, which will be my case in a couple of months.” He shifted on the bench and the hem of his pants rode up on his ankles. His socks had gray and mustard chevron stripes. Why wasn’t she surprised?

“And what will they do with you when you reach the old age of thirty-one?”

“I’ll attend a regular family ward, which I prefer anyway. It feels more real with people of all ages.” He looked at her. “And they still have activities for the over-thirty singles.”

“So many rules,” Isabel replied.

A soft breeze blew and a few pink petals from the bougainvillea fell on her skirt. Isabel inhaled the sweet aroma. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. If Avó Marta were still alive, they would have taken a walk to the historic downtown and stopped by the river’s edge.

“If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you been a member of the church?” He brushed off the bougainvillea petals from his legs and looked up to meet her eyes.

“I joined last spring.” Had it been that long already? “I’m afraid I’m not what everyone calls a strong, stalwart member.” She refrained from using the air quotes. “My grandmother was, and I joined with her.” Much to her surprise, Isabel had grown to develop her own belief in the new church. A tender, fragile one, but it was her own, and it was still growing. “We always did everything together, and this was important to her, so I did it too. She passed away two months later.”

“I’m sorry,” he said in a soft voice. “Do you have any other family?”

She shook her head. “My parents died in a car crash when I was three years old. I was their only child.” Isabel twisted the strap of her purse between her fingers. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” It was becoming a bad habit, this tendency to open up to him. Something she rarely did with anyone else.