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  I need a couple of Advil.

  I need to focus on a new word.

  During the church service the dull ache in my head is overriding the pastor’s voice. I want to listen. I really do. I wonder what verse of James Jax went over this morning. I’ll have to ask Velvet and do my living reenactment this week. Or at least try.

  After the offering and benediction we slowly make our way out into the atrium where I scan the crowd, not really, but kind of, looking for Ashton. Did he make it to Sunday school today? And if so, did he stay for church? Maybe his grandma is still in the hospital.

  I don’t spot Ashton, but I do spot Braedyn. She’s heading my way wearing a bright, lime green dress you can’t miss. And she’s smiling. A good sign.

  When she reaches me she gives me a really big hug. “Where were you this morning?” she asks. “We missed you.”

  “I had a really bad headache. It kind of dulled though, so I came to church.”

  “I’m glad you could make it.” She combs her fingers through her massive brown curls and looks at me with sincere brown eyes. “Look. I’m really sorry about last week. The lesson today really hit home.”

  “What did Jax go over?” I ask, relieved the Braedyn issue has taken care of itself. And basically without any effort on my part.

  “We’re still in the book of James. You know the part be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger, yada, yada.”

  She flips her hand in the air like I know the rest of the scripture by heart. Which I don’t but I will look up later.

  “I wasn’t very slow to speak last week. I’m sorry.”

  Okay. No effort is one thing, but she’s too apologetic considering my lack of participation. And fortunately or unfortunately depending on how you look at it, my dull, achy head can’t process why. So I choose to go with the flow. “That’s okay. Forgotten and forgiven?”

  “You bet. You going to Brody’s today?”

  I had been wrestling with that also while trying to listen to the sermon. I need something in my stomach, but I’m not sure if I feel up to dealing with a crowd.

  The conversational buzz in the atrium seems to worsen the dull ache which doesn’t lend to a favorable decision regarding lunch.

  “I think I’m going to head home. Take more Advil and get rid of this headache.”

  “Sounds like a good plan,” Braedyn says. “I guess I’ll see you Thursday night. We’re starting our prayer meeting for the mission trip, don’t forget. Randy’s house. Seven sharp.”

  “I’ll be there,” I say, not even asking if she knows Velvet has backed out. I’m sure she does, and I don’t feel like talking too much anyway.

  “Bye.” She gives me another quick hug, then waves her way out the doors into the parking lot. Something is up with her.

  I look around as if taking in the surroundings will give me a clue.

  Our church is big and we have a lot of members. This guy who works with me had been attending two months before I ever saw him. We have three services in the morning and one on Sunday night.

  I scan the throng looking for my Mother and Grandma Fola. It takes a few of minutes, but finally I spy them. They are chatting it up with some of their friends.

  I walk up behind them, out of the way, waiting to leave.

  “Allison!”

  I turn to find Velvet scooting towards me at a pretty fast pace.

  “Hi,” I say. “What’s up?”

  “Why weren’t you in Sunday school this morning?” she asks.

  I go over the headache scenario with her.

  “I ran into Braedyn a minute ago,” I say. “Is she okay? She seemed wired about something.”

  “Did she tell you Ashton was looking for you?”

  Braedyn’s smiling, bubbly disposition and obviously not-so-sincere-eyes evaporate into a ball of smoke in my mind.

  “No. He was?” A really cool butterfly-fluttering-in-the-wind sensation tickles my stomach. It also seems to help my headache a little.

  “Yeah. I heard him asking Braedyn where you were, and then he asked me. I asked him why he wanted to know.”

  “Velvet! You didn’t.” The butterfly panics.

  “I did. In a very nice, caring way.” She gives my hand a quick squeeze. “I have to look out for my best friend, don’t I?”

  See. I can count on her.

  “Okay. What did he say?”

  “He thought you might like to ride with him to Brody’s, that’s all.”

  That’s all? She obviously hasn’t seen the classic Jag.

  “Is he still here? Did he go to church?” I ask.

  “Yeah. Right after church let out, Jax gave him directions to Brody’s. But then I didn’t see which way he went.”

  I quickly look over the now-scant crowd. No sign of Ashton or anyone else from the class.

  “Let’s see if his car is still in the parking lot,” Velvet says. “You do know what he drives, right?”

  “I know. But I already told Braedyn I wasn’t going to lunch.”

  Traitor Braedyn.

  “Well, next time maybe Braedyn will tell you when people ask about you.”

  “I don’t know,” I say, hedging.

  Velvet takes my hand. “We’re looking.”

  Mother and Grandma are still in conversation, so I step outside knowing the chances of spotting his car are very slim.

  But spotting Braedyn’s bright green dress isn’t hard at all. The hard part is watching her climb into the classic Jag.

  The pain in my head increases tenfold.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Velvet says as she squeezes my hand again. Her eyes narrow as Ashton drives out of the parking lot.

  She smiles, though when she looks at me. “Ride with me and Trent,” she says.

  “Coming, Allison?”

  My mother’s voice reaches me as she and Grandma Fola walk up behind us. I slip my hand out of Velvet’s, my decision made.

  “No, thanks,” I say to Velvet. “I’m going home. You guys have a good time.”

  I walk slowly to the car, keeping pace with Grandma Fola. She smells so good, so familiar. The urge to bury my head in her lap like I had done many times as a child when I had been hurt overwhelms me.

  Nothing heals wounds better than a grandma’s love.

  And I need a huge dose right about now.

  CHAPTER 7

  Awesome.

  When Mother, Grandma and I arrived home after church, I had eaten a bowl of homemade soup, drank a Sprite then went to bed. Now I am awake, feeling better. At least physically. I’m still sitting in my bed, covers pulled up to my waist, chilling out.

  Awesome.

  Did he tell Braedyn she was awesome, too? Did he give her the thumbs up?

  All I have is my thesaurus. There’s no dictionary to be found anywhere. I could boot up the computer, but I’m too lazy at this moment. Anyway, a thesaurus will be just as helpful. (Even if mine is three times normal size because I left it out in the rain one day.)

  Page 59: awesome (adj.) amazing

  The first synonym. That’s cool. Amazing. I could be considered amazing, I guess. At times.

  The next synonym jolts me, though. Alarming. Who wants to be considered alarming?

  There are many more synonyms and basically they are divided into two categories: Flattering and unflattering.

  Some of the flattering ones include astonishing, awe-inspiring, beautiful, (I like that one) breathtaking, (I like that one even better) magnificent, majestic, stunning, and wonderful.

  Not a bad list.

  Now, on to the unflattering group. After alarming it seems to get worse. Awful, dreadful, frantic, frightening, hairy, (What’s up with that?) horrible …

  The list keeps going.

  I need to find the dictionary. The thesaurus is too depressing. How many people become depressed while reading a thesaurus? Can you say “get a life?”

  But Ashton said I was awesome. What did he mean?

  What do I care? The minute he foun
d out I was out of the picture for the day, he turned to Braedyn. Men.

  I am definitely through being his girl.

  My mother chooses this moment to pop into my room. She’s cheery and dressed in a nice teenage kind of way. Short skirt, heels, blouse with a fashionable scarf. Her brown hair hangs straight and her bangs are perfectly even across her forehead. Give her a guitar and boots and she’d be a twin for one of those sixties bands.

  She must have a date.

  Not that my mother can’t land a date. That’s not the case at all. But try being a widowed late forty-year-old Christian woman looking for Mr. Right. The majority of the men want something (we all know what) and my mother isn’t giving it up.

  Yes, we’ve had some disturbing conversations lately, but I really don’t mind. She’s my mom, I love her and I want what’s best for her.

  And what’s best for her is a good man who has the same values she does. The man she can’t seem to find.

  “I’m going out, honey. Will you be all right? I think your grandmother is having dinner at the church tonight with her seniors group.”

  Which means Grandma’s having dinner with Paul. Which means Mother and Grandma are going out and I’m staying home.

  That’s okay. I’m not alone. I have my thesaurus. Oh, I forgot. Way too depressing. I’ll make a valiant attempt to look for the dictionary the minute Mother leaves.

  “Mother, I’ll be fine. My headache’s gone.”

  “There’s leftovers from last night in the fridge,” she says. “Just heat them up. About three minutes, maybe four at the most. Not much longer, though. Got it?”

  “Got it, Mother. Thanks.”

  She kisses my forehead goodbye before she leaves. I don’t feel a burning sensation, or a hot spot. No, just a mother’s tender touch.

  That’s what I call a mother’s intuition in action. They know what you need right when you need it.

  My frantic search for the dictionary is stopped by the sound of the doorbell. I walk to my window, slide the curtain aside to find no classic Jag in the driveway. Not only is there no classic Jag, there is no car. Which means Trent is at the door. Or Velvet.

  Or Trelvet. They could be visiting together. It’s such a couple’s thing to do. When Velvet goes to work tomorrow and her co-workers ask her if she and Trent did anything over the weekend she can say, “We went and visited a sick friend together.” It brings a deeper meaning to the relationship in the eyes of others, this caring for people aspect.

  I make my way down the stairs, trying not to trip on the hem of my too-long cotton pajamas. The matching top disappeared ages ago, so I have replaced it with a raggedy, old t-shirt sporting a very faded picture of Alan Jackson.

  I open the door. Ashton is standing there and my smile freezes. This isn’t Trelvet.

  I look behind Ashton and still don’t see his car.

  “Hi,” I stammer.

  “Hi, yourself. You look great for being sick.”

  Oh. I understand now. There are different versions of the automatic “You look great greeting.” One for every occasion.

  I’m feeling better, but I’m not quite up to the great category no matter what Ashton’s opinion is. After his comment I suddenly feel much worse.

  And why do I have to look so bad when he looks so good? Jeans, cowboy boots, white button-up shirt.

  At least my ponytail looks fine.

  I suppose I should invite him in.

  “Come on in,” I say, peering around him one more time.

  “Are you looking for someone else?” he asks.

  “How did you get here? I don’t see your car.”

  He nods his head toward the street. “I’m parked on the street.”

  It’s only after I invite him in and show him to the living room that I remember I’m not very happy with him. He called me awesome and drove Braedyn to lunch.

  Celebrity handbook, I’m just waiting for you. Right here.

  Needing time to regroup, I motion him to sit, but I don’t.

  “I’m going to go upstairs and change out of my pj’s. I’ll be right back.”

  “Pj’s? A lot of girls wear those type of pants out.”

  “Not this girl,” I say. I bite my tongue. It so badly wants to ask what would his girl do, but I stop it and chastise it. Bad tongue. Bad tongue.

  In an attempt to get my tongue on the right track I ask about his grandma.

  “She’s good. She’s home now. Much more comfortable. Thanks for asking.”

  “I was praying for her,” I say, then hope he doesn’t take the comment the wrong way. I wasn’t saying it to brag, I just wanted him to know.

  Oh well, if he knows me at all he’ll know why I said it. And if he chooses to look at me like I’m a braggart, he won’t be around long.

  He looks so plain and simple in his white and blue attire sitting on mother’s mega-floral couch. But truth be told, he looks great.

  It doesn’t take me but a minute to throw on a pair of jeans and pull on a plain gray T that I can tuck in. It’s new, not ratty looking, and it doesn’t hang to my knees.

  I debate on the shoe issue, then pass. But I pick up the thesaurus.

  Back in the living room I offer him a drink which he declines. It’s then that I toss the thesaurus onto his lap.

  “Page 59,” I say. I’m setting things straight here and now.

  “What?” he says, looking at the really big, wrinkled book.

  “The thesaurus. Page 59. Turn to it.”

  He looks puzzled, but follows my instructions.

  When he appears to have the page in front of him I continue. “A little lower than half way, left hand column. What word do you see?”

  His finger roams the length of the page.

  “Awesome?” he asks.

  “Right. Very good. Awesome. Do you see how many synonyms there are for that word?”

  After a moment of looking at the page he looks up at me.

  “Yes?”

  “Which one is the one you meant when you told me I was awesome last week?”

  He smiles, shuts the book and sets it on the couch next to him. Then he stands, and walks towards me, his smile never leaving his face.

  “I don’t need a thesaurus to tell you what I meant.”

  “Then tell me,” I say boldly. Today his eyes look more green than hazel, and right now they have me mesmerized. My body shakes while my heart hammers away at all of my insides. (Which isn’t helping the remnants of my headache.)

  “First, let me show you.”

  He places his hands on either side of my face, then lowers his lips to mine. They meet gently, searching at first. As his hands move to my shoulders his kiss becomes demanding. Incredible.

  Please God, don’t let it end.

  But it does.

  It is the briefest, most passionate kiss I have ever

  experienced.

  He steps back. He is actually able to do that. I, on the other hand, am rooted to the flower on the rug. I will probably never move.

  “Now,” he says. “When I said you were awesome I meant it. Awesome. Wonderful.”

  Wonderful is on the flattering list.

  “Beautiful,” he adds.

  I smile. It’s there, too.

  “Fabulous.”

  Not on page 59, but I’ll take it.

  “Need more?” he asks, giving me the thumbs up gesture again.

  Such a loaded question, Mr. Ashton Boyd, considering that kiss.

  “No. I understand your meaning, now. Thanks.”

  But that’s about the only thing I understand. I still don’t understand about what being his girl entails. If anything.

  Oh, and what about Braedyn?

  My heart squeezes in a hurtful way when I think about Braedyn and him together. In the classic Jag.

  Did he kiss her? Would he dare kiss two friends in one day?

  The nerve.

  You’re jumping to conclusions, Allison. Calm down.

  That’s Velvet�
��s voice popping into my head. She always has my best interest at heart and knows how to make me rational.

  I really have no facts about lunch except for what I saw.

  You know what? I’m going to operate on the fact that he’s a really nice gentlemanly type of guy who doesn’t go around kissing more than one girl on any given day, and I’m going to stick to that mindset until it is proven false.

  And it better be concrete, irrevocable, not-a-single-doubt-left type of evidence.

  The purpose of going into this mindset is to protect my heart. Because at this point, my not knowing what being his girl means may be better than not being his girl at all.

  CHAPTER 8

  It’s still Sunday, Ashton is still standing in front of me and I’m still rooted to the flower on the living room rug.

  He breaks the silence.

  “I have good news.”

  Good news? I don’t know how he expects me to process anything in this brain his kiss has turned to mush.

  Although since he mentioned it, he probably came over here for a reason. I wonder how he found out where I live?

  “What news?” I ask.

  “Since Velvet backed out of the mission trip, I’m taking her place.”

  My heart flips before it flops. A week with Celebrity Baseball Player who less than two minutes ago kissed me? My lips can’t handle the thought.

  Okay, so it’s been a while since I’ve been kissed. Therefore the average kiss would probably have rocked my world. So imagine what the most fabulous kiss ever has done to me.

  It’s unimaginable. And I’m actually living it.

  In what state I’m surviving is debatable.

  “I think that’s great. I mean, you were just asking me about mission trips, so maybe this is the opportunity God has given you.”

  “I think if I open my eyes I’d see a lot of opportunities. They seem to be right in front of me.”

  Does he mean that in a literal sense? Like me, here and now? In front of him?

  He takes my hand and leads me to the couch. We sit next to each other, but not too close. I keep a healthy distance.

  Healthy in the sense that breathing will continue.

  “At lunch Velvet was saying how she had to drop out, but they weren’t going to replace her. I asked her if I could talk to her after lunch. She invited me over to Trent’s place. That’s when I found out you lived next door.”