Love Starts with Elle (6 page)

Seven days of house hunting. Seven days of headache. Elle walked the length of this brand-new home’s living room listening to the sound of her heels click against the hardwood and bounce from the beige wall to the sculptured ceiling.

At what point had all of her expectations started falling apart? Could she rewind to where they were intact and start over? To the day before she arrived?

Jeremiah’s voice resonated from the foyer where he talked with their Realtor, Lyle Dubois, between answering phone calls.

Today, of course, his phone is not accidentally turned off.
Elle grimaced at her silent sarcasm. Did she not expect bumps in the road, especially with a man like Jeremiah whose high energy inspired everyone around him to move and shake?

Three months on the job and from what Elle observed and heard during the Sunday-night potluck dinner, Dr. Jeremiah Franklin had 3:16 Metro Church on the move.

While she loved his success, Elle struggled to see how she fit in the big picture.

Jeremiah’s cell rang for the fifth time that hour. “Maurice, what do you have for me?” Maurice Winters was Jeremiah’s assistant and longtime friend and the reason Jeremiah first heard of the senior pastor job.

Elle walked the length of the living room again and peered into the grassless backyard. Beyond the spattering of trees, the Texas sky darkened with more rain.

“Elle.” Jeremiah angled his head into the room from the foyer, phone to his ear, the mouthpiece even with his jaw. “Lyle said the developer plans to lay the sod before we close.” Back to his phone without waiting for her response.

“Thanks,” she said. Lyle nodded a “You’re welcome.”

This week had been a whirlwind week of discovery. Meeting the congregation—all of whom Elle found warm and charming. Jeremiah had announced he’d been asked to host a weekly television show with the intent to start local and go national by the end of next year. After consulting his leaders, he’d agreed to start the preproduction process as early as April.

Two days later, while walking through the house Elle loved the most—a farmhouse outside the city limits with a big yard, trees, and a small, trickling stream—Jeremiah took a phone call, talked briefly, then announced to Elle he’d agreed to write a book to go along with the theme of the television show. Now he constantly jotted notes on napkins and the back of receipts.

Was she feeling overwhelmed? Big fat yes. Life was happening to her, not with her.

“Well, babe, what do you think?” Jeremiah clicked his phone closed and walked toward her.

“It’s big. Lovely.” Too new, too cold. “The yard is the size of a saltine. And there’s not a tree in my line of sight.”

Jeremiah circled the room’s perimeter, commenting on the crown molding and the unique use of the floating staircase. “I love it. Lyle, what’s the price on this one?”

Elle’s temples tightened. Of course he loved the house. It was the image of him. Haute couture. Stylish, modern, pristine, and structured with intricate details not easily duplicated.

But she longed for vintage. An older home with creaking floors, odd-shaped rooms, hidden nooks, and a history of love and laughter.

“The price is in your range, Dr. Franklin.” Lyle walked toward the center of the barren living room. “And in this buyer’s market, we can offer several thousand less than the asking price.”

The skinny Realtor under a cowboy hat shoved back his bright orange jacket, set his hands on his belt, and glanced between the two of them. Poor Lyle, caught between their tug-of-war of wants.

“Elle, what do you think?” Jeremiah nodded slightly. “Yes?”

She hated to sound like a worn, scratched record, but for the moment, the kind of house she moved into after her wedding and honeymoon was the only thing she had control over in her pre-Dallas existence.

“I don’t know, Jeremiah. Isn’t it a bit expensive?”

“Excuse us, Lyle.” Jeremiah shuffled Elle out the back of the living room into the dining room. “I guess we haven’t been able to talk in-depth about money.”

And whose fault is that, Cell Phone Man?
“It’s been crazy, I know.”

“Money is not an issue, Elle. I had the good sense not to squander my endorsement money from my football days.”

“Oh, gr-great.” His good sense tackled her last argument. “I’d never considered your football career.”

“Elle, I make a good salary, but the board knows I have investments. Other than buying a nice house, I don’t intend to flash money around. I’m keeping the Honda, not going to drive anything fancy. But I don’t want to come home from a long day and hear you tell me the plumbing needs fixing or the attic is leaking.”

Listen to his heart, Elle.
How could she not agree? If Mama sat on her shoulder right now, she’d say, “Just go along, Elle. Do this for your man. You’ll make it a home in no time.”

“Your hesitation tells me you don’t like it.”

Did he hear her at all, read her language, understand her protests? “I’d feel like I was living in a hotel all the time. It’s big and drafty. Everything is stainless steel and brass. The farmhouse we looked at is out of the question? I know the first house I liked needed too much work, but there has to be more like it around this great big city.”

His eyes narrowed, but only for a second. He planted a quick kiss on her forehead. “Okay, Lyle, the woman of the house isn’t feeling it. What else you got? Can you show us something with a little more character.”

Elle slipped her hand into his and followed him to the foyer. “Thank you.”

FIVE

At Jeremiah’s small, bachelorlike kitchen table, he reviewed the house situation. Elle munched on a piece of toast and listened.

“You leave tomorrow and I think we’re close. Do you like this one?” Jeremiah held up a picture of the Victorian home they’d toured yesterday.

“It was nice, Jeremiah, except for being in a crowded neighborhood amid twin and triplet Victorian replicas. No yard.” She met his gaze. “Are you sure we can’t go back to the mid home Lyle showed us the day before yesterday? It’s not a fixer-upper, but warm and homey with a yard and a big maple in the front. And it’s near I-35. The drive to the art district would be about twenty minutes.”

Jeremiah gathered the printouts, then picked up his coffee cup, leaving the table. “About the gallery, Elle . . .” He filled his coffee cup.

His tone made her scalp tingle. “What about it?”

“Elle, seriously, when are you going to have time to run a gallery?” Jeremiah straddled the chair, sipping his coffee.

“What else am I going to do? If you’re worried about it burdening our new marriage, I’ll start slow and small. Open a few days a week, on special weekends.”

He stopped her with a low laugh. “Being senior pastor of a large, growing church comes with a lot of responsibilities, expectations, and duties, Elle. I need you with me. I’m already on several ecumenical boards, praying at city council meetings, leading a study on culture and race in the church, never mind the church’s calendar. Are you saying you don’t want to minister with me? There’s travel on my horizon. The television people want to develop segments with you, too, over the next year. You do want to minister with me, don’t you?”

The man had just described a world she’d never imagined. “Of course, Jeremiah, but I don’t want to abandon my work. Putting a ring on my finger doesn’t negate the gifts and calling God has given me. At least that’s not what I was raised to believe. I’m not Elle Garvey, art advocate and gallery owner, until some man gives me his name and then I’m a mini-him, his shadow.”

His countenance darkened.

“Mini-me? A shadow? Is that what you think this is all about?

Elle, I’m not asking you to be my shadow. I’m asking you to be my partner in ministry.”

Elle shoved away from the table, carrying her plate to the dishwasher. How did he turn her arguments around so she felt selfish and silly?

“I understand, Jeremiah, but right now all I hear is me, me, me. And I don’t mean Elle, Elle, Elle. This whole week has been about you. What you’re doing, where you’re going, what you want, who you know. Jeremiah, other than buying the house, you haven’t asked me once about how I feel about any of this ministry stuff. Not one ‘Pray about it with me’ or ‘What do you think of me doing television or writing a book?’”

“Babe, I-I would. It’s just that, well, you’re new, not in the loop, caught up with the details.”

“And whose fault is that? Look, I don’t want to sit in meetings or share every phone call, but I’d like an invitation to talk it over. All I get is the latest news flash.”

“Fine, and I’d like to be in on your decisions. I don’t feel good about your opening a gallery. At least not yet. Besides, there are hundreds of art galleries in the greater Dallas area. It’ll take a long time and a lot of work to get established.”

Elle crossed her arms and leaned against the kitchen counter. “And there are not ten times the number of pastors and charismatic preachers hocking the gospel on TV?” Her words snapped like the sharp end of a wet towel.

“I can’t believe you.” Jeremiah met her in the kitchen, his six-foot-three frame towering over her. “The more ministers of the gospel, the more we win to Christ. Babe, let’s not blow this out of proportion. I’m just saying maybe the gallery is not a good idea. At least not right now.” Jeremiah stopped, glancing at his watch. “Come on, it’s time to meet Lyle.”

“Jeremiah, you sat in Candace’s office and promised.”

He stopped at the edge of his living room, easing his wallet into his pocket. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Then let’s talk after the wedding. Can you give me until then?” His smile radiated little warmth.

Elle appreciated his compromise but felt the echo of his first hollow promise. “All right, if that’s what you want.” She picked her purse off the table and followed him out the door.

“Elle, what do you think?” Jeremiah leaned against the kitchen island. “The location is good. Lyle says we can close next week.”

Elle’s bracelets made a tinkling sound as she brushed her hands though her hair, stretching the tenseness out of her back and neck. “I like the house if you do.”

He shook his head, exhaling a hot breath. “If we move in and six months later you hate it . . .” He walked to the breakfast nook, arms akimbo. “Are you doing this because of what I said about the gallery?”

Elle’s insides burned. “Is that what you think of me?”

He looked over at her. “No, but I had to ask.”

If they failed at finding a house this trip, they failed even greater at communicating, each blinded in some way by their own expectations.

“Jeremiah, I won’t hate it. Let’s buy it.”

“I’m not putting hundreds of thousands down on ‘I won’t hate it.’ I don’t understand why we can’t find a house we both love.”

His cell rang, and when he answered, he walked out the French doors.

Elle picked at the edge of the counter, batting away tears.
Horrible
was the only word she had for this visit.

Lyle entered the kitchen, his cell phone in hand. “Just talked with the seller . . . Oh, hey, Elle, you in here by yourself? Let me flip on the light. Guess this kitchen is kind of dark, I do admit. Maybe we can see to putting in some sky lights.” He opened the door to the deck. “Get on in here, Jeremiah.”

Lyle restarted his spiel when Jeremiah came inside.

“They’ll take five grand less than asking, and”—Lyle wiggled his eyebrows. Elle hid a smile—“pay closing.”

Jeremiah glanced at Elle, and she longed for the warmth she always felt from him. “It’s up to you, Elle. Decide. I guess we can hole up in my apartment if we can’t find a place.”

“Don’t you dare blame me.” She didn’t care if Lyle listened in; she’d not have Jeremiah dump their failure on her.

He sighed. “I’m not blaming anything on anyone.”

Dallas had revealed a new side of both of them. Elle, the unrelenting artist. Jeremiah, the conquering achiever. She refused to be bulldozed, especially by the man she was marrying. But for the moment she embraced compromise.

“Let’s buy it, Jeremiah.” She smiled with all the confidence she could muster.

“Lyle, looks like you made the sale. Well deserved.” Jeremiah came around the island to kiss Elle’s cheek. His lips were wet and cool.