Rom-Com Collection (Part1). Kristan Higgins
so schmaltzy. Give me a horror flick any day.”
“I like horror movies, I don’t live in my mother’s basement, I’m not married and I’m not gay,” he said.
And all of a sudden, an electric current seemed to hum between them. She seemed to feel it, too, because her cheeks flushed, and her eyes seemed to soften. You need to get laid, his brain reminded him.
Shit. Not with Faith Holland and all her baggage. No matter how much his body was starting to growl.
“Exnooze me,” came a baby voice, and Levi jumped as something nudged his ear. It was Donna, and holy hell, she had a puppet on her hand. A pig, waving at him. “Do you wike animoos? I wuv dem!” Her voice changed back to normal. “I do puppet shows at children’s parties. I love kids, don’t you? I’d like to have a few.”
Faith smiled at him, the timer sounded, and both women went on to someone else.
* * *
SO FAITH HADN’T FOUND her future husband. She hadn’t really expected to, but she’d gotten three phone numbers for Dad and would begin screening tomorrow. The night wasn’t a total bust.
Levi drove in manly silence all the way home; she asked him to take Route 54 instead of Lancaster Road, but he hadn’t asked why; just grunted and done as she requested.
You know, for a second there, she could’ve sworn that something had passed between them. Maybe. Whatever it was, imagined or not, it had vaporized almost instantly.
“This was such a good idea,” Colleen said. “Sugar daddy, here I come.”
“I just feel bad that my father left,” Faith said.
“I just feel bad that you won’t let me marry him,” Coll returned. “Wouldn’t I make a great stepmother?”
“He’d be dead in a week,” Faith said.
“Levi, did you find anyone? That lady with the tattoos, she was kinda hot.”
“Or the puppeteer,” Faith couldn’t help adding. “Very kinky.”
“I was just there as the instructor,” he said.
“Well, you should find a nice girl,” Colleen said. “I’ll be on the lookout.”
“No, thanks.”
Colleen sighed dramatically. “Faith, his heart was broken when his evil wife left him. We have to help.”
“Do we?” she asked. “He seems to want to be left alone.”
“Correct,” he said, glancing in the rearview.
Pretty eyes. Levi Cooper definitely had pretty eyes.
She kind of hoped Levi would drop Colleen off first. Why, she didn’t know, but the thought of being alone in the car with Levi Cooper made her knees tingle.
But, no. Geographically, the Old House came first, and sure enough, Levi pulled into the driveway. She said goodbye to Colleen, thanked him for the ride, then stood, watching them back out, oddly jealous that Colleen would have three more minutes in the car with Chief McYummy.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“FAITH, SINCE YOU’RE NEW, why don’t you get us started off, honey?” said Cathy Kennedy, the leader of Women’s Bible Study.
“I thought it was my turn,” said Carol Robinson, one of the power walkers Faith had almost hit on her way into town a few days ago. Honestly, the six of them walked abreast, like they wanted to end up in the hospital.
“Well, Faith is new, so let her have a turn.”
Faith smiled. Cathy was definitely a contender for Dad’s girlfriend. Last night, Lorena of the Leopard Print had been at dinner again, and Faith had been summoned by an urgent call from Honor, who’d had a wine tasting over at The Red Salamander. Sure enough, Lorena had innocently been rifling through the desk in the den while Dad read the paper, oblivious. When Faith had asked if she could help her find something, Lorena had said she lost an earring last time she’d been there. “That woman is going to rob your father blind,” Mrs. Johnson had growled when Faith had gone into the kitchen, banging a pot to reinforce her point.
So, yeah. Where better to find a nice woman than Bible Study? Only one of the three candidates from Singles Shooting Night had held up; one didn’t like children, and the other seemed to have a gambling problem. Number Three was still under investigation, but she lived kind of far away.
“We’re at, let’s see, now, Exodus, chapter four, verse twenty-five. Go ahead, Faith,” Mrs. Kennedy said.
“Thanks, Mrs. Kennedy,” Faith said, looking at her Bible. “Um...okay, here we are. ‘Then Zipporah took a sharp stone, and cut off the foreskin of her son—oh, crikey, are you kidding me?—and cast it at his feet, and said, ‘Surely a bloody husband art thou to me.’ Am I in the right chapter?” Horrified, she glanced around at the other women.
“Perfect!” Cathy said. “Shall we discuss?”
“Was the baby crying?” Carol asked. “You slice off his little foreskin with a rock and throw it on the ground, I want to know what the baby’s doing.”
“Might not have been a baby,” Lena Smits observed. “Sometimes those boys were fifteen, sixteen years old when this happened.”
“I doubt it,” Mrs. Corners said. “My grandson won’t even let his mother hug him. I doubt he’d let anyone circumcise him with a rock.”
“I doubt it, too,” Faith said, suppressing a dry heave. Surely, God would see how selfless she was being—senior citizen matchmaking and Bible Study rolled into one—and reward her with not only a pleasant stepmother, but also a nice husband and several cute babies. Any time now, Big Guy, she thought.
And speaking of marriage...the last time Faith had been in Trinity Lutheran’s basement, she’d been wearing a wedding dress.
Well. No point in crying over spilled champagne. She wasn’t here to relive her aborted wedding day. She was here to pick up women.
Cathy Kennedy, sure. She’d been widowed a long time. Janet Borjeson was also single, though Honor had made disapproving noises when Faith had mentioned her. But still. She noted their names in the margin of the Book of Exodus.
“What do you think, sweetheart?” Goggy asked.
Faith jumped. “Um, about the circumcision?” And really. Was there something wrong with Let the little children come to me?
Goggy frowned. “No, honey. Barb’s thinking about a breast reduction. She’s had back pain for years.” Barb nodded in agreement.
First foreskins, now boobs. “Go for it. I hear you’ll be really perky afterward.”
“Exactly,” Barb said. “Thanks, Faith. You’re a doll, you know that?” She smiled. “You know, my grandson is single, honey. Shall I give him your number?”
Faith suppressed a shudder. Barb’s grandson had escorted her in, a living cliché for serial killer—shuffling feet, thinning hair and the creepy, unblinking gaze of Mark Zuckerberg. “Oh, that’s sweet of you, but, no. I, uh...no, thank you.”
“She’s still heartbroken over Jeremy Lyon,” Carol Robinson announced.
“No, I’m not,” Faith answered. “We’re friends.”
“How could you get over him?” Cathy said. “All that and a doctor, too. Did you know he actually had me laughing during my annual you-know-what?”
The topic switched to Jeremy’s gentle hands, and then to the new sneakers Carol had bought at seventy percent off during her trip to the outlets.
After an hour or so, which seemed to be spent discussing ungrateful grandchildren and knee replacements, and not