Kristi Woods
Selah ran a finger along the cardstock’s wavy edge, inventorying every bump along the way. Cut with scissors and printed at home, if she had to guess. Creative, but who would send her a Navy Ball invite?
Thoughts of a mystery man sent a sizzle up her back.
“‘Like a jigsaw puzzle … two halves … when put together … make a whole. I think we fit … but do you? Will you be my date to the Navy Ball?’”
She raised the card in the air, studying the patterned edge.
Sure, she lived in a military town, but no one had ever asked her to a ball. They simply requested their coffee and glazed donuts to go. Manning the counter at The Yeast of These Donut Shop every Monday through Friday, she’d always obliged.
But this was a whole different type of ask.
Her thoughts raced.
Barron, her black and white cat, lay curled up on the kitchen stool, glancing at her through slitted eyes. Obviously, his heart hadn’t shifted into overdrive, like hers had.
“If I knew who he was, maybe I’d go.” Tucking an unruly honey-brown curl behind her ear, she pulled the invite closer. “‘When you least expect it, the other half will show. If you want to attend, here’s how I will know: simply match the two pieces.’” She raised a palm. “But how will I recognize him?”
A knock on the door rattled the picture hanging beside it. She gasped and let the invite slide onto the counter.
Daniel, her brother and roommate, arrived home late tomorrow, as would the neighbors across the hall. With the unit adjacent to hers vacant, she rode solo on the second floor. That, plus her planned date with the LoveMarks Channel—ratty outfit to boot—meant she’d just as soon not answer an unexpected knock. There were scary movies about that kind of stuff, and she wasn’t about to accept the lead role.
She swiped a hand at her scraggly T-shirt, her finger snagging on one of two holes near the hem, just above the frays of her cut-off shorts. She shook it free. In this get-up, she wouldn’t answer the door for ninety-nine percent of the population, anyway.
So that was that. Hello, movie marathon and buttery bowl of popcorn.
The metal door vibrated with a second knock, this one a little louder.
But what if it was her secret admirer?
What if he truly was a kind, caring person, and she turned down the connection before allowing it to unfold? Plenty of handsome, seemingly nice young sailors filtered into the donut shop. A few, even, in her young adult church group. One of them might be worth taking a chance on. But none knew where she lived.
She leaned down by Barron’s ear and whispered, “Peephole check. Got my back?”
He peeked out of one eye and then closed it again.
“Well, aren’t you the stellar protector?”
She slipped off her flip-flops, padded softly like a mouse to the entry, and pushed to her tiptoes. The door’s metal chilled her fingertips, but not her quickening pulse. Outside, a soldier in camo stood with his back to her.
Her breath hitched.
Was it him?
His face remained hidden, but with those empty hands at his sides, probably not.
She pulled back, her thoughts racing to connect with sensibility.
“Selah? You home?”
That voice… Raising an eye to the peephole again, she sucked in a sharp breath. She recognized every curve and ridge of that handsome face, even the scar above his eyebrow. All permanent etchings in her memory of the childhood crush she’d harbored for her brother’s best friend.
She jerked open the door. “Vince James!”
A smile tugged on his lips, sending her heart fluttering. “Selah Walker.”
“You came to surprise Daniel?”
Before he could answer, another man coming down the breezeway pulled her attention. It was the cute double-latte-with-a-single-pump-of-caramel-and-one-glazed-donut dude who sent her heart swooning every Monday morning. She glanced down at his hand, and her throat constricted. A white paper.
Latte-guy waved and paused just short of Vince. “Hi.”
“Hi.” She auto-piloted a fluttery-fingered wave.
Vince nodded.
“Sorry to interrupt. I’m looking for 204.”
Her chest deflated when he held up the paper—a rental agreement.
“There.” She pointed toward the empty apartment next door.
“Looks like we’re going to be neighbors.” He waved as he shoved the key in the lock and opened the door. “Have a good day.” And he disappeared.
Vince thumbed at the door after latte-guy disappeared inside. “Guess you have a new neighbor.”
“Looks that way.” She sighed.
No mystery man. Again.
“You okay?” Vince’s focus latched onto hers. Still handsome. Still kind.
“Wild day, that’s all.” She nodded and raised a hand to shield the sun’s warm cast that had encroached on her doorstep. “Uh, sorry, but Daniel is gone. It’s drill weekend.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I didn’t want an audience when I came by, just in case.”
She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “In case what?”
He tugged at his pocket and pulled out a piece of white cardstock with familiar curves. “In case you weren’t up for a match.”
She cupped her mouth. “Vince.”
“You don’t have to go. I’ll understand.”
“No.” She fled to retrieve the invite before he changed his mind, and to release the pent-up energy that was about to make her chest explode. Vince James was asking her, the little sister with the years-long crush, to the ball? Forget LoveMarks. She had the real deal.
“I’m sorry if I overstepped my boundary.” He called after her. “I just—”
“Vince?”
“Huh?” He stuffed the paper in his pocket as she returned.
Wrapping her fingers around his wrist, she pulled it and the paper into the air. “Hold still.” Raising her half to his, she lined them up. “A perfect match.”
Kristi, her Desert Storm pen pal-turned-husband, and three (now adult) children survived a nomadic, military lifestyle and have set roots in Oklahoma. There, she keeps a close watch for tornadoes and rich, creamy chocolate.
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