Everything she wants, p.1
Everything She Wants, page 1
Cover image: Ice Cream Cone in Woman’s Hand © alexandrshevchenko; Plane © Ace_Create, courtesy istockphoto.com
Cover design copyright © 2018 by Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.
American Fork, Utah
Copyright © 2018 by Sarah Alva
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.
First Printing: April 2018
ISBN 978-1-52440-674-5
To my sister, my first fan
Acknowledgments
I am beyond grateful for the talented and generous women in my writing group: Miranda Renaé, Stacy Codner, Emily Inouye Huey, Apryl Lopez, and Julie Whipple. Their friendship and support mean so much to me. I must thank Ron and Alison Christiansen for introducing me to E. M. Forster. My sister, Emily Daw, was an excellent beta reader and fact checker for all the food-science stuff. A thank-you belongs to Jenny Proctor for her help with my first chapter and to Serena Hinton and Brittany Larsen for their thoughtful feedback on my manuscript. I’m thankful for my editor, Sam Millburn, for her kindness and guidance. And lastly, a big thanks to my wonderful husband, Brandon, who I promise is nothing like Charles.
It isn’t possible to love and part. You will wish that it was. You can transmute love, ignore it, muddle it, but you can never pull it out of you. I know by experience that the poets are right: love is eternal.
—E. M. Forster, A Room with a View
Chapter 1
Lucy was not running away. She was simply taking a spontaneous vacation. And if that spontaneous vacation happened to put a few thousand miles between her and Charles, then all the better. At 30,000 feet in the air, she felt almost untouchable. The quick phone call she’d made eighteen hours ago to her aunt was all it had taken to arrange her escape.
“Do you still want me to go to London with Charlotte and Ellie?” Lucy had asked Aunt Mary.
Back in December, Lucy had been invited to chaperone her cousin Charlotte and her friend Ellie on their London spring-break trip. Lucy had declined. At the time, visiting London again had seemed like a silly indulgence. But now, getting to London seemed like a necessity.
“But the girls’ flight leaves tomorrow!” Aunt Mary had said.
“That is the least of my problems,” Lucy had replied, and they’d quickly made arrangements.
In her first-class seat, Lucy reclined and closed her eyes. If she slept, she wouldn’t have to think about what she’d done. She tried to focus on the hum of the plane and the blackness behind her eyelids. Instead, she pictured Charles’s face. His angular cheeks. His bright-blue eyes. His white hair. The way his mouth moved when he spoke her name. How earnest he had looked when he’d proposed.
Lucy was a terrible person. How could she have left that night without giving him an answer and then boarded a plane headed to London a day later? They hadn’t even officially been together when he’d asked her to marry him. They’d been on one of their breaks. Why had he thought it was appropriate to kiss her and then pull out a ring? What signal had she unknowingly given him a week before when she had said, “Charles, I think we should take a break”?
Lucy was always putting them in break mode. Mostly because she became terrified whenever she thought about a life with him. For the last year and a half, they’d been doing a complicated dating/not dating dance. Lucy would call time-out, and Charles would wait patiently on the sidelines for her to make up her mind. Eventually, a new terror would creep in about her future—one in which Lucy spent the rest of her life alone, with only her successful career keeping her warm at night. She wanted to be married and have children. She felt ready for those things now, and Charles loved her. So Lucy would resume their relationship. But then Charles would start talking about marriage and how he pictured their future together—all in the hypothetical—and Lucy would panic and put them back in break mode.
Lucy let out a quiet groan and opened her eyes to the dim airplane lights. She needed to figure out this Charles thing once and for all. He deserved a firm answer from her when she got home, if he was still waiting for her.
She switched on her overhead light and pulled her carry-on from beneath the seat in front of her. Inside, she found her journal and the handkerchief her father had given her before he’d died. The handkerchief was her worry stone, and right now, she could use all the small comfort it would provide. She placed the handkerchief on her lap and pushed her bag back under the seat with her foot. She could be mature and logical about this. Feeling quite adult-like, she opened her journal to the next blank page and wrote, “Reasons to Marry Charles Buffington.”
Lucy clicked her pen open and closed a few times and stared at his name. Charles Buffington. Ugh. She shook her head and silently scolded herself. That was unfair. It wasn’t like he had chosen his name. Charles—who didn’t like to go by Charlie or Chuck—couldn’t help that he had the name of some British aristocrat. His stuffy name aside, he had a lot of good qualities.
She started by listing the obvious things: He was an English professor at BYU, so he was clearly intelligent. And he was the elders quorum president, so that meant he was a worthy priesthood holder. He was also ambitious, witty, honest, good-looking (in a skinny way), patient (kind of), and he knew Lucy better than anyone else and still loved her. She continued listing things: returned missionary, has a good relationship with his family, loves children, can cook, keeps his house clean, has never gotten a speeding ticket. She filled up almost a full page, and when she finished, it was clear: on paper, Charles would be a perfect husband. He had all the qualities that were supposed to matter. So what was missing?
On the next page, she wrote, “Reasons Not to Marry Charles.” She tapped her pen a few more times while she reviewed her “Reasons to Marry Charles Buffington.” Was she being too picky? At thirty, could she afford to be picky? Was there something wrong with her?
It felt like a betrayal to write the things she found wrong with Charles. How would she feel if she knew Charles had made a pro/con list about her? She clicked her pen one last time and wrote, He can be a snob. She felt both relieved and a little disgusted at having finally admitted there was something wrong with him. But didn’t it make her a snob to point out that he was a snob?
Chatter a few rows up at the flight attendant station drew her away from the list. She peered up the aisle and noticed one of the pilots speaking to the flight attendant assigned to first class. The pilot wore a white uniform, complete with epaulets and a cap. Lucy admired his broad shoulders and the clean lines his long legs made in his navy-blue pants. His black shoes shone, even in the dim light. She watched as he smiled at the flight attendant, confident and charming. Good grief, he was handsome—dark hair, strong jaw, a dimple in his left cheek.
“Captain Strong sent me back to get coffee,” he said. His voice had the same tenor as a soap-opera star. Despite her best efforts, Lucy swooned a little.
“You want a coffee too?” the flight attendant asked, her voice sounding a little Midwestern. Lucy couldn’t remember where the flight crew was from, but she knew they were from somewhere in the U.S.
“No, a Coke’s fine,” he replied.
The attendant nodded, turned to the coffee station, and began fixing a cup. The pilot leaned against the entryway to the cockpit. Lucy studied him. He seemed so relaxed in his own skin. His mouth went lopsided as he watched the other woman.
“How’s your little brother?” he asked.
She handed him the coffee. “He’s fine. Having the time of his life, actually.” She moved to the beverage cart and scooped ice into a cup, then found an unopened can of Coke in one of the drawers. “Now, don’t go spilling this on the controls,” she said, handing it over.
The pilot laughed, revealing the dimple again. Lucy leaned forward in her seat, feeling like a sucker for falling for a dimple. Sure, he was handsome, but guys like him usually ended up being jerks, right? At the very least, conceited. Lucy watched as he took the can from the attendant and tucked it under his arm so he could carry the cups of ice and coffee in his hands.
“Thanks, Mindy.” He turned to leave but stopped. “Hey, when do you have time off next?”
“When I get Stateside again, I’m off for a few days,” Mindy replied.
“Oh, I’ll still be in London.” He shrugged. “Too bad.”
“Yeah?” she asked. “What were you thinking?”
“I wanted to do a long weekend up at the lake.”
Lucy scoffed. She was right. How like a cocky pilot to hit on a flight attendant.
“I haven’t been there in years,” Mindy said.
“Grandma’s been bugging me about painting the cabin,” he replied.
Grandma? Lucy now sat on the very edge of her seat, her head craning into the aisle. Were they related? Had she been reading this exchange all wrong? Her journal and pen slipped from her lap, but she managed to catch her handkerchief
“Maybe we can request the same schedule and have our last flight end in Milwaukee,” Mindy suggested, but Lucy sensed some doubt in her words.
“Yeah, good idea,” the pilot said. “I should probably get back.” He motioned toward the cockpit with his head. “I need to make sure the captain’s still awake.”
Lucy moved to pick up her journal but slid out of her seat and fell on her knees in the aisle. She scrambled back into her chair, her cheeks blazing, and opened the in-flight magazine to cover her face. She counted to five before peeking over the corner of the periodical to see if the handsome pilot had noticed.
Yep. He stared straight at her. Their eyes met briefly, and Lucy felt like lightning had restarted her heart. An amused smile appeared on his lips. He tipped his head in her direction. “I think that passenger needs something,” he said to Mindy. Before disappearing into the cockpit, he gave Lucy one last long look. Her cheeks flushed further, and her heart pounded wildly in her chest.
“Is everything all right, ma’am?” Mindy asked.
Lucy shook her head no but said, “Yes, everything’s fine.” The plane must be about to crash. Why else would I feel this unbalanced? she thought.
Lucy knew what to write next under “Reasons Not to Marry Charles:” He doesn’t make my heart pound.
Chapter 2
As the passengers deplaned, Emerson stood by the exit and thanked them for flying Delta. Mindy stood beside him, smiling big and bright in the way flight attendants are trained to. “How long is your layover?” Emerson asked his cousin.
“I’ve got about two hours,” Mindy said.
“Do you want to grab a quick breakfast?”
“Yeah, that’d be fun,” she said, then busied herself at the refreshment cart, gathering trash and taking inventory.
Emerson looked down the plane, and nearly all of the seats were empty. He noticed a blonde woman still sitting in first class. She stood with her back to him and craned her neck as she watched the last two people in coach, who were taking their time gathering their belongings. The blonde sighed, turned around, and sank back into her seat. It was the woman from last night, the one who had been eavesdropping. Her steel-gray eyes looked up and met his for a moment before darting away. He watched as a blush colored her face, and his stomach did a funny little leap. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and seemed very interested in her cell phone. Emerson moved forward. Perhaps she needed help with something. “I hope you have an international plan,” he said, putting on his most charming grin.
She tensed before returning his gaze. Her eyes were the same color as storm clouds. “That’s what I’m working on right now,” she replied, raising an eyebrow before looking back down at her phone.
He studied her features for a moment. She appeared to be in her late twenties. She had a delicate face and a heart-shaped mouth. She wore her wavy hair knotted to the side at the nape of her neck.
She put her phone down and peered out the window. “If that’s taken care of, the plane has landed,” he said. “You can safely exit now.”
“Yes, thank you,” she answered, returning her gaze to him. She had an American accent, so she was probably just a tourist. The flight had connected in New York, so she could be from anywhere in the United States. “I’m waiting on my friends,” she added, gesturing behind her to the two girls in coach. They were now moving down the aisle toward them. She turned her head. “Oh, look, here they come now.” She stood and nodded her head. “Sir.”
“Ma’am,” Emerson said, tipping his hat. He used to pursue girls like her, women who seemed unfazed by his charms. Getting them interested in him was part of the game. Given the chance, he knew he could warm her up. He’d start by asking her name and if she wanted a tour of the cockpit. That usually got a girl interested.
He stopped himself from thinking anything more. He didn’t do that anymore. He couldn’t. He was trying to be different. He stepped back to allow the woman room to enter the aisle. Her friends joined her, apologizing for taking so long.
Emerson retreated to the front of the plane. Before entering the cockpit, he glanced back. The woman looked at him, her expression unreadable. She had stunning eyes. A pounding grew in his chest, and he swallowed hard to keep his heart in place. Lately for Emerson, the right thing and the hard thing were exactly the same.
He disappeared into the cockpit.
* * *
Mindy and Emerson sat at a table in a little bistro at the Heathrow airport. They were between breakfast and lunch, so the shop was mostly empty, except for a few customers who were engrossed in their iPads.
“How long are you in London for?” Mindy asked as she sipped hot cocoa.
“Three days,” Emerson said, clearing his throat. “My mom requested the last of her ashes be sprinkled in Kensington Gardens.”
Mindy’s mouth made a silent “Oh,” and she set her cup down. She leaned forward and put her hand over his. “How are you doing?”
His mother had passed away almost a year ago, but the loss still felt fresh. He’d put off this trip for months, even using sick days to avoid any haul out to London if he’d had to. The last time he had been here, he’d come with his mother. She had wanted to see the graves and places of all her favorite authors before she died. He’d spent two weeks with her, first touring New England and then London. He hadn’t been ready to revisit those memories. He probably wasn’t ready now. “I’m okay,” Emerson said. “I’m hoping for some closure after this is taken care of.”
“I wish I could come with you,” Mindy said, frowning. “I can only imagine how hard something like this must be.” She gave his hand a little squeeze.
“Thanks,” he said. Pressure built in his chest. He exhaled deeply, trying to get the feeling to subside. He didn’t want to cry in front of her, let alone in public.
“Have you spoken to your dad recently?” Mindy asked.
Emerson stiffened. He hadn’t spoken to his father since the funeral ten months ago. “Did something happen to him?”
Mindy shook her head and pulled her hand away from his. “No, he’s fine. I was just wondering if . . .” Her words trailed off. She was probably wondering if, in light of his mother’s death, Emerson was trying to repair the relationship with his only living parent.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Emerson said.
Mindy didn’t need any more prompting than that. “Don’t you think it’s silly that we only see each other when we’re on the same flight crew, especially since we live in the same city?”
“You’re right. I haven’t seen Dan or baby James since the funeral.” Emerson winced. He didn’t mean to bring his mom up again. But she really was always on his mind.
“Well, James is not a baby anymore,” Mindy replied, glazing over the mention of Emerson’s mom. “He’s now a little terror on two legs.”
Emerson laughed. “We should plan something when I get back to Atlanta,” he said. “The weather is getting nice. We could do a barbecue.”
Mindy looked apprehensive, and Emerson knew why. He was the reason they never got together. Before his mom died, he’d been too busy working and chasing women, flaking on family events if “something better” came up. And since his mom’s death, he’d almost become a shut-in, consumed with grief and regret.
“I’m trying to be different now,” Emerson said quietly.
She raised her eyebrows, rightly skeptical. Over the years, Emerson had tried countless times to be different but always fell back into easy habits.
“If I tell you something, you promise not to overreact?” he asked.
She took a slow sip of her cocoa. “Sure. I’ll stay cool as a cucumber.”
Emerson doubted it, but if anyone was going to understand, it would be Mindy. “I’ve started going to church,” he said.
Mindy blinked and set her cup down. She did a poor job of not appearing shocked. “Like the Church, church?”
He felt his neck growing hot. It had been awhile since he’d felt embarrassed like this. “Yeah, like the Church, church.”
She slumped back in her chair. “Wow,” she said, a look of admiration appearing on her face. “Good for you.”
