Free Mixed Signals by Liz Curtis Higgs Page B

Even grubby, she was an enchanting sight in gray sweatpants and an oversized emerald green T-shirt tied at the waist.
    Green was definitely her color.
    “I love this music!” Belle cranked up the volume on the CD player another notch until the dishes fairly danced on the countertop. “Let me help you toss the salad.” She giggled and swirled in a circle as she pitched a tomato in the air and deftly caught it.
    It was the happiest she’d seen Belle since her arrival. As they worked together on dinner, Belle had a million questions for her: Where did she find such a fine cutting board, and were the knives really from Sheffield, England, and had she ever seen a more divine color than eggplant?
    She paused to watch Belle, a look of childlike joy on her face, slicing potatoes.
No wonder Patrick adores her. No wonder he hasn’t even noticed me
. Norah knew that letting her thoughts—or her heart—drift in his direction again would be sheer stupidity. There was obviously zero interest on his part. The sooner she accepted that, the sooner her emotions would be back in line.
    It was only then, during a meaningful pause in Beethoven’s Fifth, that she heard someone pounding on the front door. Shouting, too, as if they’d been at it a while.
    “Good heavens, what’s that all about?” Norah hurried through the dining room and peeked through the front windows to see who’d managed to climb over the pile of boxes and furniture to find her doorbell.
    “What is
he
doing here?” Not a thing to be done but invite him in. She swung the door open and tossed her arms out in welcome, adding a genuine smile to let him know she meant it. “Come in, you dear man. You’re just in time for our movable feast.”

six
    Time wounds all heels
.
    J ANE A CE
    S TANDING THERE IN THE kitchen, Belle’s curiosity got the better of her. Who was Norah welcoming with such abandon? It definitely wasn’t Patrick’s voice at the door. She dried her hands on a dish towel and made her way to the front of the house, only to meet Norah and the newcomer heading her direction.
    “Belle, I want you to meet someone.”
    With one glance, she wanted to meet someone, too. Thirtyish, tall, with a boyish grin and an abundance of wavy brown hair trimmed close to his ears, the man Norah had in tow was straight out of a men’s clothing catalog.
    “Matthew Howard.” He flashed a toothy grin and thrust out his hand. “You must be Norah’s new tenant. I’ve heard all about you, Miss O’Brien.”
    Heard all what?
She shook his hand briefly, noting it was smooth as a scholar’s. She fought the urge to match his grin, tooth for tooth. His enthusiasm was difficult to resist.
    “Matthew is our associate pastor.” Norah waved in the direction of the church across the street. “Earned his doctorate in ministry last May. You’ve been in town how long, Matthew?”
    “Four months.” His eyes were still on Belle.
    A pastor, then? Ah, well
.
    “Belle has been here all of one day,” Norah was explaining. “That’s her stuff you stumbled over on the porch.”
    “Which is exactly why I’m here, ma’am. Weatherman on Channel Five says it’ll be raining by dinnertime. I wanted to see if I could help you get that furniture inside.”
    “How thoughtful of you.”
Very ministerial
. “If you really mean it, there’s a delicious dinner in the bargain.”
    “The Lord knew I needed one decent home-cooked meal this week.” His dark brown eyes twinkled. “Meanwhile, let’s get started. Are you sure you can handle the other end of the couch, though?”
    A male voice floated in from the porch. “I’ll carry the other end.”
    Startled, Norah turned toward the silhouette of a tall, lanky man, framed in her doorway. “Well, isn’t this an afternoon for surprises?” Norah’s heels clicked across the hardwood floor, then Belle heard a sharp intake of breath. “My stars! You … you must be David Cahill, yes? I haven’t seen you in ages.”
    Belle watched a