Let It Be Me, Becky Wade [beautiful books to read .TXT] 📗

“I love hiking and planning road trips on a shoestring budget. I occasionally compete in chess tournaments for fun. I’m rebellious because my teachers used to warn me that I needed to learn to do math in my head because I wouldn’t be able to carry a calculator around with me once I became an adult.” She reached into her purse and lifted her graphing calculator just high enough for him to see before dropping it back into the confines and straightening. “Joke’s on them. Now you go.”

“I watch soccer and movies. I’m a fan of anything related to aviation. I spend a lot of my free time with the Coleman family. I’m excellent at killing houseplants. I like to mow my lawn, and I listen to Sinatra because, obviously, he produced the best music ever.”

The entire conversation was taking place at a very fast pace, akin to a ball being walloped back and forth across a tennis court. “Interesting assertion,” she said. “I contend that the 1980s produced the best music ever.”

“Wrong.”

“Musical preferences are a matter of taste, Sebastian. One genre’s superiority over another cannot be proved.”

He shifted in his chair, setting a forearm on the table. His surgeon’s hands were large with short, clean nails and blunt fingertips. Even though relaxed, his fingers communicated proficiency.

After a long moment, he spoke. “You asked me over the phone if I’d keep your information confidential. I told you I would. Now I’m wondering if you’ll keep what I’m about to say confidential.”

“Of course.”

“Because this will get me in trouble with Ben if he finds out.”

She angled her head. “Oh?”

“He’d like to go out with you.”

Her eyebrows steepled.

“I want to put in a good word for him,” he continued. “He’s like a brother to me . . . one of the best people I know.”

She held herself still even though she was flailing around like a drowning swimmer on the inside. “Ben wants to go out with me?”

“Yes.”

“Ben is romantically interested in me?”

“Yes. You didn’t know?”

“No. I . . . don’t always pick up on undercurrents that other people understand intuitively.”

“Ah.”

“I happen to agree with your assessment of Ben. He’s an outstanding person. Stellar.”

“He really is. Will you consider giving him a chance?”

She looked him straight in the eyes. “No.”

“No?”

“Nothing against Ben, but I have no interest in dating anyone. I don’t do romance.”

“You don’t do romance?” he repeated.

“No. I’ve never aspired to a dating relationship and certainly not to marriage.”

“Can we back this train up?” He pondered her the way he might ponder a complex X-ray. “Why don’t you do romance?”

“In order to explain, I’ll have to back this train way up. All the way to my childhood.”

“I’m listening.”

“You’re really interested in this?”

“I promise you that I am. You told me you prefer for people to speak directly. You can trust me to do just that.”

“Well . . .” She sniffed, then rested her hands in her lap. “When all the other little girls were drawing pictures of families, with mothers and fathers and children, I was drawing pictures of myself surrounded by math equations. I know that most people envision romantic relationships as part of their future, but I never did.”

“Why is that?”

“Several reasons. The first was environmental.”

“Explain.”

“My parents’ marriage was . . . deplorable. It in no way sweetened me toward the institution.”

“Understandable.”

On top of that, during her middle school years, no boy had displayed a shred of romantic interest in her. Back then, not only had she been socially awkward, she’d also worn glasses and possessed a nose that was too large for her face. “I attended an all-girls school, which was glorious because, for the first time, I was surrounded by friends with whom I had much in common. There were no boys present, however, so I certainly wasn’t tempted to try dating during my teenage years.”

The peaceful environment at Clemmons had poured Miracle-Gro on her confidence. There, her roommate had invited Leah to church and Leah had, for the first time, met God. She’d placed her faith in Him. In response, the unconditional love she’d spent her life craving had poured through her. God’s grace had revolutionized her soul.

“And after you graduated from Clemmons?” he asked.

“Almost all the men I met were coworkers, and I was too young for them.” It had come as a great surprise to her when a few of her colleagues had asked her out. By then, she’d traded her glasses for contacts. Her other features had grown so that her nose had come into proportion. She’d entrusted herself to a skilled hair stylist and learned how to shop for clothing that complemented her. While it had been pleasant to discover that she no longer repelled men, that revelation had not converted to real-world application. “Besides, Dylan consumed my time. Whatever was left went to my master’s program.” She shrugged. “I seem to be missing the attraction gene.”

“What do you mean?”

“All the women I know swoon with attraction over men. I do not.”

Except . . . just as the words I do not left her mouth, she did experience a bout of physical attraction. A very real, warm tug of longing in response to Sebastian Grant.

Chills of delight—or maybe horror—slid along her arms.

Confound it!

What in the world was happening?

This felt like a pleasurable menstrual cramp even though the relationship between cramp and pleasurable was a non sequitur.

“I see,” he said.

A blush glided up her cheeks. She neutralized it by drawing in air and common sense. Romance and marriage were not for her. The sentimentality of it all! The bad choices, the weakness, the flawed thinking that women in love displayed!

She had God, and years ago she’d resolved that He was quite enough, thank you very much. Ever since, she’d worn her countercultural disinterest in a spouse like a badge of honor. “Number theory thrills me, but romance does not. I’ve found contentment in my long-standing relationship with Han Solo.”

“You’re a Han Solo fan?”

“Very much so.” She woke her phone to show him the Han Solo photo she’d set as her background