“You tell John that he can come practice with me whenever dad says he’s old enough. Of course, you can ad lib my words as needed there,” I smirked. “Thanks, Ben. Hope business is doing well for you.” I gave him cash and a generous tip and took the boxes in exchange.
“Business is good. The only thing that would make it better is if the town could fix this power issue. We can only run one of our pizza ovens on our generator.” He shrugged but thanked me and went for his car.
“You hear any updates on that? I’ve been a little out of the loop,” I asked.
“Nothing much, but they are hoping to get it repaired by the weekend. All will be lost if they aren’t back up to full capacity at the ski resort for the folks coming in for the Winter Games.” Ben turned and looked past me to see Presley’s silhouette in the window. “I’m happy for you, Ford. Good luck this weekend—John and I will be cheering you on.” I considered telling John that Presley was just my neighbor, and I was putting her up but instead, I relished in the good feelings of having the appearance of a relationship. John was a good friend of mine before Poppy—that relationship had been an isolating one in many ways. After our demise, I fell off the face of the earth. Seeing John made me realize I was ready to make up for lost time.
“Thanks, buddy. It was nice catching up. See you around,” I called out, heading inside before the pizza got cold.
“Who is ready to eat?” I hollered out. Priscilla ran to greet me as if the food was for her. Or, perhaps she was used to getting a few table scraps at home? I smirked at the thought.
“It smells amazing,” Presley said, as she quickly set the table with plates and napkins. A bottle of ranch dressing was sitting in the center, along with a container of parmesan cheese that she must have brought with her. I set the boxes down on the table and pulled up a chair.
“The owner of the place is a buddy of mine. He makes the best pizza on this side of Italy,” I said.
“So, you’ve been to Italy?” Presley’s eyes widened as she sat down across from me, taking in our conversation.
“Oh, yeah. I was invited there once to skijor. They have a pretty big following for it in Switzerland, and they had an Italian group who wanted to host it at the base of the Dolomites. I was only there for a weekend; can’t say I took in any of the sights.” The painful memory of my father passing away while I was there came rushing back. “But I did have a pizza, and the experience was life changing. This pizza isalmostjust as good,” I laughed, wanting nothing more than to grab a slice of pizza, but I found myself waiting for Presley to pray before we ate. After amoment, she closed her eyes and clasped her hands, and I followed suit.
“Dear heavenly Father, thank You for this food we are about to eat. May Ford and I continue to learn more facts about each other, and may we draw closer to You every minute of the day. Amen.”
“Amen,” I croaked out. Taking a sip of the water that Presley had poured for me, I watched her pick the largest piece out of the box that was hers with a childlike awe.
“This is going to be so good,” she said, as she drizzled a heaping pile of ranch dressing on her plate and sprinkled the pizza with fresh parmesan. Watching her ready the slice that I was certain she was starving for showed patience that I’d never known myself, as I was already halfway through my first slice by the time she took a bite. The pizza was fantastic, as usual, but the company made it even better. I could get used to this.
“Well?” I asked as she chewed the bite.
“You were right; this is good pizza. Not that I’ve ever been to Italy to compare. That’s actually my dream destination.”
“Really? You should go. It’s supposed to be amazing in the summer,” I said dryly. I had nothing real to add to thisconversation since I’d only been there for 48 hours in the middle of winter.
“One day,” she said, taking another bite and chewing it slowly before setting it down. “Ever since I was in my teens, I always imagined getting married there. A romantic elopement, just me and my groom, on the shores of the Amalfi coast. The sea breeze is blowing in our hair, and I’m wearing a dress I bought off the rack.” As she shared her dreams with me, I felt a new connection with her. Presley was so. . . honest. Confident.Real.We’d spent the same amount of time with one another, and I was still struggling to open up, and here she was spilling out the deepest desires of her heart without another thought. I was beginning to feel that I knew Presley more in the last few days we’d spent together than I ever had known Poppy in our relationship that led to an engagement, that led to her leaving me.
It was then I realized that God had freed me from the shame of my past transgressions, but I was in the habit of bringing them back to light at every opportunity to do so. I needed to believe in God’s forgiveness and release these hurts. To do so, I needed to forgive Poppy. I needed to forgive myparents. To forgive those who had hurt me—I could finally be free. A knock at the door made us jump.
“I’ll get it,” I said, standing stiffly. Who could it be? I traipsed to the door and opened it. A local delivery driver was holding a package.
“Ford Prescott? I have a package for you to sign for.” He held out a handheld device for me to sign on.
“I thought the roads were still closed. How can packages be coming in?” I asked.
“This one was flown in, sir. The airport is still open. Thank you.” He spun on his heels and left. The small box was markedOvernight Airand said it was from Jack, my manager.
“I think I have a phone again,” I said, as I tore into the package. A brand-new smart phone with a heavy-duty shatterproof case was inside. A sticky note on the phone said it was already charged; I just needed to turn it on and log into my cloud account. “My manager has thought of everything. I don’t think a bullet could break this casing,” I mused.
I did as the note said and then I set the phone on the counter, returning to my meal with Presley. Her dog was lapping up the remains of her fancy dog food that took up more space in my refrigerator than my own.
“So, where were we?” I asked, in an effort to return to our conversation about Italy. I found myself longing for the peaceful picture she painted with her words about her dream wedding day. And deep down, I liked that she was a traditional woman who wanted marriage.
“Oh, the wedding that I’ll never have,” she said, shattering my previous thoughts.
“What do you mean? You don’t think you’ll get married?” I asked, a cautious tone to my voice.
“I don’t know. I’m almost twenty-six, and I haven’t had more than the fleeting first date. For some reason, I repel men! Isn’t that right, Priscilla?” Presley picked her dog up and gave her a bite of the pizza crust. “But that’s okay. It’s all in God’s plan. I trust Him; I really do. Yes, I would love nothing more than to be a wife to a godly man. However, those seem to be few and far between these days.” At that moment, I felt like she was speaking directly to me. Like she could see right through me—to my past. All it took was an internet search to learn everything there was to know about me.
Presley’s words struck me, and I slipped into prayer again.Lord, I pray that Presley finds the right man for her whofulfills these desires of a godly husband. Because I don’t know that could ever be me. I fall so short of that.
In the last 24 hours, I’d prayed more than I had in the last twenty-four years. Funny how that worked. I wished I could have told Presley that her influence had started to change the man I was.
