The aroma of cinnamon and baking dough drew Harlow toward the pretzel truck. She paused. Did she need a pretzel? She’d eaten a good dinner. Roller-skated her heart out. She was a little hungry,sure, but wouldn’t it be better to go home, shower, and go to bed?
Yet she’d roller-skated! Didn’t that deserve a celebration? She was almost to Pete’s Pretzels when the heart-stopping fragrance of roasting meat wrapped around her. Just past the food trucks and beyond the Beachwalk lights, a fire burned. A man looked up and beckoned her.
Me?
She glanced around. Several families and groups walked along the shore, so she’d not be alone out there. She cut across the sand toward the firepit. Maybe he was a friend of Dupree or Matt. Or Tuesday. She knew everyone. As she drew near, the sound of the waves and the wind in her hair stilled.
“Would you like some fish?” The man looked familiar. Felt known. “Sea bass is very good.” He drew a pan from the coals. “I made some bread as well. Sit, please.” He pointed to the roughhewn bench on the other side.
“Begging your pardon, you don’t appear to be a licensed vendor. I’m not inclined to eat with strangers.”
“If you dine with me, then we won’t be strangers. Please—”
Call her crazy, but she wanted to sit, to talk with him. Her belly rumbled for the fish and bread. “Are you sure you have enough?”
H, stop this. Go home.But oh, the fragrance—like real, nourishing food. One bite and she’d be whole.
“More than enough.”
She sat across from him, hugging her handbag to her chest. “So, is this a new business? Fish over an open firepit? Should I call some more people over?”
“This is just for you and me.” He handed her a plate with a slice of sizzling fish and warm bread. Their eyes met, and she stood abruptly, dumping her plate in the sand. “Immanuel.”
“Yes,” he said with a laugh, picking up her plate. “I’ve got more.” When he spoke, the evening stars seemed to swoop low andlisten in. They were brilliant and alive, and so close she could touch them.
“Y-you’re real.”
“Didn’t Tuesday tell you I was real?”
“You’re a painting. A mural. A story.” He wore the same long coat with his burnished brown hair flowing over the collar. His hat rested next to him.
His voice was soft yet booming. The mural depicted a man among men from another era, but the image didn’t do him justice. He was more alive than anyone she’d ever known. The flames of the fire paled in comparison to his eyes.
“The mural is just a representation. The prince insisted, thinking it would preserve the story of the Starlight and Sea Blue Beach. Of me.”
“Why don’t you keep the Starlight from being demolished? Tuesday’s putting on a good show, but—”
“Let’s talk about you, Harlow.” He offered her another plate of bread and fish.
“Must we? If you’re really God, then you know everything. I certainly know myself.”
“Do you? Then why do you believe you’re not worth loving?”
She choked on her bite of bread. “Excuse me?”
“You don’t think you’re worth loving because the ones you should’ve been able to trust let you down. Your parents, Xander, people in your career, even Sea Blue Beach by taking the Starlight. You think I’ve let Tuesday down.”
She stared at her plate, afraid to look up. Afraid of what else He’d see. “I, um—”
“Do you know my story, Harlow?”
“No. Some. Not much.”
Immanuel stirred the fire, turned the roasting sea bass, and settled in with his own plate, telling her from the beginning how God, who is love, paid a ransom for Harlow Hayes. If He loved her that much, then she must be worth loving.
Immanuel set his plate aside. “Harlow, I came to tell you I’m the bread of life. If you eat of me, you’ll never go hungry again.”
“Something tells me you’re not talking about what’s on my plate.”
