“Hm.” Marcus stands, setting the empty plate down on the small end table between the chairs. “Is Henrietta receptive to his advances?”
“I couldn’t tell you. In order to maintain cordiality with E. J., I’ve stepped back.” Then it dawns on me. “You like Henrietta?”
Marcus shifts his glance down to his feet, then to the empty plate on the side table. “I said she comes over and watches K-dramas with me.” He says the words as if the meaning behind them was obvious.
“Dude.” I clap him on the back. How does one equate watching television together to interest? I watch television with him all the time. And E. J. “Why haven’t you asked her on a real date?”
“I don’t know, man.” Marcus picks up the plate, and I follow him into the kitchen. “Emma Jane is trying to set her up with all these high-profile men.”
I scoff. “Reverend Philip is not a high profile man.”
“No,” Marcus contemplates, “which is weird. Did Henrietta have a change in heart?”
“Do you think Henrietta is responsible for these setups?”
“Yes?”
I laugh, placing my plate into the sink. “Not a chance. This is all Emma Jane and her desire to launch a matchmaking service.”
“In Hartfield, Mississippi?”
“My sentiments exactly.”
Marcus is silent as he washes the dishes. I busy myself with putting away ingredients from his cooking. Finally, he says, “Do you think Henrietta would say yes if I asked her out?”
I think for a moment. I have honestly thought the two of them would be a healthy match. I’ve mentored Marcus for a long time, ever since he became a Christian years ago. We quickly became friends. In a small town like Hartfield, you befriend whoever you can.
I’ve caught Henrietta and Marcus admiring each other countless times, but unlikesomeoneI know, I’m not trying to play God and make matches.
“I think so. She’s only a few years younger than you. You have a steady job. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.” I grin and waggle my brows. “And you’re obviously handsome. Why wouldshe say no?”
With renewed confidence, Marcus straightens his shoulders. “Will you help me write her a letter?”
“Why a letter?”
“You know I suck at talking. I want to get this right.”
A smile breaks across my face. “Let’s go.”
Emma Jane
Rule #4: Create healthy tension between your clients; some sparks won’t light themselves.
“Emma Jane! Look!” Henrietta darts into my workplace, Books and Beans, which is a cafe-slash-bookstore in the neighboring town of Juniper Grove. She’s waving a folded piece of paper in her hands, the smile on her tanned face impressive.
“Whatcha got there?” I polish off a mug and place it on top of the clean, disjointed stack.
“A confession!” The squeal in her voice reminds me of the joy I experience when I find the perfect accessory for an outfit I once forgot existed.
I snatch the letter from her hand as she holds it out to me. My blood runs cold. It’s a confession, sure enough. A good one at that.
But it’s not from Reverend Philip.
It’s from Marcus Long, the local mechanic who grew up a farmhand to the Weston's, like his father before him. I quickly scan the letter, noticing diction that echoes a certain tall, red-headed, pompous man I’ve known my entire existence.
Makes sense. I don’t think Marcus could articulate this by himself. I glance above the letter to see a blissfully hopeful Henrietta shining full-moon eyes at me.
It would hurt her if she knew Knightley wrote this—and he will hear from me later—but more importantly, Marcus Long is not the man she needs. He can’t give her the fabulous life she deserves to have. Henrietta was orphaned as a baby when both of her parents died in a tragic plane crash. She grew up with her loud and obnoxious aunt, Mary Bates, and was forced to work as a farmhand to Grant Weston. Which means she has definitely known Marcus for a long time, but I know in my soul that she deserves someone who can give her a better life. Not more of the same ole, same ole.
