Page 4 of Morning's Light

He’d packed the backseat of his car with boxes and miscellaneous items he’d sworn he would need. The miles went by and he wondered what his family was doing. Whether his friends had picked up the same game of basketball they’d been playing since 1998 with no clear winner.

It was a crazy mixture of excitement and sentimentality. Several times, he’d almost turned the car around and headed home to safety. He imagined his life there in his cozy small town. He would go to church once a week, probably end up with some nice girl who went to his same high school. What had made him think he could make it on his own? Or, more to the point, that he had to? There was nothing to prove, no one holding a too-high standard over his head.

In the end, the familiar picture in his mind saw him pushing the pedal down and driving faster toward the horizon. There was no clear destination in mind. Elon drove until his gut told him to stop, following road signs and turning when the mood struck. He now understood there was something about Chicago drawing him forward like a fish on a hook.

That awesome sense of destiny had not lessened his anxiety in the least.

He took the seven hundred dollars in his pocket and rented a crappy apartment for a month. Roaches skittered the length of paper-thin walls while neighbors argued about whose turn it was to take the dog for a walk. The carpet smelled of stale urine with a hint of shattered dreams and an undertone of depression, but it was his place. The first one he’d gotten on his own without help from anyone.

That counted for something.

The next item on his agenda was a job. His degree was in marketing, and Elon decided the instant he finished his thesis—and walked down the aisle in his graduation gown—he’d rather do anything else. Down the road, perhaps, but not immediately. He needed time to explore. There was a huge world of opportunities. Places to go, new friends to make, and he didn’t want to be stuck in a rut without having experienced it. Any of it.

Which was what he did, driving the streets in search of help wanted signs. And there it was, a hand-drawn sign in looping calligraphy denoting the need for extra help. Flower shop? His mind immediately conjured a group of ladies lined in a row, their dresses in shades of matching pastel colors while they gossiped like hens.

Still, he listened to the urging in his gut, the tiny push from his mind that told him yes, this is the place I need to be.

Who was he to fight destiny?

Opening the door to a tinkle of bells, Elon had drawn in the scents of the workplace, contemplated the blooms on display, and wondered what kind of people stalked those counters.

Then he saw her.

She was a vision, with a mass of hair the color of autumn leaves cascading over the shoulders of her shirt. Her arms were bare, silver earrings winking at her earlobes and her mouth painted red. None of it compared to her eyes. Her eyes, sparkling with interest, were blue and amber and green, dominating a flawless face and adding interest to her tall, slim figure.

Weeks later, when the haze finally cleared from his brain, he would decide it had been a long fall off a short cliff. A cannonball to the gut or a bullet plowing through his chest. His heart stopped, skipped a beat, two, and then restarted with a zap.

She had shot him out of a holding pattern as his heart and loins simultaneously leaped to attention. Yes, his heart whispered. There she is.

“Can I help you?” she’d asked in a smoky voice.

He’d never seen a perfect human being before, such a striking combination of attributes. Yet there she was. Real. She’d clad her slender frame in a V-neck shirt the color of emeralds to offset her hair. Elon slapped his hands over his suddenly tight pants and considered his life most decidedly on the right track after all.

Only luck had him getting the job without any kind of prior training or experience.

Now he shook his head to clear it, and came to attention at the snap of her fingers. “Elon, my God. Get your head out of your butt and focus on what you’re doing. Those peonies look awful!”

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