Giving Thanks for Baby. Terri Reed

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      Friday Morning.

      Called2serve

      How do I receive these gifts?

      Momof1

      Friday night.

      Momof1

      There’s nothing complicated about it, even though we’d like to think there is. Open your heart and mind to Him. Ask Him silently or aloud to show you His love, to come into your life. He so longs to. Then you wait and watch. He’ll reveal Himself. Sometimes in small ways, sometimes in big, dramatic ways. But you’ll know. And you’ll feel the peace and comfort like a gentle blanket of protection.

      Called2serve

      Trista entered The Kingdom Room on Friday night to discover a chat room was now available. She’d decided to stop corresponding with Called2serve since the direction of their conversation was heading into waters she wasn’t ready to navigate. Asking God into her life?

      She was too afraid He’d say no.

      It took a moment to acclimate to the format of the chat, but soon she was in on the discussion of the latest blockbuster movie. She hadn’t seen it, but asked if it was worth the time and trouble to go since she wasn’t into action films.

      She was surprised to see Called2serve enter the room. But Called2serve didn’t acknowledge her, instead wrote that he wanted to see the movie and planned to go on Sunday afternoon.

      Several other people who hadn’t seen it yet said they too would make a point of seeing the movie over the weekend at their local theaters and then the discussion could resume.

      All she could commit to was a quick, I’ll think about it.

      That earned her a smiley face from Called2serve.

      For some reason that silly little yellow icon on her computer screen made her laugh.

      Saturday morning arrived with a fresh fall of snow. Outside, a soft blanket of white covered the town of Chestnut Grove and a crisp freshness in the air brought anticipation of a cold winter. Scott stomped his snow-covered boots on the dry pavement beneath the awning of The Reading Rainbow Palace, downtown’s newest bookstore and café.

      Inside the double doors, warmth seeped beneath the collar of his coat. He quickly shed the down parka, draping it on a peg bolted to the wall alongside a dozen others.

      The place was hopping with mothers and children vying for spots near the center rise where a woman in a green vintage dress sat waiting. In her hands, she held a book and a puppet.

      Hanging on to his backpack, Scott made his way to the counter and ordered a cappuccino with double whipped cream. Soon he was settled at a table off to the side where he pulled out a fiction book and began to read, the voices of the crowd fading into white noise.

      A jarring knock against the table interrupted his flow. He glanced up and met the gaze of a beautiful, brunette woman with the most intense, bright-blue eyes he’d ever seen. She smiled apologetically as she maneuvered a jogging stroller to the corner before unstrapping an infant from the seat. The baby, dressed snugly in a powder-blue jumpsuit, had the same dark hair and vivid blue eyes as his mother. His chubby legs pumped as she held him face out.

      The woman stood and stared at the crowd, indecision written plainly across her oval face. Scott didn’t blame her for hesitating before venturing into the sea of bodies taking up every available space on the carpeted floor. The only vacant chair sat across from Scott. He waved a hand to garner the woman’s attention.

      She flicked her gaze at him, clearly unsure if she wanted to give him her attention. Scott indicated the chair. She bit her lip for a second before pulling the chair out and plopping down in it.

      “Thanks,” she whispered.

      “You’re welcome,” he whispered back.

      The woman turned her gaze toward the storyteller. Scott turned his attention back to his book, but now the words wouldn’t hold his interest. His gaze kept straying to the woman sitting across from him. He hadn’t seen her in church.

      He liked the way her dark ponytail hung low at the nape of her neck in a sleek way. The high arch of her cheekbones and forehead gave her face sharp lines that were softened by her pert nose and dark lashed eyes. She wore a red turtleneck sweater and close-fitting black pants tucked into her snow boots.

      There was an air of sophistication about her, yet she didn’t come across like one of the many debutantes his mother had always tried to fix him up with.

      She glanced his way and he quickly picked up his drink to mask his bad manners. He usually didn’t stare. Or notice a woman’s left hand. Hers was surprisingly ringless.

      But for some reason this woman drew his attention.

      Probably it was the way she so deftly handled her son, like a pro. And there was no mistaking the love shining in her expression every time she cooed in her child’s ear.

      Before the last story ended, the baby had fallen asleep, his little body curled over her arm, his head listing to the side. Scott tapped on the table, drawing the woman’s questioning gaze.

      Nodding his head toward the child, he whispered, “He’s asleep.”

      The woman’s eyes widened as she adjusted the infant so she could verify Scott’s statement. With a rueful shake of her head, she said softly, “So much for story time.”

      She made to rise and Scott quickly asked, “Can I buy you a coffee?”

      Slowly, she sat back. For a moment she stared at him, then finally she nodded. “Decaf almond latte.”

      Scott rose and made his way to the counter. Naomi was going to love to hear that he’d just offered to buy this woman coffee without even asking her name. But the moment he’d thought she was leaving, he’d plunged ahead with the first thought that came to mind.

      He ordered the drink and a few minutes later returned to the table. The jogging stroller was now pulled close to the table and the baby sleeping soundly in the seat.

      Scott set the mug in front of the woman before he sat down. The quiet hum of parents helping their children do a craft that related to the story swirled around them.

      She smiled as she put her slender hands around the mug. “Thank you. This was thoughtful.”

      “You’re welcome.” Keeping his voice low, even though the crowd was busy with parents and kids wanting the storyteller’s books, he held out his hand. “Scott Crosby.”

      She slipped her hand into his, the temperature from the mug having heated her palm. Warmth spread up his arm.

      “I’m Trista Van Zandt.”

      “Any relation to Ross and Kelly?”

      Her expressive eyes widened. “Ross is my big brother. Do you know them?”

      “Yes, very well. Are you visiting?”

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