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A Cup of Love: A Christian romantic novella

By Bonnie Engstrom

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Jillie hesitated in the doorway. The room was crowded. She hadn’t expected that. How many people could possibly be interested in Scandinavian cooking? Clutching her purse closer, she scanned the rows of folding chairs searching for an empty one. Few were left. Was she late? Finally, she spotted two a few rows from the back, one in front of the other. She scrambled across several pairs of legs to reach the one closer to the front, but still so far away she couldn’t make out the labels on bottles and jars sitting like glass soldiers lined up along the stainless steel counter of the kitchen up front. Must be ingredients for the recipes.
Plunking ungraciously in the chair, she tugged at her ponytail. It was still on center. Her face flushed with excitement. She was in the cooking class! She wiped her palms on her denim skirt and shifted when she felt someone bump into the back of her chair. Must be someone big and clumsy. She would ignore the distraction and concentrate on every word of the instructor.
As she shuffled through the recipe handouts and class syllabus trying to make a neat pile, her trembling fingers lost their grip. Suddenly, the papers took flight scattering under the folding chair in front of her and across her sandals. One even slid underneath her own chair, out of reach. She scowled at her clumsy fingers. Agh! How embarrassing. I am such a klutz.
She dipped her head between spread legs to retrieve it, and fumbled. The paper escaped her touch. Instead, her fingers felt the leather toe of a shoe. A big shoe. A loafer with raised stitching? Yikes! She had dumped one of her papers on a man’s shoe. What was a man doing in this class?
What a stupid, reverse chauvinistic thought! When she walked in she’d glanced around and noticed two other men in this class. One was obviously with his wife, an older couple in their sixties. How cute – taking classes together in their retirement years. One is with what looks like his girlfriend or fiancée. Perhaps he’s going to be the new breed of man, the househusband. She couldn’t see what the man behind her looked like and hoped he wasn’t upset that she’d groped his shoe.
Jillie bent into a pretzel shape and fumbled again trying to grasp the errant paper. She finally grabbed a corner and sat upright, sweat beading on her forehead. Embarrassed, she twisted to apologize and caught a glimpse of a chiseled jaw, tan skin and the most amazing eyes – dark brown, crinkling lines at the corners, and thick, Groucho Marx eyebrows. Who was this gorgeous hunk?
Her apology hung in the air as Chef Debbie Smith swept with a flourish from the swinging kitchen doors up front. She looked adorable in a towering mushroom hat and a starched white coat bearing the Culinary Cuisine label. Her three assistants, donned in red aprons with the same logo, grinned and led the audience of students in clapping.
“Let the cuisine begin,” Debbie announced, her merry eyes twinkling.
Jillie had found the ad for the class in Harbor Life, the glossy throwaway magazine tossed on all Newport Beach driveways once a month. Leafing through the thick pages to kill time, she noticed the enticing invitation. “Change your life! Reinvent yourself and your culinary habits. Create delicious, tasty, gourmet concoctions in minutes. New classes starting, listed below.”
The ad went on to tell about classes for teens, singles, couples, special classes in low-fat, heart-healthy cooking, as well as classes for ethnic cuisines in Italian, Greek, French and Scandinavian. Jillie picked up on the last one. She had always wanted to find a way to perfect her Nan-Nan’s Swedish meatballs and the special rice pudding she made for holidays. Now was the time. She enrolled.
Chef Debbie started with appetizers and gave a lengthy monologue explaining the many kinds of Swedish smoked salmon. She prepared Gravlax on cucumber slices, smoked salmon on tiny rounds of brown bread, Rimmad Lax accompanied by tiny creamed new potatoes, a fourth on wasa brot with a sprig of dill adorning, and finally a deviation from salmon, Inlagd Sill, an assortment of pickled Iceland herring with boiled potatoes and a pungent cheese. It was a true Smörgåsbordstallrik of assorted Swedish appetizers.
Each was beautiful, and tiny morsels of the delicious appetizers were passed on paper plates for the class to taste. But, the pièce de résistance would be presented after the break. Jillie’s mouth watered, and her tongue licked her lips. Kottbullar, Swedish meatballs! She could hardly wait and haphazardly stuffed her papers into her oversized purse. Luckily, the cooking school was located next to Fashion Island mall’s fast food pavilion. She rushed there for a cup of coffee to get the fishy taste out of her mouth.
Taking this class was a treat. Her job at Harbor Light High School was her dream. Guiding and advising the students was fulfilling, but she was tired. No, make that exhausted after counseling nineteen students the past week. It was the over-protective, overly pushy parents that got to her. Why couldn’t they let their kids make decisions about their futures for themselves? The kids were smart. They knew their grade point averages, the careers they had chosen, and the schools they wanted to apply to. Jillie was proud of each student.
She was especially impressed with Josh Fakar. Although he was of Iranian heritage, he had confided in her that he’d accepted Christ two years ago when he’d attended a Youth for Christ rally with a friend. Jillie still didn’t know why he shared that with her, but she was grateful. Maybe it was the cross she wore at her throat that gave him the confidence to share his faith. Whatever it was, it was a breakthrough for him. His parents were very much against him applying to Vandouver, a small Christian college in nearby Lemongrove. Josh, his Americanized name, wanted to be a youth pastor and lead other young people to Christ. It was, in Jillie’s opinion, a most noble calling. But, in his culture, when he abandoned his Muslim faith, he had to give up his Muslim name. It had been a difficult choice for Josh, but he clung to his strong belief in Jesus. To his family’s credit, they did not abandon him, nor kick him out of their home as their religion dictated. At least he had that anchor.
Jillie put thoughts of work aside while she wallowed in the memory of Chef Debbie’s demonstration of smoked salmon appetizers. She felt the exhilaration of doing something positive for herself, something that would inspire her. Maybe not to be a better person, but to at least be a better cook. Or to give her a new interest in life. She was very glad she had signed up for this class, regardless of the huge fee – half of this month’s salary.

“I’ll have a grandé fat-free, half-caf, no foam latte, please,” she told the teen girl with strawberry hair and nose ring behind the coffee counter.
“That doesn’t even sound like fun,” a deep masculine voice pronounced in her ear. “At least have a little whipped cream to top it off.”
Startled, Jillie turned and saw the enticing male who sat behind her in class. She had to tilt her head back from her five foot six inch frame to see his face.
Oh, dear Lord, did you make this? This must be your prototype for ‘the perfect man.’
“Wh – wh – whipped cream?” She wrinkled her nose. “That’s so decadent. So many calories.” She fingered the cross on the chain around her neck.
“You should treat yourself once in a while.” The perfect man smiled broadly revealing perfect teeth. “God wants us to have fun and indulge occasionally.”
“God does? How do you know?”
“Well, I don’t know, exactly, but He did give us many things for our pleasure. In First Timothy 6 the Apostle John declares God richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment. And, I know from Zephaniah 3:17 He delights in us as His creations.” He hesitated, then blurted out, “Have you ever read The Prayer of Jabez?” He must have noticed her cross and felt comfortable chatting about God.
“No, I don’t think I have. I’ve heard of it, and we did consider it for our community Bible study lesson. Tell me about it.”
“Allow me,” he said paying for her coffee and taking her cup. He made long strides toward an empty table. He pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit down. A take charge guy, but in a courteous way. I like that.
“Basically,” he continued, “it’s an affirmation that God as our Father wants to shower us with blessings. I say the prayer every morning. It gives me a jump start on my day.” Mr. Perfect Man smiled again and locked his java-colored eyes with hers.
“It sounds wonderful. I will look it up and get a copy from the church bookstore after services next Sunday. I could use a jump start lots of days.” Jillie felt her voice shaking and lowered her gaze. What is it about this man that makes me so nervous?
“No need. If you will follow me to my car after class, I’ll give you a copy. I keep a stash of them in my trunk.”
“Really? Why on earth . . . ?”
“I actually started doing it when I was having trouble sharing my faith. Giving someone a book, especially one that’s little and a short read, can be very effective. And since the scripture is from the Old Testament, it’s also appropriate to give to Jewish friends.” His eyes crinkled, and one winked. “Doing that sort of confirms to me that God has a sense of humor.”
“How clever,” Jillie giggled. “How creative. God must use you a lot.”
“Surely, you must know the old adage ‘God doesn’t always call the equipped, but He equips the called.’ I used to blubber a lot of nonsense when I felt led to share the Lord. Now, I just hand them a book. It helps a lot.”
Jillie’s legs felt rubbery, like over-cooked strands of linguine, and her heart was doing funny little flutterings in her chest. What was it about this man? Handsome, personable and a Christian? What were the odds of that? She snuck a glance at his hands. No wedding band. Wow, single, too.
“Would you like some more coffee?” He touched her arm lightly and drew back quickly. “Oh, are you cold?”
Jillie was embarrassed that she shivered. How could she tell him that his fingertips on her elbow sent a wave of shimmers through her? “No, yes, well a little,” she fibbed as she sipped her latte. She hoped he didn’t notice that her hand was shaking. Thank goodness the Styrofoam cup had a secure lid, or coffee would be spilling all over the plastic table.
“I . . . I . . . d . . don’t even know your name,” she stammered.
“Forgive me.” He furrowed his thick dark brows above irritatingly gorgeous brown eyes. “I didn’t mean to be presumptuous. I don’t usually speak easily to total strangers, as you might guess from what I told you. Maybe it’s because your paper landed on my shoe that gave me the courage,” he snickered. “Of course it didn’t hurt that you are wearing that beautiful cross. My name is Erik, with a K. Erik Edward Egglestrom. Alliteration was one of my parents’ strong points.”
“Pleased to meet you Erik Edward Egglestrom.” Jillie fought to suppress a giggle. “Meet another alliteration anomaly, Jillian Janet Jameson. My parents were also obsessive about names. Had a lot to do with Mom being an English teacher, I suppose.”
Two large, strong hands reached across the table and clasped one of her tiny ones. Another shiver. Why is this happening to me? I don’t want to be attracted to any man right now since I’ve finally found my career niche. A man just won’t fit into my plans.
Jillie felt the gentle strength of his clasp and the calluses on his hands. She let out a small gasp. Embarrassed, she withdrew her hand quickly.
“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” Erik’s brows furrowed again, then he looked down at the offending hands. “They are rough. I – I never thought of that. I forgot my work adds layers of skin to them.”
Jillie was sure her face took on the color of pickled beets. Oh, what had she done? What was his work? Maybe, oh brainless one, you could ask.
She imagined him doing hard construction work building houses, lots of working with wood where splinters stuck into his palms. Certainly something outdoors. Maybe doing roadwork. Holding those machines that vibrated in the workmen’s hands must produce callouses.
“Tell me about your work. It must be hard work, and fascinating.” Did that sound lame?
She was in for a surprise that made her cheeks heat up again. Was she blushing more crimson?
“It is fascinating, and sometimes very hard – especially on my heart. I’m a paramedic. So, I get a lot of calls that are horrible. Accidents, heart attacks, elderly people, women in labor, drunken teens after prom needing to be pried out of their cars with the jaws of life. But, I don’t know how I could deal with it if I didn’t feel God’s hand on me,” he admitted. “Actually, without God, I don’t know how some of my fellow paramedics deal with it. He is truly my salvation in more ways than one.”
How wrong she had been. Jillian felt soft tears crawling down her cheeks in slow motion. Although her hands began to shake again, she reached both of them toward Erik’s upturned palms and lightly brushed her fingertips across his. His deep coffee-colored eyes searched hers, then abruptly sought the solace of the plastic tabletop.
“I think we’d better get back soon or we’ll lose our seats.”
“Yes, of course.” Jillie gave a little shudder she hoped he didn’t notice. “I’ve really enjoyed meeting you,” she whispered. Then, with more assertiveness, “I never asked why you signed up for this class.”
They walked companionably to the trash can to deposit their cups while Erik answered.
“I completely forgot to tell you. I’m one half Danish. Hence the name. I’ve loved to cook since I was a little boy when my grandmother sometimes took care of me. She lived near my family, and when my brother and I visited Grams we spent a lot of time in her cozy kitchen. Grams didn’t “hanker” – her word,” he chuckled, “to daytime television. So she kept two little boys busy stirring cookie batter and ignoring the tastes we snuck from the bowl.” He chuckled again, and Jillie swore his eyes misted.
“I can’t even remember the names of the Danish dishes she prepared, but I remember loving them. So delicious. In college, I minored in culinary arts. Crazy, huh? It was either that or science, math or English. Of course my major was Health Science with an emphasis on being a paramedic. I figured if I learned to cook a decent meal, I could survive as a bachelor.”
What a guy! Jillie’s legs were fighting her again. She managed to teeter, or was it totter?, back to the classroom. Forcing herself to gracefully (she hoped) take her seat and remove her culinary syllabus from her purse, she gulped down a huge sigh. It wouldn’t be good to let Erik the Perfect sense her disconcertion.
As she settled into her folding chair, she realized Erik never asked her why she was taking the class.

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