The Sunday Only Christian

Book 3: Still Divas Series

by E.N. Joy

Genres: African American Christian; African American Women's Fiction

Synopsis

What kind of woman wants a man so badly that she's willing to lie to get him? What if that lie includes denying the fact that she has a child?
Deborah Lewis is that woman. The suave, debonair Lynox Chase is the man Deborah has wanted for years. She almost had him, but then left him hanging when she decided to give her ex another try. With her ex no longer in the picture, Deborah is willing to eat crow and go claim Lynox. She's a little worried he won't forgive her and take her back, but she hopes that two years has been enough time to get over it.
The chase turns into more of a marathon for Deborah. Just when she thinks she's near the finish line, she learns that a woman with kids is a turn-off for Lynox. Can Deborah turn off being a mother just long enough to get Lynox to fall in love with her again?

Release date: December 1, 2012

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

“I up and left him for another man, so what on God’s green earth would make him want to take me back?” Deborah had been asking herself this question the entire drive to the book signing. And now, as she parked outside of the Barnes & Noble on 356 in Pickerington, Ohio, she still had no answer. Dreadfully, she knew her answer lay inside that one-level bookstore, in which the smell of flavored caffeine from the little Starbucks in the front corner of the store would assault her nose from the moment she stepped inside.

Sitting in her car, stalling, she dug in her purse and pulled out the postcard she’d come across in the hair salon last week. She double-checked the date of the book signing on the postcard. She was hoping she’d gotten her dates mixed up and that the book signing had been yesterday. That way she wouldn’t have to risk the embarrassment and humiliation of rejection; if, in fact that’s what was about to happen: her being rejected.

“Ughh,” she gasped. There was no mix-up. Today was the day.

Next Deborah allowed her eyes to scroll over to the time of the signing. If there was a God and He had her back and wanted to prevent her from being disgraced and her ego from being shattered to pieces, there would definitely be a mix-up with the times. She would have missed the signing by an hour or two. All that would be left once she went inside would be a couple of unsold autographed copies of the New York Times bestseller and a handful of promotional bookmarks.

She looked down at her watch. She chuckled at the fact that she could very well be the only person she knew who still bothered to wear a watch. Most people relied on their cell phones to keep up with the time. It was 7:45 P.M. No mix-up in the time department. According to the postcard, the signing was from six to eight.

Deborah had deliberately waited to catch the tail end of the event. If she was going to be shamed with rejection, it sure wasn’t going to be in front of a full crowd of fans. It would only be in the presence of those few still milling around, trying to get him to read a chapter or two of their own works in progress, and then provide feedback, of course. Then there were the couple of people who would monopolize a great deal of his time, asking questions about the process they need to take in order to become published. Both kinds of people would be the ones who never even bothered to purchase his book. She’d seen it a million times. But no matter who or how many people were still lingering around, did Deborah really want to get rejected in front of even one?

“Perhaps I should just sit here and wait; catch him coming out,” Deborah pondered. “No. No. I should go in there and act surprised that he’s even there. I could pretend as though I just happened to be in the bookstore on the day of his signing.” That last idea wouldn’t be too farfetched. After all, Deborah did own her own literary consulting agency. She did book editing and some agenting. To find her in the bookstore would be normal—believable.

Five minutes went by as she sat in the car wracking her brains on how she was going to approach the man who, if she were him, would never ever talk to her again. She’d played him to the left, right, front, and back. And for what? For a man who fed her a fairytale that he’d marry her and they’d live happily ever after. They’d go start a new life in Chile where he played professional basketball and he’d make sure she had the world. It all sounded good to Deborah. And it was good, until she found out that they couldn’t live happily ever after together until he got a divorce from his wife; a wife who Deborah had been none the wiser of—in the beginning anyway. But that was neither here nor there. Right now she had to focus on exactly how she was going to play this thing out.

Pulling her keys out of the ignition and grabbing her purse, Deborah, in an attempt to be a little more optimistic, thought that maybe things wouldn’t turn out to be so bad. Besides, since when had she become this Debbie Downer, so to speak? When had she started thinking the worst of everything? Maybe she should have been asking herself why on God’s green earth wouldn’t this man want to take her back. And that’s exactly what she thought as she got out of the car and closed the door behind her. But she hadn’t even taken two steps before those negative thoughts resurfaced.

“A girlfriend! A fiancée! Heck, even a wife!” Deborah said out loud as the thought reached down and punched her right in the gut. Those certainly were things that would make him not want to take her back. So much time had passed since she’d walked out of his life, or rather flew out of his life, anything was possible. Heck, he could even have a kid by now. After all, she did.

One minute she’d been on the perfect date with Mr. New York Times Bestselling Author, then the next minute her first love had swooped back into town and into her life, convincing her to join him on a plane to Chile to start a new one with him. And just like that, like that episode in Sex and the City when Carrie got on that plane to Paris with Mikhail Baryshnikov’s character, Deborah had done it. Carrie had left what could have been with Mr. Big and Deborah had left what could have been with Mr. Perfect.

“I can’t do this. I can’t.” She turned to head back to her car and that’s when a loud horn scared the bajib-bies out of her. “Oh, God!” Deborah screamed as the car came within inches of hitting her. The driver looked just as petrified as she did. “I’m so sorry. So sorry,” Deborah apologized.

The woman in the car, with her hand grabbing her chest, nodded. Once again, Deborah let out a verbal apology that the driver accepted with a second nod and then drove off.

“Lord have mercy, I almost got killed over thoughts about this man. No way am I turning back now.” And just like that, after a life-altering moment, Deborah found the courage to strut inside that Barnes & Noble like she owned the place; or at least had a great deal of stock in it. With her medium-brown complexion now glowing with excitement, she batted her thick eyelashes, ran her fingers through her shoulder-length hair, then strutted like a fashion model on a New York runway during Fashion Week.

“Hi, welcome to Barnes & Noble,” a clerk stacking books at the Summer Beach Read table greeted Deborah. “Can I help you find anything?”

“As a matter of fact, you can,” Deborah said confidently. “I’m here for a book signing—Mr. Lynox Chase’s book signing. Can you please point me in the right direction?” Deborah asked, knowing in just a matter of minutes, her God of second chances just might give her a second chance at love. For real this time.

Deborah didn’t know how to feel after hearing the clerk’s words.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but Mr. Chase sold out about an hour into his signing,” the clerk said with pride, as if she were his publisher, agent, or something and not just a store clerk. “Folks had been lined up long before he even arrived. We practically could have sold out of his books before he ever even showed up had we a cash register outside to ring the folks up.” She shot off a half laugh/ half snort. “He hung around, autographed copies, read from his book, and did a Q and A; then he left.” She shrugged as if to say, “Sorry about your luck.”

Deborah felt sorry all right. And no matter how much she tried to hide it, she was certain it had shown all over her face. Instead of feeling sympathy, the clerk continued to pour salt in the wound. “And you should have seen him.” She blushed. “He’s exactly what you’d expect someone with the name L.C. who wrote a book titled The Fantasy Fairytale to look like.” She sighed and her eyes took a mini vacation to la-la land. “Tall, dark, handsome, exuding confidence with a bit of conceit. And you should have seen his—”

“Trust me,” Deborah shot, cutting her off, “I’m sure I’ve seen his . . . his . . . whatever you were gonna say. Anyway, thanks for your help.” Deborah turned on her four-inch heels. In her peacock strut of an exit, she tripped, nearly falling to the floor. “Dang shoes,” she fussed, wishing she’d never taken a chance—on the shoes or seeing Lynox.

The highest heel Deborah had ever worn was three inches. But for some reason she just had to have those Mary Jane–looking tan suede pumps with red bottoms that some booster had carried into the hair salon. Not for some reason—for one reason. It was moments after she’d picked up the flyer about Lynox’s book signing when the middle-aged, clean-cut man had entered the salon rolling his very own makeshift department store. With the flyer in hand, Deborah had been visualizing an encounter with Lynox after not seeing him for over two years. Those shoes just seemed to be the cherry on top of the vision. Deborah could picture Lynox drooling at the mouth, among other places, upon seeing her long, slender legs in those babies. They would make him forget all about their crooked past, and dream about their straight future.

“One hundred seventy-five dollars,” the booster had requested of the shoes. A small price to pay, Deborah thought, for the opportunity to be in the arms of the most suave, debonair man she’d ever met in her life. Not to mention caring. Not to mention a man who could have loved her like she’d always dreamed of being loved.

A small price to pay out of her pocketbook anyway. Her conscience tapped her on the shoulder and reminded her, though, that there was never a small price to pay when it came to sin. And it just might have been a sin to buy those shoes from that booster for $175 after seeing the department store sticker on them that clearly read $800.

Heck, but he’s worth it, Deborah had concluded after giving the man a hundred dollar bill and four twenties, then telling him to keep the change. But now, as two teenagers pointed and giggled at her near fall, as she felt the clerk’s eyes burning a hole through her back, burning up the pages of a story she’d fantasized about all week, she felt none of it had been worth it; certainly not those dang-on shoes.

With nothing left to lose, Deborah kicked off the shoes in anger, and embarrassment, and as she exited the store, pitched them in the trash bin. There were no good memories attached to those shoes, probably the same way Lynox had no good memories of his and Deborah’s short-lived romance.

“Ouch! Ouch! Ugggghhh!” Deborah roared out in pain after feeling a large shoe come crashing down on her bare foot. The pain was excruciating. She immediately looked down at her battered toe and let out an expletive. She was immediately embarrassed and conflicted by the Holy Spirit, but that didn’t stop her from wanting to look up at the person who had just stomped her foot and call them an expletive or two.

She knew that’s exactly what she would have done had she dared look up at the person; so, instead, she focused on her injury while she hopped around on one foot while holding the other in her hand. It hurt so bad that tears began to stream down her face. Now she was really embarrassed. Here she was just a-cursing and a-crying, hopping around, looking like some crazy woman. She wanted to bury her head in the sand. But instead, she just kept it down, squeezing her eyes shut, hoping to stop the pain. Hoping to stop the tears. Deborah just couldn’t distinguish which tear represented which type of pain. Was it the physical pain from her throbbing foot, or the pain from her throbbing heart?

“I’m . . . I’m so sorry, ma’am. I’m so sorry,” the pain inflictor apologized.

“Sorry?” Deborah shouted, her eyes still squeezed closed. “Do you think the word ‘sorry’ is going to make me feel better? Do you?” Deborah cried, opening her eyes and eyeing her foot, on which the big toenail was ripped down to the skin.

“Please, let me take a look at it,” the very sympathetic male voice requested.

“Why? Are you a doctor or something?” Deborah snapped, trying not to gag from the grossness of her toe.

“No, but—”

“Then there’s no need for you to look at it, now is there? Seems like what you need to look at is where in the heck you’re walking.” Deborah meant to say the word “heck,” but that certainly wasn’t what it sounded like had actually come out of her mouth. That darn cursing demon was rearing its ugly head to the tenth power. She buried her head even deeper in shame. This was not how a Christian woman was supposed to be acting, supposed to be talking.

“Look, I said I’m sorry. If there’s anything I can do—”

“Yeah, there’s something you can do; watch where you’re walking.” Since Deborah was already looking down, she allowed her eyes to roam over to the man’s feet. “And maybe get a license for those big boats before you go sailing them across someone’s feet. How about that?”

The voice that had initially been kind and concerned suddenly changed to match the nasty tone in which Deborah was shooting off. “Look, lady, I said I’m sorry. And besides, who goes walking around barefoot anyway?” He looked at the words printed on the outside of the store’s door. “Besides, it says right here”—he pointed—“shoes and shirt must be worn. Looks like you need to learn to read, and I find it ironic that you can’t, seeing that you are at a bookstore.”

Not only had this jerk just smashed her foot, but now he was insulting Deborah’s intellect. Oh she was not about to have that. Saved or not, she was not going to take any mess from anybody. “Look, you piece of work . . .” Deborah rose up and began before that same clerk talking to her in the store hurried outside to see what all the commotion was about. She immediately put her head back down. She definitely did not want that clerk seeing her in that condition. She probably looked like a raccoon from crying.

“Is everything okay out here?” Deborah heard the clerk ask.

Assuming the clerk would come running to her aid, Deborah shifted her focus directly to the ground, just knowing she’d see the clerk’s little feet come running over to check on her. Deborah instantly forgot all about the pain in her foot when her blood boiled over to realize that instead the clerk had gone running over to the perpetrator’s side.

“I’m the one out here in pain and you’re running up next to him and asking him if everything is okay?” Deborah spat at the clerk. She looked up and was about to give the clerk a dirty look when, not thinking, she decided to add a cherry on top of her tantrum sundae by stomping her foot. “Ouch!” She howled out in pain as she once again hobbled over and grabbed her throbbing foot.

“I . . . I was just coming back for my rolling briefcase when this woman came barreling out of the store barefoot,” the man said. “I accidentally stepped on her foot.”

The clerk paused and looked down at Deborah’s disgusting-looking toe with the nail practically hanging off, then replied to the man, “I’m sure she’ll be okay. Let’s head back inside and locate your briefcase.”

That’s it! Deborah was going to give both Mr. Foot Stepper On-er and that clerk a piece of her unsanctified mind. She didn’t care if she embarrassed and humiliated herself more than she ever had in her entire life put together. Deborah’s eyes went from her foot to the man’s feet, then drove from his feet up to his knees. Next her eyes went from his knees, to his midsection, to his chest, and then to his face.

Deborah had managed to keep from falling inside the store when she tripped in those four-inch pumps. She’d managed to keep from falling as she hobbled around outside on one foot while holding the other in pain. But now, as she looked into those all–too-familiar eyes, she landed flat on her butt.

“Deborah?”

“Lynox?”

“You really didn’t have to wait. I’m sure you had much better things to do than sit here in the urgent care lobby waiting for me.” Deborah gave her best shot at trying to sound undeserving and humble about Lynox having followed her to urgent care, and now two hours later, after she’d gotten her toe cleaned up, still waiting to make sure she was okay. In actuality, her insides wanted to burst she was so moved. She honestly had not expected him to still be waiting for her, especially after how nasty she’d been to him for stepping on her foot. Of course, that was before she realized it was him. And that all of this had been a divine encounter, perhaps. But then again, it could have been purely bad timing and a bad case of the klutz.

Lynox stood. “I didn’t mind waiting. I’m accustomed to waiting.” He raised an eyebrow and Deborah thought about how long he’d waited for her to come around and show an interest in him. “I figured it was the least I could do after practically taking your big toe off.” He looked down at Deborah’s bandaged foot. “I didn’t recognize your feet were the ones I’d slammed down on. Heck, I didn’t recognize you.” He stared at Deborah’s hair.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve had my sisterlocks out for a while now.” She ran her hands through her natural hair. After wearing it in sisterlocks for years, while in Chile she’d gotten them cut off. Finding someone to tighten her locks every four to six weeks had been next to impossible, so she had decided to cut them off and let her hair grow out natural. After coming back to the States, she found a wonder salon called Synergi Salon. It was in Whitehall, which was just a little over a half-hour drive from Malvonia. And the way those women up in that shop specialized and worked with natural hair, it was well worth the drive.

“I guess you hadn’t recognized me either.” He rubbed his facial hair. “Decided to let my facial hair grow out.” His once clean-cut, brown-skinned face was now covered in waves of hair.

“Well, actually, I was too busy focusing on my foot.” She watched his hands massage the hair down the sides of his face down to his chin. “But the facial hair; it’s becoming.” And Deborah was becoming a little hot just picturing her own hands running the course of his face. Feeling embarrassed that Lynox might be able to detect the flushing of her blood in her cheeks, she cleared her throat and said, “Anyway, like I said, thanks for waiting.”

He shrugged. “Like I said, it was the least I could do.” He then looked over at the reception desk. “That and pay the bill that is. I sort of saw to it that your bill gets charged to my credit card.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Deborah replied, but she was glad he did. Being self-employed, in her case, meant no insurance. A doctor visit in her home meant payment arrangements with the provider in order to cover the bill. She’d thought about getting medical insurance, but it was just so expensive, and she rarely ever needed medical care. Her baby’s father had paid all her medical bills in relation to having his child, so that hadn’t been a financial burden she had to bear.

“Oh, but I did,” Lynox stated. “And please, if you have to make any future visits as a result, please let me know what the bill is and I’ll reimburse you.”

Deborah knew when to accept a blessing. “I’ll do that.” And she left it at that.

There was silenc. . .