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  Sandwich, with a Side of Romance

  Sandwich, with a Side of Romance

  Krista Phillips

  Sandwich, with a Side of Romance

  Copyright © 2012 by Krista Phillips

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4267-4592-8

  Published by Abingdon Press, P.O. Box 801, Nashville, TN 37202

  www.abingdonpress.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, posted on any website,

  or transmitted in any form or by any means—digital, electronic, scanning, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without written permission from the publisher, except for brief quotations in printed reviews and articles.

  The persons and events portrayed in this work of fiction are the creations of the author, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Phillips, Krista.

  Sandwich, with a side of romance / Krista Phillips.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 978-1-4267-4592-8

  1. Christian women—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3616.H459S26 2012

  813'.6—dc23

  2012017527

  Printed in the United States of America

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 / 17 16 15 14 13 12

  In honor and memory of Art and Lavina Johnson

  All my memories of Sandwich revolve around these two sweet people: sneaking cookies from grandma’s cookie jar, smelling (and tasting!) yummy homemade cinnamon rolls, learning to play a mean game of Rook, and reading my very first Christian romance novel from Grandma’s stash.

  Good times, every one of them, that I’ll remember forever.

  Grandma and Grandpa, you are always in my heart.

  Acknowledgments

  They say no man is an island … well, authors aren’t islands either!

  This book would not have been if not for:

  My husband and kids, for enduring a crazy messy house during my “just let me finish this chapter” moments and during my manic editing mode, and for supporting me and cheering me on.

  Special thanks to my eldest daughter, Karalynn, for helping me brainstorm the first scene of this book in the parking lot of a grocery store while Daddy ran in to get milk. You done good, Sweetie!

  My mom, my cheerleader, and the one who thinks I’m the best writer ever. You’re my own personal cheer section and I needed that many times throughout this process.

  My dad, for all the “So, are you published yet?” questions that made me persevere until I could say yes.

  My sisters, for telling me like it is at all points and times, for fun lunch dates, and for making me feel cool when you brag about your sister who is a writer. For a girl who has always looked up to her bigger sisters, that was a pretty neat and empowering feeling.

  My super cool editor, Ramona, for taking a chance on this fledgling author and giving me hope at a moment when life seemed to be spiraling downward at a super fast and scary speed. God knew I needed that email, my friend.

  My super cool agent, Rachelle, for seeing through my many rough edges and for keeping me away from those scary ledges that are so tempting to jump off of.

  Jamie Chavez, for taking a scalpel to my book and exposing its flaws in all their messy glory. Any errors made in correcting and sewing it back up are completely mine.

  Sarah, for knocking it out of the park in December, even while on vacation. I could not have done it without you.

  To the many groups I’m in that inspire me daily, including but not limited to ACFW and MTCW, and Kaye, for allowing me to be a minion.

  Aunt Marlyis, for helping with my odd Sandwich questions.

  Sharon Shepard, for helping me with my Lake Holiday questions and not ignoring the strange lady who e-mailed her out of the blue.

  And to all those who have prayed for our family these last few years. Without your prayer support, I would have surely crumbled into a heap and would not be where I am today.

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  1

  God, is it against the rules to want to strangle one’s boss?

  Even though she was still very new to the whole Christian thing, six months yesterday to be exact, Maddie Buckner was fairly sure that thoughts of murder, even in jest, wouldn’t be condoned by the Almighty.

  Maddie bit the side of her cheek to keep from saying something not-quite-Christian as she swept the broom across the salon floor for the fifteen-billionth time. She hadn’t driven an hour from Chicago with nothing but her clothes and a few hundred bucks to end up as a janitor.

  But it seemed on her first day at the Sandwich Cut ‘N’ Style, that was all her new boss would let her do, considering it was already afternoon and she’d yet to cut a single strand of hair. She was supposed to be given walk-ins, but her boss refused her the few they’d even had, saying they were too “important” to risk on a newbie.

  “You still missed some, Madison.” Judy, her Nazi-of-a-boss, crossed thick arms over her ample chest and nodded toward two short brown specks in the corner. “And when you’re done, the waiting area needs straightening up. I’m running to Art’s, and I expect it done by the time I get back. Got it?”

  The front of the salon was indeed a mess due to the five-year-old terror who’d just left. He’d thrown every magazine out of the rack and banged on each toy from the basket while his mother got a perm. Oh, the joys. And since Art’s Supermarket was just down the block, she’d have to book it to get done before Her Majesty returned.

  Maddie swept up the two errant hairs, then headed for the front. While she stuffed a Good Housekeeping magazine back into the rack, the bell over the door jingled and a fine specimen of a man walked in.

  Hello, Mr. Gorgeous. Shaggy-blond hair, tan arms, a slight stubble on his chin. The old Maddie would have thrown herself at him to get a date. The new Maddie wanted to run away.

  The guy leaned against the oak reception desk and ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair, then looked at his watch. “Cyndi gonna be much longer?”

  Miss Agnes, their gray-haired receptionist/manicurist, nodded. “Sorry, Reuben. Cyndi’s three o’clock is taking longer than she expected. It’ll be another ten minutes or so. You okay to wait?”

  The man eyed his watch again. “I need to get back before the dinner rush. Is there anyone else who can do it?”

  “Only Judy, and she stepped out for a few minutes. If you really don’t want to wait, we’ve got a new stylist who just started today.”

  Hunky-guy
glanced at Maddie with a frown. “She looks a little young. Is she any good?”

  Did the guy think she was deaf? Plus, Mr. GQ didn’t look to be much over twenty-five himself.

  Miss Agnes tisked. “Now Reuben, be nice. Maddie came highly recommended.”

  Only the prospect of her first client and a subsequent tip persuaded her to ignore the man’s rudeness. Plastering on her best fake customer-service smile, Maddie straightened up from where she’d been putting blocks back in the bin. “My name’s Maddie. I’d be happy to do your cut if you’d like.”

  Cyndi waved from the sink where she was removing perm rods from Mrs. Emerson’s hair. “Maddie’ll do a great job, Reuben.”

  Reuben crossed his arms, looked at Maddie for a moment, then nodded. “That’s fine.”

  As she showed him back to her station, nerves did the hula in her stomach. Her first real, paying haircut. She’d been a natural at school and had cut her little brother’s hair for years. But having her livelihood depend on it was an entirely new experience.

  Jesus, please don’t let me mess this up!

  Grabbing a cape and towel from the rack, she forced another sugar-sweet smile and twirled the chair around. “Have a seat.”

  He nodded and sat down. She spun the chair toward the mirror and tucked the small towel around his neckline. “So what did you have in mind? Just a trim?”

  “No, I want a perm.” He rolled his eyes. “Of course a trim. Same style. No need for a shampoo.”

  Maddie bit the side of her cheek to keep from retorting with a rude comment of her own. “Not a problem, sir. I’m guessing to take off maybe a half inch?”

  He shifted in his seat, his brow creased in a worried line. “Listen, if you have to guess, then maybe I need to just wait for Cyndi. I don’t really care to be a practice mannequin today.”

  Maddie turned around and grabbed her comb so he wouldn’t see the darts she hurled at him with her eyes. Her first customer had to be not only a male but also a demanding pig of one too. But still, she needed a good tip. “No sir, I was just making sure that was what you wanted.”

  When he didn’t reply, she turned and saw him sitting, eyes closed, his fingers rubbing his temples. Maybe Reuben-the-jerk had a headache. She should not be gleeful at the thought. Lord, forgive me.

  She walked behind him and ran her fingers through his hair as she assessed his current style. An ultramodern, long shaggy cut parted an inch to the right and layered to chin length with a chic “messy” look to it. The back curled out, giving evidence of a little natural wave. It was an attractive haircut, especially for his boyish, square face, but seemed a bit longer than it should be. He was cute now, but when she was done with him, he’d be positively swoon-worthy.

  Minus, of course, his snakelike personality. Nothing she could do about that.

  “What are you doing?” The man stared at her in the mirror.

  Maddie withdrew her fingers from his hair and bent down, pretending to look at the back of his head. “Trying to make sure I get the cut right. Should be good to go now.”

  Note to Maddie: Don’t fall in love with a client’s hair and spend several minutes running your fingers through it. Awkward moment will surely follow.

  Ignoring his brooding stare, she grabbed her scissors and began to work. The slivers of dusty blond hair floated to the ground as she snipped with a steady hand. She was doing it. Her first haircut at her first job. Her father’s words echoed in her brain. “You’ll never amount to anything, girl. Just like your mom.”

  She was proving him wrong, along with every other man who thought she was nothing but an object to be manipulated and manhandled. If only they could see her now. But, then, Maddie would be thrilled if she never laid eyes on any of them again. Especially her father.

  As his hair began to take the proper shape, her confidence boosted. She was a success, and soon she’d have enough money to rent a little house and bring her brother home where he belonged.

  While she trimmed the back, she glanced in the mirror. Was Reuben-the-jerk asleep? His head drooped, and his eyes were closed. At least he couldn’t act like a spoiled brat while he slept.

  She moved to the right and began to trim the front. The layers in his bangs started at the base of his ear and ended below his chin. Maddie combed the first swatch of hair and positioned her scissors to make the cut, but Reuben’s head jerked farther down then up as she began her cut, causing her hands to slip.

  Maddie gasped. Dread curled itself around her stomach and squeezed. In her trembling hand she’d caught four full inches of his hair. On the side of Reuben’s forehead was a one-and-a-half-inch dusty-blond stub.

  The image in the mirror was just an illusion. It had to be.

  Reuben Callahan blinked twice.

  No such luck. His hair was still in shambles, and a shell-shocked brunette stood next to him holding the evidence of her crime. He fought the urge to let a few words rip that rarely graced his lips. But with Miss Agnes over there gasping, word would no doubt get back to his mother since the two had been friends for years. And his mom wouldn’t hesitate to take a bar of soap to his mouth, even if he was twenty-seven years old.

  After what seemed like an eternity of eerie silence, the bell clanged against the front door, and Judy Meadows, the owner, walked in. “What in the world—”

  Assessing the scene faster than a CSI agent, Judy dropped her bags and marched over. Snatching the scissors from Maddie’s hand, she pulled her to the side. Reuben only caught pieces of the whispered conversation between boss and employee, but given the petite stylist’s rushed escape to the back room, it hadn’t been pleasant.

  Judy grabbed a spray bottle and began wetting down his hair and combing it at a feverish speed. “Reuben, I am so sorry. Madison is new and came highly recommended. I had no idea this would happen. I’ll fix it. I promise.”

  “How are you going to fix it? There’s no disguising a missing chunk of hair.” He was being rude; he knew it. He’d feel guilty later. But right now, on top of being up all night crunching numbers that just wouldn’t add up and a pounding headache, he had a botched haircut too.

  Okay, so it was just hair and no one had died. But his appearance contributed to the persona he tried to keep. He was the cool entrepreneur, the suave business guy on the verge of huge success. Now he looked like some dude with an overgrown mullet.

  “We’ll just find you a new style. One that’ll look nice until it grows back out.” Judy grabbed a hairstyle book out of the magazine rack and flipped through the pages. “Here, this is what I had in mind.”

  She shoved the book onto his lap. The page displayed a much shorter hairstyle featuring a rugged spiked look. With some hair gel, it wouldn’t be too bad. “That’ll do.”

  The portly woman took the book from him and laid it on the booth counter. “Good, good. I knew you’d like it. You just sit back and let ol’ Judy take care of you. And, of course, it’s on the house.”

  Judy made quick work of the haircut and took extra time to style it for him. The spiky look was different, but maybe a hair change was what he needed. Livy had been after him to cut it for ages.

  As he set a few dollars tip on the counter, Reuben noticed a wallet-sized picture taped to the mirror. The new stylist, her brunette hair a little longer than her current short bob, had her arm around a boy who looked to be ten, maybe eleven years old.

  Son, maybe? Doubtful, since by the looks of her ripped jeans and crazy hairdo, she couldn’t be much out of high school. One never knew these days though.

  Beside the photo was a slip of paper with a Bible verse, Jeremiah 29:11, typed on it.

  Guilt tiptoed on his conscience making God-sized imprints. He’d been a bear to the poor woman. When he was in the zone, it was easy to forget that most people were more than just employees. They were mothers, sisters, or friends. Not to mention children of God.

  As bad as his day had been, there was no excuse for how he’d acted.

  Stifling another y
awn, he waved to Miss Agnes, who frowned at him, and Judy, who had a too-bright smile plastered on her face.

  He walked down the block to where his BMW was parked on Main Street and clicked the button to unlock the car. He opened the door and sat in the driver’s seat, then flipped the sun visor down to look one more time at his new haircut, then turned his head from side to side. Yes, it would do.

  He ran his fingers through the short hair, but stilled when the car rocked and a soft thud sounded on the hood. He flipped up the visor and stifled a yell. Someone lay plastered against the windshield of his car.

  2

  What are you doing on my car?”

  Maddie crossed her arms over her chest and smiled at the angry man staring at her. His new haircut actually made him look hotter. Too bad. “I’m sitting, what does it look like I’m doing?”

  Reuben’s hands were clutched so tight, Maddie wouldn’t be surprised if there were nail marks on his palms. “I can see that. What I want to know is why. This is a brand new Beamer.”

  Crossing her legs at the ankle, Maddie pretended to relax, when in reality, her stomach threatened to heave. This was for Kyle. She had to stay strong. “I don’t want to scratch your precious expensive toy, but you cost me my job, buddy.”

  His cheek twitched, and he pulled at his dress-shirt collar. “I didn’t know she fired you.”

  “Bull. You were there when she told me to pack up my things.”

  A look of indecision flashed over his face. Was that remorse? “I didn’t hear what she said, but I’ll admit, I guessed as much. Listen, I’m sorry you got fired. But I don’t know how sitting on my car is going to help.”

  Maddie pulled her legs up to sit crisscross on the hood, her tennis shoes resting on the shiny black paint. A good move given the stricken look on Reuben’s face. “I want you to go back in there and tell them the truth, that you fell asleep and the whole thing was your fault, and then demand they give me my job back.”

  His clenched jaw shifted to the side. “First, I did not fall asleep. I was just resting my eyes. Second, it won’t help anyway. When Judy makes her mind up, she rarely changes it.”