A Second Chance Read online

  A Second Chance

  Alexis A. Goring

  Copyright 2017 Alexis A. Goring

  Published by: Forget Me Not Romances, a division of Winged Publications

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  No part of this book may be copied or distributed without the author’s consent.

  All rights reserved.

  Endorsements

  "This sweet second-chance story is sure to bring a smile to your lips as it delights your soul."~ Mary Manners, inspirational romance author

  "I enjoyed this sweet story of love, forgiveness, and trusting in God's plan and purpose." ~Autumn Macarthur, USA Today bestselling author of heartwarming emotional romance.

  "A Second Chance is a Hallmark-esque story for fans of inspirational romance."~ Jamie Lapeyrolerie, blogger at Books & Beverages

  “A lovely story about trusting life's journey to take you to the love you deserve.” ~Kelly Youngs, She Is Fierce! Founder

  "A Second Chance is an inspirational story filled with a wonderful cast of characters in a novella that could easily lend itself into a series. Hopefully we'll read more from this up and coming author!" ~Mimi Milan, bestselling romance author

  “A beautifully written book that takes you on the journey of two people willing to give love a second chance. Read this book and let your heart be softened and open to love however it may find you.” ~Jade Callahan, LGSW

  “I enjoyed reading about how a relationship can be saved by God's grace when we are willing to forgive. God can turn the greatest heartbreak into the most wonderful love story. Thank you Alexis for sharing how us humans can experience a love made in heaven.”~ Alondra Martinez-Gutierrez, ACNP-BC, RNFA

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  First and foremost, I want to thank God for giving me the gift of writing. I am grateful to be one of His servants who work to advance His Kingdom and support the cause of Jesus Christ, His Son, through my storytelling.

  Secondly, I want to praise the Lord for connecting me with my book editor Liz Tolsma. She is a God-send for me. Her knowledge of the Christian book publishing industry, compassionate heart, encouraging coaching skills, and expertise as an editor all worked together to help me to grow as a fiction writer. Working on this book with Liz took my storytelling skills to new levels of success.

  I am thankful for the support of my family members: my parents who encourage me to reach for the stars, my grandmother who always prays for me and provides feedback for my stories, my brother and his wife who encourage me in my journey, and all of my extended family members. I love and appreciate every one of you. Thanks for believing in me as I pursue my dreams.

  My church family is one of a kind. Thank you to my pastors, my friends, the elders, and the congregation members who supported me through the highs and lows of my publication journey. You all have a special place in my heart.

  Thank you, Cynthia Hickey, for inviting me to join your company of traditionally published authors! You are a blessing, and this opportunity to be published by Forget Me Not Romances is an answer to my prayers.

  My friends who endorsed this book deserve recognition. Thank you so much! I value your time and care. Thank you for being there for me.

  Thank you to Dr. Ronda Wells for helping me with explaining the correct medical terminologies for the hospital scene in my story.

  Finally, I want to thank my readers who waited patiently for this second book of mine to be published. I hope that you will enjoy it! God bless you.

  This book is dedicated to:

  All the dreamers. Keep believing in your dreams and trust God to bring His plans for you to pass in His perfect time.

  Jeremiah 29:11

  Chapter 1

  Knee-deep in debt from wedding expenses, Traci Hightower sighed as she filed through the credit card statements. She should be married now, back from her honeymoon in Bali, and settled into her new home with her husband.

  Happy.

  Not single and broke.

  She slapped an envelope against the desk. Five months of struggling to survive and pay off the debt. Her meager, entry-level journalist salary didn’t stretch far enough. She’d been paying her dues for seven years. She rubbed her temples. The numbers on the credit card statement blurred in front of her eyes.

  The doorbell rang. A little thrill rushed through her. She stood from her cross-legged position on the floor and hopped over the mess of papers and laundry that decorated her living room. “Who is it?”

  “The woman who gave you birth.”

  For the first time today, Traci smiled. She opened the door and reached for a hug from the one person who never left her hanging. “Hi, Mom.”

  Her mom returned her daughter’s embrace, then dragged her suitcase inside. She glanced around. “Oh, my.”

  Traci locked her door, then turned and shrugged. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve been looking forward to this. Can’t you stay for more than two days though?”

  Mom stopped picking up the bills from the floor and faced her daughter. “No, honey. I’m sorry, but I need to return home by Wednesday morning. Dad and I have an important meeting later that day.”

  Traci’s heart dipped. Mom paused and placed the bills and the stack of paper she’d picked off the floor on Traci’s kitchen counter. “Oh, sweetie.” She cocooned her daughter in another embrace.

  Traci snuggled close. She inhaled the familiar scent of her mother’s favorite perfume. It smelt like coconut and lime.

  “You always were a cuddler.” Mom stroked her hair. “Still up to your eyeballs in debt?”

  Traci nodded.

  “Why don’t you let me and your father help?”

  Traci took a step back and made eye contact with her mom. “We’ve been through this. I got myself into this mess. I’ll get myself out.”

  Mom smiled. “Your father and I were talking. We hate to see you struggling.”

  “You don’t exactly live in a palace either. I know you want to retire soon, and I won’t have you dipping into that money.”

  Mom reached into her purse. “Living in the nation’s capital area is expensive.” She rummaged through her handbag’s contents. “Have you considered moving home?”

  “I can’t do that. I don’t ever want to live anywhere else. My life and career are here.”

  “How’s that going for you?”

  Traci picked at her fingernails. “It could be better.” Better boss, better pay, better office space. The works.

  Mom nodded as she retrieved one sealed envelope from her purse. She looked toward Traci’s kitchen. “Can we make some tea? I’d like to talk with you.”

  “Sure. Come with me.” Traci reached for the box of peppermint tea bags and got a bottle of honey from her refrigerator. As she put the kettle on to boil, her mom settled into a wobbly kitchen chair. She smoothed the creased edges of the envelope.

  Traci poured the hot water over the tea bags in each mug and the scent of peppermint filled the air. “Everything okay?”

  “Just thinking, honey.”

  “About what?”

  “Have a seat.”

  “Sure, just let me allow the tea to steep.” After she placed a plate over each mug and set it aside, she settled into the chair across from her mom. “What’s up?”

  “I never did like Greg.”

  Traci traced a ring stain on the table. “Do we have to talk about my ex-fiancé?”

  “Yes, because your grandfather always trusted my judgment.”

  “So, Grandpa didn’t like Greg either?”

  “I inherited my instin
cts of discernment from him. Speaking of discernment, here.” She pushed the envelope within Traci’s reach.

  She frowned as she picked it up and tried to flatten its wrinkles. “What’s this?”

  “Open it. Read it, and I’ll bring our tea to the table.”

  Traci turned over the letter-sized, manila-hued paper that was addressed to her. She drew out the paper.

  Dear Traci,

  If you’re reading this, it means I’ve passed away, and your mother kept her promise to give this to you at the right time. As you know, I like to cut to the chase first and explain later. So here it is, plain and simple: I left an inheritance for you. It’s enough for you to make a solid and secure living, for it will cover more than what you need for the rest of your life.

  Traci dropped the letter, her hands shaking. This could be the answer to her financial struggles and give her what she always dreamed of. Her own bookstore. The thought stole her breath for a moment. She envisioned the words on the sign out front. Hallee’s House. Just like she promised her cousin Hallee before she passed away from cancer. Tears welled in Traci’s eyes.

  Forcing herself to take a deep breath and will the emotional waterworks away, she picked the paper off the floor and continued reading.

  But you cannot receive the money until after you are married, and before you are, your mother must approve of the man you want to wed. Why? Because your mother inherited my sense of judgment and discernment between right and wrong when it comes to people. She can spot someone who’s going to break your heart from a mile away. I trust that you will listen to your mother now that I’m gone and can no longer advise you. So there you have it, dear. You have an inheritance. Sounds like a movie, right? Only it’s not. It’s better, because it’s now part of the story of your life.

  After you’re married, you and your husband need to visit my lawyer, Chadwick Morrison. Provide him with the original copy of your marriage certificate, and he will give you your inheritance.

  Your grandmother and I loved you. We wanted nothing more than for you to find the type of love that we had during our lifetime. Now, I trust that you will allow yourself to be guided by God, your mother’s love, and your father’s protection.

  With love, your grandfather,

  Henry Allen Fort

  P.S. Take this seriously. Don’t marry the wrong man just to get the money. Let love happen. There’s no deadline. My will said you had to be married first. It didn’t say when.

  “Let love happen.” Traci snorted as she folded the letter and placed it into the envelope. “The last time I let love happen, I was left at the altar with nothing more than a pile of bills.”

  Mom placed her mug on the table. “It’s time for you to move on and trust God.”

  “I trusted God to bring me a husband. He brought me Greg. Remember? The man who left me on my wedding day and ran off with my best friend?”

  “Honey, I know it hurts, but that was months ago. You shouldn’t allow Greg’s actions and wayward heart to tarnish your future. Be glad he showed you his true colors before tying the knot. Honestly, look at this as a blessing. God protected you from a lifetime of heartache.”

  Traci focused on her I Love Maryland mug.

  Mom touched her hand. “Your grandfather just wanted to see you happy in a committed romantic relationship like he and your grandma had. Like your father and I have.”

  Traci sipped her tea.

  “Keep the letter.” Mrs. Hightower pushed her chair back. “Do you want me to stay here or at a hotel?”

  “Here, Mom, of course. You can stay in my room. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “Alright then. I’m going to put my luggage in your room. After that, we’ll clean your apartment.”

  Traci picked up the mugs while her mind ran a marathon. Forgive her ex-fiancé and move on? Trust God?

  Impossible.

  Chapter 2

  “How’d it go, covering the farmers’ market?”

  Traci clutched her chest. “Would you please stop scaring me?” She swiveled around in her rolling office chair and glared at Carla Simmons, her colleague at the Maryland Times newspaper.

  Carla smirked. “Are you always this happy to see me?”

  Traci spun around to face her computer. “Delighted.” Maybe her monotone answer would get rid of her coworker.

  “Good. Because I have some great news for you. We’re going out tonight.” Carla’s naturally curly, raven-black hair bounced as she nodded, and her caramel complexion glowed.

  “We? As in you and me?”

  “Yes. It’s time you got out again. You’ve got to meet new men.”

  Did Carla know about the letter? The money? No, Traci hadn’t told anyone, so there was no correlation, right? Of course not.

  “Why do you say that?” She continued typing her story.

  Carla spun Traci’s chair so they would be face-to-face. “Because hun, I want to see you happy again.”

  “Happy? I’m happier than a sugar addict at a bakery.”

  “No, you’re not. Not since Greg left you.”

  Traci’s bottom lip quivered, and she balled her fists.

  “Traci, we, your colleagues, your friends, care about you, and we want to see you find a man who’s worthy of your time and affection. You can’t keep burying your emotions by working all day and night. You need to deal with the breakup and meet new men. Get out there, girl. You’re a good catch.”

  Then, why did Greg leave her at the altar?

  “So, what do you say?”

  Traci stared at the buttons on Carla’s red blouse. “Say about what?”

  “Are you going out on the town with me tonight?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not ready.”

  “Okay, then.” Carla blew out a breath. “Maybe next time.”

  “Don’t count on it.” Traci turned to her computer, muttering.

  “I heard that.”

  She was almost finished with the farmers’ market story when the calendar alert flashed across the screen of her cell phone. She just about jumped out of her chair. She forgot she needed to cover the opening of the new upscale restaurant in Baltimore, Marie Claire’s.

  She glanced at the time on her computer screen. Only five. If she left work now, she could go home, change into more glamorous clothes, and make it to the restaurant in time for their grand opening at seven.

  Maybe she should have brought Carla along.

  No, she would have wanted to hook her up with the first cute waiter they saw.

  ~

  Traci smoothed the silk fabric of her little black dress. Her hands glided over the material as she checked it for any creases, smoothing it to perfection. She reached for her pearls, a gift from her dad when she graduated from college.

  “Always remember, you are my princess.” His eyes shone when she opened the gift. “And you deserve a prince.”

  “You’ll always be my princess.” Greg used those same words to woo her when they were dating. “And I, as your prince, will protect, love, and cherish you forever.”

  Apparently, forever had an expiration date. He left her at the altar and shattered her heart.

  She straightened. Greg was in the past. He was not her real prince. Not even a real gentleman. She was better off without him. One day, she would meet someone who would ruin her lipstick, not her mascara.

  She applied her favorite rose-pink lip gloss, eyeliner, and mascara. Professional but flirty. Perfect for a night out on the town. She swept her unruly hair into a bun and slipped her feet into a pair of black pumps.

  She observed the tight bun in her vanity mirror. Too professional. It might be a better idea to let her hair down, at least for tonight. After all, this was a five-star restaurant.

  For whatever the reason, she had this urge to dress to the nines.

  Not that she was husband hunting.

  That was the last thing she was doing.

  ~

  Marc Roberts pulled up to the new five-star restaurant a
nd handed his car keys to the valet. “Thanks, man.”

  The tuxedo-clad valet nodded and slid into the driver’s seat, then sped off. Marc did a double-take, holding his breath until he was sure the man didn’t crash his vehicle.

  The doorman smiled at Marc and opened the entrance door, ushering him in with a gesture. Marc nodded his head and walked in, where the maître d' greeted him.

  “Dining alone?”

  Marc nodded. He hated sitting at a table for one. But as someone who found himself being single more often than in a relationship, he’d gotten used to it.

  “Follow me.”

  As Marc walked into the restaurant’s dining area, he bumped into a table. The water glass on it tilted and spilled onto the white cloth.

  The table’s occupant gasped. He turned to her. Correction. The table’s gorgeous occupant gasped.

  “I’m so sorry, ma’am.” Was he flushed?

  Her beautiful, hazel-green eyes arrested him. His heart flopped like a bunny.

  She offered him a timid smile. “That’s no problem.” She grabbed a notebook and pen from the path of the water.

  He cleared his throat, willing his voice to work. “Are you a restaurant critic or something?”

  The woman turned her head just a little bit. “Yes, I am.”

  “Enjoy your dinner. Sorry again about the water.” The maître d' escorted him to a table only a few rows away from the gorgeous lady reporter.

  He settled into his cushioned chair and perused the extensive menu. From the sound of it, the restaurant might live up to the billing it got in the magazine he read.

  “What can I get you to drink? We have a lovely merlot, chardonnay, or our finest red wine.”

  “Just water.”

  “Very well. Would you like time to look at the menu, or are you ready for me to take your order?”

  “Yes, I’ll have the tomato bisque, the blackened salmon, and the ratatouille.”