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.”“I appreciate your concern.I’m asking for your prayers.”“Oh, I’ll be praying.I’ll be praying you don’t marry a woman you don’t love out of some warped sense of responsibility.”Rocky felt tiny tentacles of anger begin to rise against his friend.Max didn’t know his heart.He didn’t know Gia.He didn’t know the story.He couldn’t tell him.“Maybe I do love her.Maybe I loved her the first minute I saw her.Maybe I want to marry her.”“Maybe,” Max agreed.“But even if you do, I have to wonder if she loves you back yet.And you deserve to be loved, one hundred percent.You deserve God’s best for you in a mate.”“You’ve been heard, Max.I’m considering everything.Keep it to yourself, all right?”Max stepped out of his way and retrieved his stick bag.“Sure, Rock.Anything, you know that.But can I ask one more question?”“Only one?”“Seems to me you’ve already made up your mind about this.Are you really seeking God for an answer, or are you going to do it and hope He said yes?”That one hit a little close to home.He had to admit his thoughts throughout the evening leaned more toward how to make it work rather than if he should make it work.He met Max’s questioning gaze.“Point taken.”Max grinned.“Good enough for me, buddy.As long as you’re still grinding on it.”They headed for the door.Max dimmed the lights and made sure the A/C had reverted to its nighttime temperature.Rocky set the alarm.“Now I have a question for you.”“Shoot,” Max said and held the door.“If given the chance, what would you not do to protect a child?”8Gia turned her music down and listened.She crept closer to the bedroom door and listened again.If Rocky was home, he sure was being quiet.She’d seen nothing of him since he deposited her in his guest room, warned her about the falling computer parts in the closet, and explained the tricky faucet in her own private bathroom.He’d supplied peanut butter crackers and a nectarine in case she got hungry, and then left for practice.She’d tweaked her resume and fell into the best sleep she’d had in years and never heard him come back home—or leave again this morning.She stepped onto the cool, bare tile.“Rocky?”There was no answer, just the low hum of his central air working overtime on another stifling day.She made her way to the living area and knelt on the country-blue couch to peek through the blinds.No car in the drive.No kids or pets in the quiet cul-de-sac.She pitied the lone squirrel she saw as it dragged its fluffy tail across the dried-up grass to reach the shade at the base of a Pin Oak.She turned and settled in on the well-worn cushion to survey Rocky’s bachelor pad.Four matching stone coasters with a Lone Star design sat on the small coffee table.Countless white condensation rings were ingrained in the wood right beside them.So much for using the fancy coasters.There were technology magazines, church bulletins, and copies of music.She counted five remote controls, all lying outside of the wicker basket she was sure was for, well, remote controls.She resisted the urge to tidy up.The recliner didn’t match the couch, but he’d compromised by tossing a blue crocheted blanket over it.The lamp on the end table with the bare, non-environmentally conscious bulb and no shade topped off the look.As with any respectable man cave, the large television took up most of the far wall.There were tiny state-of-the-art speakers hidden somewhere, she knew, but she couldn’t see them.The other creamy white walls screamed for artwork.“Be careful what you wish for,” she mumbled as she moved on, “there could be poker-playing dogs in the dining room.”No.No dogs.But how would she know? This had evidently become his home office and it was buried in ancient monitors and desktop towers.There were shelves covered with discs, cables, laptops, and manuals.If that was a dining room table beneath the crooked chandelier, she wouldn’t know it from the piles of paper and assorted electronics stacked high and covering one whole side.There were no chairs, only a spot he’d carved out for himself to pull up to the table and work on what appeared to be a high-end system.The kitchen smelled like lemons.It hadn’t last night.The trash can had a fresh bag and a broom was propped by the door to the concrete patio.Two homey blue and yellow dishtowels hung in sync on the oven door handle, and assorted plates and clean take-out containers air-dried near the sink.Something deep and overwhelming struck her as she found a clean glass and dispensed water from the refrigerator door.This is for me.He’s been cleaning for me.“I can’t let him do this.” She emptied the glass in a hurry and put it back
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