I'm Not Single, I Have a Dog by Susan Hartzler

Author:Susan Hartzler
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers
Published: 2021-03-10T00:00:00+00:00

19

Father, Son and Holy Dog

Angel was a longtime member of All Saints’ Episcopal Church in Beverly Hills. I’d gone with her family to celebrate Easter and Christmas but never attended a regular Sunday service.

“I had that dream again last night,” Angel told me on the way to her church. “You know, the one where you meet your handsome prince.”

“Really?” I stared out the car window, hoping her dream was an omen that I’d meet someone at church.

“Yes, darling,” she said. “Just like in the movies. The two of you declare your love for each other in my backyard.”

We entered the church parking lot and found a spot right in the front. Another good omen. Angel took my hand, and we headed inside.

The morning light streamed through massive ­stained-glass windows and added a warm glow to the nave. Ornate chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the scent of incense made me hopeful this would work.

When the service started, I noticed a man sitting on his own a few rows in front of us. His ­shoulder-length brown hair hit the top of a sharp ­navy-blue sports coat. Normally, I steered clear of guys with long hair, but there was something about this man that made me curious.

“I see what you’re looking at,” Angel said.

I felt a rush of heat on my face.

“Darling, you’ve got to meet him,” she whispered.

After the service, Angel tugged at my dress, waiting for the stranger to walk by. One look at his blue eyes, and I was a goner. Angel pushed me forward, so I walked out of the sanctuary beside him.

Once outside, I turned to face him, but my mind went blank.

“Oh, hi,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m Jack.”

The minute our skin touched, I felt a tingle up my arm, all the way to my heart and then a little further south.

When I didn’t say anything, Angel nudged me. That was when I realized I still had a tight grip on this man’s hand and had gone mute.

“Hi, Jack. I’m Angel.” She put her arm around me. “This is my single friend Susan. Are you single?”

“Angel! You’re making me look desperate.” I looked at Jack and said, “I’m not desperate, I swear!” I dropped his hand, but the tingle remained.

“What brings you to All Saints’?” Angel asked.

“A friend of mine told me about this place,” he said. “I especially liked the acoustics.”

“You look familiar, Jack,” Angel said. “Have we met before?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, “but I get that a lot.”

“Are you an actor?” I asked. The tingle turned into a pulsing throb between my legs.

“No, I’m a musician.”

God help me.

* * *

From that day on, I became a weekly regular at All Saints.’ With one eye on my spiritual ­well-being, the other searched the pews for Jack. One day, I noticed him sitting alone. His eyes closed, he seemed tranquil and lost in the music drifting through the church.

I walked over to him. When he opened his eyes and looked up at me, that tingle returned.

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