LITMIR.BIZ

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Mama call you?”

      “Just a couple of times. Mostly she sent texts. Oh, and here’s a couple of emails from her in my in-box.”

      Destiny’s jaw tensed, and she consciously forced it to relax before she chipped a tooth. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve known she wouldn’t have been satisfied with my responses to her texts.”

      “How’d you respond?”

      “Same way I always respond. I told her I’m fine.” Destiny heard the front door creak open and turned to see Mr. Tingle heading out with more red, white and blue bunting for the porch railing. Mrs. Tingle followed, opened her mouth to say hello but then closed it when she saw Destiny on the phone, and gave her a polite finger wave as they went about hanging even more decorations. They’d already lined the sidewalk with tiny American flags, placed planters filled with red, white and blue flowers on every porch step and draped each bush with patriotic twinkle lights. And they weren’t finished yet.

      “That’s it? You texted that you’re fine?” Rita didn’t do a very good job at muffling her laugh. “So I’m guessing she’s now totally convinced that you aren’t fine, right? Back in college, she’d have already driven over to figure out exactly what was wrong.” Before becoming Destiny’s pitifully paid but devoted managing editor, Rita had been her best friend through high school and her roommate in college. And during those years at the University of Georgia, she got a full taste of Geneva Porter’s persistence.

      Destiny’s phone buzzed with an incoming text, and she didn’t bother checking the sender. No doubt her mom’s persistence was still in full force. “She never thinks I’m fine, because if I’m not doing exactly what she has planned for my life, then I’m obviously doomed.” Destiny noticed the Tingles exchange a look as they hung the next section of bunting and realized her voice easily carried across the porch. She smiled at the sweet couple, and Mrs. Tingle smiled back, but there was a hint of pity in her eyes.

      Destiny smiled brighter, determined to convince someone today that she really was fine. “The decorations look amazing,” she said to the pair.

      “Why, thank you, dear. L.E. is a real champ helping me decorate everything for the holidays. You should see this place at Christmas.” She leaned toward her husband and kissed his cheek.

      Destiny may not have ever found love herself, but she knew it when she saw it, and she made a mental note to write the Tingles’ love story for her magazine before she headed back to Atlanta.

      “The town is decorated for the Fourth?” Rita asked, reminding Destiny that her friend was still on the line.

      “Yeah, every house on Maple Street looks like a cake decorated with red, white and blue icing.”

      Mr. Tingle, obviously hearing her description, nodded as though that were an accurate assessment, and Mrs. Tingle followed suit. They were so content, so undeniably happy running the bed-and-breakfast together. Destiny wondered what that’d be like, to “fit” so well with someone that even regular daily activities became a joy because you were together.

      She’d never known that. And truthfully, she’d never seen that in her own home. Her mother, quite frankly, didn’t seem to be happy unless she was miserable. Or making someone else miserable, namely Destiny. Her sister, Beverly, however, did no wrong. Destiny loved her younger sis, even if her mom did play favorites and she’d come up with the short straw.

      “Oh, just got another text from your mom. She’s asking me if you’ve talked to your sister today.”

      Destiny closed her eyes, counted to five—if she went to ten, she’d just miss another text from her mom—then said, “Something must be up. I’ll call you back later. Let me figure out what’s going on with Mom.”

      “Good luck with that.”

      Destiny smiled and was grateful that her friend was able to afford her that luxury. “Yeah, I know. You go have fun and enjoy the fireworks, and tell your family I said hello.”

      “I will, but promise me you’ll do the same. There’s gotta be something fun to do there if they’re decorating the place so much. Maybe Claremont, Alabama, will top the Gwinnett fireworks display.”

      Destiny doubted the small town did all that much for the holiday, but if the decorations on Maple Street were any indication, they went all out as much as they could. “I’ll see what’s going on.”

      “And you’ll actually join in the fun?” Rita asked. “That’s part of your problem, you know, you work too much and don’t get out to enjoy life. Who knows, you may actually meet Mr. Right down there.” Then before allowing Destiny to provide her trademark answer, that she didn’t believe such a man existed, at least not for her, Rita added, “Hey, what about Troy Lee?”

      “What about him?” Surely her friend wasn’t suggesting that the country boy with the tender heart was Destiny’s Mr. Right. Because that would never work, ever. The only reason she wanted to even meet the guy was to get his permission to run his love letters. She’d never take an interest in him herself.

      Vivid blue eyes within a sea of black lashes suddenly flashed into her mind, along with that deadly dimple. And the fact that he was so solidly grounded in his faith. That rich baritone reading the Bible verses in church last night had given her chills, and in a good way. He hadn’t been putting on a show at church; he’d believed every word he read in those Bible scriptures about rejoicing. And listening to him, Destiny had found herself yearning to feel that way, to experience that faith, to find that kind of contentment. In fact, she’d thought about the Bible lesson several times throughout the day and about how Troy truly seemed to have the joy mentioned in those scriptures.

      She’d never had that kind of joy, or that kind of faith, which emphasized how different her background was from Troy’s. And then there was his family. She’d read lots about them in his letters and how he wanted a family like that one day—big and boisterous and happy. Destiny couldn’t imagine a family like that for herself. No, she and a guy like Troy Lee would never mesh.

      “Did you see him today?” Rita continued. “You said you were going to try to talk to him again at the filling station, didn’t you?”

      “Yeah, I’d planned to, but I wasn’t thinking about today being a holiday. I rode over early this morning, but it was closed.” Then she’d come back and camped out on this porch all day. Oddly, she hadn’t felt bored. The scene was too pretty not to enjoy every minute, and she’d gotten a good deal of writing done for her next few blog posts, primarily focusing on Southern charm and the way all Southerners enjoy a reason to celebrate. She wondered how Troy was celebrating. “I’m going to try to see him tomorrow.”

      “Think he’ll give you permission to run the letters? We had another batch of emails from subscribers asking when they’d get to read some of the love letters you promised in last month’s issue. I think they’re wanting some sort of teaser.”

      “Well, the teaser was when I said we’d have them this month. That’s as good as I can do until I gain the rights to publish.” And she had to gain Troy Lee’s trust first, which meant spending time with him, but there hadn’t been a way to make that happen today. According to his grandmother, he had no desire whatsoever to share his private letters with the world. Destiny had to somehow change his mind.

      “Maybe you should write about him in your blog posts, that you’ve met him and all. Describe him to your readers so they can get to know the man whose letters they’ll read in the next issue.”

      “That’s a good idea. And I’ll go back to the filling station tomorrow, and then I’ll go to the fishing hole on Saturday. Should be able to spend some time with him both days.” And she also knew how to see him on Sunday: by making another appearance at church. Funny, she found herself looking forward to visiting the small congregation again.

      “Well...” Rita drew out the word. “Maybe he’s your Mr. Right.”

      Destiny controlled the tone of her response to hide any indication

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