"There was more," she said softly.

  "I wanted there to be," he said even more softly.

  She wanted to shout at him. Then why didn't you propose?!

  But before she could, he spoke again. "But we're heading in two different directions. I've not led you on, Charlotte. Or I've not intended to. You don't want a career on the mission field. I doubt that you're serious about ministry here in the States either."

  Ouch again. Kick a girl while she's down.

  "What do you mean?" she asked.

  "You have work," he said. "You and Eli do all this work, and it leaves no time for real ministry. Why would you think I would expect you to head off to the mission field with me tomorrow when you're not even spending today in any real ministry efforts? Why would you live for Him tomorrow, when you're not even living for Him today?"

  Why, indeed. She'd never thought about it like that. She had work, and that wasn't ministry. And her life wasn't about ministry.

  Had it ever been?

  She couldn't answer her own question. Troubling, this, as she began to think of herself differently, a little less highly, a little more realistically.

  "It would have been different," she said to him. "I would have been happy to go onto the mission field with you."

  She would have...right?

  "Seriously?" he asked. "If you'd led me to believe this months ago, then maybe..."

  Maybe it would be different. Maybe she'd be packing her bags now.

  Why? When you're not even living for Him now?

  She had to get off the phone. Because this heartbreak, thinking that she was living a pointless life apart from honoring Christ or knowing Him in any real sense, was perhaps worse than anything else she'd experienced so far.

  "But maybe, Charlotte," Tyler said. "Maybe if your heart is changing, we can --"

  "Good bye, Tyler," she managed, before he could say anything more and give her hope that she had no business entertaining.

  Eli

  The next morning, he went over and knocked on her door.

  Well, his door. But she’d be living here. So, it would be her door.

  He liked thinking of it like that.

  He had plans to make it happen that very day. She could sit around and cry and sulk (because women did these things) while he went over and took care of her apartment. Packed it up, loaded it into his truck, and brought it back to her, far away from Tyler and all the drama that had so upset her last night. He could move almost everything out by himself.

  It would be worth it to spare her any further embarrassment.

  He knocked on her door again, impatient to get this thing started.

  "Lottie!" he yelled when it was clear that she wasn't going to open the door anytime soon. "Get your lazy butt out of bed! It's almost nine o'clock!"

  Early? Maybe a little. But she was usually already at the office at this point every morning, telling him to "wakey, wakey" as she put a cup of coffee on his desk. And she was always ready and waiting for him at this hour at church every Sunday, standing outside the sanctuary, telling him that they were going to miss their small group "if you don't kick your butt into a higher gear, Eli."

  See? Knocking on her door at this hour on a Saturday was warranted.

  Just as he was raising his hand to try again (and opening his mouth to yell some more), the door opened.

  There she was, looking half asleep and grumpy in his clothes, holding the door open as she squinted and scowled at him.

  "What?"

  "Well, good morning to you, too, sunshine," he said.

  "Is it morning?" she asked, looking at the sky. "How did that happen?"

  "Like it does every morning, generally speaking," he said. "Sun rise, sun set, all that. You look awful."

  She didn't, not really. Grumpy, of course, but that was to be expected. He only used the word "awful" to get a rise out of her as already he could see the sadness building on her face again.

  "So do you, butt face," she grumbled, the sadness leaving for a moment.

  Good. He'd take it as it would come.

  "Why, thank you," he murmured.

  "I didn't sleep well last night," she said, her hand to her hair, explaining away the exhaustion, the way she now thought she looked. "Believe it or not, right?"

  "Well, I can see how it might have been difficult," he conceded. "Which is why I'm here, offering my services."

  "Services?" She frowned at him, confused.

  “I’m going to move you out of your place,” he said, holding out his hand. “Give me your keys.”

  “But why?” she asked. “I can do it.”

  “And talk to Tyler?” he asked. “You know he’s going to be over there just as soon as you show up –“

  “He already called,” she said.

  "And?"

  What had Tyler had to say for himself? Had he gotten himself a clue and changed his mind, begged Charlotte to forgive him, to get herself home, to get ready to go to the Middle East, and --

  "Hold up," she sighed, turning away.

  He watched her walk deeper into the house. Well, was she going to answer him? Was she going to explain what was happening next? Was she going to tell him that he needed a new accountant after all because she was heading to the mission field with her husband-to-be?

  Good grief, he hoped not.

  "What did he say, Lottie?" he asked, knowing it was none of his business, hoping she'd answer him anyway. "Come on, Lottie. What did --"

  "Good grief, Eli," she hissed, coming back to the door with her purse in one hand, her other hand fishing around inside. "Could you be a little louder this morning?"

  "I could," he answered. "So, the call --"

  "I'm done with him," she said. "And with the apartment."

  Whew. Eli worked hard to hide an approving smile.

  "And I should probably do my own dirty work," she said, thrusting the keys at him. "But if you're feeling charitable, then by all means."

  He smiled down at the keys. "And speaking of dirty work, your place is a mess, isn't it?"

  She frowned at him. "Maybe a little."

  Her place was always a mess. How she could be so meticulous and detailed in her work and so completely not in her personal space was a mystery. He'd told her more than once that a man needed a tetanus shot to walk around her living room in his bare feet, to which she'd told him that he and Tyler were the only men walking around that living room anyway and that she'd be delighted if he punctured his foot on something after that comment.

  He smiled even remembering it. Not about getting his foot potentially punctured but about how he was now the only man who walked around her living room, now that she was done with Tyler.

  What was that about anyway, this pleasing him so much?

  "What's that smile for?" she said, the sadness back in her voice.

  He shook his head. "Just looking forward to spending my Saturday moving all of your junk across town."

  "I should go with you and help you," she said.

  "You'd have to see Tyler and talk to him," Eli said, wanting to spare her this. "Not like I had anything to do anyway."

  "Alicia doesn't have you booked for something?" she asked.

  "It's spa day," he said, thinking about how often spa days were, how Alicia came back saying that she felt loads better, that everyone needed a similar stress reliever in their lives.

  His was the Xbox. Video games. Which he could talk Charlotte into playing with him, either calling her to come to his place or going over to hers. (And risking that tetanus shot by walking over to her console to get things going.)

  Alicia tried to tell him that video games didn't count as a stress reliever and that he and Charlotte needed to grow up.

  This made him smile, too, thinking of how childish Charlotte was every time she beat him, dancing around in a very unsophisticated shimmy jig, yelling, "Herbert, you are a LOSER!"

  She was a sore winner for sure.

  He liked that about her, though.

  "Spa day," she murmured, with no clue what he was thinking. "Fun, getting picked at, plucked, and waxed, huh?"

  "I guess," he shrugged. "Just sounds pointless to me."

  "She does it for you, you know," Charlotte said, shooting him a look. "Taking care of herself like that, making herself look beautiful..."

  Maybe. Eli suspected that Alicia was more concerned about how she looked for the world in general than she was about how she looked for him.

  "Yeah, women do these things for one another, not for their men," he corrected her.

  "Yeah, because I'm sure Alicia's friends are going to run their hands along her legs and tell her how silky smooth they are," she said.

  "Well, they very well might," he said. "I'm not running my hands all over her legs, so if she needs that affirmation, good on them for doing it for her."

  Charlotte narrowed her eyes at him. "That's weird."

  "Weird that you and and I are talking about Alicia's legs?" he asked. "Yes. Yes, it is."

  "No," she said. "Weird that... well, you and Alicia."

  What? That he wasn't all over her? That she wasn't all over him?

  Okay, so it was different than most of the couples they hung around when Alicia needed to ferry him to some function or wedding or party. He had standards, though, and kept boundaries.

  And it wasn't that difficult with Alicia, staying true to them. Because her attention was always half-divided anyway.

  Hmm.

  Well, like Charlotte should talk. He was certain he'd never seen her so much as kiss Tyler on the cheek, and he was almost positive that he'd never seen them even holding hands. Sure, what went on in private could be very different, but he suspected it was all platonic.

  "No weirder than you and Tyler," he pointed out.

  She took a breath at this, and he wanted to kick himself. He shouldn't have brought the name up again. He wished for a moment that he could take it back --

  "And look at how well that relationship turned out, Eli," she sighed. "Maybe that should have been a warning sign to me."

  Maybe a warning sign to him, too...

  Nah.

  "Anyway, spa day," he said.

  "Yes," she answered, her mind clearly elsewhere. "Fun, fun, fun..."

  "Not as much fun as I'm going to have finally cleaning up your place," he said, waving her keys at her, thankful that she'd changed the subject with him.

  "You're welcome," she said. “And thank you, Eli.”

  He made the familiar drive over to her place in record time, his radio blaring, his mind on how she'd waved to him weakly from her front door, telling him that she'd head over to his place and make him lunch to thank him.

  He was already looking forward to it, hopeful that a few hours would be enough time to get the majority of her things.

  There was no sign of Tyler as he parked the truck and made his way upstairs to Lottie's apartment, which was (as expected) reminiscent of a war zone.

  Clutter. So much clutter. How did the woman live like this?

  "Good grief, Lottie," he muttered, wading into the fray, noting with relief that although she was a slob, she was still mindful of hygiene and kept the sink clear of dirty dishes.

  At least he wouldn't be finding any unwelcome, unwholesome critters and vermin in this mess.

  Okay, then. Charlotte’s things.

  He looked around, trying to decide where to begin, thinking that a shovel might come in handy.

  Books. Wow, she had a lot of books. What a nerd. Of course, he had just as many books at his place, but she had stacks and stacks of them piled up everywhere, mocking him as he thought about how he had to box every last single one of them up later. His back would be hurting.

  So maybe he would start with something lighter. Her bedroom. The closet. Clothes.

  He made his way in there, flipping on the light and surveying what needed to be done.

  She didn’t have a whole lot in there. Not even one bar full. Alicia had about ten times this amount of clothes. Not that he spent a lot of time in Alicia’s closet or her room either one. No, he kept his distance for his own good, but her closet had to have more clothes than this.

  His eyes trailed over the shelf, a few pairs of shoes, more books, and a suitcase.

  A suitcase. That would be helpful. He pulled it out from the closet and went to check the small chest of drawers she had, trying to see if one suitcase would fit it all.

  The first drawer contained nothing but lacy, tiny, frilly, girly –

  He shut the drawer, blushing.

  Well, he was glad she wasn’t here because that would have made him blush even more and likely say something stupid, something completely embarrassing, to cover over his horror at finding this -- yes, this! -- right off the bat.

  Of course, Charlotte would have these things. Of course, she would wear these things. She was a girl, after all. Well, a woman.

  Interesting, this. Very, very interesting.

  Hmm. Eli wasn’t all that comfortable with this new knowledge, for reasons he couldn’t readily discern. And he felt like a creeper, quite honestly, working his way through her drawers like this.

  Drawers. Literally.

  “Thanks a lot, Lottie,” he muttered, opening up the suitcase and taking a deep breath. Then, with his eyes shut, he opened that very interesting drawer right back up, and with a muttered prayer, he began grabbing up handfuls to toss into the suitcase.

  Oh, no. That one felt like a… like a thong. Or what he assumed a thong felt like since he’d never actually seen one on a woman or touched one or thought much about it at all because he was trying to keep his mind pure and –

  And then, in his exuberance to be done with this very unsettling task (not because of what he held in his hands, but because they belonged to his accountant, you know, which was weird), he bent his head too low and smacked his forehead right onto the corner of the dresser.

  Most of the contents of his hands went flying as he bit his tongue against any number of words, leaving him to open his eyes with blurry vision, only to see three leopard print bras laying on the floor.

  “Oh, my,” he murmured, closing his eyes and opening them up again with great trepidation, hoping for cleared vision.

  Oh, there was just one. Whew.

  One leopard print bra… and look at that, he was holding the matching thong in his hand.

  He quickly dropped it and made quick work of throwing everything else in, slamming the suitcase shut.

  He’d put everything else in boxes. (And sweet mother of all that was good, he hoped that was it as far as questionable clothing choices went.)

  Sure enough, there were drawers full of jeans and t-shirts and socks and normal clothes. Clothes that could belong to a guy. Safe clothes.

  Except they smelled like Charlotte. Who knew that she had a smell? Eli caught himself holding one of the shirts up to his nose, inhaling her fragrance, trying to figure out what exactly that scent was and why it was so pleasing…

  Well, that was weird, right?

  He wasn't going to think about it. He was just going to box all of her stuff up and get out of here. Sure, he'd have to unpack it all when he got back to the duplex, but that would go a lot quicker and be a whole lot more enjoyable, since Charlotte would be there alongside him... handling her own delicates and all.

  The thought of an afternoon with Charlotte was a good one, like it always was.

  Box after box, he continued on, storing all of Lottie's life, marveling at how little she actually had. Even in all the clutter, she was living fairly simply, without much to her name.

  A framed picture, one of the only ones in her room, caught his eye and reminded him again of why that was.

  Charlotte, four or five years old at the most, with her Uncle Mark, who was likely only eighteen himself. Both of them were grinning, backpacks in their hands as he knelt down next to her, his free arm around her tiny little waist, her arm around his neck.

  Her first day of pre-K or some daycare program, his first day of college.

  There were no other pictures of her family anywhere else, likely because Mark was the only real family she had.

  Hence the simple living. There wasn't much someone could accumulate in just a few years completely on her own.