Infection

2

TEN YEARS EARLIER

The coffee shop was bustling with people, their conversations blurring together into a quiet rumble of background noise. The smell of roasted beans and the sound of house music filled the air, and a few dishes rattled in the kitchen, the baristas working furiously to keep up with the morning rush. The chaos was oddly satisfying to Ian as he typed away on his laptop, writing his sermon. He came to this coffee shop a few times a week to write sermons and meet people in the community. One of the best ways to do outreach is to simply be present in the community as much as possible, one of his seminary professors had told him once. When the people understand that you are a part of the community, you can start making meaningful connections that will lead them to Christ. He had taken the conversation to heart and made it a mantra for his ministry. For him, genuinely investing in peoples' lives was more important than being popular or having a large church. Better to have ten strong church members following Jesus passionately than to have 10,000 lukewarm members only attending church on Sundays and forgetting about it the rest of the week.

A milk steamer suddenly hissed loudly as the barista dropped a mug on the counter and spilled the latte she was making. The commotion made Ian look up from his laptop to see what was happening, and he saw her. Standing at the counter, waiting for her order, was a young woman with elfin features framed by long, curly copper hair pulled into a half-bun, glowing in the bright morning sunlight that shone through the large windows. Ian couldn't take his eyes off her, which ended up slightly embarrassing him when she looked up from her phone directly at him. Their eyes only met momentarily before Ian quickly looked down at his laptop and tried to find his place in his notes. He could feel the burning of his face turning red as he stared intently at the screen, willing himself not to look back up.

"Excuse me," he heard a beautiful, lilting voice say. "Is this seat taken?"

He looked up and completely froze. It was her. There. Talking to him.

He wasn't sure what his face looked like, but he imagined it was probably something akin to a deer caught in the headlights of a car, knowing it needed to do something, but unable to move until the car crashed into it. Yeah, that's probably a fair assessment of the situation, he thought.

"All the other tables are taken," she continued, filling in the silence he had left by not responding and looking around the coffee shop quickly. Her curly hair bounced gently as she turned, and Ian caught a glimpse of a light purple ribbon that tied her hair up. "And I figured all these books you've got here don't need their own seats."

Her laugh was musical and her large smile was beaming. Warm, brown eyes looked down at him behind glasses that sat on high cheekbones. Cinnamon-colored freckles decorated her nose and cheeks and accented the copper tones in her hair. She was elegant in every way, and Ian was mesmerized by her.

"Uhh," he stammered. "Yeah. . . I mean no. . . I, uh. . ."

"Don't worry," she laughed. "I know what you mean." She took the seat across from him.

Ian cleared his throat, trying desperately to pull himself together so he didn't look like a complete idiot. He had resigned himself to looking like a little bit of an idiot, that much couldn't be avoided at this point, but looking like a complete idiot would be a disaster worse than a deer getting hit by a car.

"Ian Garrett," he said as confidently as he could, extending his hand over the table.

"Emily Strauss," she replied, accepting his handshake. Her hands were soft and slender, with long fingers and unpainted nails. As they shook hands, he noticed a small tattoo of a butterfly on her wrist.

"So, what's with all these books?" She asked as she looked at the piles he had spread across the table.

"They're commentaries mostly," Ian started, pushing his thick glasses up his long nose. "A few of them are study Bibles, technically, but the notes in them are like miniature commentaries, so sometimes they are helpful. And, of course, I've got a few theology textbooks and various other books that might be helpful as I'm studying. A lot of people like to use digital resources when they are studying or writing, but I just love the feel of physical books. . ." He trailed off, realizing he was rambling. He tended to do that when he got started talking about a subject that he was passionate about. The same thing happened when he talked about soccer and camping.