Read Online Claire Knows Best by Tracey Bateman - Free Book Online

look so worried. I’ve been trying to talk to you for a few
     days, but we never seemed to find time alone. I hate to spring this on you now, but I need to make some plans and don’t want
     to do it without discussing it with you.”
    “What kind of plans?” And why do I feel an emotional tornado coming on?
    “The church has grown to such a degree that the board and Pastor Devine are considering taking on an associate pastor.”
    “Good idea.”
But what does that have to do with us?
I’m thinking.
    He clears his throat nervously. “The fact is, he would like for me to consider the position if it materializes.”
    Pride that the church leaders see Greg’s wonderful potential combines with a little bit of dread. “You want to be an associate
     pastor?”
    “I think so.” His eyes are so serious, I feel a lump lodge in my throat. I try not to show my dismay.
    “Would you still teach?”
    He nods. “I’d only work part-time at the church to take on some of the duties Pastor is getting too busy to do alone. And
     preach occasionally when he’s out of town.”
    “I see.”
    “You don’t seem happy.” He presses his forehead to mine. “Want to tell me what’s going through that brain of yours?”
    No. I don’t. Really. Because what’s going through my brain is that I am barely good enough for Greg as it is, and right now
     he only serves as Wednesday-night worship leader. If he increases his level of ministry, he’s going to see pretty quickly
     how far beneath him I am. Oh, the things that go through my mind sometimes. I feel like Paul all the time: doing the things
     I don’t want to do, not doing the things I know I should.
    Sadie picks this moment to bang on the window. Greg drops his arms from my waist and turns to his girl, opening the door.
     “What, sweetie?”
    “Can we go home now?” she asks sleepily. And I could kiss her for getting me out of this conversation.
    “You better get her to bed, Greg,” I say in my oh-so-sacrificial tone. “She has school tomorrow. You both do.”
    He nods. “All right, Sadie. We’ll go in a sec.” Closing the door, he turns back to me and presses a swift kiss to my lips.
     “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
    Associate pastor. That’ll make me an associate pastor’s wife.
    Lord, have mercy.
    Helen’s kitchen is every woman’s dream. An island stove top and grill. All stainless-steel appliances, which just happens
     to be my favorite kind of kitchen. Gorgeous hand-crafted wood cabinets everywhere. Granite countertops.
    She glances up from her perch at the bar and waves me to a seat. “I’ll get your tea.” By the cinnamony scents wafting from
     the oven, I think Helen has gone to a little more trouble than merely setting a teakettle on the stove.
    Grabbing a potholder, she confirms my suspicion. “I had some cinnamon rolls left over from yesterday’s baking. I have them
     warming in the oven. I hope you like them.”
    Is she kidding? I can feel my hips spreading just thinking about gooey, warm, iced cinnamon rolls.
    “Yum. You’re not trying to fatten me up so Greg will lose interest, are you?”
    Her brown eyes, so like Greg’s, twinkle as she sets a cup and saucer in front of me and a little plate with an enormous roll
     next to it. “Not a chance. I’m tickled pink that he’s found you.”
    Taken aback by her sincerity, I’m embarrassed into silence, so I bite and chew quick-like to avoid the necessity of a reply.
     “Delifshush,” I say with my mouth full.
    I’d rather snuggle up in one of the branches of my house tree than have to engage Helen in a conversation about my relationship
     with Greg. But Helen, it seems, is settling in for a nice long chat.
    She sets a serving plate between us with at least six warm cinnamon rolls and my palms start to sweat. Nervousness hits me
     on two levels. One, like I said, I don’t want to talk to her about Greg. I have a bad habit of saying too much. Two, I could
     easily eat every one of