Kathryn Springer - The Prince Charming List

“Loosen your reins a bit. Sit back in the saddle. Drop your heels,” Bree instructed as soon as she saw me.

At the same time? So maybe it was a bit more difficult than riding a bike! I gave Rose’s neck a comforting pat in return for her patience.

“We’ll take the dirt road to the Cabotts’ place,” Bree said. “Riley wants to meet up with us there, if that’s okay.”

“Is Riley part of my recovery program or yours?” I teased.

“He’s a nice way to end the day.” Bree shrugged but she couldn’t quite hide her smile.

If I had to pick a word to describe Riley Cabott, it would have been steady. When it comes to guys, there are two kinds of steady—steady and boring or steady and intriguing. Riley was definitely in category two. He and Bree had come to the wedding together but I’d noticed he’d given her a lot of space. Bree was so independent I had a feeling she’d shake off any guy who made it hard for her to breathe. Riley must have known that, too, and that’s what put him in the steady and intriguing column. A guy who paid attention.

I tried not to envy the easy way they laughed together. I’d never had a serious boyfriend, but it’s not because I didn’t want one. I just want the right one. Occasionally I’d go to a movie or have lunch with one of the guys in my YAC group. YAC was an acronym for the Young Adult Class, which met for Bible study before the worship service on Sunday mornings.

I’d attended the same church all my life, so even though all the YAC guys were working full-time or were in college now, I still had a hard time moving past certain memories. Like all the years I’d been forced to listen to the obnoxious noises they loved to make. And the way they acted out Bible stories like David and Goliath by collapsing on the floor and letting red Kool-Aid dribble down their chins. Not exactly the kind of visuals conducive to a romantic date.

Maybe with the Lord’s help I could have gotten past all that, but there was something else. And that something was The List. When I was a freshman in high school, the girls in my Wednesday night Bible study went on a weekend retreat—one of those camping experiences that put a dozen teenage girls in a dorm with one bathroom. The weekends are designed to promote friendship and bonding but instead they become a battle over who gets to plug her blow-dryer into the one outlet first.

The guest speaker talked about issues like modesty and respecting yourself and we politely yawned our way through her Friday night message. Most of us at the retreat were raised in Christian homes and we’d heard so many variations of her speech over the years we could have written our own.

On Saturday morning, though, she handed out paper and pens, sat on the arm of the couch, which I’d never seen a guest speaker do, and told us to write down all the qualities we’d like to see in our future husband.

A guest speaker that was telling us to think about guys? This was something new. She didn’t say a word while we giggled over descriptions like great looking and drives a Porsche. When we finished our assignment, she told us to read through the list again and turn it into a prayer request.

A prayer request?

There was an uncomfortable silence. I looked at my list and immediately crossed off two things and added three more. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the girl sitting across from me crinkle hers up into a ball and start over. There were no more giggles as we tackled our lists again with the intense concentration we’d use to take our SATs.

The really strange thing was that none of us shared our revised list after that. I didn’t. I tucked it in my Bible in the Song of Songs, which was an appropriate place not only because it’s all about love and romance but also because I figured no one who accidentally grabbed my Bible to look something up would look up something there. I’d blushed my way through that particular book a few years ago and can understand why pastors don’t quote verses from it with the same enthusiasm they do from 1 Corinthians 13.

After that, I started silently comparing any guys I’d meet to The List. It got a little discouraging. It wasn’t like I was in a hurry to get married or anything, but couldn’t I meet someone who hit at least one or two out of my Top Five? Was my list unrealistic? Even though I’d changed the great looking (yes, that was me) to attractive, maybe my expectations were still too high. But I’d comforted friends who’d lowered their standards to warm and breathing just so they wouldn’t sit alone on the weekends. If God was presently molding a man to meet my specifications, all I had to do was wait patiently until He was finished. And obviously it was taking a while. But I was still convinced that waiting for Mr. Right was better than settling for Mr. Right Now.

“Still thinking about Mrs. Kirkwood?” Bree’s voice floated over her shoulder, muffled by the soft thud of Buck’s hooves against the road.

Rose had taken advantage of my momentary split with reality. When I snapped back to attention, she’d also taken a little side trip and was busy nibbling at the grass along the ditch.

“No, just decompressing after a horrible, no-good, very bad day.” I tugged on the reins and Rose ignored me. In fact, I’m pretty sure I heard her laugh.

Bree twisted around in the saddle and saw my dilemma. “Give her a little kick with your heels. She’s testing you.”

And she gets an A plus.

I obeyed and exhaled in relief when Rose trotted to catch up to Buckshot. I didn’t want Bree to think I wasn’t a natural at this, even though my tailbone was wearing away like erosion on a riverbank every time it connected with the saddle.

There was a low growl behind me and Bree whirled Buck around. “Uh-oh.”

I caught the look of concern on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“I hear a motorcycle. Buck loves them. He runs to the fence whenever a Harley goes by, but Rose—”

“What about Rose?” I squeaked. The noise was getting louder and it sounded like someone was riding a chain saw.

“She might not like…” Bree lunged for the loop of rein a mere second before Rose decided she could outrun the horse-eating motorcycle. She must have figured she was close enough to home to make a break for it. So she did.

I just happened to be along for the ride.

Describe your day. Use words. (From the book Real Men Write in Journals)

Woe is me. (Dex)

Rose came in first, with Buckshot a close second, but Rose and I were the ones that rearranged the Cabotts’ landscaping on the way in.

Rose downshifted from a full gallop to a sudden stop and if I hadn’t been clutching the saddle horn, I would have somersaulted over her head. Instead I poured off the saddle like a bucketful of sand as the motorcycle roared past at warp speed.

Bree jumped off Buck and ran over. “Are you all right?”

My lungs weren’t working. They pushed out short, hot gusts of air but refused to let any back in. I could feel my eyes begin to bulge.

“What a jerk!” Bree spoke the very words that were going through my mind. “I can’t believe he didn’t slow down when he saw the horses.”

Riley ran up with Dex—Dex?—right behind him. My brain couldn’t quite process why he’d be at Riley’s.

“Is she okay?” Riley looked at Bree and I was touched by his concern.

“I’m fine,” I managed to wheeze.

“Poor baby,” Riley murmured, dropping to one knee to examine Rose’s feet.

Bree rolled her eyes and I realized I wasn’t the one he was concerned about. She’d told me how attached he was to his horses so I didn’t take it personally.

“Who was that?” she asked, frowning at the veil of dust still dancing in the air.