Elle's living the dream, but whose dream is it? Elle Garvy loves her life in Beaufort, South Carolina, spending summer days on the sand bar and enjoying coastal bonfires and dinners with friends. She’s found her stride professionally as the owner of a successful art gallery, and she’s found love with handsome, confident Jeremiah Franklin. Life is good. Then Jeremiah accepts a large pastorate in a different state, and Elle turns her life upside down to go with him. When Jeremiah has a change of heart, Elle is hurt and her faith is shaken. New York lawyer and recent widower Heath McCord imagines the low country cottage he’s rented for the summer is the balm his grieving heart needs. That and time to connect with his little girl. He’s unprepared for his beautiful landlord, Elle, and the love her friendship awakens. But God has new blessings in store for these two grieving hearts. Can Elle trust so soon after losing Jeremiah? Can Heath release the memory of his wife and fully love again? Rachel Hauck is the New York Times , Wall Street Journal , and USA TODAY bestselling author of The Wedding Dress , which was also named Inspirational Novel of the Year by Romantic Times and was a RITA finalist. Rachel lives in central Florida with her husband and pet and writes from her ivory tower. Visit her online at RachelHauck.com; Facebook: RachelHauck; Twitter: @RachelHauck; Instagram: @rachelhauck. Love Starts with Elle A Lowcountry Romance By Rachel Hauck Thomas Nelson Copyright © 2008 Rachel Hayes Hauck All right reserved. ISBN: 978-1-59554-897-9 Chapter One BEAUFORT, SC December 21 From the loft of her Bay Street art gallery, Elle Garvey leaned against the waist-high wall, admiring GG Galley's "Art in Christmas" show. Visitors and patrons—some Beaufort residence, others curious tourists—milled among the displays, speaking in low tones, sipping hot cider. The mellow voice of Andy Williams serenaded them. "It's the most wonderful time of the year ..." "Elle, are you the queen, surveying her kingdom?" Arlene Coulter gazed up from the bottom of the loft stairs, her bright red Christmas suit its own fashion work of art. "Yes, and are you my loyal servant?" Arlene curtsied, her bottle-blonde hair falling forward like silky angel hair, the hem of her skirt sliding up her knee. "Yours and yours alone, O you of whom Art News wrote, 'One of the lowcountry's finest galleries.'" "Best hundred-dollar bribe I ever spent." Elle descended the stairs, catching sight of her baby sister, Julianne, selling a bronze sculpture to a young woman wearing pearls. "Darling"—Arlene linked arms with Elle and led her to the back wall—"your artist eye is truly God gifted. Tell me now ... is this the work of the great Alyssa Porter?" "It is." Elle surveyed the paintings. They spoke to her each time she viewed them. She envied Alyssa and artists like her—the ones who had the courage to chase the dream. Elle had lost hers a long time ago. "And what do you like about this artist?" Arlene squeezed Elle's arm tighter. "Her paintings move me." Elle freed herself from Arlene and moved to Alyssa's Rose Garden , convinced it'd be a masterpiece one day. "Move you?" Arlene studied one of the abstracts through a one-eyed slit, her short, red-tipped fingers squeezing the point of her chin. "I suppose they move me too. I'm just not sure where." "You're looking for a definite image, Arlene. Don't be so concrete. Let your imagination run ..." Elle hooked her arm around the woman's shoulders. "Follow my hand. See how you just moved out of the sunlight into the shade?" "No, but, girl, I really love your bracelets. Where'd you get those?" Arlene grabbed Elle's wrist to study the tricolor bangles. "You beat all, Arlene." Elle twisted her hand free. "Well, a good set of bracelets is hard to find." Arlene gazed again at the painting. "So, what should I do about Miss Porter?" "Buy her. The New York art scene has discovered Alyssa and if you don't purchase something before her first auction, you'll never be able to afford it. Here ..." Elle walked to the other side of the display. "This one on the bottom right is only two thousand dollars." Arlene stood an inch way from the bottom painting, tipping her head to one side. The track lighting haloed the back of her head. "I'm afraid if I buy one of these I'll wake up one night with the dang thing hanging over my head whispering, 'I see dead people.'" "If it does, call Pastor O'Neal, not me." Arlene bent in half as if she hung upside down, then snapped upright. "What about this artist over here. Coco Nelson. Now this I get. Look—a woman's face, with eyes and hair." "Coco's a wonderful artist," Elle said. "Very realistic work. This series is called 'Love and Romance.'" "Very fitting for you, sugar." Arlene arched a brow at Elle. "This piece, Proposal , is stunning." Her voice rose and fell into a sing-song. Elle ignore her subtle teasing. "Yes, t