by Mary Campisi
Lily waited until Mimi closed the back door before she turned to Hope and said, “Did you ever eat a pizzelle?” When the girl shook her head, Lily lifted one off the plate, held it out to her. “They’re really good. These are vanilla ones, and I made them. It takes a long time to get good at it, because you have to know how to time it. If you leave them in the iron too long, they get burned.” She giggled. “If they’re only a little burned, I still eat them. Here—” she inched the pizzelle toward Mimi’s granddaughter “—try a bite.” Hope shook her head, gripped her lemonade glass, and scooted toward the very end of the swing. Far away from the pizzelle—and Lily.
Pop said sometimes people don’t know they need friends and they try to fight it. That’s when you have to let them figure it out on their own. You can’t shove something at them, no matter how much you know they’ll like it—like friendship, or a pizzelle. “Okay, you don’t have to try it.” She studied the pizzelle in her hand, traced the fancy edges. “But you don’t know what you’re missing.” Lily bit into the pizzelle, her first today. Chomp, chomp, chomp. Crunchy and sweet, her very favorite in the whole world. “Mmm. These sure are good. If you were staying longer, I could teach you how to make them. They’re tricky, but you just need practice. My friend Pop says everything is about practice. The more you do it, the better you get, even if you don’t like it at first.”
She slid a glance at Hope, who was staring at the plate of pizzelles. “That’s what happened to my brother. Nate didn’t like to talk much to anybody but me and Mom, but then he met Christine, that’s his wife. Now he talks a lot more, even to strangers, and he doesn’t use his scary voice on them either, unless he thinks they’re up to no good.” Lily reached for another pizzelle, punched out the center and popped it in her mouth. “Nate sings sometimes, too, but only when he doesn’t think anybody but his kids are around.” She let out a laugh. “I want to videotape him, but Christine says that would be ‘crossing the line,’ so I guess I won’t.”
Lily didn’t miss the itty-bitty smile that crept over Hope’s lips. So, she liked the story about Nate and the videotape. Well, there were plenty more of those, like tons about Uncle Harry. “I have an uncle who split his pants wide open when he tried to climb the jungle gym.” She leaned toward Hope, lowered her voice, “He had on red-striped underwear.”
Hope covered her mouth, but the giggle crept out. “Red-striped?” she repeated.
“Uh-huh. He didn’t know you weren’t supposed to use the sliding board and the jungle gym in your dress clothes. One time, he tried to run across the yard after Lizzie and he was wearing fancy shoes and boom, he slipped right on his behind. His legs went up in the air, and then he flipped on his belly and just laid there. We were so scared. We didn’t know what happened. Lizzie thought he might be dead, but I knew he couldn’t be dead, not unless he hit his head on a rock or had a big heart attack. I didn’t think it was a heart attack. I thought he was hurt and couldn’t talk.”
The girl bit her bottom lip, stared at Lily like she really wanted to hear the rest of the story about Uncle Harry and his shenanigans, as Mom called them. “I knelt down and got real close and listened. I could hear him breathing, nice and slow…and I got closer…” Lily’s voice dipped, turned softer, “Closer…”
Hope’s eyes got big, her mouth opened, and Lily figured she wanted to know the rest of the story more than she wanted not to talk because she whispered, “Then what?”
Lily smacked a hand against her knee and said in a very loud outside voice, “Then he grabbed my hand and said, ‘Gotcha’!”
Giggle, giggle. “Your uncle sounds silly.”
Lily giggled, too. “He is definitely silly.”
Hope giggled again, her face turning as bright as her hair. “Silly, silly.” She inched a hand toward a pizzelle, picked it up, studied it.
“Sometimes when you make pizzelles, you have to trim the edges, so they look nice, kind of like the bottom of a fancy dress. Pop lets me do it. We call it giving the pizzelle a haircut.” Giggle, giggle. “Pop’s really nice, too, and he teaches me lots of stuff.” She eyed her new friend. “Bet he could teach you a few things, too, if you wanted.”
Hope shrugged, nibbled on a pizzelle. “Oliver teaches me lots of stuff, too.” Another shrug, “He has a ponytail and an earring.”
“Cool. How come your dad didn’t come?” Hope’s expression got all confused like Lizzie’s did when Lily was trying to explain a chess move to her. “Where is he?”
Hope lifted her small shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know.”
So sad. “Is he in Heaven?”
The girl pushed her glasses onto the bridge of her nose, darted a sideways glance at Lily. “Not sure.”
Poor girl. She didn’t know if her dad was in Heaven or if he was still walking the earth somewhere. That meant she didn’t know if he was alive or not. Nate said not every dad was a good one, and not every dad wanted to be one. Maybe Hope’s father was like that. So sad. “My dad’s in Heaven,” Lily said, pointing to the sky. “I talk to him all the time, but especially at night when it’s quiet and the stars are dancing in the sky.”
Hope frowned. “Stars don’t dance.”
“Uh-huh, they do.” Lily leaned toward Hope, whispered, “They move all around, and Uncle Harry says it’s probably the angels dancing.” She giggled. “He’s silly.”
“Oliver says that stars are for making wishes. If you find the brightest star and make a wish on it, your wish will come true.”
“Really?” Lily liked the sound of that one. She had a lot of wishes and she liked the stars. Nate would put on a frowny face if she told him about wishing on stars, but she bet Uncle Harry would like the idea.
“Oliver says he makes star wishes every night, and lots of them come true.”
There sure was a lot of talk about the man with the long ponytail who came with Hope’s mom. “Is Oliver your mom’s boyfriend?”
“Oliver?” Hope scrunched up her nose like she’d smelled stinky cheese. “No, he’s our friend.”
“Pop said friends could turn into boyfriends. Maybe he’ll be your stepfather someday.”
“Stepfather?”
Lily shrugged, nodded. “Maybe. Uncle Harry is A.J. and Lizzie’s stepdad.”
“I don’t know…”
“Uncle Harry said he loves them like they were his own kids and they love him like he was their real dad. Sometimes Lizzie even calls him dad. Maybe you can meet Uncle Harry and A.J. and Lizzie.” The look on the girl’s face made Lily ask, “Are you shy?”
Hope nodded, bit her bottom lip. “People make me nervous, especially new people.”
Lily reached out, touched her hand. “That’s okay. Everybody gets nervous about something.” Pause. “You just met me, so that makes me a new person. Do I make you nervous?”
A smile inched across Hope’s lips. “A little, but I like you.”
Lily smiled. “Do you like your grandma?”
“I think so. I like her dangle earrings. They’re like my mom’s.”
“Your grandma is a very nice lady and makes really good chocolate chip pumpkin bread. She puts lots of chocolate chips in it. Want me to ask her to make you some?”
“Do you think she would?”
“She’s your grandma. Of course, she would.” Sadness smothered Lily’s voice. “I never knew my grandmas, but I have two aunts. Aunt Greta and Aunt Gloria. Both have G names.” She giggled. “Aunt Greta has an accent and Aunt Gloria was very sparkly, but she died.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, it’s sad. Do you know my friend Pop told me that your grandma said she couldn’t wait to see you and if she went to Heaven tomorrow, she’d be happy because she got to meet you?”
Hope clasped her hands together, said in a worried voice, “Is my grandma going to Heaven now?”
“Someday she’ll go to Heaven, but Pop says you never know when, and that’s why you have to make the time with people you love special.”
* * *
If you want to read more, check out A Family Affair: The Return. Thank you.
Bonus: An Excerpt from Lovers Like Us
Unlock the secrets in Reunion Gap
* * *
The only woman he’s ever trusted is about to betray him…
* * *
Luke Donovan is the irresistible bad boy every woman wants, and no woman can catch. Until he meets Helena Montrey. There’s something about her reserved manner and fresh-faced beauty that makes him want to commit…to her. Damn, but he’s finally fallen in love! It’s time to face up to past mistakes and returning to his hometown of Reunion Gap and the family he deserted is the first step.
After her fiancé’s betrayal makes her question her ability to tell an honest man from a liar, Helena Montrey shies away from men. Then she meets Luke Donovan. Her heart wants to tell him she’s the creator of a very successful greeting card line, not the struggling waitress and wannabe-writer he thinks she is. But her brain forces her to wait until she’s sure the former bad boy with an admitted penchant for the open roads and constant change, is in this for keeps.
When the couple arrives in Reunion Gap, the Donovans are waiting for them with a lot of questions, and a ton of concerns. How is it that a woman they’ve never heard of ends up with a man who’s vowed he’ll never be tied down? What’s the woman’s back story? More importantly, what is she hiding? The truth about Helena will come out, and then Luke must decide if he loves her enough to give her a second chance.
The Donovans aren’t going to stand by and watch this heartbreak happen without getting involved. After all, what’s family for, if not to get involved?
* * *
Reunion Gap series:
Book One: Strangers Like Us
Book Two: Liars Like Us
Book Three: Lovers Like Us
Book Four: Couples Like Us
Chapter 1
Helena Montrey once created greeting cards about love and happily-ever-after until the man she planned to spend her life with broke her heart three weeks before their wedding. That’s when she stopped believing in love, dreams, and a man’s word. That’s when she began creating greeting cards for the broken-hearted women and men who’d been jilted, cheated on, and tossed aside. She considered it therapy but the brother and sister who ran the business end of the greeting card company called it genius and more profitable than the feel-good love cards she’d once written.
The words came without effort, often in the middle of another sleepless night.
He stole your dreams...
She torched your soul...
There will be new dreams...
New hopes...
You will not let his actions define you...
She will not destroy you...
One day you will trust again...
One day you will open your heart to love again...
You will give trust another chance...
And life will shine...
* * *
Of course, she didn’t necessarily believe the part about trusting or loving again, but it could work for other people. Why not give them hope even if she had none left? Writing and creating became her therapy and for thirteen months she fell in and out of her days, pretending life was good, she was fine, better off without him.
She weathered news of her ex’s engagement, marriage, and upcoming fatherhood with a straight face and a who-cares attitude, but each announcement required late-night wine, dark chocolate, and a box of tissues. There were moments between the wine and chocolate when she considered picking up the phone and calling him. But what would be the point? He’d fallen in love with another woman and it hadn’t mattered that he’d been three weeks away from saying “I do” or that his shiny new wedding band lay tucked in his top dresser drawer. The dreams, the plans, the two children they’d share one day, all disappeared the second he told her he loved someone else.
To his credit, he’d never told Helena that he didn’t love her, as though somehow not admitting that might make his confession more palatable—which, of course, it didn’t. She’d been sitting on the couch, checking off last-minute details for the wedding when he’d stood over her, the voice she loved a mix of misery and apology.
Helena? We need to talk.
He’d never been one to drag out the inevitable, and within the span of a commercial break she knew all about the college sweetheart who just so happened to turn up a few months ago—the one Helena had never heard about—and heaven help him, the feelings resurfaced and couldn’t be ignored or denied. That handsome face did look a bit contrite when he admitted he should have told her before but didn’t know how.
She might have believed the tale if he hadn’t slipped in the part about Helena buying him out of the house she’d recently added his name to—the house she’d bought, the mortgage she’d paid, the one he’d persuaded her to add his name to and which she’d done, thanks to her trusting nature. And stupidity. A whole lot of stupidity.
But there’d been more. He’d driven off in the new sports car she’d given him, an early wedding present from the bride who was not going to be his bride. He’d taken the car, the house, the stacks of vinyl albums, and the closetful of hand-tailored suits she’d bought him. And he’d been quite clever about not signing for anything wedding-related, so Helena ended up paying for the balance of the nuptials that didn’t take place. The more he took, the more she realized their relationship had never been about love, marriage, or a happily-ever-after—at least not with her. The man who had the sweetest compliments and an answer for absolutely everything had played her. He’d looked into her eyes and when he spoke, she’d believed every single word.
Even if they were all lies.
The day she learned the truth about her fiancé and the deceit that lives in a person’s soul was the day she decided no man would ever get close enough to hurt her again.
And then she met Luke Donovan.
People called him reckless, wild, and unpredictable, but Lucas John Donovan liked to think of himself as a man who wouldn’t be tied down by a job, a belief, or a woman. He liked staying open to new challenges, hopping in his truck and heading down the road to an as-yet-unknown destination. Getting stuck in one place, tied to one woman was an oxygen drain for sure. It wasn’t that he was opposed to either—hell, he’d even consider a relationship if the woman was the right one. But that was the problem.
How would he ever know when the right one came along? They all felt “right for now” but what about tomorrow and the day after that? What about long-term? Waking up next to that same person for the rest of his life? Listening to her yammer in his ear about this or that, making demands on his time? And the expectations that would come with it? The dinners with people he didn’t know or couldn’t stand, the compliments he’d have to force out of his mouth, the sharing that would be part of the deal. Yeah, that was something he couldn’t picture.
He’d lost a few buddies when they found “the one,” and some of them had even gotten married and had a kid. They’d traded in Saturday night drinking and Sunday football for prime time with their one-and-only. Okay, so they didn’t have to go looking for sex but then neither did Luke. It always found him. Sure, if his friends got sick there was somebody to feed them chicken soup and nag about drinking hot tea. Well, he had a mother for that and while she might be hundreds of miles away, if he needed a mother, he knew where to find her.
Luke might be considered a “bad influence” by the wives but most thought all he needed was the right woman to make him respectable. In other words, sleep in the same bed with the same woman, have a kid or two, move to the suburbs, learn to grill chicken instead of red meat, and don’t forget to put down the toilet seat. The wives didn’t miss an opportunity to introduce candidates for his transformation. Why would a woman introduce her friend to a guy with a love-’em-and-leave-’em reputation? Unless she really believed her choice could change him.
Right. Not happening.
But every once in
a while, he did wonder if there was someone out there who might make him want to be different, want to be a better person. He’d even agreed to meet a few of the prospective candidates, but it always ended the same: the friend fell for him, he broke her heart, and the wife forbid him from stepping foot in her house again. Still, his buddies warned that one day he’d meet a woman who could break his heart, and then he’d know she was the one. That made no sense at all—until the day it happened.
Later, he’d like to say it was the hot-and-sour soup that brought them together and the killer cold that stole his breathing and his logic, but she’d called it destiny. And he’d have to agree. His mother believed homemade chicken soup helped a cold but since she was a plane ride away, he’d have to depend on the hot-and-sour soup his buddy insisted would do the trick. Luke bundled up and drove to the Chinese restaurant a few blocks away, a dark place with Asian music and tiny candles on the tables. He thought he heard a waterfall in the distance but that could have been part of the music filtering through the speakers. Luke didn’t know, and he didn’t care. All he wanted was soup and tea and a nose he could breathe through.
A man who looked like he’d been around as long as the old cash register sitting on the counter peered at Luke from behind round wire-rimmed glasses and motioned him to a small table in the corner of the restaurant. The man smiled, revealing two rows of crooked teeth, and pointed to an empty chair. “Sit,” he said in broken English. “Wait.” Then he turned and headed toward the kitchen, his small frame blending into the darkness. Luke shrugged out of his jacket, eased onto the chair, and closed his eyes. Maybe he’d buy an extra container of soup to eat later... He massaged his temples, sipped air through his mouth.
