Her phone beeped again, and she reached for it. “Now he says he’ll be another fifteen minutes.” She tossed her phone back in the purse and looked across the table at Rooster. “I’m not waiting.” She hesitated and then seemed to reach some decision within herself. “I realize it’s last-minute, but how would you like to go to dinner with me?”
“What about your friend?”
She shrugged. “He had his chance. As it happens, he’s the one who insisted we meet. I told him earlier we were finished, but he wanted to talk me out of breaking up with him. Fat chance of that happening, especially now, although my mind was already made up.”
“Long-term relationship?”
“Too long. Are you interested in dinner?”
“Sure.” He didn’t want to appear overly eager; the truth was, he could hardly believe his luck. “Do you have someplace in mind?”
“Do you like Thai?”
“Love it.”
“Great. I know a small restaurant a couple of blocks over.”
This was certainly an interesting development, not that Rooster objected. He just never expected a classy woman like Lauren to be interested in him. Not that she was. Her date had basically stood her up and she didn’t want to eat alone, and he was handy. Still, he wasn’t going to complain.
Seeing that the place she mentioned was within a short distance, he left his bike parked down the block from the yarn store. They walked side by side, and right away Rooster noticed the curious looks people gave them. It didn’t bother him. They did make an odd couple. Him in his motorcycle gear and her, the elegant and stylish businesswoman.
“Are you going to let your date know?” he asked.
“Oh, I probably should, but a part of me would like him to arrive and wonder where I went. Although, heaven knows Todd should be able to figure it out on his own.” She retrieved her cell, punched out the message, and tucked it back in her purse. “That’s one of the things I dislike about myself. I’m such a good girl, always doing what’s right, always following the rules.”
“You consider that a flaw?”
“Not a flaw—it’s just that I’m so predictable.”
Rooster shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that. You surprised me by asking me to dinner.”
She laughed, and the sound was as pleasant as a melody. “Truth is, I surprised myself. You seem like an interesting man.”
“Really?” Rooster didn’t view himself that way. Max was the good-looking one. Rooster had never been much of a ladies’ man and had always been a bit awkward around the opposite sex, which was probably the reason why at age thirty-nine he remained single. He’d married young and it’d been a mistake, one he’d put behind him a long time ago.
“You’re a good person to have as a friend, aren’t you?” Lauren asked, glancing toward him as they walked.
Ah, so that was it. She was letting him know she wasn’t interested in him romantically. He was being friend zoned.
“What was that?” she asked.
He frowned. “What was what?”
“That look, just now. What’s wrong?”
Rooster wasn’t aware he’d given any outward indication to what he was thinking. That she found it easy to read him came as a revelation. “It’s nothing.”
“No, it’s not. What did I say?”
She seemed to be mentally reviewing their conversation. “I mentioned that you must be a good person to have as a friend. It isn’t everyone who would ride twenty hours, or however long it took you to reach Seattle, with a buddy, especially when you knew that once you arrived you’d be on your own.”
“I enjoy long bike rides and it’d been a while since my last road trip,” Rooster answered, dismissing her praise.
“You found that comment insulting?”
“No.”
“I probably wouldn’t have said anything, but being a good friend is a quality I want on my list.”
“List?”
“Oh, sorry, it’s just a list that I made up of what I think is important.”
“In a man?”
“In anyone.” She pointed straight ahead. “That’s the restaurant I mentioned. The food’s wonderful.”
From the way she quickly changed the subject, Rooster could see she regretted saying anything about this list she’d compiled.
When Lauren said the restaurant was small, she wasn’t kidding. The scent of spices and basil reminded Rooster once more of how long it’d been since he’d had a decent meal. They were seated right away in a booth that required them to remove their shoes and climb into the low seats. Rooster gave Lauren his hand and helped her into the booth before taking his own seat. The petite waitress dressed in traditional Thai garb immediately brought them menus. After discussing the wine option, they chose a bottle of sauvignon blanc.
Lauren’s cellphone chirped. She ignored it. “It’s probably your friend,” Rooster said. “Probably,” she agreed, “but I’m with you and I consider it impolite to communicate with one man when I’m with another.”
Rooster could get to like this woman. “You really are a good girl, aren’t you?”
“I told you so. It’s downright irritating.”
He didn’t know if she was joking or not, but he laughed out loud.
A smile lit up her face. “You have a wonderful laugh. Full-bodied and carefree. I like that.”
“Is that on your list as well?”
“No, but I’m thinking it should be.”
Their meal was delicious, but Rooster thought it could well have been the company more than the peanut sauce. He didn’t ask Lauren a lot of getting-to-know-you questions mainly because this was probably going to be the only time he would see her.
She, however, seemed curious about him. Rooster was happy to answer her questions. His one comment was on her jewelry.
“Thank you,” she said, fingering the cameo. “I work in a jewelry store and have a small collection of cameos.”
“I thought diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”
“Don’t get me wrong, diamonds are beautiful, but I find myself attracted to the subtle art and craftsmanship of the cameos.”
When they’d finished, he insisted on paying and left a generous tip in cash. “I’ll walk you to your car,” he said as he helped her out of the booth.
“I didn’t drive. My condo building is just off Blossom Street.”
“Then I’ll walk you to your building.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
He suspected this was her way of giving him the brushoff, which was fine. They’d had a pleasant evening. Rooster had enjoyed himself and didn’t expect anything more. Being with Lauren Elliott was far better than spending the night in his hotel room or killing an hour or two in the lobby bar.
“That is, unless you want to see me to my condo,” she added.
“Seeing you home is part of the code of being a gentleman that my father taught me.”
“You are a gentleman,” she whispered.
“On your list?” he joked.
“As a matter of fact, it is.”
They were outside by now, and with daylight savings time in effect it was still light out. “You better tell me about this list,” he said, seeing that the subject had come up a number of times in the course of the evening.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“Really?”
“It would send most men running for the hills.”
“I’m not most men.”
“I’m beginning to see that.” She straightened slightly as though gathering her resolve. “It’s a list of qualities I’m looking for in a …”
Rooster strained to hear the last word. Her voiced dipped low, and he hadn’t caught it. “In a what?” he asked.
She glanced at him and repeated a bit louder this time. “Husband.”
Rooster had never heard of anyone making up a husband list, and it amused him.
“You aren’t going to comment?”
“N
ot really. I’ll admit that I hadn’t heard of this idea, but it’s probably a good one.”
Lauren readjusted her purse strap over her shoulder. “I’ve always been a list maker, and after dealing with Todd for the last several years, I don’t want to make the same mistakes I did with him. This way, I have a guide and I can quickly make up my mind.”
Rooster couldn’t help being curious. “What did you decide about me?” It might be a mistake to ask, but that didn’t hold him back.
“I decided to add being a good friend to the list because of you.”
“I’m honored.”
“You’re generous, I noticed.”
“How do you know that?”
“I saw the tip you left our waitress.”
“She gave us excellent service.”
“Thoughtful, too.”
“Really?” Rooster had no idea how she’d determined that. Before he could ask, she supplied the answer.
“You asked if you could sit with me to free up a table at The French Cafe.”
“Right. And I have my daddy to thank for insisting on walking you home.”
“A gentleman.”
“I’m batting a thousand.”
“Yes, you are,” she said, laughing. “I probably shouldn’t have told you about the list. If it makes you uncomfortable, I apologize.”
“It doesn’t.” They’d slowed their pace to a near crawl. They continued walking for another block while Rooster sorted through his thoughts, wondering if he had a shot with her. He decided nothing ventured, nothing gained. “Does this mean you’d be willing to see me again?”
Lauren looked over at him and dazzled him with one of her smiles. “I was hoping you’d ask.”
Chapter Seven
When you put beads in your knitting, you are really putting bits of light in your knitting. The gleam and color-play of beads add a whole other dimension that could be demure or outrageous, as you please. Your choice of beads and yarn uniquely expresses your personality.
—Sivia Harding,
designer and teacher
“Grandma, today was the worst day ever, even worse than Tuesday,” Casey said the instant Lydia opened the door to her mother’s small apartment in the assisted-living complex.
Mary Lou Hoffman looked away from the television screen. “Casey and Margaret. I’m so pleased you’ve stopped by.”
“Grandma,” Casey said, getting down on one knee beside the large overstuffed chair where her grandmother sat. “It’s Casey and Lydia.”
Lydia’s mother’s forehead winkled with a thick frown. “Of course it is. I knew that.”
“It’s all right, Mom,” Lydia assured her. “I know who I am, and I know who you are, too.”
“I’m your mother.”
“Exactly.”
“I had a really bad day,” Casey repeated. “A truly terrible bad day, and I’m not grousing, either.”
Lydia’s mother focused her attention on Casey. “Remember what I said about bad days. Surely you can think of one good thing that happened.”
“Mom tried to get me thinking about the good stuff, too.”
“And did you?”
“I did,” Casey admitted with some reluctance. “I came up with a couple of things, but it wasn’t enough to block out how horrible it was.”
“Can you think of just one more good thing to tell me?” Lydia’s mother asked. She brushed Casey’s hair away from her face and cupped her granddaughter’s cheeks with the palms of her hands.
“Something sort of funny happened,” Casey admitted after chewing on her lower lip.
“Good. Tell me about that.”
Lydia was curious herself, so she scooted out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down.
“I’ve been volunteering at the After Care Program at the grade school, remember?”
Her mother clearly didn’t. “That’s good.”
“I get extra credit for it in my humanities class if I help,” Casey explained.
“So what happened?” Lydia asked, wanting her daughter to get to the story. Brad and Cody were home waiting for them.
“A new boy was there this afternoon,” Casey explained. “He’s in the second grade, and he said his name is Brian. He’s small for his age. I was surprised he wasn’t in first grade or even preschool.”
“A good name,” Mary Lou said. “I once dated a boy named Brian.”
“This Brian wore thick glasses and was sort of nerdy-looking.”
“The Brian I dated was dreamy,” Lydia’s mother added.
“Brian told me he’d fallen on his head when he was little and the fall had killed brain cells.”
Lydia wondered when the humorous part of this story was coming.
“Oh, dear, the poor boy,” Mary Lou offered sympathetically.
“That’s what I said,” Casey continued. “Then he told me he needed medication.”
Lydia was beginning to get a picture of this small child with the thick glasses with a quirky smile who needed attention.
“I took his hand and told him I’d take him over to where the other second-graders were,” Casey continued. “But he stopped me. He said there was more, and he looked so serious I stopped and waited.”
“More?” Lydia asked.
“Oh, yes. Brian wanted me to know he hadn’t taken his medication that morning. He wasn’t sure what would happen without his medication.”
Lydia smiled, and so did her mother.
“Did you laugh?” Mary Lou said.
“No, but it was a struggle not to,” Casey said. “And even without his pills, Brian did fine. He made a friend with Alice, who wears glasses, too, only her glasses aren’t as thick as Brian’s.”
“I’m glad Brian has a friend,” Lydia’s mother added.
“He said he would be back tomorrow, and he promised to take his medication this time.”
“So you had at least one smile for the day,” Lydia’s mother reminded Casey. “And one smile cancels out three reasons to frown, right?”
“Right.”
Lydia stood and checked her purse for her car keys. “I better get home. Dad will pick you up around eight,” she reminded her daughter.
Casey nodded.
“I’ll save dinner for you.”
“If Dad’s cooking, it’s probably spaghetti.”
“Probably.” Unfortunately, Brad’s doctored bottled sauce wasn’t Casey’s favorite. She liked spaghetti, especially from her favorite restaurant, but she was picky when it came to sauce, and for Casey the bottled variety didn’t measure up to her standards.
“I’ll have peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches later. Okay?”
“Sure.”
“See ya, Mom.”
Lydia’s mother glanced up. “Margaret, you’re leaving so soon?”
“It’s Lydia,” Casey gently reminded her grandmother, placing her hand over the older woman’s.
“Oh, yes, sorry. You already told me that once, didn’t you?”
“It’s fine, Mom.” Lydia bent down and kissed her mother’s forehead. Casey looked up and smiled, content and at peace after her truly terrible day. It did Lydia’s heart good to see the consternation leave her daughter’s face as she sat at her grandmother’s side.
“Bring me my knitting,” Mary Lou said, as Lydia quietly left the apartment. Her mother rarely knit any longer, and following even the simplest instructions seemed beyond her. While grateful that her mother was alive, Lydia worried about Mary Lou’s quality of life. It distressed her to watch her mother’s physical and mental health decline. Arthritis made movement difficult, and she spent a good portion of her day in her chair in front of the television. The assisted-living complex scheduled a variety of events to keep the residents’ bodies and minds active. When her mother had first moved into the complex she’d participated in a few of the social gatherings, but no longer.
Lydia walked to the elevator and pushed the button. An aide joined her. “You’re Mrs. Hoffman’s daughter, aren’t you
?”
“Yes,” Lydia responded with an automatic smile. The aide’s badge said her name was Marie.
“The one who owns the yarn store.”
“Yes,” Lydia confirmed.
“I wanted you to know I think it’s wonderful what you’re doing.”
“Thank you.” Lydia had a number of charity projects going at A Good Yarn. Early on she’d discovered that knitters were, by nature, generous. With little encouragement on Lydia’s part, many of her regular customers volunteered knitted items for a variety of charities. Several knit hats or sweaters for World Vision’s Knit for Kids program, and then there were others who contributed knitted squares to Warm Up America! from yarn left over from their projects. And of course there were the tiny caps the shop collected for the area’s hospital preemies.
“I found the knitting basket at the bowling alley where my husband is in a league,” Marie added.
“The bowling alley?”
“That is you, isn’t it?” Marie asked. “The yarn had a sticker that said it was from A Good Yarn shop.”
The confusion must have shown on Lydia’s face because Marie added, “I had my book group on Tuesday night and my husband is in a league with the guys from work. He drives a Pepsi delivery truck. After the meeting with my book club, I stopped off to see how Les’s bowling team was doing, and I found the basket with the yarn and needles.”
“Were there instructions?”
“Not really. It was more of an invitation to sit down and knit. I think the note said when the scarf was finished it should be delivered to a homeless shelter or dropped off at your yarn store. You aren’t the one doing this?” Marie questioned.
“No.”
“I just assumed from the yarn label and instructions that you must be responsible.”
“I heard about this just recently. It’s a great idea; I wish I could say I’d thought of it, but I didn’t.”
“No harm done,” Marie said, as they stepped into the waiting elevator.
Lydia mulled over the conversation as she drove home. When she walked into the house, the scent of simmering tomatoes with Italian spices confirmed her suspicions. Brad had cooked spaghetti.
“Is that you, sweetheart?” her husband called out. He peeked his head around the opening to the kitchen and grinned when he saw it was Lydia. “Dinner’s just about ready. Cody’s got the bread and the salad on the table. How’s your mother?”
Blossom Street Brides Page 6
