Starting Over on Blackberry Lane--A Romance Novel

by Sheila Roberts

  She was too chicken to try his room, so she went to the reception desk.

  “Is Daddy here?” Petey asked as they crossed the lobby.

  “Yes.”

  “Are we going to see him?”

  “No. We’re going to leave our surprise and then go home.”

  Petey’s lower lip jutted out. “But I want to see him.”

  “You will soon. I promise.” At least she hoped he would. She gave the cookies to the desk clerk and asked her to deliver them to Brad’s room. “I want to surprise him,” she explained. I’m also too nervous to do this in person.

  “I’ll make sure he gets them,” the woman promised.

  Back home again, Stef called her neighborhood helpers and spent another twenty bucks getting the boys to move the furniture back from the garage to the man cave, instructing Petey to stay out from underfoot. After they left, she laid out the picture of the new game table in the middle of the room. There, all set. Now only Brad was missing.

  He continued to remain missing and by seven o’clock he still wasn’t home. Maybe he’d had a meeting with a prospective client? Or maybe the reception desk hadn’t gotten the cookies and her note to him yet. Yes, that was it. It had to be.

  Meanwhile, though, Petey was not happy. “You said Daddy was coming home.” He looked at her accusingly.

  “He is, honey. Meanwhile, time for your bath.”

  “I don’t want a bath. I want to see Daddy!”

  “Honey, you’ll see him when he gets here.”

  “I want him here now!” Petey’s face was starting to take on an angry flush and his eyes were filling with tears.

  “Well, Daddy won’t want to see you all dirty and smelly.”

  “I’m not smelly!”

  “Come on,” she coaxed, taking his hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up for Daddy.”

  Petey balked. “I want to see Daddy now!”

  “Petey,” she said sternly. “I’m not a magician. I can’t wave a magic wand and bring him here.”

  “He likes his friend better than us,” Petey cried.

  Obviously Daddy liked his imaginary friend better than one of them. Stef picked up her angry son. He was getting too big to carry, but she managed to struggle up the stairs with him, Petey crying all the way.

  “I want Daddy,” he howled as she ran the bathwater.

  “Hey, big guy, what’s all the crying about?”

  Stef turned and there stood Brad in the doorway, his duffel bag at his feet.

  “Daddy!” Petey leaped into his arms. “Are you done staying with your friend?”

  Brad looked at Stef. “Yes, I am.”

  It took a while to settle Petey down. After his bath, he had to tell his father how he’d helped Mommy bake cookies.

  “They were very good,” Brad said and smiled at Stef.

  Petey dragged the conversation out as long as possible, then insisted Daddy read him a bedtime story. Stef left them alone for some father-son time and went downstairs. To the unfinished mess.

  She sat on the sofa, which was still covered in a sheet to protect it from construction dust. It would probably be covered by that sheet forever. She sighed, not for the first time that day.

  Twenty minutes later, Brad came downstairs. She patted the couch. “Want to join me?”

  “So, he’s really gone?”

  Stef nodded and Brad sat next to her.

  “I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand,” she said.

  He looked at the disaster area surrounding them. “Me neither.”

  “Grant thinks you should be able to finish up on your own.”

  “How about you, Stef? What do you think?”

  She decided not to share what she really thought. “You’re more important to me than this house.”

  He studied her for a moment, then edged closer and put an arm around her, pulling her against him. “I was beginning to wonder.”

  “Oh, Brad. Just because I got mad...”

  “It wasn’t that you got mad—it was that you lost faith in me. You complained about everything. I couldn’t do anything right. I only wanted to please you.”

  “I know,” she said, feeling about two inches tall.

  “Yeah, I got in over my head a couple of times,” he admitted.

  A couple? How about every time he started a new project?

  “But I was going to figure it out. When you hired Masters, it was like a knife in the back.”

  “I was only trying to help.”

  “Well, it felt like you were taking over.”

  Okay, she had. And who could blame her? “Grant did know about the weight-bearing wall,” she said in her own defense.

  “Load-bearing. I’d figured it out, too,” he reminded her.

  They sat in silence for a moment. Then she asked, “Will you finish the floor?”

  “Yes. I think I can handle that.”

  “I think you can, too,” she said.

  “So, listen, I was an ass hat.”

  “I was poop.”

  “No, I was wrong. I’m sorry, Sweet Stuff.”

  Sweet Stuff. She’d been anything but sweet. She felt the tears start to rise.

  “Can we start over?” he asked, wiping away the first drops with his hand.

  She smiled at him. “I want to.”

  They sealed the bargain with a kiss. And, just to be sure it was sealed, another kiss. And then another. And then, well, if you were going to seal a bargain, you should really make it worth your while. They did.

  Later, after they’d showered together and were back in their clothes, she said, “About your man cave.”

  He groaned. “I had it coming. Can we leave it at that?”

  “No. I have something to show you.”

  “Oh, boy,” he said warily.

  “No, it’s all good. Well, at least I hope it is.”

  She led him down to the basement and opened the door to his manly-man retreat. Everything was back in place except, of course, for the card table.

  “Looks good,” he said.

  “Look again,” she told him, pointing to the paper in the middle of the room.

  “What’s this?” He walked over and picked it up, stared at it.

  “Happy anniversary—a little early,” she said. “It’s being delivered next week.”|

  She hadn’t seen him that gleeful since the day they bought their first new car. “Really?”

  She nodded. “Really. I owe you.”

  He came over and put his arms around her. “You don’t owe me anything, Stef. I’m the one who owes you. I’ve made you crazy trying to do all this stuff when I had no idea what I was doing. But I wanted to please you.”

  “I know. But you don’t have to be an HGTV star to please me. Anyway, it’s the thought that counts.” But, Lord, please let him get beyond the thought phase and actually finish the room.

  That was the plan for Tuesday. Brad took the day off and began working on the floor. She gave him a hearty breakfast, then tried not to hover as he got started. It didn’t sound promising.

  “This wood is harder than cement,” he grumbled. He must have seen the oh, no expression on her face because he hastily added, “Don’t worry. I’ll get it done.”

  She’d thought maybe she should hang around and help him, but with the floor project getting off to such a bumpy start, she decided it would be better to scram and let him get the hang of things on his own.

  She called Griffin. “Brad’s fighting with the flooring. I need a latte.”

  “At least he’s working on it,” Griffin said as they made their way to the bakery.

  “So far. I did mention that Grant said he’d come help him if he needed it. That didn’t
exactly go over well.” A wifely tactical error. Add it to the list. Sigh.

  At the bakery she updated Cass, finishing with “I’m just glad to have him home again. Grant was right. Marriage improvement is more important than home improvement.”

  “I’m happy for you,” Cass said.

  “Meanwhile, we have a birthday to celebrate,” said Stef. “I got my e-vite from Charley this morning.”

  Cass frowned. “I’m getting so old.”

  “We’ll console you with chocolate and presents,” Stef promised her.

  “Anyway, you look thirty,” Griffin said.

  Stef wasn’t sure she’d go that far. But Cass did look good for a woman in her forties. “Are your kids coming up?”

  Cass beamed. “They’ll all be here, including Dani and Mike and the baby. That’s the advantage of having a birthday on Memorial Day weekend. Everyone’s already got time off for the holiday.”

  “Who all will be there?” Griffin asked.

  “Oh, the usual gang. The Sterling family, Stacy Thomas and her husband, Dot and Tilda and Devon, you guys. Grant and Dan’s brother.”

  “Dan’s brother? Hmm,” Stef said and gave Griffin a sly look.

  Griffin’s cheeks turned pink.

  “You two seem to be getting along pretty well,” Stef observed. “I saw you out there on Sunday helping him paint. You seemed to be having fun.”

  “We were. But his divorce isn’t even final until the end of the month and I just broke up with Steve. Anyway, it would be crazy to start something right before I leave.”

  “You don’t need to rush into anything,” Cass said.

  Griffin nodded. “He’s really sweet, though. If I was staying...”

  Her friend leaving, there was a depressing thought.

  “The house should be ready to put on the market in June,” Griffin continued.

  June. By the end of summer her buddy would be gone. “I hate that you’re leaving.”

  “I need to,” Griffin said. “I’ve played it safe a lot. It’s time to take a risk.”

  “You can always come back if things don’t work out,” Cass told her. “But I think you’re right to go for it.”

  “So do I,” Stef said, determined to be noble. “How’s it going with Beth’s cookbook?”

  “Almost done. She wants three more pictures.”

  “That cookbook is going to be a hot seller for Pat at the bookstore,” Cass predicted.

  “Once the book’s printed they’re going to have a book-signing party. I hope I’m still here for it.”

  “If not, we’ll all chip in and fly you back,” Stef said. “And maybe I’ll have to take a trip out there once you’re settled. I’ve always wanted to see Times Square.”

  “I’d like that,” Griffin said. For a moment she looked a little wistful. “I’m going to miss everyone here so much.”

  “Just because you’re moving doesn’t mean you’re leaving.” Cass smiled. “Don’t forget. Once an Icicle, always an Icicle.”

  Cass’s words wrapped around Griffin’s heart. Yes, she’d be moving away, but she’d still have the friends she’d made here. Stef would visit her in New York. Her parents certainly would.

  What about Matt?

  The afternoon they’d shared had been more satisfying than a six-course meal. And that kiss had been the best dessert ever. What would happen with him if she stayed?

  She knew exactly what would happen if she left. Nothing.

  Back home, she picked up Muriel Sterling’s book and turned to the page she’d bookmarked.

  It’s easy to get derailed from your dreams. The best way to prevent that is to set goals. Make checklists and set dates. Moving forward will be so much easier.

  That was what she needed to do—set goals, set dates. She pulled up the calendar app on her phone and began to do exactly that. The house would go on the market in June. With luck, it would sell quickly. She wasn’t a real-estate expert, but she knew it took a while for deals to close. Still, maybe by the end of July, she could leave? Yes, the end of July.

  End of July. May was almost over. That meant in two months she’d be gone.

  The thought both excited and depressed her. She was doing the right thing, though; she was sure of it.

  And where did that leave Matt? Nowhere on the list of dates and goals. He’d be coming up this weekend, going to Cass’s birthday party. He’d even mentioned inner tubing down the river. It was going to be a fun weekend. She decided not to think beyond that.

  * * *

  Stef had returned home to find that Brad hadn’t made much progress beyond miscutting several pieces of wood. “I’ll get the hang of it,” he assured her, and she kissed him and told him she knew he would. What a lie. This was still a disaster.

  The afternoon and the progress on the floor slogged on. Petey came home from school and wanted to help. Stef thought it would be best if he didn’t after he reported that Daddy was saying bad words.

  By dinner Brad was sweaty and cranky. If only he’d call Grant, this could be done in a few hours. At the rate Brad was going, it would be more like a few years. She bit her tongue.

  She put Petey to bed and heard his prayers while Brad stayed downstairs, sawing, banging and swearing. She kept a safe distance, hanging out in the bedroom and watching a movie on her laptop.

  He finally came up at ten. “We should’ve bought a condo,” he grumbled.

  “You don’t have to be good at everything,” she said gently after he’d showered and come to bed. Maybe now he’d be open to bringing in help. “Why don’t you just—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Okay, not saying a word.” She kissed him, rolled over and turned out the light on the nightstand.

  She was almost drifting off when he said, “Call the tool man.”

  She snuggled next to him and smiled. Within minutes she was asleep and happily dreaming of her beautiful completed great room.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Grant found himself back at Stef’s house on Wednesday afternoon. Her husband had taken the day off and they got busy with the boards and nail guns. Cutting the boards for the cantilevered bump-out in what had originally been the dining room took some time and patience. Stahl felt frustration when nails bent or split the board, until Grant assured him that he had to expect that.

  “Comes with the territory,” he said. “This is a really hard wood, so it can be a challenge.”

  Once the guy knew that some of his difficulties were the fault of the wood and not due to his incompetence, he began to take a more laid-back view of the project. He was beaming like a new father when his wife came home from work and went into ecstasies when she saw the floor was more than half-done.

  “It’s gorgeous!” she raved. “Thank you,” she said to Grant, making her husband’s smile slide off.

  “Don’t thank me. I was just the grunt. Your husband did the heavy lifting.”

  She threw her arms around Brad’s neck and kissed him. “Thank you, babe. I love it.”

  That brought the smile back. “It’s going to look good when it’s done.”

  “And it’s getting done. Yay!”

  Grant promised to come back the next day and left the two of them happily celebrating—and their son begging to help Daddy.

  “Next project,” Brad said.

  Oh, boy, he’d created a monster.

  Grant was back in his truck when his phone rang. Another woman in need of a handyman. Priscilla Castro, the stalker from the store.

  “The plumber didn’t fix my sink. It’s worse. In fact, it’s flooded. Please, can you stop by? I’m desperate.”

  She’d better be, Grant thought as he put her address in his GPS.

  Priscilla Castro lived in a three-bedroom
rambler on a quiet cul-de-sac. The lovely treed lot next to her place was for sale. Nice lot, bad location.

  She opened the door before he even got a chance to knock and her perfume was the first thing to greet him. Subtle was not this woman’s middle name. The perfume made him sneeze. Or maybe it was her. Maybe he was allergic to Priscilla Castro.

  “Thank you for coming,” she said. “You’ve saved me.”

  A little overdramatic, but he simply nodded and asked her to show him the problem sink.

  “When you’re a woman alone, dealing with these things can be such a challenge,” she said as she led him through the house. “Did I mention I’m divorced?”

  Only within the first five minutes of meeting him. “Yes, you did.”

  Now they’d reached the master bedroom. The curtains were drawn and a bedside lamp was on, illuminating a sheer black nightgown draped across the bed.

  He caught her looking at him, gauging his reaction. He brushed past her toward the master bath, keeping his toolbox between them as a barrier, and went into the bathroom.

  There was indeed water on the floor.

  “Oh, let me mop that up.” She grabbed a towel off the rack and bent over to mop it up, using the old show-the-cleavage ploy. Ugh.

  He took out his flashlight, then opened the cabinet door and checked under the sink. Water there, too, naturally. It only took a moment to see what the problem was. The slip nut on the P-trap was loose.

  “Any plumber could fix this,” he told her. For that matter, anyone with a wrench could loosen it. He wouldn’t put it past this woman.

  “Mine couldn’t,” she said.

  “Who’s your plumber?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t remember.”

  Yeah, and he couldn’t remember the name of his doctor. “You need to change plumbers.”

  “Or keep you on speed dial?” she suggested and giggled. Gag. She knelt down next to him. “I really appreciate you coming over.”

  “Not a problem.” He sneezed again.

  “Bless you,” she said. “You must be coming down with something.”