Starting Over on Blackberry Lane--A Romance Novel

by Sheila Roberts

  His gaze was starting to roam the crowd. It settled on Cass and he smiled.

  She smiled back and gave him a small wave.

  Dani nudged her. “Mom, who’s that man over there?”

  “He’s the guy who put on my new roof.”

  “You never told me he looked like a movie star.”

  Cass shrugged. “You never asked.”

  “Is he single?”

  “Widowed. He’s Dan Masters’s dad.”

  “He’s got a lot of gray hair. I wonder how old he is,” Dani mused, then studied her mother speculatively.

  Cass could feel her face growing warm. “Look what’s coming,” she said in an effort to distract her daughter.

  “Oh, they’re sweet,” Dani said wistfully.

  The Saint Bernard Club was walking past now. People had decked out their big dogs in red, white and blue ribbons. Some pulled wagons with kids in them, all waving flags. Cass had walked Tiny in the parade in years past. She sighed. Poor old guy. She still missed him.

  The Saint Bernards were followed by the crew that cleaned up after the horses, wheeling their trash cans, brooms slung over their shoulders like rifles. Their appearance signaled the end of the parade.

  The crowd began to disperse, and Charley and gang crossed the street to greet Cass’s kids. “Hey, guys, glad to see you all made it.”

  “We wouldn’t miss Mom’s birthday,” Amber said.

  “We wouldn’t dare,” Willie added, draping an arm over Cass’s shoulder.

  Charley introduced Grant, and as they all stood chatting, a middle-aged woman with a hairstyle that had escaped from the eighties shyly approached. She hovered at the edge of their group for a moment, then tapped Grant on the arm.

  “I’m your biggest fan, Mr. Clooney,” she gushed. “I see you’re busy, but could I get your autograph?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not George.”

  She blinked in surprise. “You’re not?”

  Cass tried not to snicker.

  “No,” he said. “Sorry.”

  “Me, too,” the woman said with a sigh.

  “Another disappointed fan,” Cass teased as the woman walked away, looking like she’d just lost the winning lottery ticket.

  He frowned at her.

  “Hey, guys, we’re going to go check out the booths,” Charley said.

  “Great.” Dani started toward the park.

  “I’ll catch up with you later,” Grant said.

  Cass couldn’t resist teasing him one more time. “What? You afraid of your fans?”

  “Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a smart mouth?”

  “Oh, maybe once in a while,” she said agreeably. “But hey, when you’re old you’re allowed to say all kinds of obnoxious stuff.”

  “So you’re old now, is that it?”

  “That’s why your daughter-in-law’s throwing a party tonight, to console me. Are you coming?”

  “You bet. I want to see how you old people celebrate.”

  Stef and Brad had spotted them now and came up to say hi. “My floor looks great,” she crowed to Cass. “You have to come over and see it.” She linked an arm through her husband’s. “Brad did an incredible job.”

  “Thanks to the good coaching I had,” Brad admitted as he shook hands with Grant.

  “I will,” Cass promised. “Are you guys coming tonight?”

  “Of course. We wouldn’t miss it.” She turned to Grant. “Are you coming?”

  “I am.”

  “He wouldn’t miss it, either,” Cass joked. “I’m going to teach him how to age gracefully.”

  “I’ll be sure to take notes. See you later,” he said and walked off.

  Cass wished he would have hung around. Sometimes she could almost imagine that he was interested in her. Of course, those were the times when she was being delusional.

  Maybe it wasn’t too late to request a Ken doll for her birthday.

  * * *

  If Cass thought she was old, what did she think of him? Grant wondered. She was friendly enough but she never really came on to him. Still, she’d checked to make sure he’d be at her party. Was she interested? It was hard to tell.

  Not that it mattered. She was too young. He didn’t need to be fishing in those waters.

  Fishing. Yes, it was time to head for the river. In May, Icicle Creek was a good place to catch early-season salmon, which could range from eight to sixteen pounds.

  He went to a spot one of the locals had told him about. It wasn’t that far from town but it was a world away. The only thing you heard was birdsong. A man could stand in the shade of giant fir and pine trees, take in the beauty of nature and ponder life. But not think about a certain curvy little baker with hazel eyes and a great smile.

  * * *

  Charley’s backyard was packed with partiers. All of Cass’s family was present, and little Emma was chasing the other children around the yard. The entire Sterling family was there, too, with their offspring. So was all of Dan’s family. Including Grant.

  “Your fans were disappointed they couldn’t find you,” Cass told him.

  He rolled his eyes. “Sorry I missed it.”

  “It must be hard to be so gorgeous.”

  “I don’t know. Is it?”

  She practically choked on her wine.

  “Don’t tell me—let me guess. You don’t think you’re beautiful.”

  “Beautiful is Muriel Sterling, Cecily, Griffin.”

  “I don’t understand why you women always do that.”

  “What?”

  “Compare yourselves to each other.”

  “Oh, and men don’t? I wonder where that saying ‘size matters’ came from?”

  “Not from me.”

  Dani joined them. “Mom, have you seen your cake? Charley told me it’s lavender with buttercream frosting.”

  Cake, Cass’s biggest weakness. And Bailey Black’s lavender cake was her favorite. She let her daughter lead her over to the refreshment table.

  Charley had decided to rib her friend, draping the food table with a black tablecloth and setting out a cake with a tombstone that said Rest In Peace, Cass’s Youth.

  “Ha-ha,” Cass said sourly. “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “Don’t blame me,” Charley told her. “Bailey did it.”

  Cass turned to Bailey Black, the town’s other resident baker, who was standing next to her. “See if I ever come to your tearoom again.”

  “She made me,” Bailey said.

  “Not even fifty yet and look what you’re doing to me,” Cass muttered good-naturedly.

  “Well, the way you’ve been complaining, anyone would’ve thought you were turning eighty,” Charley said.

  Dot Morrison, Cass’s friend and mentor, joined them. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I laid my youth to rest years ago and I’m doing great.”

  She was in her usual attire—jeans with an elastic waistband and a sweatshirt. Dot’s sweatshirts always made a statement. The one she was wearing tonight proclaimed, Inside This Hoodie Is a Sexy Woman Trying to Get Out.

  “I like your sweatshirt,” Bailey said to her.

  “I think I need one of those,” Cass said. Oh, no. She shouldn’t encourage Dot.

  “Glad you said that ’cause guess what you’re getting for your birthday.” Dot held up a large gift bag stuffed with black tissue paper.

  Cass dug in and pulled out a replica of Dot’s sweatshirt.

  “Ha! I love it,” said Charley. “Put it on.”

  Why not? She was only wearing a T-shirt. It would get nippy once the sun went down.

  “That’s you, Mom,” called Amber after she’d donned it.

  “We all think you’re sexy,” Cass’s b
est buddy, Samantha, said with a grin. “Maybe not in that sweatshirt, though.”

  “I don’t know. I think it’s me,” Cass said and struck a pinup-girl pose.

  She looked across the sea of heads and saw Grant watching her. Suddenly she felt silly and self-conscious. He saluted her with his wineglass and she braved out her embarrassment by blowing him a kiss.

  People began to move toward the refreshment table, but both Samantha and Charley stayed next to her. “Okay,” Samantha said. “Is it my imagination or is he checking you out?”

  “It’s your imagination,” Cass replied.

  “Right. The party’s barely started and you two are already shooting enough sparks to light the flames in the fire pit,” said Charley.

  “Well, you’d have to be dead not to be attracted to your father-in-law. But he hasn’t made a move. I think his libido’s stuck in Park.”

  “He thinks he’s too old for you,” Charley informed her.

  “How old is he?”

  “Sixty-two.”

  “Seriously?” He looked more like fifty-two.

  Cass did the math. Sixteen years. Yes, there was an age difference between them. But so what? There’d been a big age difference between Celine Dion and her husband, and look how happy they’d been. Until he died.

  But everyone died. Grant’s wife had, and she couldn’t have been that old. So really, what did it matter what age you were? It was your attitude toward life that counted, right? Anyway, Cass liked older men. And she liked one older man in particular.

  “That is kind of old,” Samantha said.

  “Yeah,” said Cass. “It would be such a drain to wake up every morning and look at George Clooney the Second.”

  “Yeah, if you can’t have Matt Damon, you may as well take George.” Charley grinned. “I say go for it. He’s a nice man and he’s more fit than most forty-year-olds.”

  “You don’t have to convince me,” Cass said.

  Obviously, the person who needed convincing was Grant.

  With the appetizers consumed, it was now time for dinner, which consisted of a pizza buffet, with every imaginable variation of Cass’s favorite food laid out. In addition to that, people had brought various kinds of salads, as well as desserts. Glutton heaven. There would be no dieting tonight.

  After dinner, Charley insisted that Cass open her presents. It was a haul, everything from bath salts and lotions to bottles of wine and, of course, Sweet Dreams chocolates from the Sterling family.

  “Thanks, everyone. You sure are making this aging thing less painful,” Cass said with a smile.

  “It’s only a number,” Dot said.

  “Okay, time for cake and champagne,” Charley announced. “And sparkling cider,” she added. “For those of us who are underage. Or pregnant.”

  “Or both,” Dot cracked.

  “Don’t look at me,” Amber said in mock horror.

  There were plenty of toasts. From Dot, “You’re only as old as you act. So keep acting like you’re thirty, kiddo.” From Dan, “Live long and prosper.” From Muriel, “The best years are still to come.”

  “Hear, hear,” said Dot. “Just remember. Every year is a gift. Take it and live it to the max.”

  “We love you, Mom,” said Dani.

  Cass teared up as everyone raised their glasses. She had great kids, great friends and a good life. She was truly blessed.

  Dan got a bonfire going in the fire pit, and Charley brought out a karaoke machine. Dot was convinced to go first and rendered a terrifying version of “You Make Me Feel Like a Natural Woman” that left her daughter, Tilda, the cop, threatening to arrest her for ear torture in the first degree. Dan and his brother rapped out “Baby Got Back,” followed by an encore performance of “YMCA.” Samantha and Cecily sang “Honey, I’m Good,” and what they lacked in musical talent, they made up for in cuteness. The performances went on, with the partiers slaughtering songs by Dolly Parton, Adele and Bruno Mars.

  Cass managed to avoid making a fool of herself until Charley insisted the birthday girl do a number.

  “No way,” she said.

  “Oh, yes. Way.” Charley grabbed her hand and dragged her up. “How about a duet?”

  “I’ll sing with you, too,” Cecily said and joined them.

  After much consulting, they decided on “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” It was almost as bad as Dot’s performance. No one cared. The others roared their approval.

  “Encore, encore,” shouted Dan.

  “Oh, here’s one,” Charley said, looking through the list of songs. Next thing Cass knew, she was singing “I Want to Dance with Somebody,” and Charley had pulled Grant up and stuck him between them. Very subtle. But she braved it out, crooning to him while Charley hammed it up on his other side.

  “Speaking of dancing,” said Charley. “Let’s do some before I run out of energy.”

  Cass was a year older now. She didn’t have time to waste being coy. Charley had started playing Maroon 5’s “Animals,” and Cass took Grant by the hand. “Come on—I want to dance with somebody.” Somebody who loves me. Tonight she’d settle for like.

  He reluctantly joined her on the patio and made a halfhearted attempt while she danced around him. The music slowed as Cass played a Jake O’Brien song, “Here for You,” and he tried to escape.

  She caught his arm, saying, “I don’t think so. You barely danced on that last song.”

  “What do you want to be dancing with an old guy for, anyway?”

  “Where? I don’t see one.”

  “How old are you now?”

  “Old enough to know what I want.”

  “What do you want?”

  Maybe it was time she let him know. Go big or go home. She pressed closer. “I bet you can guess.”

  He put some distance between them. “Behave yourself, young lady.”

  “I’m not a lady, and I don’t qualify for the young club anymore.”

  “I think they’ll still let you in.”

  “You’re not so old yourself.”

  “Almost old enough to be your father.”

  “I’m not looking for a father.”

  He sobered. “What are you looking for, Cass?”

  The song ended and “I’m a Believer” by the Monkees began to play.

  “I love this song,” she said and started to sing along as they left the improvised dance floor.

  “I bet you weren’t even born when those guys were making records. You do know what a record is, don’t you?”

  “Ha-ha. Vinyl is back.”

  They wandered over to a couple of camp chairs placed near the fire pit and settled in to watch little Serena Goodman and Petey roasting marshmallows under Muriel’s careful supervision. Interesting (and encouraging) that Grant and Muriel weren’t all over each other. By all rights they should’ve been. Two beautiful people... Maybe Grant was jaded when it came to beautiful women and was ready for someone...interesting.

  Cass wasn’t sure she’d qualify as interesting, but she was sure she felt something zipping between them, a sort of sexual force field. May the force be with you.

  Griffin was taking pictures of the kids now, Matt by her side, and Matt was studying his dad thoughtfully. Grant actually squirmed in his chair.

  “I don’t want a lot,” Cass said softly. “Someone to hang out with, fill the empty nest with some conversation.”

  “That’s all?”

  No, she wanted the whole dream. She wanted to get married and live happily ever after. Have someone in bed with her who had two legs instead of four and a five-o’clock shadow on his chin. She wanted someone to sit on the couch beside her and watch movies, someone to take a hike up Lost Bride Trail. She wanted to see the legendary ghost of the Lost Bride, every woman’s lucky love c
harm.

  Spilling all that would probably be the equivalent of saying “By the way, I have a social disease.” Except she hadn’t been social enough all these years to catch anything. Did the equipment even work anymore?

  “I’m not propositioning you, Grant.” Actually, she was. “I like you and I think maybe you like me and, well...” Darn it all, man up and say something. Don’t make me do all the work here.

  “You need a man who can go the distance.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You can’t manage that?”

  His cheeks flushed. “I mean in life.”

  “Okay, how about we do the friend thing? We are becoming friends, right?”

  “I’d like to think so.”

  “How about becoming friends with benefits? I always wanted to kiss George Clooney,” she cracked. “But I’d settle for you.”

  She leaned forward but he didn’t meet her halfway. “Not a good idea. I’m working for you.”

  “Okay, then. You’re fired.”

  “Nice try. I’m not leaving until I finish your back deck.”

  “Hurry up and finish. I’m not getting any younger.”

  Wrong thing to say. The age joke made him frown. “Me neither.”

  Todd Black, Bailey’s husband, came up to them. “Come on, Cass—salsa with me. Let’s heat it up for your birthday.”

  She wanted to heat it up. With Grant. Obviously, that was one birthday present she wouldn’t be getting. He’d given her a box of chocolates and the card had been signed simply, “Your handyman.” She wished he really was hers.

  When it came to dancing, there was no one better than Todd. Well, except Jonathan Templar, who had married and moved away and now only came to town for holidays and summer vacations. What the heck. She probably wasn’t going to get another dance out of Grant, and things had definitely cooled off here by the fire.

  She went with Todd and did her best to keep up. It was fun. The whole party was fun. It would’ve been even more fun if someone would get over his age bias.

  * * *

  “You’ve taken enough pictures of everyone else,” Matt said to Griffin, snatching the camera out of her hand. “Make a s’more and I’ll take yours.”

  He was turning her into a total pig. She’d already had pizza and half a piece of cake.