by Cate Masters
Yeah, the good old days. Or were they? Carter had been a bit more selfish then. Driven, success his only goal. “Guess his tunnel vision’s cured now. Did you want something?” Other than information?
A laugh, then Shotsie sang, “Oh, tunnel vision.” Confused, she stopped. “No, that’s not right.”
“Double Vision?” she suggested.
“Yes.” Her face fell. “I never did like that song. No soul.”
“I agree.” No sense asking again what she wanted. The woman would order when she remembered.
Frowning, she read the blackboard menu hanging from the ceiling behind the counter. “So many choices. When did ordering coffee get so complicated?”
When had life? “I bet you’d love this weekend’s special—Columbian with cinnamon.”
Shotsie nodded. “Mmmm. Does it have nutmeg?”
Why not? She’d add sprinkles if it would move her along. “Sure does.”
“Then I’ll have a large. To go.” She wrinkled her nose. “I have a guitar lesson soon. Don’t say anything, but the Wiley boy could practice until his fingers bled, and his poor guitar would still make a noise like a dying moose. But he’s a sweetheart. I gotta give him points for persistence.”
She didn’t have to force a smile this time. “My lips are sealed. Want any whipped cream?”
After singing the chorus to the song, My Lips Are Sealed, she shook her head. “Oh, I used to love the Go Gos. Whatever happened to girl bands? I should have started one. And yes, a dollop please.”
She gave a generous squirt of cream. “You should coach some Bliss girls into forming one.”
Shotsie stared, eyes wide. “My God, girl. You are brilliant. Two of my students would be perfect. But they both play guitar.”
“Why not put up a poster—seeking female drummer and keyboard player for new band.” She handed over the cup. “Two fifty, please.”
The woman smacked her temple. “Genius, I’m telling you. Why are you a barrista—a wonderful one, don’t get me wrong—when you could be making a fortune in marketing?”
Embarrassed, she wiped the counter. “I just like helping people. Fortunes tend to corrupt people. I’ll be happy if my business breaks even.” At a noise behind the other woman, she turned then froze. When had Carter come in?
Her upper lip sporting a moustache of whipped cream, Shotsie drew him into a bear hug. “Carter. How’ve you been, babe? You still practicing your guitar?”
“Not in a long time.” Grabbing a napkin, he handed it to the music teacher. “You have a little, uh….” His finger circled his mouth.
She dabbed it away and laughed. “Sierra makes such delicious coffees, I can’t resist. Geez, I haven’t paid yet. I’m sorry.” She rummaged in her jacket pocket and laid down a five dollar bill. “Put the change in Jack’s fund. Oh gosh, I’m going to be late.” With a wave, she hurried off.
In the awkward silence, Sierra regretted her leaving.
Carter leaned closer. “Fortunes don’t corrupt everyone.” His grin faded.
She rang up the earlier drink order and put the money in the cash register. “No. Of course not. I didn’t mean it how it sounded.”
“Right, I know.”
Then why did he look unconvinced? “So. Anything catch your fancy?”
“Yeah.” He stared at her, all traces of humor gone from his dark eyes, replaced by tenderness. And longing.
Caught up in the moment, she murmured, “What?” Say it. If she could hear him tell her—how much he missed her, how much he wanted her—maybe it would drown out years of listening to Ted tell her how worthless she was. Well, she wouldn’t be worthless after her business launch. Then why did she still hear Ted saying Carter would never have married her anyway?
A shadow loomed behind Carter. Skip Wiley, still as tall and lanky as he was in their high school days. “Carter?”
He blinked, and broke the connection. “Skip, hey buddy.”
While they chatted, she busied herself straightening the collection jug, the rack holding packets of trail mix and chocolates, anything to avoid eye contact. She looked past them when the Andersons shuffled in, then Oren. Someone brought up Jack’s operation and they all spoke at once.
She waved the counter rag. “Hey, anyone ordering?”
Everyone turned her way and Oren held up a finger. “In a minute.”
A signal for everyone to launch into the conversation again—everyone but Carter, who held her gaze, the only two people motionless and silent in a wave of commotion. Like being on a merry-go-round and staring at the person beside you. Only this was no fun.
Someone clasped his shoulder and said how great, really great, he was.
She drew in a ragged breath. No need for that reminder. She’d been trying to forget.
Chapter Five
Carter never saw a man so nervous as Oren. The poor guy couldn’t sit until Dr. Rainey emerged into the veterinary practice waiting room.
He shot from his seat. “Jack’s all right?”
“He came through like a champ. The operation went smoothly and I expect him to make a full recovery, but we’ll have to keep an eye on him for a few days.”
“I understand.” He hugged her. “Thank you.”
She patted his back. “He’s still under sedation, but you can see him in a few minutes. An assistant will escort you back.” The vet turned to Carter and nodded. “Welcome home, Carter.”
Taken by surprise at her greeting, he said only, “Thanks,” as she disappeared into the hallway again.
Oren sank onto a seat. “It’s over.”
He sat beside him. “Good news.”
The man heaved a breath. “The best. It means we’ll be on the road soon.”
“You’re not staying? There’s nothing like Christmas in Bliss. And the Winter Festival’s always a crowd pleaser. A good way to send out the old year.” Man, when had he become the Bliss spokesman? But he spoke from the heart; he couldn’t wait for the holidays. That year, they promised to hold memories he’d want to keep.
“No,” Oren said. “It’ll be too cold for us here by then.”
“How do you know?” The weather had remained unusually mild for so late in the season.
Long legs stretched out before him, he said, “I got a sense for these things. Anyway, Jack and I always head toward home when there’s a blue moon.”
“Why?”
“It’s a tradition we have. The blue moon’s a time of second chances.” Two full moons in one month had to be magical, at least. He bumped elbows with Carter. “For everyone.”
“Good to know.” Too bad second chances had nothing to do with the moon. “So where’s home?”
“Tennessee. With any luck, we should be able to get there by the end of December, when the next blue moon is due.” He smiled. “Just in time for your Winter Festival.”
“Really.” Interesting. Same as the last time he’d gone to Winter Festival, a night made magical by the full, dazzlingly luminous moon. And Sierra.
He leaned over. “You never know what’ll happen during a blue moon.”
Carter chuckled. “That’s superstition.”
“Is it?” His inscrutable smile widened. “I know a few people who believe chances only happen once in a blue moon. Especially second chances.”
A veterinary assistant appeared. “You can come back now.”
He bolted from the chair and down the hall.
At least someone got his wish. “Blue moon,” Carter muttered with a chuckle. Where had he heard that belief before? Sure, the saying was familiar enough. But not that nonsense about second chances.
Weird. When Oren said it though, it sounded true.
***
One week later
Their conversation stuck with Carter all week. He couldn’t shake the eerie feeling of Oren’s prediction when everyone gathered in the gas station at the edge of town. December’s chill tinged the air, and Jack sat beside Oren, who glanced longingly toward the Appalachian Trail.
The dog had recovered enough to leave, but hadn’t regained enough strength to walk the distance. Carter tracked down a trucker online who was willing, for a small fee, to give Oren and Jack a ride all the way to Tennessee.
With tears in his eyes, Oren stroked the dog’s head. “Jack and I are forever grateful to you all. Bliss has been so good to us. We’ll be back to visit next year.”
He hugged Dr. Rainey, who stood closest, then made his way through the crowd until he’d thanked everyone personally.
Sierra and Oren’s embrace lasted a beat longer than Carter would have liked, but Oren drew him into a bear hug, too.
“Wish I could be here for the blue moon.” Oren grinned. “It’s going to be something special.”
“Take care of yourselves.” Carter patted the German shepherd’s head. Because of the dog’s intimidating size, he didn’t have to reach far but didn’t hesitate because its eyes held such intelligence. And for a crazy second, Carter swore Jack conveyed thankfulness in his soulful stare.
Oren leaned in. “You take care of each other.” Winking, he reached for his backpack filled with donated food, both human and canine. He hoisted it up from the sidewalk, and shoved it inside the cab of the semi.
More gently, he lifted Jack and set him on the seat, then climbed in. With a lurch, the tractor trailer headed south, Oren waving out the window.
Carter watched alongside Sierra, acutely aware of her nearness, one of those special moments he’d love to pull her closer to share more intimately. He’d do it if it weren’t for the photographer who turned his lens away from Oren and Jack to him. Something told him the guy was not a photojournalist but paparazzi for some rag that followed Unhappy Housewives.
Shotsie sang, “Happy trails to you.” Then raised her takeout cup in farewell. “There they go, on the long and winding road.” She turned to Carter. “Thanks to you.”
“Thanks to us all,” Sierra said.
Shaking her head, Shotsie trudged away. “I’m going to miss them.”
“I already miss them.” A tear streaked Mrs. Anderson’s face.
Her husband slung his arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “They’ll be fine. He promised to send postcards with updates.”
Rainey Ridinger paused on her way to her SUV. “You did good, Carter.”
“Everyone did.” He couldn’t take all the credit. He’d just given the final push.
She gave him a sidelong look. “Admit it. It feels good to know you helped them. We gave Oren back what he most needed.”
“Oren should get a job,” Carter said half-heartedly. “Become part of society like everyone else.” As soon as he said it, he regretted it, unable to imagine Oren working a regular job without being utterly miserable.
“Don’t judge him. You don’t know what he’s been through. Jack is everything to him.”
She was right. The man lived his life by his own code, the way he wanted; Carter had no right to criticize. Envy, more like. The light in the homeless man’s face when his dog looked into his eyes and woofed proved some things ranked higher in value than money. A hole inside Carter said he’d nearly missed out on something special again.
He didn’t intend to miss out anymore.
“Anyway,” she said with an air of triumph, “I stashed some money in his backpack in case some unexpected needs popped up.”
“That was really nice.” He didn’t add that he’d done the same. It felt surprisingly good to help pay for Jack’s operation, so much so, he’d pressed another few hundred into Oren’s palm after leaving the vet’s office. Only when Carter insisted it would help pay for Jack’s needed supplies did Oren accept.
“It’s colder today.” Something else lingered in the air, a crisp lightness, almost like happiness.
She hugged herself. “Yes. I hope Oren and Jack get home safely.”
“They’ll be fine. They have a full ride home. And they have each other.”
She shot him an undecipherable look.
“Maybe we’ll get that freeze for the festival.” Maybe Oren’s prediction would hold true, and Carter was beginning to believe it would.
“I doubt the lake will ice over in time,” she said with a hint of disappointment.
Did she hope for a blue moon over the frozen lake, like he did? He did his best to imitate Oren’s mysterious smile. “Never say never.”
“You’re very cryptic today.” She scrutinized him with suspicion. “Don’t you have to go back to work?”
“I told you, my office is virtual. I can work anywhere, even at The Sweet Spot.”
“Stop it.”
“I’m serious, it’s a great place for a virtual office. I’ll keep up with my workload, and not bother you. Except for coffee and an occasional muffin.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’m trying hard to be the opposite.” Very, very possible. The only possibility, in fact.
Shaking her head, she strode off to the shop.
A quick glance toward the photographer gave him pause. The guy had positioned himself to keep both Carter and Sierra in his lens frame.
Stepping out of his line of view, Carter followed her at a more leisurely pace, pausing at his car to retrieve his computer. After the photographer drove off, he followed her inside, sat in the booth closest to the counter, and opened the laptop.
Rather than checking e-mail, he searched for Rosalie’s contact information. A Web site popped up, very basic and in need of some pizzazz. He could fix that.
Finding what he needed, he dialed her number. “Hey, it’s Carter. You have to help me.”
“Hello to you, too,” she said with a laugh. “How am I supposed to help you?”
He checked Sierra’s whereabouts and found her by the window talking to a customer. Still, he kept his voice low. “I need to learn a song on the guitar. I’ll ask Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien if I can play it at their shop some Friday night, right after your set ends.”
“Oh, Carter, you’re killing me.”
“I’m the one who’s dying. I’ll do anything to get her back,” he admitted. Camping out in the shop hadn’t won her over.
“You think playing her one song will convince her?” Rosalie’s doubt came through loud and clear.
“Yes. No. I mean, it has to. She used to listen to me try for hours, and I always messed it up. So if I can play it once perfectly, she’ll know I spent a long time learning it. For her.”
“Wow.” Rosalie blew raspberries. “You make it hard to say no.”
“Then don’t.” He waited for her answer.
She exhaled audibly. “All I have to do is show you the chords?”
“Exactly. I’d never ask you to stick around and torture you with my practicing.”
“Okay. But I bear no responsibility for your failure, with the song or with Sierra.”
Boo ya! “Think positive, Rosalie.”
“I am positive. Positive she’s going to kill us both.”
He tried to project confidence. “No chance. She’s too sweet. One of the things I love about her.”
“You really do, don’t you?”
“For a long time, yeah. This time, I want everything to be perfect.”
She sighed. “Oh, sweetie, perfection is sooo boring.”
Maybe after a few decades, it might get old. “What’s your schedule like? Are you free any time soon?” Carter’s internal radar went on high alert. Sierra strolled by and shot him a questioning glance.
“Today, actually,” Rosalie said. “Can you be at my place at four?”
Carter jotted the address. “See you then.”
She doubled back and stopped to refill his coffee. “Were you talking to Rosalie?”
“Why do you ask?”
She held the coffee pot like she was ready to hit him with it. “I thought I heard you say her name.”
Had he? He’d tried to avoid saying it out loud. “So, eavesdropping, eh?”
She drew herself tall. “No, of course not. I can’t help
it if I have to serve customers nearby.”
He nodded slowly. “No problem.”
She rested a hand on her hip. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
“Not until this afternoon. Thanks for the coffee.” He raised the cup. “Freezing outside.” Wish it would heat up inside.
She shrugged. “It is December, after all.”
“Right. Time to wrap up old business.” At her confused look, he added, “I have to go out of town for a few days. But I’ll be back, and I’ll need to go shopping for presents, and it’s about time I got some new clothes. Hey, want to help?”
“Oh my God.” She shuffled to the front counter like a zombie.
A little time, that’s all she needs. Then she’d warm to the idea of him being around, and hopefully to him. The way the temperatures had plummeted, he could use some warmth. According to the forecast, the freeze would continue. Not that he minded. It meant they’d hold the Bliss Winter Festival at the lake.
The way things had been going, it fit perfectly. And blue moon or not, he’d be ready.
***
Shopping for presents? New clothes? What did it all mean? Sierra moved mechanically through the shop, filling half-empty coffee cups to the rim, shuffling from table to table, avoiding the booth Carter normally occupied. Where was he today?
“Sweetie.” Shotsie’s gravelly voice penetrated the fog in her mind, and drew her back to the table.
“Sorry, what?”
“I had saffron tea, not coffee.” Shotsie frowned at the cup. “On second thought, I only ordered it because Donovan’s song is stuck in my head.”
Carafe in hand, she waited for more information.
By way of explanation, Shotsie sang, “I’m just wild about Saffron. She’s just wild about me.”
“Oh right. Donovan.” One of her mom’s favorite singers from the sixties.
Shotsie chuckled. “You poor baby. You have it bad, don’t you?”
She gulped. “I’m fine.”
“Love’s a killer sometimes.”
Love? She’d tried her best to put Carter out of her head, but ever since he’d shown up, she couldn’t think of anyone but him. How he’d stayed in Bliss. But was he the same guy she’d fallen in love with in high school? Or the one who knew how to manipulate people to his advantage—the successful business executive who personified wealth and power?
