Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Hercules rescued Libbie Stark from a nightmare that involved her car careening off a cliff. She wasn’t sure why she bothered to set the alarm when the Irish Setter nudged her awake every morning at seven. Never mind that the dog could easily make his desire for the great outdoors known to Chris, who was undoubtedly already downstairs with a hot cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal. Libbie knew her boyfriend would’ve gladly slept until noon each day in the summer if his body clock would allow it. As a P.E. teacher at the local high school, though, he was too accustomed to early rising.
Libbie peeled off the covers and reluctantly left the comfort of her cocoon. “Just don’t pee on the carpet, I beg you.”
Hercules had far too much exuberance for a ten-year-old dog, as far as she was concerned. She made her way down the staircase, careful not to trip. Even at his age, the dog had a habit of zipping in front of her on the steps when she least expected it.
She arrived in the kitchen to find Chris hunched over a plate of scrambled eggs. Not cereal today, then. She glanced at the pan still on the stovetop, knowing perfectly well she’d find it empty. She was the professional chef in the house, which somehow meant that Chris only cooked for himself and not for her.
“Hey, sunshine,” she said when he failed to acknowledge her.
Chris grunted in response. He wasn’t a morning person—not an issue for Libbie most of the year because he was out the door first, followed by her kids leaving for school. Weather permitting, she’d sit outside with a cup of coffee, Hercules at her feet, and listen to the birds chirping before she headed to work. If she were lucky, she’d spot a red cardinal, her favorite. Interesting that, in the animal kingdom, beauty tended to be the hallmark of males, unlike the human world where women were prized for their looks. One of the things Chris had told her when they’d first met was that he liked that she didn’t try too hard like other women. Even now, Libbie wasn’t entirely sure what he’d meant. She’d smiled and nodded, as though she understood, and he’d bought her a funnel cake at the carnival. She’d eaten it, dusting powdered sugar down the front of her dress.
Libbie opened the door to the backyard, and the dog bolted past her into the summer sunshine.
“You might want to watch him,” Chris said. “There was another rabbit in your garden this morning.”
Libbie peered outside at her neglected herb garden. She knew she had to make more time for it, but it seemed to slide further and further down the list of priorities. At least the rabbits were enjoying it.
She poured a cup of coffee and was relieved to see there was enough for a full cup. Small mercies.
“Your kids are still asleep,” Chris said in an accusatory tone.
“I figured.”
“You should probably wake them.”
Libbie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Her kids worked all summer long, whereas Chris spent the summer fishing and doing whatever he pleased. It would be fine if they weren’t strapped for cash, but Chris was always on her about not wasting money to the point where Libbie worried they’d end up living paycheck-to-paycheck if they weren’t careful. She didn’t understand how money could’ve gotten so tight. She was a frugal shopper by nature, too afraid to spend unless there was a sale, and she’d been very conservative when she’d refinanced the mortgage after her divorce. Then again, two growing teenagers weren’t cheap.
“It’s Fourth of July weekend,” she said. “Let them sleep. They’ll be busy enough later.”
Sixteen-year-old Josh worked as a lifeguard at the lake for Club Cloverleaf. The lake and pools would be packed this weekend with seasonal renters, as well as the locals out in full force. Thirteen-year-old Courtney would be complaining of a sore arm after scooping ice cream all afternoon at Cone Hut, her father’s business. Libbie and Nick had divorced four years ago. Thankfully, the split had been amicable. Libbie avoided conflict as much as humanly possible; it made her too uncomfortable.
Chris slurped his coffee, a habit Libbie secretly hated. It reminded her of Josh when he was a little boy, sucking every drop of chocolate milk out of the carton. The comparison wasn’t flattering.
She grabbed a banana muffin from the plastic container on the counter. She and Courtney had baked them two days ago, and they’d retained their fresh taste.
“Are you going around the lake before work?” Chris asked.
Libbie joined him at the table. “Just the short route. I want to get there a little early today and try to talk to Joe again about my ideas.”
Libbie had been working up the nerve to broach the subject of menu changes with her boss for almost a year now. Business wasn’t exactly booming, and Libbie knew from town gossip that the menu was part of the problem. Unfortunately, Joe Romano was set in his ways. He liked his menu to reflect his personal taste in food and nothing else, which would be fine if his tastes weren’t so bland. Even the name of the restaurant was bland. Basecamp was for mountain climbers or astronauts, not foodies.
Chris sucked the remaining milk from the bowl. “If you’re serious about losing weight, you need to do more than paddle around the lake in a kayak. You should think about what you’re eating and drinking too. There’s a lot of sugar in those cocktails of yours.”
Libbie bristled at the jab. Chris disliked her Friday night cocktail club. He couldn’t understand why she chose to spend one night a week with her girlfriends when she could be home on the couch with him, watching whatever show he deemed worthy of their time and attention. Libbie had been a member of the cocktail club long before Chris Pennington had come around, however, and she had no intention of leaving it.
“I’m sure you’re right,” she said, unwilling to argue. Arguing created tension, and tension made Libbie anxious. She shouldn’t have mentioned the stubborn ten pounds she wanted to lose. Now he’d raise the topic at inopportune moments, like in the middle of a party or at a restaurant in front of the waiter. Are you sure you want dessert? he’d say, just as she was pointing to the chocolate mousse on the menu. Then he’d order a slice of pie for himself because, of course, he didn’t need to contend with hormonal changes in middle age. At least not the kind that created a spare tire. Chris was in good shape and he knew it.
Libbie finished her muffin and coffee and let the dog in before hurrying upstairs to change. Kayaking during the summer months was a little tricky because Lake Cloverleaf was more crowded, even in the mornings. Libbie had to be mindful of boats and Jet Skis as she made her way along the perimeter of the clover-shaped lake.
She sauntered across the street and through the neighbor’s yard to her kayak. Her house wasn’t lakefront but the Seymours’ was, and they’d been letting her use their property as a cut-through since she’d moved in fifteen years ago. Of course, she and Nick had been married then with a one-year-old, not that it mattered. June and Trent Seymour were the kind of neighbors everyone wanted and few were fortunate enough to have.
Libbie made her way past their bl
ooming azaleas to the shaded spot where her kayak waited. The red paint was chipped in places, but it was in otherwise excellent condition, despite years of regular use. She hated when the weather changed and it became too cold to enjoy the lake. Kayaking was more than exercise for Libbie; it was her time to think without interruption. She used it the way other people used yoga, as a way to self-reflect and calm herself before facing the rest of her day. She dreaded the winter months when she was confined indoors most of the time.
Libbie settled into the kayak and tilted her head back, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. Thanks to her pale skin and freckles, she made sure her sunscreen had the maximum SPF. Her great-grandmother had lost her nose to skin cancer, something Libbie very much hoped to avoid.
As she paddled, she rehearsed her speech to Joe, saying the words out loud to hear how they sounded. Oftentimes, she lost her nerve when she needed to broach a difficult subject and suffered in silence, but she was determined to persevere today. Meatloaf and chicken parm were fine as staples, but it wouldn’t kill him to draw in more customers with slightly edgier fare. At forty-eight years old, she’d grown tired of cooking the same dishes day in and day out. She was ready for a new challenge.
Libbie limited her circuit to one ‘leaf’ of the lake and cut across the middle to return to the Seymours’ yard. She could tell from the number of boats already on the water that it was going to be a busy weekend.
As she crossed the road back to her house, she spotted her ex-husband in the driveway. Nick turned toward the sound of her feet crunching on the gravel.
“I should’ve known,” he said, smiling. Nick was a nice guy when they’d married and was still a nice guy, even after the divorce. Their marriage, however, had been a mistake from the beginning, and the birth of their two children didn’t change that fact. Libbie had been eager to create her own family as a means of escape from her situation, and Nick had been willing to take the plunge. They’d parted as friends, and he’d moved two streets over to make shared custody easier. Libbie wasn’t the least bit surprised when he met and married a younger woman. Nick and Olivia had a toddler named Harry.
Nick gestured to the blue bicycle leaning against the front step. “I fixed Josh’s tires so he can ride to work today.”
“Thanks.” Libbie was hopeless when it came to fixing anything.
“Big plans for the Fourth?” He snapped his fingers. “That’s right. You’ve got your sister’s party this weekend.”
“Technically, it’s my parents’ party. They just happen to be using Emily’s birthday as an excuse.” Libbie’s younger sister was turning forty-four, and her parents were hosting a party tomorrow evening. Libbie was looking forward to the party the same way she looked forward to her annual pap smear. As much as she adored her sister, she couldn’t tolerate her parents more than a couple hours, and even that was pushing it.
Nick shrugged. “If nothing changes, nothing changes.” He knew her family history better than anyone. Better than her own children, really, because she tried to protect them from the complexities of family dynamics. Libbie’s relationship with her parents was hers to bear.
“Can you make sure the kids both shower before they show up?” Libbie asked. It was Nick’s weekend with the kids and Hercules, but he’d agreed to drop off the kids at her parents’ house in time for the party. As far as custody arrangements went, theirs was pretty congenial.
“I’ll do my best, but you know they’re both stubborn these days.”
“Josh will have been out in the sun all day, and Courtney will be covered in sticky ice cream.”
Nick grinned. “I’m aware. I stand by my statement.”
Libbie couldn’t risk the kids showing up a mess. Her mother would have plenty to say about that. “Just drop them off here and I’ll take care of it.”
Nick ambled along the driveway. “Whatever you want. Make sure they’re ready on time today, though. It’s going to be busy, and I can’t afford to be late opening up.”
“I know.”
Libbie dashed inside and roused the kids before showering. By the time she rushed out of the house for work, she’d practiced her speech to Joe about twenty times since getting out of bed.
Unfortunately, the drive that normally took half an hour to Basecamp took forty-five minutes, thanks to holiday weekend traffic and an accident that blocked the backroad leading to neighboring Meadowbrook. The stress of the drive was enough to negate the sense of calm that kayaking had provided. Agitated, Libbie hustled into the restaurant. Instead of being early, she was now late.
“You need to plan better,” Joe said, as she raced toward the kitchen.
I can’t plan for accidents, Libbie thought. To her boss she only said, “I know. I’m sorry. There was an accident. Probably someone trying to make a left on Waltham.” It had always been a problem spot.
He followed her into the kitchen. “I thought you wanted to talk to me.”
Libbie’s mind went blank. She was too anxious to think straight. “It’s about the menu.” That much she could express.
A deep crease formed across his brow. “What about it?” The older man’s tone was sharp. Immediately, she was back in sixth grade with Mr. Mason standing over her in gym class, berating her for doing pushups on her knees.
“I…I thought maybe we could change things up a bit,” Libbie stammered as she slipped her white apron over her head. “I have some ideas.”
Joe folded his arms. “Ideas? I don’t need to change anything. Everything is fine as it is.”
“Oh, I wasn’t suggesting otherwise.” Only the customers were doing that. “I just thought we could try something new, as an experiment. See how customers respond.”
What had happened to her carefully rehearsed speech? This sounded nothing like it.
“If you want to experiment, do it in your own kitchen on your own time. Now get moving. You know I don’t tolerate lateness.” Joe turned on his heel and marched out of the kitchen.
Libbie felt as though all the air had been sucked from her lungs.
“I don’t know why you bother,” Luis said. The porter returned his attention to peeling potatoes. “Joe’s an ass. He’ll never change and that includes his lame menu.”
Libbie stared at the counter, the words she’d painstakingly planned flooding back to her. There was no point in remembering now. She’d blown her chance.
“The ground beef’s ready,” Luis said.
Of course it was. Another day, another meatloaf.
Libbie pressed her fingers to her temples. It was going to be a long day.
Friday night cocktail club couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter Two
Libbie parked on the street near her friend Inga’s house and rushed to the front door. Thanks to her difficult boss, she was half an hour late for cocktail club and hadn’t had time to go home and shower. She knew she smelled like beef and onion. She also knew her friends would understand. If there was one thing this group could do, it was make Libbie feel better about what bothered her. She was safe with these women and she knew it.
Inga Paulsen was an eighty-five-year-old firecracker of a woman who’d moved to Lake Cloverleaf ten years ago from California. She’d lived all over the world, had buried three husbands, and drank and swore like the proverbial sailor. While the other women in the club were in various stages of midlife, Inga had been there, done that, and grew no f*cks in her field. Libbie and her friends had often commented that they wanted to be Inga when they grew up, especially Libbie who envied the older woman’s sharp tongue and quick wit. She’d once seen Inga berate a mechanic who’d tried to overcharge her. Libbie had watched, dumbstruck, as Inga walked away with a lower bill and her dignity intact. Six months later, Libbie had remembered that moment when she was overcharged for a tire rotation, but she’d found herself slinking away in silent humiliation, instead of standing her ground the way Inga had.
“Sorry I’m late,” Libbie called. She hurried through the foye
r with its mismatched antique furniture and back to the kitchen where she assumed the others had congregated. She found them gathered outside on the deck where Inga had installed a bar. By herself, of course, using slabs of reclaimed wood she’d acquired from a local lumberyard and a toolbox that looked older than she did. Inga didn’t need an ex-husband to fix bicycles. She was handy enough to do it herself.
“You’re here.” Kate Golden crossed the deck and greeted Libbie with a half hug. Kate and Libbie had been best friends since seventh grade, when they’d bonded over their shared love of the band Duran Duran. Libbie had always admired her friend’s confidence and poise and wasn’t at all surprised when Kate started her own business as a life coach. She even had her own YouTube channel and a list of clients from around the world. It helped that Kate had the poise and beauty of a movie star. Throughout their lives, Kate had longed for an interesting life, one filled with different experiences. She’d found a way to make it happen without leaving Lake Cloverleaf, minus the four years she’d spent at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia.
“Traffic is a bitch today,” Inga said from behind the bar, pouring Libbie a drink. “Took me half an hour to find parking.”
“No bartender tonight?” Libbie asked.
“It’s the holiday weekend,” Inga said. “I had to elbow my way through the liquor store for supplies. A bartender was out of the question.”
“I prefer when it’s just us anyway,” Libbie said. She felt more comfortable when no one was eavesdropping on their private conversations. Sometimes they shared details of their personal lives that Libbie would hate for others to overhear. She was circumspect about what she shared, of course. She didn’t want anyone to think that she was unhappy, and she knew that was how she sounded when she had a few too many cocktails and started talking more openly about her personal life.
Magic Uncorked: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Midlife Magic Cocktail Club Book 1) Page 1
