The Shop on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #1)

The Shop on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #1) Page 23

Not anymore. I had a continuous stream of customers and I was intermittently busy most days. I needed to thank Jacqueline the next time I saw her. She’d spread the word about the store, and two of her affluent friends had recently stopped by. Despite all her threats to quit the class, she showed up each and every Friday. And Jacqueline’s country club friends had purchased four hundred dollars’ worth of yarn. With big sales like these I didn’t need to worry about making the rent payment, which was one of my biggest concerns when I opened my door.

I wasn’t actually earning enough to pay myself a real salary yet, but I was managing the rent and after less than three months in business, that excited me. My strategy was to live simply and believe in myself.

When I arrived upstairs, I left the smaller windows in the living room open. A gentle breeze filtered through. Whiskers was all over me, weaving between my feet in an effort to attract my undivided attention. I love my cat and he’s excellent company, but there are days I’d like a few moments to myself to unwind. Whiskers’s demands come first, however.

I opened a can of his favorite tuna and set it down. He’s terribly spoiled, but I can’t help it. While Whiskers chowed down on dinner, I sorted through the day’s mail and came upon an envelope with a familiar scrawl. Margaret.

I hesitated before I tore it open. Inside were two thank-you notes, one from each of my nieces, thanking me for the sweaters I’d recently knit. It was the first time they’d formally acknowledged my gifts. In the past I’d often suspected Margaret hadn’t given them the things I made them.

In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have reacted by phoning my sister. Except that our strained relationship showed recent signs of improvement, and I was feeling encouraged. Before I could change my mind, I punched out her telephone number.

At the first ring, I nearly did change my mind and hang up. But I knew she had Caller ID and would immediately contact me and ask why I’d phoned.

Hailey answered on the second ring.

“I got your thank-you note,” I told her.

“Mom said we should write you, but I would have anyway. It’s a cool sweater, Aunt Lydia. I love the colors.”

“I’m glad you like it.” I’d chosen a lime-green yarn and accented the cuffs and button bands with bright orange. It turned out to be really cute, even if I do say so myself.

“Mom’s here,” Hailey said and before I could tell her it wasn’t necessary to interrupt Margaret, my sister was on the line.

“Is everything all right?” she demanded in that gruff unfriendly tone she holds in reserve for me.

“Of course,” I assured her. “I got the note from the girls today and I—”

“You only ever phone if something’s wrong.”

That was categorically untrue but I didn’t want to argue with her. Normally I avoided calling Margaret because the experience was so often unsettling.

“I’m fine, really.” I tried to laugh but it sounded phony.

“Have you seen that handsome UPS driver lately?”

I could feel my face heat up at the mention of Brad. I hadn’t phoned her to talk about him. “He was by the other day.” Instantly I tried to think of something to distract her from the subject of Brad Goetz, and couldn’t.

The UPS driver was as friendly as ever but he no longer asked me out. He knew about my cancer now, and that explained it. I was grateful he didn’t force me to invent plausible-sounding excuses. But when he’d left after his most recent visit, I’d experienced a twinge of regret. That slight but unmistakable sense of loss stayed with me the rest of the afternoon.

“Did you suggest the two of you get together?” Margaret pressed.

“No. I…” That was all I got out before my sister cut me off.

“Why not?”

“I—”

“You keep telling me this shop of yours is an affirmation of life.”

“Yes, I know, but—”

“Well, why don’t you put your money where your mouth is.”

It distressed me that my sister seemed to enjoy harassing me. “It’s my life, Margaret.”

“Life?” She said it scornfully. “What life? All you do is work and knit, which is your work. Oh sure, you visit Mom and have a couple of friends, but—”

It was my turn to cut her off. “I make my own decisions about the men I date.”

Margaret acted as if she hadn’t heard me. “Ask him out for a beer,” she insisted.

“No!”

“Why not?”

I wasn’t sure why I was so adamant. “Because…”

“You’re afraid.”

“All right, I’m afraid,” I almost shouted, “but that doesn’t change anything.”

“Get over it.”

“Oh, Margaret, you make everything seem so easy.”

“Ask him out and don’t call me again until you do.”

“Are you serious?” I couldn’t believe she’d say anything like that to me.

“Dead serious.” She disconnected the phone.

I stared at the receiver a full minute before I stepped away. Margaret could be so dictatorial. My own sister refused to speak to me until I contacted a man she’d only seen once, and briefly at that? Well, she could forget it; I wasn’t giving in. That decided, I went to find something decent for dinner.

Because I feel diet is so important in maintaining a healthy body, I avoid processed foods as much as possible. On occasion I microwave a frozen entrée, but only rarely. I did that evening, however, because my head was spinning. Margaret had said I should invite Brad out for a drink. Okay, so maybe she had my best interests at heart. Maybe, just maybe she was right, and it was time for me to throw caution to the winds. The women in my knitting class seemed to think so, too. But I had no idea how.

At nine, I phoned her back.

Knowing my sister, I half expected her to slam down the receiver but I didn’t give her the chance. “What do I say?” I asked. “I’ve already turned him down twice. Now that he knows I’ve had cancer, he probably isn’t interested. He might tell me no.”

“He might. And I wouldn’t blame him.”

“Thanks for the encouragement,” I muttered under my breath and to my surprise Margaret laughed. Generally not even a stand-up comic can get a response out of my sister. She’s one of those deadpan women born without a funny bone. I had no idea I was so amusing.

“I mean it,” I said.

“You’re actually asking me for help?”

“Yes. If you refuse to talk to me until I make a fool of myself over a man, then the least you can do is tell me how to go about it.”

That shut her up, but not for long.

“Tell him you’ve had a change of heart.”

“Okay.” My voice must have betrayed my lack of confidence.

“Then tell him you think it might be nice for the two of you to have a beer one night if he’s still interested. Offer to buy and then leave the ball in his court.”

That sounded reasonable.

“Are you going to do it?” Margaret asked.

I leaned against the wall, fiddling with my hair. “Yeah,” I said, “I think I will.”

I sounded brave on Friday night, but by Monday morning it was a different story. It would’ve been easier if Brad had come with a delivery later in the week, but he didn’t. As luck would have it, he showed up Monday afternoon when I wasn’t expecting him.

“Hi,” I said. “I don’t usually see you on Mondays.” Now that was a clever remark, I thought with disgust, especially since I’m officially closed on Mondays.

“Not usually,” he said, wheeling the stack of boxes over to the cash register. “How are you doing?”

“Great.” Instantly my mouth went completely dry.

Brad handed me the computerized clipboard, just the way he always did, so I could sign my name. I looked at it as if I’d never seen it before.

“I need a signature,” he said.

Thankfully I was able to manage that much. I glanced down long enough to finish the task and returned the clipboard. Brad smiled and headed out the door.

“Brad,” I called out.

He looked back.

I came out from behind the counter and walked toward him. My mind whirled with everything Margaret had suggested I say and in my eagerness, the words rushed out, stumbling all over themselves. “I’ve had a change of heart, that is, if you’re still interested. If you aren’t, I understand perfectly, and I’m making a complete idiot of myself, and…and let’s have a beer one night. Oh, and I’ll buy. Margaret said I should buy and—”

His eyes widened as he held up one hand. “Whoa.”

I clamped my mouth shut.

“Now start over at the beginning, only slower this time.”

I was convinced my face was brighter than any fire truck in Seattle. “I’ve reconsidered your invitation to meet for a drink after work.”

A smile appeared on his face and I could tell he was pleased. “I’d enjoy that.”

A warm feeling replaced the chill that had left my teeth chattering. “Good.”

“How about Friday night after you close the shop?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

He reached for the cart, whistling on his way back to the truck. A few minutes after he left, I realized I was humming. I had a date!

Hot damn. I had a date. Just wait until Margaret heard about this.

CHAPTER 23

JACQUELINE DONOVAN

J acqueline had her day all planned. She had a nail appointment at nine, followed by lunch with her friends, then major shopping, a few necessary errands and finally home. Tuesday was her busiest day of the week; she arranged it that way on purpose. Preoccupation was the key to forgetting that her husband would be spending part of the night with another woman.

While she was at the mall, she’d make sure she was justly rewarded for turning the other way, although she still had to grit her teeth every time she thought about it.

Just minutes before she planned to leave for the nail salon, the phone rang. For half a moment, she was tempted to ignore it, but then she saw that it was Reese’s cell. Reluctantly she picked up the receiver.

“I need a favor,” her husband said urgently. “I’m in a meeting and I forgot my briefcase at the house.”

“Do you want me to drop it off?” It would mean she’d be late for her nail appointment, but Reese wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary. She intended to spend a good deal of his money that afternoon, so the least she could do was accommodate him.

“Would you, Jacquie? I’d come back for it, but I need it ASAP.”

“I’m on my way.”

He told her where to find it near his desk in the den. Jacqueline went in there and found the briefcase just where he’d said it would be. The den was in Reese’s section of the house and she rarely ventured inside. For a moment, she lingered, trailing her fingers over the perfectly aligned books on the mahogany shelves. On rare occasions Reese smoked a cigar and the scent of rich tobacco and leather was more prominent in this room than anywhere else in the house.