Blossom Street

He scowled, then slowly said, “In other words, I’m not the right man for you, either.”

She nodded. “I should’ve said something earlier, but I didn’t have the courage to let you go. Your friendship’s been really important to me.” She paused to take a deep breath. “I hope you’ll find a woman you’ll have children with. You’ll make a terrific father.” Both Andrew and Annie, who’d met him a number of times, thought the world of him.

“Fine, but I still plan to see you. And call you.” He would, too, especially at first, but when he opened his eyes to other relationships those calls would probably become farther apart. If that happened, it would be hard.

“You were absolutely wonderful for my self-esteem,” she told him, feeling almost tearful. “After Grant left, I was convinced no man would ever find me attractive again.”

“I did,” he said, then added softly, sweetly. “I do.”

“Thank you for that.”

“Will you see other men?” he asked. “Because I’m not going out into the great unknown all by myself.”

Bethanne managed a smile.

“I imagine that, given time, I will,” she said. “But I don’t think I’m ready just yet.” She’d take it slow, get on her feet financially, build her business. That was her first priority, aside from taking care of her children. One thing she’d learned through all of this was that she didn’t need a man in her life. After twenty years as Grant’s wife, she was finding her own identity. That might be a cliché these days, but like all clichés it was based in truth.

Part of that new identity was seeing herself as a businesswoman. Two days earlier, she’d been contacted by a friend of a friend who wanted to know if Bethanne did catering. She didn’t, but she knew someone who did. That conversation gave her an idea. Bethanne was good at organizing parties and social events. So far, all she’d booked were children’s birthday parties, but she wanted to expand, do more, connect with other professionals. The possibilities were endless and would be beneficial for all concerned. She might even end up becoming a wedding consultant. What was a wedding except one big party?

“I’ll date someone else if you will too,” Paul agreed after a lengthy silence.

That was all the assurance Bethanne needed. “I think that would be wise for us both.”

Like a youngster with an assignment, Paul propped his elbows on the table and said, “Any suggestions where to start?”

Bethanne smothered a giggle. “What about your office?”

He shook his head. “Everyone there’s already married.”

“I’ll bet someone you know has offered to set you up with a blind date.”

Paul dismissed that idea with a shake of his head. “No, thanks.”

Bethanne didn’t blame him. “I saw one of those decorator pillows once that read I’ve had so many blind dates I need a Seeing Eye dog.”

They both laughed, but Paul quickly sobered. “I don’t think I’m going to find anyone who can make me laugh the way you do.”

“Well, try,” she challenged, rather than allowing the compliment to sway her.

“What about you?” he asked. “When you decide you’re ready, where are you planning to meet single men? Clubs?”

“Oh, hardly,” she said, dismissing his comment with a wave of her hand. “I don’t have the shoes for it.” He laughed, as she’d wanted him to. “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open. Eventually I’ll meet someone, through a friend or my business or just by chance.”

“But you aren’t looking now?”

“No! Not yet.”

“Maybe you should.” His smile was infectious. He turned, craning his neck to take a good look around the restaurant.

“Paul! You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” he teased. “What about that guy over there—the one with the baseball cap?”

“Paul, stop it,” she hissed, keeping her voice low. “Stop it right this minute. Unless you want me to introduce you to a couple of women.” Turnabout was fair play, so she caught their waitress’s eye. The young woman picked up a coffeepot and brought it over to their table. Her badge said her name was Cindy.

“Hello, Cindy,” Bethanne said warmly. “This is Paul. He’s single and available.”

Cindy smiled shyly in Paul’s direction and added a quarter inch of coffee to their mugs.

“Would you be interested in dating a man like Paul?” Bethanne asked.

“Ah, sure.”

Cindy had proven Bethanne’s point. “What did I tell you?” she cried triumphantly.

“Cindy, what are you doing tomorrow after five?” Paul asked.

Disappointment flashed in her eyes. “Working, but I get off at nine.”

Soon Paul and Cindy were discussing where they’d go.

She left, smiling, and Paul leaned closer. “I want a contingency plan. I’ll do as you suggest, but if it doesn’t work out, I want you to know I’m coming back for you.”

“Paul,” she chastised, and then just gave in. “Oh, all right.”

“Good.” He grinned and lifted his mug in silent salute.

40

CHAPTER

“I do love a good yarn, fiction and fiber. The only thing that equals my joy in knitting is the pleasure of reading!”

—Priscilla A. Gibson-Roberts, author of Simple Socks, Plain & Fancy and Ethnic Socks & Stockings.

LYDIA HOFFMAN

I visited Mom Sunday afternoon, and it was such a lovely autumn day that it seemed pointless to go back to an empty apartment. Sundays were the hardest for me. This particular Sunday, for some reason, felt lonelier than most. My love for Whiskers can take me only so far.

Mom looked better than she had in months, and seeing her smile cheered me considerably. Leaving her home of nearly fifty years must have been painful. I was grateful she’d accepted the upheaval in her life without an argument. After two weeks in a nursing home, the assisted living facility probably seemed like an extended vacation.

I think Mom understood, once she entered the hospital, that everything would change from that moment on. I could tell she was grateful to have less responsibility, although I don’t expect she’ll ever admit it. I know she missed her rose garden; I did, too.

We had lunch together in the dining room, and she introduced me to her new friends. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d already met Ida and Francine last week and the week before that, too. Interestingly enough, Ida and Francine don’t appear to remember me, either.

Before leaving work on Friday evening, Margaret had invited me over for Sunday dinner but I’d declined. We see each other nearly every day and frankly, as much as I love my sister, I needed a break. I think she felt the same way since she readily accepted my explanation of “other plans.”

A number of subtle and not-so-subtle changes had taken place in the relationship between my sister and me. Margaret was knitting more, and I’d begun crocheting. It was almost as if we were both anxious to prove our willingness to see the other’s point of view.