“Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.” Oscar Wilde
“Oh do come on, Carrie!”
Tearing her eyes from the display in the bookstore window, Carrie Blankenship wasn't surprised to find her aunt, Rita, was several feet further down the mall. She freely admitted to being a dawdler and as such understood the exasperation in the older woman's voice. With a happy sigh, she turned away from the window.
“Did you see Maxine Conrad's latest book has been released?” she asked, her emerald eyes bright as she joined her aunt, who was standing in front of Victoria's Secret. “Guess what just landed at the top of my birthday wish list!”
Rita smiled wryly, “And how many things are on that list now, may I ask?”
Carrie grinned and conceded unrepentantly, “More than I'll receive, I'm sure.”
The truth was, Carrie didn't expect a whole lot for her birthday. Her aunt, though comfortably supported by her late husband's pension, wasn't a rich woman and Carrie herself earned a modest income from her job as a teller for a small town bank. There was little room for a lot of niceties, but it was lovely to dream. Still, the book was a must, even if she had to buy it herself. Too bad bookstores didn't have layaway plans.
To those who didn't know her better, Carrie seemed to be wholly without ambition, preferring to live in the moment with no serious thought for the future. Those who did know her knew of the late nights she kept working on her own latest book. It was her third, and she hoped this one would win the notice of a well respected publisher. Rita was unfailingly supportive of Carrie's efforts to become an established writer, always assuring her that her time for success was coming, and Carrie hoped she was right. As it was, she often jokingly described her office walls as being papered with the “pink slips of denial” from various publishing houses. Each one, Rita would then say, was a receipt for dues being paid.
The mall was busy as they walked along the concourse. Thanksgiving, and Black Friday, were a little over a month away but already shoppers were prowling the stores intent on beating the crowds for the choicest gift items. Before much longer there would be news stories about fights breaking out among adults determined to buy the popular toy for which warnings were being made that it wasn't going to be as plentiful as it needed to be.
As they approached the atrium at the center of the mall, they came upon a small crowd surrounding a dais where a jazz quartet was currently playing. Onlookers were smiling, their bodies moving to the enthusiastic rhythms provided by the bass while a piano player's nimble fingers played over the electronic keyboard in counterpoint to the passionate melody provided by a tenor saxophone. A tall, striking redhead lent her smoky alto to an old favorite with slinky moves beneath her tight black dress.
Carrie's eyes fell on the man playing the piano and she found herself wondering where she had seen him before. He seemed tall to her, even from a distance, though in truth just about anyone was taller than her own five foot two inches. He was totally into the music, his well sculpted lips pursed and his head nodding along with the tune. Dark blond hair, shaggy and a bit overlong, hung to the collar of his denim jacket and well-fitting jeans showcased a very fine rear. Gold glinted subtly from the light nest of masculine hair showing at the v-neck of the t-shirt beneath the jacket. The overall effect was enough to catch Carrie's breath.
When the song ended, applause broke from the crowd as the performers smiled and mouthed their thanks. Then the singer, bassist, and sax player urged the piano player forward, shaking his hand and thanking him for taking part in the set. Then he disappeared from the dais as another man took his place behind the piano and the next set began.
Carrie stood on her toes as she watched the crowd make room for the tall figure working his way through the sea of onlookers and realized that his trajectory would bring him very near to her and Rita. Despite her normal gregariousness, the painful shyness she often felt around attractive men was urging her to turn tail and run when he was suddenly there right in front of them. Before she could react, her aunt caught his attention with a smile.
“That was superb playing, young man,” she complimented him and was rewarded with a smile in return.
“Thank you,” he responded, his voice low timbred and slightly husky, “I'm glad you enjoyed it.”
As he seemed willing to pause long enough to talk to her, Rita offered her hand, “My late husband and I used to go to clubs that played music like that. I'm Rita Carlisle and this is my niece, Carrie Blankenship.”
He accepted her friendly hand in greeting.
“Mrs. Carlisle. I'm Jameson Prescott.”
Warm deep brown eyes fell on Carrie with an equally warm smile that broadened slightly when she colored lightly beneath his regard.
“Miss Blankenship,” he said, “It's a pleasure to meet you. Are you enjoying the music as well?”
Carrie nodded shyly as she recognized the male appreciation in his expression. A plump twenty-nine-year old woman who dressed more for comfort than fashion, she wasn't accustomed to seeing it turned upon her.
“Yes, I am, thank you, Mr. Prescott.”
“Jamie, please.”
“Jamie,” she repeated softly, “and I'm Carrie.”
“Carrie.” His voice seemed to caress her ears.
She was suddenly jostled from behind and he reached out to steady her with a hand on her arm.
“The crowd is restive,” Rita commented. “You must be thirsty after your performance. Can we interest you in something refreshing to drink?”
Carrie was surprised when he nodded.
“I'd like that, Mrs. Carlisle.”
“Oh, call me Rita, please. Mrs. Carlisle was my mother-in-law!”
They made their way through the milling bodies toward a busy cafe where they took a seat at a small table near the back. A waitress soon took their orders for sodas and a shared snack of fried mozzarella sticks before leaving them to get better acquainted.
“Are you a musician by trade?” Rita asked after settling her purse onto the lone empty seat.
“No, not really. I just enjoy playing on occasion.”
“I could tell. You're really very good.”
He smiled as he sat back in his chair, “Thank you. My mother would like that. Hearing it makes all those years of forced piano lessons worth it.”
Carrie smiled as Rita chuckled before glancing shrewdly at her niece.
“Carrie is a very good pianist herself.”
His warm smile was once again turned on Carrie.
“Really? You play?”
She nodded.
“Sometimes.”
“What do you like to play?”
“Show tunes mostly.”
“Any favorites?”
“Rogers and Hammerstein are my favorites. I also like Stephen Sondheim, but there are many others I like as well.” She cocked her head slightly in inquiry. “Is jazz your favorite?”
“Yeah, but I also like to play the blues on my guitar.”
“You're multi-talented then,” Rita observed then paused as the waitress returned with their drinks.
“Food will be right up,” she assured them before walking away again.
“What other instruments do you play?” Rita asked, picking up their conversation.
“Various percussion instruments.” He grinned. “Learning drums and playing in a rock band in high school was my rebellion against playing piano.”
“Do you still play them?” Carrie asked after taking a sip of soda through her straw.
“Sometimes.” His grin broadened. “It's a great stress reliever.”
The two women chuckled along with him then Rita's expression turned faintly speculative.
“So, if you're not a musician by trade, what do you do for a living?”
“I'm a freelance journalist.”
“A writer!” Frank satisfaction colored the older woman's response. “Carrie is a writer as well.”
Again those warm brown eyes were turned on her.
“So we have something else in common?”
“It would appear so,” she acknowledged with a pointed glance at her aunt, then took another sip of her soda.
“What do you like to write?” he asked, “Any particular genre?”
“Crime dramas.”
“Are you published?”
Carrie shook her head, “No, not yet. But I keep submitting and hoping.”
“She's going to be a success one day soon,” Rita promised with confidence. “I can feel it!”
“I've only finished two books so far,” her niece protested.
“Yes, but you're working on a third and you're only getting better with each page.”
“It's good to have such an ardent fan,” he commented wisely. “Writing can be a lonely job.”
The waitress returned with the basket of fried mozzarella and a bowl of marinara on the side then quickly retreated with a cheery, “Enjoy!”
There was a pause as they helped themselves to a small plate, then chose a couple of sticks and some marinara with which to dunk them.
“What do you like to write about?” Carrie asked while she allowed the hot food to cool enough to bite into.
“Would you believe true crime?”
“Get out!”
He chuckled as he dunked his cheese.
“Yep. The criminal element holds endless fascination for me. Especially when the story involves a miscarriage of justice of any kind.”
“Do you report just on crime in this area?”
He took a bite of cheese.
“No. I go wherever something happens that interests me.”
Carrie dunked her cheese.
“Is it dangerous?”
He shrugged.
“I guess it could be if one isn't careful, so I try to be objective. Unfortunately, that sometimes doesn't sit well with the parties involved.”
“What's the most important article you've ever written?” Rita asked, wiping her fingers on a paper napkin.
“Most important?” He thought for a moment. “It would have to be the expose I wrote about insurance fraud in the horse industry. There were so many important people involved on so many levels, including murder. It gets a bit dicey at times when organized crime is involved.”
Carrie was fascinated.
“Have you ever thought about writing a book about your work?”
“I have.”
“Thought about it or actually written one?”
“Both.”
It was obviously a hedge and though it was intriguing, Carrie let it go.
“What are you working on now?” Rita asked as she reached for another cheese stick.
“I'm on sabbatical right now.”
“Sabbatical?”
“I sometimes teach at the university for a semester.”
“Obviously a man of many facets,” Rita said approvingly.
“I like to stay busy.”
The three continued to talk as they finished their shared meal then Rita announced that they had to be going home.
“I would love to have you over for dinner one evening,” she invited him. “Do you like southern comfort food?”
“My grandmother was from Georgia,” he chuckled, “There's nothing I liked better than her cooking.”
“Then how about weekend after next? I'll be hosting a small family gathering to celebrate Carrie's birthday and we'd love to have you.”
Jamie glanced at Carrie inquiringly and she smiled.
“Yes, please come.”
He nodded.
“Okay, sounds good.”
Rita withdrew a small card from her purse and handed it to him.
“That's my business card. I'm a hospice volunteer so I keep some on hand to give clients. Give me a call closer to time and I'll let you know when to be there.”
Jamie glanced at the card then tucked it into the pocket of his jacket.
“I look forward to it.”
He rose to his feet then held Rita's chair for her as she stood up before turning in time to see Carrie start to rise. He gently touched her arm as she straightened and his eyes warmly caressed her as she looked up at him.
“It's been a pleasure meeting you ladies.”
“The pleasure was all ours, young man,” Rita replied in a satisfied tone as she collected her shopping bags, “Come along, Carrie. We still need to go by the grocery before it gets dark.”
“I'll see you to your car if you like,” Jamie offered and the older woman nodded decisively after a short pause.
“That would be quite nice, thank you, Jamie. We women can never be too careful these days.”
He took their shopping bags from them and followed them to the ten year old Buick that Rita refused to give up. Once the bags were stowed in the trunk, he watched as they climbed in the car, with Rita behind the wheel.
“Be careful out there,” he urged them then stood back with a smile and a wave as they backed out and drove away.
~
Carrie's birthday dawned with gray skies and a distant rumble of thunder. Unlike a lot of people, she enjoyed rainy weather despite the frizzy mess it made of her hair. As it was Saturday, she dressed casually in knit pants and a complimentary tunic for the half day the bank was open and left the house just as the rain began to fall.
At work, she walked through the employee entrance in the back of the bank and was immediately assailed by balloons and streamers of all colors. Grinning, she followed them to the employee kitchen, which was decorated with still more balloons and streamers, a banner that said, “Happy Birthday, Carrie!” and a vase of vibrant flowers beside a decorated cake on the table. It, in turn, was covered with a cheery paper tablecloth and dishes that matched the banner, balloons, and streamers. Her heart was warmed by the effort her coworkers had made to celebrate her special day.
By the time the doors were unlocked and the first customers arrived, the lobby was filled with the aroma of popcorn popping in the small replica of an old time popcorn wagon. Everyone was enjoying a festive mood, which extended to the customers when they spied Carrie's station decorated for her birthday. The rosette she wore above her name tag proclaimed her to be the birthday girl and most were only too happy to share their good wishes.
Just before closing, a well dressed man walked up to her station, wished her a happy birthday, then handed her a piece of paper.
“I'd like to make a withdrawal,” he told her with a smile.
Smiling in return, Carrie unfolded the paper and began to read. Her smile suddenly vanished as her face lost all color. The man continued to smile pleasantly.
“I'd like that in tens and twenties, please.”
Carrie stared at the note then turned her stunned gaze back to him, unable to say a word.
“This is a robbery,” the note read, “I want five hundred thousand dollars, but not from your drawer. Don't touch the alarm and don't let anyone know what's going on. I have a bomb.”
“I-I'm sorry, sir,” she finally stammered, her quiet words unheard above the sounds of business going on all around her, “This is more than I have in my drawer. I'll have to have my manager bring me more.”
His smile thinned.
“Very well. Call her over.”
Her shaky smile doing nothing to brighten the paleness of her skin, Carrie called the teller manager over and handed her the note. The well-dressed, middle-aged woman stiffened as she read then turned her emotionless face back to the robber.
“Yes, sir, I can help you,” she assured him with all the authority of her position, “Give me one moment.”
The robber nodded but his smiling face held nothing but menace.
“I'm in a bit of a hurry,” he told her pointedly, “Please do this quickly so I can get going. I do hope this doesn't create more trouble for you than necessary.” He glanced at Carrie. “I'd hate to make the lovely birthday girl too late for her own party.”
The manager nodded to show she understood his warning then made her way to the vault in the back. Ten minutes later she returned carrying stacks of bills held together with rubber bands and placed them on the counter.
“Please count it,” he directed, “and please hurry. You'll be closing soon and I don't want to make everyone late to leave.”
She halved the bundles with Carrie and they began to count each bill. It took a few minutes to count it all but eventually he was satisfied that they had met his demands and deposited a black samples case, of the kind salesmen often carried, on the counter.
“Please put it in here and then I'll be on my way.”
The manager nodded, opened the case, and began to fill it. When finished, she closed the case and slid it back across the counter. The robber grinned as he lifted the bag and stepped back.
“Thank you, ladies. Now you two take a 10 minute break and rest. If I have any trouble with it I'll be right back.”
Carrie and the manager nodded then watched in shock as he walked away through the lobby and out
the doors. Immediately the manager ran and locked them before pulling the elegant vertical blinds closed. Inside, the tellers and remaining customers watched in confusion that swiftly turned to alarm when she ordered Carrie to call the police.
Hours later, after repeatedly describing the robber and going over the event with police detectives and state and federal agents, Carrie was finally allowed to leave. The balloons and streamers which earlier had been so festive now seemed obscene and as she passed the kitchen she absently noted that most of the cake had been eaten and the smell of fresh coffee was wafting into the hall. She assumed the law enforcement officers must have helped themselves.
Numb with exhaustion and the after effects of terror, she drove home in the damp, late fall twilight, thinking only of the safety it represented. She had called her aunt earlier to let her know she would be late but hadn't given a reason why so Rita had seen no reason to call off the dinner party. As a result, the driveway and curb outside were filled with cars and every light in the house was lit when Carrie arrived. Parking across the street, she turned off the car then sat staring sightlessly through the rain drizzled windshield as the remaining adrenaline disappeared from her body. She began to shake uncontrollably and her already white knuckles bit even deeper into the steering wheel. Feeling as if she was folding in upon herself, she rested her forehead against the wheel and began to cry.
The sudden tap on the window startled her badly and she let out a panicked squeak as she instinctively cringed away from the sound.
“Carrie? Carrie, are you alright?”
The male voice was familiar and non-threatening. Looking up she found Jamie looking in, his face mirroring his concern.
“Open the door, Carrie. C'mon, honey. It's okay.”
Trembling violently, she fumbled with the lock and pushed the door open. When she couldn't escape from the seat, she began to panic, not realizing that her seat belt was still fastened around her. Whimpering and gasping for breath, she fought to get out of the car until Jamie knelt beside her and took her face firmly between his hands.
“Carrie! Carrie, listen to me. You're okay. You're alright. Look, your seat belt is still fastened.”
Gradually his words penetrated and she relaxed against the seat, allowing him to reach in and release the belt. As the panic subsided, she felt shame take its place.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered as she wiped the tears from her face.
“What happened?”
“The bank was r-robbed this morning. He came to my station and-and handed me a note. He acted so n-nice and was so f-friendly. But the note said he had a b-bomb. I believed him.” A shudder ran through her. “I was so-so scared.”
Jamie hung his head for a moment then looked back at her. His face was filled with worry as he took her hands in his.
“C'mon, sweetheart. Let's get you out of there.”
“I can't go inside. Not like this.”
“You don't have to. Let's go sit in my truck for a while. Everyone will still be there when we go back.”
Slowly she nodded and turned to climb from her car. Rising to his feet, Jamie stepped back but carefully helped her out with a gentle hand on her arm. Once on her feet, she moved away from the car and allowed him to shut the door before looking up into his eyes, her own anguished with remembered horror. Without a word, he took her into his arms and held her tightly against him.
“You're safe now,” he promised and pulled away. “My truck is a few doors down the street.”
She nodded and allowed him to guide her along the sidewalk until they reached a big red four by four pickup. Absently she noted the license plate read “Whodunit.” After helping her climb in and shutting the door, he hurried around the hood and climbed in beside her. After starting the engine, he switched on the heater then found a station playing soothing music on the satellite radio and turned it down low.
“Is that okay?”
She nodded, “Yes. Thank you.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, allowing Carrie to recover a little aplomb as she glanced at Jamie.
“I guess today makes good fodder for a book.”
Smiling in return, he reached out and touched her cheek with gentle fingers.
“Not a great way to find it, though.”
She chuckled softly and unconsciously leaned her face into his hand.
“No, it isn't.”
With a quiet sigh, she closed her eyes as his thumb brushed lightly along her cheek.
“Thank you. For being here, I mean.”
“You're welcome.”
They sat for a few moments as the music continued to fill the cab and soothe her rattled nerves. Finally, she sighed and pulled away.
“I guess we better go in.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She looked up at him with worried eyes. “Do I look okay? I don't look like I'm still unglued, do I?”
“You look beautiful.”
He smiled as a blush brightened her pale cheeks and she ducked her head shyly.
“Thank you.”
“It's only the truth.”
With that, he turned the engine off and climbed out. A moment later, he was helping her down and taking her hand as they made their way back to her house.
The small crowd of friends and relatives greeted them with cheers when they entered the front door. The television was on, giving the youngsters something to do while they waited, and the aroma of dinner was wafting through the air as Carrie was hugged repeatedly and Jamie was introduced with handshakes all around. She managed to laugh and say all the right things, but when she turned she saw Rita's smile fade to concern. Obviously she hadn't been able to fool everyone. With a slight shake of her head, Carrie hugged the older woman.
“This is wonderful, Aunt Rita!” she enthused then hugged her again.
“Later,” she whispered in Rita's ear before asking out loud what was for dinner.
“Uh, your favorites, my dear: chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, and fresh steamed vegetables.”
“And cake?” Carrie prompted and was rewarded with a real smile.
“Irish cream, of course, along with Moose Tracks ice cream.”
The younger woman's troubled smile warmed with real anticipation and she turned to motion everyone to follow her to the dining room where dinner was being served buffet style.
“Last one in does the dishes!”
The gathering went on for several hours. After dinner, cake and ice cream were served followed by a retreat to the living room where Carrie took pride of place and opened her gifts. She received several copies of Maxine Conrad's newest book, which elicited laughter all around, and a variety of things that any aspiring author might need. Even Jamie had brought her a gift: a small wooden disk upon which was the image of an antique typewriter with a piece of paper reading “Just Write!” showing from the bale. A thin gold cord was threaded through one end for hanging.
When the party broke up shortly before ten, Carrie felt that she had recovered well enough from the terror of the morning to sleep that night. Jamie stayed behind and offered to help clean up but Rita had shooed him out of the dining room where she was stacking the dishes on one end of the table.
“Go sit with Carrie while I do this. I'll wash them later.”
He found her curled up on one end of the couch with her legs to one side on the cushions and her head leaning against the upholstered back. Her eyes were closed and she looked more relaxed than she had all evening.
When he took a seat in a nearby wing-back chair, she opened her eyes and smiled tiredly without moving.
“Still here?”
Jamie returned her smile as he settled back.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay before I took off.”
“I'm fine now. The party was the perfect antidote for what ailed me.”
“At least for a time. Will you be alright tonight?”
She nodded and sat up straight but kept her legs still curled to one side.
“I”ll be fine. Nothing happened to me but a bad scare. I'll get over it.”
“Get over what?”
Rita's voice cut through their quite murmurs.
“I knew something was wrong the minute you walked in the door. Now what's going on?”
Carrie sighed and glanced at Jamie before answering.
“The bank was robbed this morning,”
“Robbed?” The older woman's face paled as her eyes rounded in horror. “You must be kidding me!”
“No. I wish I was.”
“Was anyone hurt? Were you hurt?”
“No, Aunt Rita, I'm fine.”
“But it was her station that he chose,” Jamie added.
“Oh my god! And you let the party go on?”
“It's okay, Aunt Rita,” Carrie reassured her, “It was exactly what I needed.”
“Oh, my dear, you must have been terrified!”
“I was, believe me, but the only violence was in the wording of his note. Otherwise, no one would have guessed what was going on. He was so pleasantly ordinary. Totally unremarkable.” She looked at Jamie with a small smile. “I told Jamie that it was great fodder for a book.”
“Don't joke about it,” Rita shuddered. “You could have been...”
“But I wasn't,” Carrie interrupted her, “Just scared and upset.”
She glanced again at Jamie.
“Jamie helped calm me down when I got home. I was definitely not in any shape to face company when I first parked.”
Rita's worried eyes took on a faintly speculative expression.
“He did, did he?” She looked at him shrewdly. “That was terribly nice of you, young man.”
Jamie grinned, understanding Rita perfectly.
“No, just at the right place at the right time.”
“Again.”
Carrie blushed as she caught their byplay.
“Aunt Rita!”
Both Jamie and her aunt chuckled as he made to stand.
“It's getting late and I know you ladies need some time before bed.”
“Oh, you don't need to go,” Rita protested but Jamie shook his head and rose to his feet.
“Yes, I do. I have some work to get done tonight.”
“You're a midnight writer, too?” Carrie asked as she stood. “I'll probably write some tonight as well to calm me the rest of the way down. Maybe then I'll be able to sleep soundly.”
Rita yawned and stayed in her seat.
“I think you are correct,” she told him, still with a speculative gleam in her eyes, “She'll sleep better with your having been there to comfort her. I think I'll stay right here. Carrie, dear, walk him to the door, would you?”
Carrie's already pink face blushed still further as she turned to walk toward the door. Jamie followed, after giving Rita a broad grin and a conspiratorial wink.
“Thank you for a fine evening, Rita.”
“Anytime, Jamie. You're welcome anytime.”
After pausing to slide on his jacket, he followed Carrie outside.
The rain had stopped and the sky begun to clear, allowing the quarter moon to flirt from between the clouds. A nearby street light cast its shadowy glow over the pavement and sidewalk then onto the porch where Carrie paused. Turning to face him, she smiled shyly, unaware of how the subdued light still sparkled in her emerald eyes.
“I'm glad you came,” she told him softly, “and thank you for the gift. I'll hang it over my desk to inspire me.”
“I'm glad you like it.” He tilted his head slightly. “I was wondering if you would like to go out one evening. I'd like to take you to dinner.”
“Oh!”
Suddenly flustered, she nervously looked away.
“Oh?”
He frowned, uncertain what to make of her response, and she sighed before looking back at him.
“I'm sorry. You just surprised me.”
“Surely you know that I'm attracted to you and that I'd like to get to know you better?”
“Yes. I guess I'm just not used to it.”
“It?”
“Being asked out.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Stepping closer, he took her hand in his. “You're lovely, caring, and very bright. What's not to like?”
“It's just that, oh, I've never been the type for men to see as anything other than a friend. I have a lot of male friends. I've just never had a boyfriend.”
“Well, the world is full of fools, if you ask me.”
He brought her hand to his lips.
“So will you go out with me?”
Her smile was a thing of beauty as she nodded.
“I would love to.”
“I'm going to be out of town through Thursday. Can we make it Friday night?”
“That sounds fine. How should I dress?”
“Casual would be fine. In fact, jeans if you want.” He grinned. “I know just the place we can go and relax, and have a good time. About seven?”
“Okay.”
He kissed her hand and pulled her close to him.
“I'll call you while I'm gone.”
“I'd like that.”
He pulled away again and took a step back.
“I'll see you Friday,” he promised and gently ran a finger along her jaw. “Good night, Carrie.”
“Good night.”
She watched him step off the porch then set off down the sidewalk to his truck before turning back into the house.
~
Friday night brought Jamie ringing the doorbell just as Rita was shooing Carrie away from the full length mirror behind the bathroom door.
“You look fine, dear, don't worry.”
“Are you sure, Aunt Rita? I mean, I've never worn jeans before and, I don't know, they just...”
“They look fine. You look lovely. Now go on and answer the door.”
Taking a deep breath, Carrie left the bathroom and hurried down the hall to the living room. The jeans were designed for women with ample curves like hers and she'd paired them with a loose white blouse left open to show off a bright pink tank. It was by far the nicest outfit she'd bought in a long while that wasn't intended for work, and she hoped they were what Jamie had meant by casual. Was it possible to be too dressed up, even in jeans?
Opening the door, she felt herself relax when he smiled down at her then handed her a small bouquet of candy carnations.
“For you,” he announced quietly.
“Oh! Thank you!” she replied as she lifted them to catch their spicy fragrance. “They're beautiful.”
“Are you ready?”
“Yes, let me just put these...”
“Hello, Jamie,” Rita interrupted from behind her, “Good to see you, young man. Here, Carrie, I'll put them in a vase for you.”
“Thank you, Aunt Rita.”
He grinned at the older woman.
“Hello, Rita. I promise I won't keep her out too late.”
“Nonsense. Carrie's an adult and I trust you'll take care of her so I won't be waiting up.” Handing her niece her red wool jacket, she took the flowers and motioned them out the door. “Now you two have a good night.”
Minutes later they were on the highway headed out of town. Slow jazz played from the radio, wrapping itself around Carrie and soothing her nervousness as she watched Jamie in the light from the dashboard and the headlights of oncoming cars.
“Where are we going?”
He glanced at her with a wink before turning his attention back to the road.
“To a steak house I particularly like over in Cloverdale, but first, there's someone I want you to meet.”
Carrie's nervousness abruptly returned.
“Oh, Jamie, I wish I'd known. I'd have worn something more suitable!”
Reaching across the seat, he took her hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly.
“You look beautiful, Carrie, and you're dressed perfectly for where we're going tonight. My friend isn't one to stand on ceremony so don't worry.” He squeezed her hand again. “I think you're going to like her.”
Twenty minutes later he turned off the highway onto a smaller road and shortly thereafter parked the truck outside of a large, rambling farmhouse. After helping her from the cab, he led her up the steps to the lighted porch and rang the doorbell. Instantly a chorus of canine yaps erupted from inside followed by an aged voice telling them to calm down or she'd put them all to bed, and Carrie couldn't stop the grin she shared with Jamie.
The door opened and she found herself facing a fragile-looking elderly woman who was shorter than she was and dressed in a bright muumuu with wild pinkish hair surrounding a fey face.
“Jamie! It's about time you came to see me!” She opened the door and a trio of excited Pomeranians began yapping all over again at the sight of the newcomers. “Hush! Hush now, all of you! Come in, you two, and don't mind my kids. They just have to check out anyone who visits.”
Careful not to step on any tiny feet, Jamie and Carrie entered the house. It was warm and fragrant with potpourri and Ravel's Bolero was playing from the stereo.
“You must be working,” he guessed after planting a quick peck on the old woman's cheek and she snorted in response.
“Of course. When am I not?” Turning her attention to Carrie, she asked, “And who have you brought with you?”
“This is a fellow writer. Carrie Blankenship, meet Maxine Conrad.”
Carrie's mouth fell open in shock.
“Maxine Conrad! Oh my god!”
Maxine grinned.
“That's the same response my publisher has when he hears my name, but not, I tell you, for the same reason.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I like to be as difficult as I can with him. He's such an arrogant soul. He needs a little comeuppance every now and then and I'm only too happy to give it to him!” She extended a wrinkled, veined hand to Carrie. “Welcome, Carrie Blankenship. Let's go into the den where it's more comfortable. Jamie, go in the kitchen and fetch us something to drink.”
“Yes, ma'am. What would you like?”
“Something warm with a dash of warmer.”
He chuckled as he left them.
“I know just the thing.”
Maxine took Carrie's arm and led her slowly down the hall and into a room filled with heavy overstuffed furniture and shelf after shelf of books. In one corner was a desk topped with an ancient typewriter and mounds of paper, and on the floor beside it was a wastepaper basket running over with balls of wadded up rejects. Through the glass front of a fireplace insert, a fire burned brightly.
“Have a seat in one of those chairs there,” she directed Carrie, “If you sit on the couch you'll soon be overrun by dogs.”
Carrie smiled and settled onto a gooseneck chair that looked to be older than she was, then watched as her hostess sat on the couch and was instantly surrounded by her tiny dogs.
“It really is a pleasure to meet you, Ms Conrad.”
“Oh, please. Call me Maxine. You're a friend of Jamie's so you're a friend of mine.”
“Thank you, Maxine.”
“You're welcome. Now, you're a writer Jamie says. What kind of writer, might I ask?”
“Crime dramas mostly.”
“Have you been published?”
“Not yet, but I've only finished two books so far. I'm working on another now.”
“I like that you say 'not yet'. It shows confidence in yourself. How long have you been writing?”
“All my life. I've always written short stories, romantic suspense mostly, and poetry, then decided to try writing novels as well.”
“And do you enjoy it?”
Carrie smiled brightly, “Oh yes! I believe it's what I was meant to do.”
“Very good.”
The aroma of fresh coffee reached them moments before Jamie returned with a tray bearing three mugs.
“Doctored coffee all around,” he announced before setting the tray down on the coffee table and handing one of the mugs to Maxine.
“Ah, thank you, my boy. You do know the way to an old woman's heart.”
He handed another mug to Carrie.
“Coffee with a dollop of Irish cream. I guessed from your cake that you are partial to it.”
She smiled as she accepted the mug.
“I am, thank you.”
Taking his own mug, he took his seat in the remaining chair beside Carrie's.
“So what have you ladies been discussing while I was out of the room?”
“We were just talking about Carrie's writing. Have you read any of her work yet, Jamie?”
“Not yet,” he replied then glanced at Carrie, “But I hope to soon.”
She nodded, again feeling shy.
“Of course. Anytime.”
Maxine set her mug aside and lifted a black and white Pomeranian onto her lap.
“How did the trip to New York go?” she asked and Jamie nodded.
“It went well. The Binghamton Bunch send their regards.”
“The Binghamton Bunch?” Carrie asked and Maxine chuckled.
“A group of old friends from my younger days. My late husband used to say that he brought me out west to keep me from getting into too much trouble with them.” She looked back at Jamie with a raised brow and asked, “Did you win anything?”
“Not this year. Todd Lakeland's series on human trafficking was the big winner that night.”
“That's too bad, but it was an excellent series. It certainly raised awareness again. I think people had begun to forget it existed.”
In the end, they had such a good time chatting with Maxine that Jamie and Carrie's visit lasted longer than expected and it became too late to go to the steak house. So after bidding the old woman good night, he drove them to a truck stop outside of town.
“Not exactly the best date night spot,” he commented as he shut down the truck, “but the food's good. You game?”
Carrie smiled and nodded then waited while he came around to help her from the cab. Taking her hand, he led her inside and they were soon seated in a booth near the back. Looking over the menu, she found a mouthwatering description of the house specialty, chicken fried steak, and grinned.
“You knew I'd find this here, didn't you?”
“I thought you might like it, seeing as it's your favorite.”
“Excellent choice, dear sir.”
By the time the pick up was parked behind Carrie's small car again, it was close to dawn and she was losing the battle with controlling her yawns. After he switched off the engine, they sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to each other's breathing and the sounds of the engine cooling.
“Thank you for tonight,” she murmured, “and for introducing me to Maxine. That was a wonderful surprise.”
“She's a wonderful lady. I knew you two would hit it off.” Turning toward her, he took her hand in his gentle grip. “Will you go out with me again?”
“I'd like that.”
“What about tomorrow?”
“Do you mean Saturday today or Sunday tomorrow?”
He chuckled, “Seeing as it's now Saturday I guess I mean today.”
“I don't have to work so, yes, today is fine.”
“Maybe we'll finally make it to the steak house if that sounds good.”
She smiled, “Sounds good.”
They stared at one another for a few moments.
“Fools.”
Carrie blinked, “What?”
“All those men and boys who didn't ask you out. They were all fools.”
She blushed and looked down to their clasped hands.
“But,” he continued softly, “I'm glad they were. I could have lost you before I found you.”
With his free hand he brushed her bangs from her eyes and cupped her cheek. Leaning forward he kissed her cheek then settled his lips lightly over hers. Their breaths mingled as the kiss deepened and Carrie moaned quietly when his tongue lightly touched hers. Pulling back he smiled down into her eyes.
I have a feeling there is going to be a sequel. The best story of yours that I read yet. A bit slow in developing, like all of your romances, and missing any investigation into the robbery that could, of course, turn this story into a novel.
I believe I detected a bit of yourself in Carrie's character, but that is true of most authors. We have the most experience with ourselves. And it shows in our writing.
Destiny's Journey, judged Best Western in the Easychair Bookshop competition.
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An empathic young nurse driven to help and heal others since childhood after watching her mother languish for months before finally succumbing to cancer, Aziza Lopez abhors cruelty and suffering in any form. When she is assigned comatose patient Davi
“Oh do come on, Carrie!”
