Blossom Street (Books 1-10). Debbie Macomber
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I said, cutting him off. I didn’t need Brad Goetz to tell me what I already knew.
“Let me take you out for a drink,” he suggested.
I shook my head. “No, thanks.”
“I know you’re dating someone else now, but this is just as friends.”
Actually, I could hardly believe Margaret hadn’t enlightened Brad, hadn’t told him I’d lied about meeting someone new. I’d done that out of pride, and I regretted it.
“Why not?”
“I have one hard and fast rule when it comes to men,” I said, smiling as I spoke. “I avoid the married ones.”
“Janice and I are divorced.”
“Are you or are you not reconciling?” I snapped. Damn it, he couldn’t have it both ways.
He didn’t answer at first, then muttered, “Janice and I are talking.”
“In that case, having a drink with me would be inappropriate. I appreciate the offer, Brad, but … I don’t think so.”
Brad said goodbye rather abruptly and left. I stood in the doorway, my arms crossed, and watched him walk away, feeling empty and alone. I closed and locked the door again, then returned slowly to my office.
When someone tapped on the door ten minutes later, I half suspected Brad had come back. I turned and retraced my steps to peer through the glass.
It wasn’t Brad. Instead, Alix Townsend stood on the other side. She held a plate of chocolate éclairs, which guaranteed I’d open the door.
“Hi,” she greeted me cheerfully as I let her in.
I’d dropped in at the charity knitting session that afternoon and she hadn’t been there, so I’d guessed she was working at the café. Her classes were usually in the morning.
“I saw you and Brad talking just now. You don’t have to tell me what happened unless you want to—but I thought these might help.”
I hid a smile. Brad might have succeeded in getting past my threshold if he’d brought chocolate.
“I don’t have any worries a chocolate éclair won’t cure,” I said, leading the way to the office. “I’ve got coffee on, if you’re interested.”
“I’d love a cup.” Alix followed me into my tiny office, where she settled on a corner of my desk, moving papers aside and making herself at home. I didn’t mind. That was Alix—why sit on a chair if there was a desk? Why walk if you could run? I loved her exuberance, her loyalty and her frequently unconventional behavior.
I poured her a mug and felt slightly guilty because it looked so dark. I hoped it wasn’t bitter.
“So Brad came to see you,” she said, unable to hide her curiosity, after all.
In retrospect, my attitude toward him seemed coldhearted. Unkind. Part of me wanted to call him back, to begin the conversation all over again. I wouldn’t, though. Leaving things as they were was for the best. “Lydia?” Alix asked. She reached out to touch me.
I nodded. “Yes, he did.”
“Anything happening?” Although she’d brought the éclairs for me, Alix scooped one off the plate and took a bite. When the custard filling oozed out from the sides, she grabbed a tissue from the box on my desk.
“Nothing really. How about with you and Jordan?”
Alix raised her eyebrows. “You’re changing the subject.” She picked up the plate and offered me an éclair.
I didn’t need a second invitation. “I know. I don’t want to talk about Brad, that’s all.”
“He doesn’t want to talk about you, either,” Alix informed me. “He makes a delivery to the café every now and then, and he’s his old chatty self until I mention your name. Then he shuts up tighter than a coffin.”
I didn’t like the image. “We both have our reasons.”
“So it seems.” She hopped down from the desk. “Gotta go. Jordan and I are seeing a movie with the youth group tonight. I just thought I’d come over and say hello.”
“I’m glad you did,” I said. I walked her to the door, unlocking it and letting her out. As soon as she was gone, I relocked the door, found Whiskers waiting for me and headed up the stairs to my apartment—first remembering to turn off the lights and retrieve Alix’s plate. I could’ve been having a drink with Brad, I mused nostalgically, but for emotional protection, I’d decided on my own company. I’d spend the night with my television, my cat and my éclairs.
Whiskers meowed as though to remind me I wasn’t alone. He was absolutely right.
36
CHAPTER
BETHANNE HAMLIN
Bethanne had three parties scheduled that week and she’d carefully gone over the budget for each. Finances would be tight until her alimony check arrived and she received full payment for the parties. Paying for all her supplies out of her dwindling checking account meant she’d have very little cash until the weekend, which meant, in turn, that she’d have to delay buying groceries. She didn’t dare use her VISA to buy party stuff; she’d reached her credit limit. Still, she could manage until she deposited the various checks. The problem was, she found herself writing checks and hoping they wouldn’t clear for a few days. It was a complicated balancing act, since her expenses still exceeded her income.
Unfortunately, Annie and Andrew constantly needed money for one thing or another. Their school expenses were legitimate and she couldn’t defer them. These amounts, plus household bills and business costs—a balancing act, indeed.
The phone rang, and although she hoped it was another party booking, Caller ID showed that it was her bank. She grabbed the receiver, praying that somehow the loan officer had recognized the error of his ways and was calling to offer her a loan.
A few years ago, Grant had taken her to Vegas and they’d brought travelers’ checks that equaled more than what she wanted to borrow now. Vegas? The trip was a complete surprise and Bethanne had been so pleased and excited. In light of what she’d learned since, she suspected Grant had arranged it out of guilt.
“Hello,” she answered in her most cheerful voice. “This is Bethanne.”
Her smile quickly died as the bank manager explained that a check she’d written to the local service station had bounced. In the past, the bank had provided overdraft protection, for a fee, to cover small amounts, but wouldn’t any longer. In addition, the service station charged a seventy-five-dollar fee for bounced checks.
“Seventy-five dollars,” she cried, outraged at the unnecessary expense. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
“I assure you I’m not.”
“How … much is this going to cost me?” A tank of gas was normally about twenty-five dollars; now there were bank fees, penalties and the seventy-five bucks the service station had heaped on.
The total was staggering. “How much?” she cried.
“When would it be convenient for you to make a deposit?” the bank manager asked.
“I—I—” She didn’t have it; she simply didn’t have it. The only thing left to do was take a ring or two down to the pawnshop and see what she could get. “I’ll bring some money this afternoon,” she said meekly, feeling chastised.
The manager wasn’t an ogre—he was only doing his job—but Bethanne was in a panic. She rushed upstairs to her jewelry box and sorted through what she had, which wasn’t much.
Why, oh why, hadn’t Grant given her a diamond bracelet instead of that stupid trip to Vegas? A bracelet she could cash in, but the