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“Sounds like a cosmic message to me,” Joyce exclaimed. When Catherine responded with a puzzled frown, she sat forward in her chair. “You made the decision to take off your ring, enter the next phase of your life, if you will. But part of you, perhaps subconsciously, clings to the past, and wham, you’re given a painful reminder that every choice has its price.”
Because Catherine had already linked the two events in her mind, Joyce’s comment made perfect sense. “Frankly, I thought it was Sam. Even if I can let go, it might be too soon for him.”
“I hadn’t considered Sam,” Joyce admitted, “but I’ll concede the possibility. Now tell me who prompted you to remove your ring.”
“First call Shane,” Catherine directed smoothly. “Use your cell phone.”
Annoyed to be reminded of the man, Joyce began to rummage in her oversized purse. “That’s why I’m here. I need you to tell me what to say.”
“This is scarcely a challenge. You’ll probably get his service or answering machine. Just give your name and number, invite him to the opening, and wait for his response.”
Joyce fumbled with his card then set it on the glass-topped table to dial with a fuchsia-tipped nail. “Hello, may I please speak with Shane?”
Catherine flashed an okay sign and sipped her lemonade. Joyce appeared to be handling the call calmly, but Catherine understood her apprehension and hoped Shane would be pleased to hear from her.
After a brief exchange, Joyce ended the call and slapped her cell phone shut. “That was his mother.” She moaned. “If she actually gives him the message, what are the odds that he’ll return my call?”
“If she answers his business telephone, she must be capable of forwarding a message. At any rate, I’m proud of you for trying. If Shane doesn’t respond, go to the opening alone. Maybe you’ll meet someone interesting there.”
Hunched over her purse, Joyce looked uttered crushed. “I should have kept count of the times I’ve done that and found every man in the room with his wife.” She consoled herself with a long sip of lemonade before she recalled Catherine owed her an answer.
“So, what’s his name?” she asked.
Catherine had already decided just how little she wished to reveal. “Luke Starns, he’s the director of Lost Angel, and I wouldn’t have met him had I not been so insistent about becoming a volunteer.”
Joyce’s gaze narrowed slightly. “Can you describe him in a single word?”
“How would you describe Shane?”
“Hot!”
Luke was definitely hot, but Catherine believed he deserved more than the provocative adjective implied. “Intense,” she said instead.
“Oh, lord. Please tell me he’s not one of those dark, brooding types.”
That was part of Luke too, but Catherine shook her head. “He’s complex, but he knows how to laugh.”
“And from the width of your enigmatic smile, he knows a lot more. I don’t suppose he’s in his twenties, is he?”
“No, late thirties. Now don’t you have appointments to keep or fabric to order this afternoon?”
Joyce checked her watch and leapt from her chair. “Damn, I procrastinated longer than I’d thought. I’ll let you know what happens with Shane.”
“Please do.”
Catherine finished her lemonade before going back to work on the flower beds. When she next took a break, she carried her book on CBEST test preparation outside to study. She wasn’t worried about passing the sections of the exam devoted to reading and writing skills, but it had been quite awhile since she’d taken a math class.
She’d just begun to study the book’s chapter on algebra when the telephone rang, and she hurried inside to answer. When she heard Luke’s voice, she leaned back against the kitchen counter and crossed her legs.
“How are things at Lost Angel today?” she asked.
“Pretty good, actually. If you’re free Saturday night, I’d like to take you out to dinner.”
“Are you suggesting a real date?”
“That’s my intention.”
“Then I’m most definitely available.” She glanced at the calendar on the counter and wished he’d wanted to see her that very night rather than wait until the weekend.
