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“What are you going to do?”
Joyce blew her nose again. “Swear off men, I suppose. I’m so damn sick of being betrayed in one awful way after another that I’m tempted to just give up hope of ever finding a soul mate.”
“That’s understandable, but Shane must also feel terrible about this. I’ll bet he’ll send you flowers tomorrow and beg your forgiveness.”
“He owns a nursery,” Joyce sneered. “So he’d send a potted plant with the care instructions attached.”
“Wallowing in pity won’t help,” Catherine scolded. “Come on, let’s make some grilled cheese sandwiches with lots of butter.” It was therapy Joyce had insisted upon after Sam had died. Catherine hoped it would help Joyce to cope now.
“Why not?” Joyce replied. “I was too nervous to eat breakfast, missed out on lunch, and I’m too tired to cook anything for myself.”
Catherine deposited Smoky on the ground and gave Joyce a hug to start her toward the backdoor, but for her friend’s sake, she sure hoped Shane found a way to redeem himself over the weekend.
Saturday night, Luke brought a phalaenopsis with lovely white butterfly blossoms to Catherine’s house. “I’m hoping an orchid won’t bring on more tears,” he quipped.
Catherine greeted him with a quick kiss and accepted the pretty plant with unabashed delight. “They won’t, and this one is gorgeous. Thank you so much, but you needn’t bring me presents.”
“I wanted to,” he assured her. “Whatever you’re cooking smells delicious.”
“So do you,” she replied in a throaty whisper. She found it so easy to tease him outside Lost Angel. She was sorry they had to spend so much time there.
“Come on in the kitchen and help me finish the salad.” She placed the orchid on the coffee table and led the way. “Would you like a drink?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“All right, then, will you peel the carrots for the salad while I grate the mozzarella to top the chicken?”
“I’ll be right happy to, ma’am. You know how much I like to cook.” He stepped up to the sink, grabbed the peeler, a carrot, and got busy.
Quickly assured he was happy about taking on the chore, Catherine worked beside the stove to grate the fist-size hunk of mozzarella. “How was your day?” she asked.
“Busy. I’d let my usual weekend errands pile up, but at least it was a nice day to be out. How about you?”
“I gardened a bit and had lunch with a friend who’s nursing a broken heart. I realize you’re not Dr. Phil, but would you mind terribly if I asked you a relationship question?”
“For your brokenhearted friend?” he asked in a decidedly skeptical tone.
She took a quick step to give his shoulder a playful shove. “Yes. I wouldn’t ask you for advice and then use it against you!”
He laughed at her promise, but he still appeared unconvinced. “Go ahead, but you already know I lack Phil McGraw’s charm.”
“You have plenty of your own, Dr. Starns. Besides, what I’m really after is some insight, a man’s perspective, on a difficult situation.”
“Well, at least I qualify in that regard,” he replied with another burst of hearty laughter.
She
savored the magical sound to the last resonant note. Sam had filled the house with such joyous noise, and it was far too quiet now. “Fine. Let’s say you and I are in that wonderful restaurant in China Town. If I went to the restroom and didn’t return within a reasonable amount of time, what would you do?”
He grabbed another carrot. “Knowing just how long women can spend in restrooms, I’d wait awhile longer. Then I’d go and check the bar to make certain you hadn’t run into an old boyfriend or someone else you liked better than me and forgotten that I exist.”
“And if I weren’t in the bar?” she coaxed.
“I’d ask our waitress to check the women’s room to make certain you weren’t ill.”
“And if I weren’t there?”
Luke glanced over his shoulder. “Is this some kind of test?”
