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Authors: Debbie Macomber
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noticed.”
“How do you know that?”
“I saw the tip you left our waitress.”
“She gave us excellent service.”
“Thoughtful, too.”
“Really?” Rooster had no idea how she’d determined that. Before he could ask, she supplied the answer.
“You asked if you could sit with me to free up a table at The French Cafe.”
“Right. And I have my daddy to thank for insisting on walking you home.”
“A gentleman.”
“I’m batting a thousand.”
“Yes, you are,” she said, laughing. “I probably shouldn’t have told you about the list. If it makes you uncomfortable, I apologize.”
“It doesn’t.” They’d slowed their pace to a near crawl. They continued walking for another block while Rooster sorted through his thoughts, wondering if he had a shot with her. He decided nothing ventured, nothing gained. “Does this mean you’d be willing to see me again?”
Lauren looked over at him and dazzled him with one of her smiles. “I was hoping you’d ask.”
Chapter Seven
When you put beads in your knitting, you are really putting bits of light in your knitting. The gleam and color-play of beads add a whole other dimension that could be demure or outrageous, as you please. Your choice of beads and yarn uniquely expresses your personality.
—Sivia Harding,
designer and teacher
“Grandma, today was the worst day ever, even worse than Tuesday,” Casey said the instant Lydia opened the door to her mother’s small apartment in the assisted-living complex.
Mary Lou Hoffman looked away from the television screen. “Casey and Margaret. I’m so pleased you’ve stopped by.”
“Grandma,” Casey said, getting down on one knee beside the large overstuffed chair where her grandmother sat. “It’s Casey and Lydia.”
Lydia’s mother’s forehead winkled with a thick frown. “Of course it is. I knew that.”
“It’s all right, Mom,” Lydia assured her. “I know who I am, and I know who you are, too.”
“I’m your mother.”
“Exactly.”
“I had a really bad day,” Casey repeated. “A truly terrible bad day, and I’m not grousing, either.”
Lydia’s mother focused her attention on Casey. “Remember what I said about bad days. Surely you can think of one good thing that happened.”
“Mom tried to get me thinking about the good stuff, too.”
“And did you?”
“I did,” Casey admitted with some reluctance. “I came up with a couple of things, but it wasn’t enough to block out how horrible it was.”
“Can you think of just one more good thing to tell me?” Lydia’s mother asked. She brushed Casey’s hair away from her face and cupped her granddaughter’s cheeks with the palms of her hands.
“Something sort of funny happened,” Casey admitted after chewing on her lower lip.
“Good. Tell me about that.”
Lydia was curious herself, so she scooted out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down.
“I’ve been volunteering at the After Care Program at the grade school, remember?”
Her mother clearly didn’t. “That’s good.”
“I get extra credit for it in my humanities class if I help,” Casey explained.
“So what happened?” Lydia asked, wanting her daughter to get to the story. Brad and Cody were home waiting for them.
“A new boy was there this afternoon,” Casey explained. “He’s in the second grade, and he said his name is Brian. He’s small for his age. I was surprised he wasn’t in first grade or even preschool.”
“A good name,” Mary Lou said. “I once dated a boy named Brian.”
“This Brian wore thick glasses and was sort of nerdy-looking.”
“The Brian I dated was dreamy,” Lydia’s mother added.
“Brian told me he’d fallen on his head when he was little and the fall had killed brain cells.”
Lydia wondered when the humorous part of this story was coming.
“Oh, dear, the poor boy,” Mary Lou offered sympathetically.
“That’s what I said,” Casey continued. “Then he told me he needed
“How do you know that?”
“I saw the tip you left our waitress.”
“She gave us excellent service.”
“Thoughtful, too.”
“Really?” Rooster had no idea how she’d determined that. Before he could ask, she supplied the answer.
“You asked if you could sit with me to free up a table at The French Cafe.”
“Right. And I have my daddy to thank for insisting on walking you home.”
“A gentleman.”
“I’m batting a thousand.”
“Yes, you are,” she said, laughing. “I probably shouldn’t have told you about the list. If it makes you uncomfortable, I apologize.”
“It doesn’t.” They’d slowed their pace to a near crawl. They continued walking for another block while Rooster sorted through his thoughts, wondering if he had a shot with her. He decided nothing ventured, nothing gained. “Does this mean you’d be willing to see me again?”
Lauren looked over at him and dazzled him with one of her smiles. “I was hoping you’d ask.”
Chapter Seven
When you put beads in your knitting, you are really putting bits of light in your knitting. The gleam and color-play of beads add a whole other dimension that could be demure or outrageous, as you please. Your choice of beads and yarn uniquely expresses your personality.
—Sivia Harding,
designer and teacher
“Grandma, today was the worst day ever, even worse than Tuesday,” Casey said the instant Lydia opened the door to her mother’s small apartment in the assisted-living complex.
Mary Lou Hoffman looked away from the television screen. “Casey and Margaret. I’m so pleased you’ve stopped by.”
“Grandma,” Casey said, getting down on one knee beside the large overstuffed chair where her grandmother sat. “It’s Casey and Lydia.”
Lydia’s mother’s forehead winkled with a thick frown. “Of course it is. I knew that.”
“It’s all right, Mom,” Lydia assured her. “I know who I am, and I know who you are, too.”
“I’m your mother.”
“Exactly.”
“I had a really bad day,” Casey repeated. “A truly terrible bad day, and I’m not grousing, either.”
Lydia’s mother focused her attention on Casey. “Remember what I said about bad days. Surely you can think of one good thing that happened.”
“Mom tried to get me thinking about the good stuff, too.”
“And did you?”
“I did,” Casey admitted with some reluctance. “I came up with a couple of things, but it wasn’t enough to block out how horrible it was.”
“Can you think of just one more good thing to tell me?” Lydia’s mother asked. She brushed Casey’s hair away from her face and cupped her granddaughter’s cheeks with the palms of her hands.
“Something sort of funny happened,” Casey admitted after chewing on her lower lip.
“Good. Tell me about that.”
Lydia was curious herself, so she scooted out a chair at the kitchen table and sat down.
“I’ve been volunteering at the After Care Program at the grade school, remember?”
Her mother clearly didn’t. “That’s good.”
“I get extra credit for it in my humanities class if I help,” Casey explained.
“So what happened?” Lydia asked, wanting her daughter to get to the story. Brad and Cody were home waiting for them.
“A new boy was there this afternoon,” Casey explained. “He’s in the second grade, and he said his name is Brian. He’s small for his age. I was surprised he wasn’t in first grade or even preschool.”
“A good name,” Mary Lou said. “I once dated a boy named Brian.”
“This Brian wore thick glasses and was sort of nerdy-looking.”
“The Brian I dated was dreamy,” Lydia’s mother added.
“Brian told me he’d fallen on his head when he was little and the fall had killed brain cells.”
Lydia wondered when the humorous part of this story was coming.
“Oh, dear, the poor boy,” Mary Lou offered sympathetically.
“That’s what I said,” Casey continued. “Then he told me he needed
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