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Authors: Phoebe Conn
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surrounding ourselves with beautiful living things does promote serenity.”
“You didn’t see the guy.” Joyce fanned her face with her hand. “He had the most beautiful blue eyes and dark, curly hair. He also had a tight, toned body like the men on the UPS calendar. I didn’t hear half of what he said about feng shui. Fortunately, we agreed on the placement of the plants.”
“Which were?”
“A ficus tree, a philodendron, something else I didn’t recognize. They were all big, healthy plants, so he must be a hell of a gardener.”
She pulled his card from her blouse pocket and handed it to Catherine. “A nurseryman, he called himself.”
“Shane Shephard. What a nice name,” Catherine responded.
“Everything about him was nice,” Joyce replied. “He probably has a kid brother named Sean and a sister Sharon.”
Catherine noted the address on his card. “Oxnard is a prime agricultural region. I visited an orchid grower’s greenhouse there once. But clearly your interest wasn’t in horticulture.”
“Damn right, but I doubt Shane was more than thirty.”
“Would a thirty-seven-year-old man balk at dating a thirty-year-old woman?” Catherine asked pointedly.
“Never, but I can’t see myself living in the back of a greenhouse in Oxnard with a nurseryman. I’d probably get a striped tan from the building’s little slats.”
It was an image that made Catherine laugh. “Oxnard is on the coast, and it has a beautiful marina.” She was delighted Joyce had been so captivated by Shane Shephard that she hadn’t pried into her work at Lost Angel. A scrub jay swooped down to sit on the back wall, and she made a mental note to purchase a new bird feeder.
“Oh, like a nurseryman would own a yacht,” Joyce scoffed.
“Stop making excuses. Did he ask you out?”
Joyce brushed a crumb from her blouse and waved her beautifully manicured nails. “Just for coffee, but I told him I was late for an appointment.”
“Which you now regret?”
Joyce shook her head. “Regret is too strong a word, but I’m definitely ambivalent.”
“I can appreciate ambivalence,” Catherine mused quietly without confiding her own dilemma. She handed over Shane’s card. “Why not call him?”
Joyce slid the card back into her pocket and gave it a light pat. “I’d be too embarrassed to make any sense.”
Catherine shot her a skeptical glance. “Your field is interior design. Tell him you need a variety of plants for a new job.”
Joyce took a moment to consider the suggestion. “While it’s not very original, I suppose it would work. But still, he’s too young and scarcely what I’d call substantial.”
“So what? You can provide for yourself, and he might surprise you,” Catherine chided.
“Oh, I’m surprised all the time, but it’s never good.” Joyce sat back in her chair, but she gripped the arms tightly. “Here I am trying to avoid trouble, like Shane Shephard surely is, and you’re out looking for it at Lost Angel. One of us has to be misguided.”
Catherine considered Joyce a dear friend. She’d been there for her when Sam had died, even slept at her house that first terrible week so she wouldn’t have to wake up alone. But there were times, like today, when Catherine wondered if the only thing they truly had in common was an address on the same street.
“Please don’t misunderstand me,” Catherine warned softly. “I had such a marvelous life with Sam, but now I need to do something that matters on my own. Lost Angel provides that opportunity.”
Joyce rose and stretched her arms above her head. “Well, what I need is a man who’ll take care of me because I’m sick to death of making ends meet on my own. Why don’t we go into Pasadena’s Old Town tonight? It’ll be noisy and crowded, but it sure beats staying home alone. We can just walk around, eat at one of the new restaurants, maybe go to a movie.”
Catherine stood to walk her friend to the side gate. She actually enjoyed
“You didn’t see the guy.” Joyce fanned her face with her hand. “He had the most beautiful blue eyes and dark, curly hair. He also had a tight, toned body like the men on the UPS calendar. I didn’t hear half of what he said about feng shui. Fortunately, we agreed on the placement of the plants.”
“Which were?”
“A ficus tree, a philodendron, something else I didn’t recognize. They were all big, healthy plants, so he must be a hell of a gardener.”
She pulled his card from her blouse pocket and handed it to Catherine. “A nurseryman, he called himself.”
“Shane Shephard. What a nice name,” Catherine responded.
“Everything about him was nice,” Joyce replied. “He probably has a kid brother named Sean and a sister Sharon.”
Catherine noted the address on his card. “Oxnard is a prime agricultural region. I visited an orchid grower’s greenhouse there once. But clearly your interest wasn’t in horticulture.”
“Damn right, but I doubt Shane was more than thirty.”
“Would a thirty-seven-year-old man balk at dating a thirty-year-old woman?” Catherine asked pointedly.
“Never, but I can’t see myself living in the back of a greenhouse in Oxnard with a nurseryman. I’d probably get a striped tan from the building’s little slats.”
It was an image that made Catherine laugh. “Oxnard is on the coast, and it has a beautiful marina.” She was delighted Joyce had been so captivated by Shane Shephard that she hadn’t pried into her work at Lost Angel. A scrub jay swooped down to sit on the back wall, and she made a mental note to purchase a new bird feeder.
“Oh, like a nurseryman would own a yacht,” Joyce scoffed.
“Stop making excuses. Did he ask you out?”
Joyce brushed a crumb from her blouse and waved her beautifully manicured nails. “Just for coffee, but I told him I was late for an appointment.”
“Which you now regret?”
Joyce shook her head. “Regret is too strong a word, but I’m definitely ambivalent.”
“I can appreciate ambivalence,” Catherine mused quietly without confiding her own dilemma. She handed over Shane’s card. “Why not call him?”
Joyce slid the card back into her pocket and gave it a light pat. “I’d be too embarrassed to make any sense.”
Catherine shot her a skeptical glance. “Your field is interior design. Tell him you need a variety of plants for a new job.”
Joyce took a moment to consider the suggestion. “While it’s not very original, I suppose it would work. But still, he’s too young and scarcely what I’d call substantial.”
“So what? You can provide for yourself, and he might surprise you,” Catherine chided.
“Oh, I’m surprised all the time, but it’s never good.” Joyce sat back in her chair, but she gripped the arms tightly. “Here I am trying to avoid trouble, like Shane Shephard surely is, and you’re out looking for it at Lost Angel. One of us has to be misguided.”
Catherine considered Joyce a dear friend. She’d been there for her when Sam had died, even slept at her house that first terrible week so she wouldn’t have to wake up alone. But there were times, like today, when Catherine wondered if the only thing they truly had in common was an address on the same street.
“Please don’t misunderstand me,” Catherine warned softly. “I had such a marvelous life with Sam, but now I need to do something that matters on my own. Lost Angel provides that opportunity.”
Joyce rose and stretched her arms above her head. “Well, what I need is a man who’ll take care of me because I’m sick to death of making ends meet on my own. Why don’t we go into Pasadena’s Old Town tonight? It’ll be noisy and crowded, but it sure beats staying home alone. We can just walk around, eat at one of the new restaurants, maybe go to a movie.”
Catherine stood to walk her friend to the side gate. She actually enjoyed
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