Sheila Roberts - Starting Over On Blackberry Lane

“Oh, well,” Cass said philosophically. “It is what it is.”

Cass had a dozen years on Stef. Did a woman master that sort of give-me-the-grace-to-accept-the-things-I-can’t-change attitude as she got older? Stef needed it now.

“Why do you want to relocate the bridal shower?” Cass asked.

“Bradley.”

Cass knew what that meant. “Don’t tell me. He’s started a new project.”

“He’s started a new mess. He forgot that the shower’s tomorrow and decided this would be a good weekend to pull down the wall between the dining and living rooms. He’s got his saw set up and hung a big plastic sheet between the two rooms. A lovely setting for a bridal shower, don’t you think?”

Cass chuckled. “It’ll be interesting. But don’t worry. Everyone on the guest list is either married or has been. We know what men are like.”

“Brad is in a class by himself. He’ll tear up the floor, too, and then the one in here because it’ll all have to match. Then that mess will sit for about a million years while he figures out his next step.” He was still figuring out the next step for installing a new tub. Good thing their house had two bathrooms.

“At least he’s making an effort,” Cass said, obviously trying to help her look on the bright side.

True. But every time Brad made an effort, it wound up an unfinished disaster. She sighed. “This is going to be so...embarrassing. Some of these women haven’t even seen my house.”

“Trust me, they won’t care. It’s about being together, and no one’s going to judge you. Anyway, like I said, they’ve all seen men in action. Your plastic curtain will be a conversation piece.”

“Yeah, but it’s supposed to be about the bride. If this doesn’t give Griffin cold feet...” Except lately it seemed she was already getting them.

“I think she’s already got them,” Cass said, voicing Stef’s thought.

In the last few weeks, Griffin had been a little less enamored of her husband-to-be, a little crankier with him. Okay, he didn’t help out around the house much, but he could be trained. And yeah, he wasn’t a big reader like Stef, but when he was busy gaming she had plenty of free time to read or hang out with friends. He was good-looking and fun-loving, and his sense of humor balanced Griffin’s more serious nature.

They both had interesting jobs. Griffin was a food photographer. (She didn’t make much, but it was a heck of a lot more fun than Stef’s boring part-time job as a teller at the bank.) Steve was a video game tester. (Brad had been extremely jealous when he learned what Steve did for a living...until he learned what Steve made.) Granted, they weren’t rich yet, but the earning potential was there. They had no kids, no responsibilities, and Griffin’s house wasn’t in a state of perpetual disaster. Life on her side of the fence looked pretty good.

“Do you think she’s being too picky?” Stef asked.

“I don’t know. Having been down the divorce road, I’m wondering if there is such a thing as too picky. Better to be sure than be sorry.”

“But her wedding’s the first of June.”

“That’s still several weeks away,” Cass pointed out.

“Maybe I should’ve had the shower closer to the wedding date,” Stef mused. “What if she backs out?”

It would be so awkward for her friend if she had to return all the presents. Still, Stef had picked the early date because she knew Griffin’s old friends in Oregon were planning a shower for her next month. Starting the celebrations early had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now she wondered if she should’ve delayed the party.

“Things have a way of working out,” Cass said. “Meanwhile, we’ll party tomorrow and commiserate with you on the work in progress.”

Stef frowned at the ugly plastic sheet and the mess beyond. This was so...subpar. “Maybe I could switch the shower to Zelda’s.”

“You can try. But I think you’ll find the party room already booked. I’m pretty sure Charley said something about a fiftieth wedding anniversary dinner for some people from Wenatchee.”

Stef cast wildly about in her mind. Bailey Black’s tearoom? Except that was normally closed on Sundays, and she didn’t feel comfortable asking Bailey to go to the inconvenience of opening up.

Here came Brad again, Petey skipping along behind him, hauling the old bedroom curtains she’d planned to donate to Kindness Cupboard. Oh, no. Now what?

“I’d better go,” she said to Cass. “I don’t know what Brad’s up to, but it doesn’t look good.”

Cass laughed, then, after assuring her once more that all would be well, let her end the call.

“What’s with the drapes?” she asked Brad.

“Camouflage,” he replied. “You were getting rid of them anyway, right?”

“Right,” she said cautiously.

“So, it won’t matter if they get wrecked. I’m going to nail them up in front of the plastic. Then no one will see. Brilliant, huh?”

He was obviously fishing for a compliment, but she was too irritated to admire his manly creativity. Instead she told Petey, “It’s bath time.”

“I want to help Daddy,” Petey whined.

“We’ll be done in five minutes. Then I’ll give him his bath,” Brad said. “You go relax.”

“Okay, fine.” She’d recorded a mystery on the PBS channel. She’d watch that and imagine her husband as the murder victim.

The corpse had just been discovered when her two boys stopped by the family room on their way to the bathroom (the one that still had a tub). “Take a look,” Brad told her. “It’s not half-bad.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said confidently. But she noticed he took their son and hurried upstairs before she could render a verdict.

The living room now had tan drapes hanging closed on one side. Okay, maybe someone who used her imagination could pretend the drapes were covering a window.

Yes, everyone had a window in the middle of her house between one room and another.

But it beat the plastic curtain. Barely.

“So, not too bad, huh?” Brad prompted after they’d tucked their son in and kissed him good-night.

“It’ll have to do,” she said grumpily.

He put an arm around her. “Come on, Stef—have a heart. Are you going to punish me all night?”

“I might.”

“You wanna just kill me and be done with it?”

With his round face, reddish hair and snub nose, Brad looked like a perpetual teenager. And when he wore that penitent-little-boy expression it was hard to stay mad at him.

But she was still willing to try. “Yeah. And I know where to hide the body.”

He frowned. “You’d miss me. Admit it.”

She sighed heavily. “Promise me this project will get done before I’m eighty.”

He crossed his heart. “Promise.”

“Like next weekend?”

“Petey starts T-ball next Saturday. Remember?”

And Brad was the team’s coach. “This is never going to get done,” Stef groaned.

“Don’t worry, Sweet Stuff. It will,” he said and pulled her close. “Now, how about we kiss and...” He waggled his eyebrows.

“No makeup sex for you,” she said. “Not until I solve my mystery.”

He grinned. “I can wait.”

And that was the problem. He was never in a hurry to finish anything. Maybe she should make him wait for sex until he got the great room finished. Of course, if she did that, she wouldn’t have another orgasm until she was seventy.

Later that night they had some great makeup sex. If only her husband was as good with his other tools. Sigh.

Chapter Two

Griffin James finished straightening her hair, then double-checked her makeup. Okay. Done. She went into the living room of the old Craftsman she shared with her fiancé, Steve Redford, and found him still happily streaming his favorite online video game. Busman’s holiday—wasn’t that the saying for doing the same thing on your day off that you did during the rest of the week? There was a reason Steve’s job was perfect for him. He was a gaming addict.