by Gina Ardito
“What? And ruin this surprise?” He shook his head. “Unh-unh. I was a major league idiot, which meant you needed a major league apology. Not a routine, ‘Oops, my bad.’” He gestured to the lights, the table, the boombox. “How’d I do?”
“I wish I would’ve known you were planning this tonight. Your mom brought me over a special gift last week. I could’ve waved those hundred dollar bills around to get you to dance closer to my table.”
I had hoped mentioning his mother might embarrass him, but I forgot this was a man standing in ridiculous boxer shorts in my backyard. He didn’t embarrass easily. In fact, he grinned and brushed off my remark. “Yeah, right. That old Korean tradition. Keep the money. We’ll put it in a trust fund for our first kid’s college education.”
A month ago, I might have gone screaming into the night at the mention of a future marriage with Josh. And kids. But now? Now, I laughed. Loud and joyful and without the slightest reservation. Mrs. C. had already convinced me. Once a Candolero man fell in love, he fell in love forever. Even if he first fell at the tender age of eight.
“God, I love your laugh!” Josh pulled me into his arms again. “In fact, I love you, Frannie.”
“I love you, Josh.” I snuggled closer and licked his earlobe, felt him shiver against me. “Come inside with me.”
He arched a brow. “You’re ready?”
With my arms around his neck, I fused my lips to his. Heat crackled from my hairline to my toes. I melted into a puddle of need. When I broke the kiss, delicious shivers rippled over my skin. “Oh, yeah. I’m definitely ready.”
Smiling, he stepped back and gave me a gentle prod toward the back door. “Okay, then. Go. Let me turn this stuff off first. And here.” He picked up the cardboard cup. “Drink your tea. You’ll need the caffeine jolt.”
I winked. “I hope that’s a promise.”
Chapter 22
Emily
The part of me that never grew up loves Halloween. In Snug Harbor, there’s a nip in the air, gold and scarlet leaves paint the trees and fall onto the blacktop in scattered designs, and children dressed as superheroes and cartoon characters skip from house to house, their laughter ringing out behind them. Families gather with friends to trek the streets in search of the mother lode of candy.
For the first time since we were teens, Roy and I got to trick-or-treat together—with Luke and Gabriella, of course. We met up with Charlene Boyd and her kids at the corner where our two streets intersected. Dozens of Halloweens under our belts had given Charlene and me an enviable level of expertise at trick-or-treating. We always came prepared. I brought the wagon, a conveyance that would hold extra layers of clothing, costume props such as magic wands and pirate swords that were required for authenticity but grew cumbersome two houses into the journey, and the little ones themselves when they tired of walking. Charlene had responsibility for two Thermoses of hot chocolate: one for the kids with lots of marshmallows, one for the adults with a double shot of Bailey’s Irish Cream. With our two, plus the three Boyd kids, the adult hot chocolate usually disappeared before we reached the next block.
Today, our older children had their own agendas for celebrating the holiday.
Mellie had volunteered at her high school’s Halloween Helpers party. All the classrooms in the building, decorated by juniors and seniors, became themed rooms for underprivileged children to trick-or-treat in a safe location. This year, Mellie and her classmates in the science club had come up with an Under the Sea theme with scads of blue crepe paper dangling from the ceiling and papier-mâché coral reefs along the floor. The girls dressed as mermaids, the guys as lobsters, octopi, and other diverse ocean life while they passed out candy and goodies donated by local merchants.
Corey, who’d go out later with his friends, stayed at our house to hand out candy to our visiting trick-or-treaters while Roy and I escorted our little ones. The real draw there was Mowgli, our new pup—a Lab/shepherd mix reprieved from Death Row at the local animal shelter. We’d toyed with the pros and cons. We had always been a “dog family,” and since I was out on disability, I had the time to train a pup. We all understood Mowgli wasn’t a replacement for Freckles, who would always hold a special place in our hearts.
Since Roy was the new addition to our Halloween entourage, the children chose him to be the one to walk them up to each house and shout, “Trick or treat!” while Charlene and I hovered curbside.
At one point while they waited at someone’s door, she leaned close to murmur, “Looks like everything’s really good with you and Roy.”
I beamed. “You could say that.” Our counseling sessions had benefited us in dozens of ways. We’d learned to talk to each other, and more importantly to listen to each other. We still had a long way to go, but we’d make it. Together.
“And the kids?” Charlene continued. “The big ones, I mean. They’re happy, too?”
“Happy, healthy and helpful.” After my in-laws had gone home, Roy and I sat down with Mellie and Corey for a heart-to-heart-to-heart-attack-ravaged-heart. We discussed my doctor’s treatment plan, his recommendations for lowering my stress levels, and how they could help. While only a week or two had passed since then, the kids had started pitching in with enthusiasm. Sure, the entire episode was new and eventually, they might slack off, but over time, I’d get stronger, too. And I was already learning ways to communicate my needs to my family without swallowing gallons of resentment.
Charlene, gaze pinned to our kids who were running up yet another driveway, clucked her tongue. “What a motley crew.”
While we strolled the autumn streets, fairy princess Gabriella and pirate Luke dragged plastic pumpkins weighed down with treats. I had my own treat in Roy. When he didn’t drape an arm over my shoulder to keep me close, he held my hand. Who needed spiked hot chocolate? I had my love to keep me warm.
“Maybe I should fake a heart attack,” Charlene mused. “See if I can get Marty and the kids to shape up and help out more.” Her brain must have caught up with her mouth a few seconds later because she waved a hand in front of her reddened face. “Not that you faked what happened to you...”
“Why don’t you start with an appointment with a family counselor?” I suggested. “Dr. Calderon has been a godsend to us.”
Luke’s joyful screech split the air, and I turned to see Roy hoisting his youngest son, up onto his broad shoulders. “All hail Luke, the pirate king!”
My heart fluttered—not from weakness, but from strength. The strength of love and family.
****
Francesca
The doorbell rang again, and Josh unwrapped himself from around me on the couch. “My turn.” He picked up the remote control and hit pause on our movie before striding to the foyer.
I took advantage of his distraction to watch his hips and butt as he walked away. Never, as long as I lived, would I forget his performance that chilly Saturday night—both on- and off-stage. What other man would go to such extremes—an exotic dance down to yellow ducky boxers in forty degree weather—to put a smile on my face?
No doubt about it. In love, there was someone for everyone. And my someone was Josh Candolero.
I continued to ogle his backside while he grabbed the bowl of candy and opened the front door.
“Trick or treat!” A chorus of children’s voices rang out.
“Here ya go,” he said as he passed out the bags of assorted chocolate bars we’d created yesterday. Shutting the door, he replaced the bowl and returned to the living room. “Where were we?”
I scooped up the remote control and hit play again. “Julia was about to tell Hugh she’s just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.”
“Excellent,” he exclaimed. “My favorite part.” He sat again and gathered me into his embrace. I snuggled close and purred my contentment. Craning his neck, he looked down at me. “You okay?”
“Perfect.” Meanwhile, on my television screen, Julia Roberts delivered her famous line.
“No. We are.”
Turn the page for a sneak peek at the next book in the Calendar Girls series, HOMECOMING IN NOVEMBER…
Chapter 1
Terri
I looked up at the new sign over the storefront and stifled a shudder that had nothing to do with the first day of November’s chilly wind. Gold script on weathered driftwood, Terri’s Tea and Tidbits, glistened in the late morning sunlight. I sucked in a sharp breath.
What had my uncle been thinking? I was only forty-five days sober, and he’d plunged me headfirst into a new business venture—a definite no-no in any alcohol rehab program. Yet, somehow, I couldn’t be mad at him. In my heart, this renovation felt right. The timing might be all wrong, but when did I ever play by the rules?
My Uncle Larry’s meaty hand clamped my shoulder as we stood together on the sidewalk outside the front door, which was painted a charming lilac hue that I loved. “Josh Candolero did a helluva job getting this place together in time for your homecoming.”
In the back of my throat, a powerful need bloomed. A need for a shot of iced vodka. I swallowed hard, imagining the zing of the booze, then clutched the gold medallion hanging on a chain around my neck for strength. Sobriety. You can do this. You earned this. “I wish you’d waited, Uncle Larry,” I said. “Not that I don’t appreciate all you and Aunt Andrea have done for me, but it’s too soon.”
“Who says?” he demanded. “If you ask me, this is just what you need. Your own tea shop will keep you out of trouble.”
In other words, this new shop, once the home of Aunt Andrea’s Antique Alley, was intended to keep me from drinking. The cold edge of my power symbol cut into my palm, but I didn’t let go. I had to learn to dull my pain in other ways than by numbing it with alcohol.
“Come on.” He nudged me with an elbow. “Wait’ll you see the inside.”
He dangled the key near my nose, and I reached for it with a slight hesitation. Uncle Larry and Aunt Andrea had planned this surprise for me. They loved me and forgave me for all the crap I’d put them through with my drinking binges. I had no idea if anyone else in Snug Harbor would extend me that same generosity of spirit. No one else knew I’d come home...yet. Eventually, I’d have to face my old friends. And my old enemies.
Would I be able to tell the difference? After all the damage I’d wrought in my booze-induced hazes, it wouldn’t surprise me if the villagers grabbed pitchforks and torches to run me out of town. A new round of shivers rippled through me.
“What are you waiting for?” Uncle Larry prodded me again. “Come on. I want to see the look on your face when you see what we did.”
A huge gulp of air and another touch of my talisman gave me the courage to insert the key in the lock. Before all my newfound valor fled, I pushed open the door.
“Surprise!”
At the shout from the cluster of people inside, I gasped and jumped back, right into Uncle Larry’s brawny bear hug. While my heartbeat slowed to its normal rhythm again, I scanned the crowd of smiling faces. Nia and her twin, Paige; police chief Sam Dillon; Francesca, enclosed in Josh Candolero’s arms—that was new—and Aunt Andrea all stood in a circle.
Francesca, always the most generous soul, strode forward, pulled me into her arms, and kissed my forehead. “Welcome home, Terri. We’re all so proud of you!”
I clung to her, waiting for the mocking laughter, but it never came. “Are you sure?” I whispered.
“Of course I’m sure,” she whispered back, her breath warm in my ear. “We’ve always known the pain you tried to hide. It takes a lot of courage to deal with your problems head-on. And that’s what you did. How could we not admire you for that? You’re one of us. Whether you ever believed it or not.”
I didn’t. She knew that. Since I arrived for a vacation and wound up staying after my parents’ murder/suicide when I was a child, I’d always felt like an outsider here.
After a second quick kiss, this time on my cheek, she stepped away, and another friend took her place. Nia wrapped her arms around me and squeezed. “We missed you, babycakes.”
“We did?”
“Of course, we did. You’re the fourth in our quartet.” A sweep of her arm encompassed Francesca and Paige, as if bundling them with us. “We’ve been besties since you first came here. It hasn’t been the same here without you the last two months.”
“And yet...” I cast a meaningful gaze at Francesca snuggled up with Josh Candolero and Paige twisted around Sam Dillon. “...at least two of you have seemed to find new ways to occupy yourselves.”
A rosy blush bloomed on Nia’s cheeks. “Three of us, actually.”
“Really?” I couldn’t contain my surprise. Not that Nia was standoffish or anything. She just had this tendency to be...well, for lack of a better term, standoffish. “Who’s the lucky man in your life?”
“Aidan.” The blush went nuclear. “You’ll meet him soon.”
Paige and Sam greeted me together, followed by Josh and, finally, Aunt Andrea. “Are you surprised, sweetheart?” my aunt asked. “Do you like it?”
“I’m still trying to take it all in,” I admitted as I gazed over the beautiful shop that was, apparently, all mine.
“Well, go on then,” she replied. “Walk around. Take your time. Look your fill.”
They all stood back and let me soak in the gift they’d created for me. The dark paneled walls were gone, replaced with lovely images of ivy and roses on a creamy wallpaper background. Framed prints of Victorian-era artwork evoked old-fashioned charm. Plump, cushy wingchairs, upholstered in heavy gold fabric, circled tables of assorted shapes and sizes to accommodate intimate parties of two, or get-togethers of four to twelve people. Leafy vines twined the curtain rods where heavy gold drapes hung just to the re-sanded and polished wooden floor.
“The kitchen has all new appliances,” Aunt Andrea said. “And lots of counter space.”
In a near-dream-state, I walked past the gleaming mahogany serving counter, with its mini-pastry carousel and state of the art coffee/cappuccino maker, to the doorway in the back of the new space. Gone was the cramped storage area my aunt used to clutter with dusty crates of nineteenth century Americana. Now, I had a stainless stovetop, oven, refrigerator, and a commercial dishwasher. There was also a massive glass-fronted cabinet filled with ivory china embellished on the edge with a simple circlet of gold. Each piece looked elegant and delicate, the qualities I’d never acquired, but had always hoped to project in my tea shop.
“Well...?” Aunt Andrea prompted. “What do you think?”
I turned around to the sea of anxious faces. “It’s perfect,” I said, and I meant it. Every detail I’d ever discussed, dreamed of, and hoped for had been achieved while I’d been drying out. “Thank you. All of you. It’s incredible. And I can’t wait to get to work here.”
“Good,” Uncle Larry remarked. “‘Cuz we advertised your opening day for tomorrow.”
****
Jayne
Archduke Ferdinand Fluffypaws had ear mites. Oh, the indignity. Not the mites so much as the name. After all, the infection could be cleared up with an antibiotic. The poor tabby’s title? He was stuck with that, thanks to his owner, Mrs. Pflug, for at least another decade. Pity pierced my tender heart as I lifted the cat off the exam table and placed him back in his carrier. His Excellency meowed in pitiful fashion, and I rubbed his head between his ears before locking him behind the cage door.
“If you’ll take him to the reception area and settle up with Becky,” I told Mrs. Pflug, “I’ll bring out the meds he’s going to need.”
The elderly lady beamed. “Thank you, Dr. Herrera.”
“You’re welcome.” I bent to peer into the pet carrier. “Goodbye, Ferdie.”
I received a hiss in reply.
Gratitude was a lost art in the feline world.
Stupid pet names and ungrateful cats aside, I loved working here. Dominic Bautista, DVM, had
been a classmate at Cornell years ago and a member of the brother fraternity to my sorority. I still don’t know how he heard about my troubles, but like a guardian angel, he’d called to offer me a partnership in his veterinary practice in Snug Harbor at the exact moment I needed safe refuge. This charming little village on the east end of Long Island was the perfect place for me to lick my wounds—so to speak—and start over. A place where no one knew me or Ted, where the publicity of the trial probably passed on a ten-second blip—if it appeared in the media here at all.
After washing my hands, I unlocked the medicine cabinet, grabbed a bottle of otic antibiotic lotion, and took it out to the front desk area, along with the patient chart. I left everything with Becky, the administrative assistant, who sat behind the desk. While she handled the paperwork and billing, Miranda, my vet tech, would clean the exam room for the next patient. I scanned the occupants of the waiting room. Seated on the bench near the entrance, a blond boy of about five held a leash connected to a beagle pup, who sniffed the scarred hardwood floor, no doubt in search of treats or the other dogs who’d clustered there until their turn on the exam table. Beside the child, his mother sat, reading one of our informational pamphlets.
Across the narrow aisle, a hulk of a man sat, staring at his cell in his hand. He was so large, I could only see a pair of black dog paws draped over his boots. The rest of his pet hid behind the human mountain. The man’s ramrod posture and shaved head screamed, “Authority figure,” and I shrank into the corner behind the glass to avoid notice. Not fast enough.
As if he’d sensed my scrutiny, he looked up from his phone, and I swore his gaze searched deep into my soul. The fine hairs on my nape danced, and my breath caught in my throat.
Who was he? A cop? At the thought, an icy chill wrapped around me. Would I ever be able to look people in the eye again, without fear they thought me guilty?