Roberta shook her head. “No. Not at all. It just seems...” She clamped her lips together, killing the sentence. “I only want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I am,” Daphne assured both of them as she poured their soup. “I will be.”
It seemed as though all the men she’d chosen had done nothing but make her feel bad about herself. She was through with that. She was through with men. Period. Even if fifty was the new forty, which meant she was only forty-three. She could go the rest of her life without sex, and if she wanted someone to love she could get a dog. She flashed on a sudden image of a big, woofy dog wandering around Primrose Haus, jumping on the guests. Okay, maybe a cat.
Her mother smiled faintly. “Well, good for you.”
Yes, good for her. Meanwhile... “I have something for you,” she said. She hurried to where she’d left her gift, then brought it back to the kitchen and presented it to her mother.
“Now what’s this?” Roberta asked, taking the wrapped picture-shaped package.
“Open it and see.”
She pulled off the wrapping and her eyes lit up in delight at the framed article from the Gazette. “Oh, Daphne, how thoughtful.”
“Do you like it?” Of course she did, but it was so nice to hear the pleasure in her mother’s voice, Daphne couldn’t help wanting to prolong the moment.
“I love it, darling. Let’s hang it here in the kitchen, where we can see it every day.”
As if Roberta Gilbert needed to be reminded of her success? But Daphne was happy to comply.
“Don’t worry about the dishes. I’ll do them,” Mother said after Daphne had hung the picture and was disposing of the wrapping paper.
Actually, she hadn’t been worried about the dishes at all. Naughty her.
Later that day her daughter, Marnie, called to check in.
“I’m sorry you’re going through this, Mom. You deserve better.”
Evidently not, but she appreciated her daughter’s support. “Thanks, honeybee.”
“I love that nickname,” Marnie said, a smile in her voice. “And I love you. I wish you’d come out for a visit.”
“I will soon,” Daphne promised. “I need to get my feet under me first, though.”
“Um, how’s that going, staying with Grandma?”
“It’s going fine.” Sort of.
“You can always move out here, you know.”
She knew. Marnie would have liked nothing more than to have her nearby. “You don’t need me underfoot. You’re busy with your own life.” And dealing with her father, who liked to invite himself to New York for a visit whenever he was drying out (which was rare) or wanted a cheap vacation (which was less rare).
“I’d never be too busy for you.”
“Thanks, honeybee. I appreciate that.” She wasn’t interested in moving to the East Coast. She liked it fine here on the western side of the States. But it was good to be wanted by someone, especially when that someone was her daughter.
* * *
“I brought everything you need,” Daphne said to her lawyer the next day.
Shirley Schneck nodded as she took the fat sheaf of papers. “Thanks. How are you doing, by the way?”
“I hate men,” Daphne informed her. “I’m going to become a lesbian.”
“You have no idea how many women have told me that,” Shirley said with a smile. “You’ll change your mind at some point, though, and be ready for another man.”
“I doubt it.” Daphne scowled. “I’m going to get a kitten.”
“Good idea,” Shirley said. “Keep the anger going for now. You’ll need it for the battle ahead.”
A battle. She was going to be battling her former best friend and lover. She could feel a little spring of tears bubbling up. Then she thought of Mitchell and his latest Stella and the spring went dry.
“You’ll get through this,” Shirley told her and proceeded to get down to business. The business of war.
War was exhausting. By the time Daphne left the office, she felt like a dish towel after a round with the washing machine agitator. Divorce was awful. After her second divorce she’d vowed to be careful, pick more wisely, never find herself in this position again. Yet here she was.
Okay, she needed chocolate. It was almost lunchtime anyway. Chocolate for lunch, maybe not the most nutritious choice, but, oh, well. Right now her soul was more in need than her body.
Five minutes later she walked into the gift shop of Sweet Dreams Chocolates, a veritable cornucopia of treats. Display racks and tables offered everything from various-size boxes of chocolates to snack items such as chocolate-dipped potato chips and caramel corn drizzled with white and dark chocolate. Lovely smells drifted over from the adjoining factory, making her mouth water.
Heidi Schwartz was working the counter as usual. She greeted Daphne with a friendly hello. “Anything special you’re in the mood for today?”
Sex. “What do you have that’s new?” Daphne asked.
“Our big seller is the dark chocolate–chipotle truffles. I can put some in a box for you.”
Daphne nodded. “Put in some of those white chocolate bonbons with the rose-flavored filling, too. And a couple of salted caramels.”
Heidi got to work. “I hear you’re back in town to stay. Are you going to help your mom with weddings?”
“That’s the plan.” Daphne supposed Heidi had also heard that she was getting divorced. News traveled fast in a small town. If Heidi saw the irony of a divorcée helping with weddings, she kindly didn’t say anything.
Daphne was getting out her charge card when Samantha and Cecily Sterling made an appearance, probably on their way to lunch. “Hi, Daphne,” Cecily said. “How are you doing?”
There was no need to ask what Cecily meant by that. “I’m fine, glad to be home.”
“Have you found a job yet?” Samantha asked.
Good grief. Was there anything anyone didn’t know about her? Oh, yes. One thing. No one knew she’d discovered her husband with yet another woman and attacked him with a toilet plunger. No one was ever going to know about that.
“Not yet,” Daphne said. “I only need something part-time. I’m going to be helping my mother with weddings.”
“Our mom’s been talking about hiring an assistant,” Cecily said. “I think you two would work well together.”
“Yeah?” Daphne liked Muriel Sterling. Well, who didn’t? Muriel was eternally sweet, perpetually positive. She’d make a great boss.
“You ought to go see her,” Samantha urged.
Maybe she would.
She stopped by Herman’s Hamburgers and treated herself to a fat Herman’s burger loaded with fried onions. Then she decided to swing by Muriel Sterling’s rented cottage and convince her that hiring an assistant would be an excellent idea.
She went there by way of Johnson’s Drugs, where she picked up some mints to disguise her onion breath. Not that Muriel would care. She’d known Daphne all her life. Still, if a woman was going to talk jobs, even with an old friend, she needed to be professional.
Hildy Johnson was on the cash register. She was as tall and homely as Daphne remembered, only she’d put on some weight. Her breasts now stood out like cannons.
“I’m sorry your third marriage didn’t work out,” she said as she rang up Daphne’s purchase.
Hildy, the soul of tact.
“It’s hard to find a good man, especially once you get older.”
Fifty is the new forty. “It’s hard to find a good man, period,” Daphne said and handed over a five-dollar bill.
Hildy nodded. “Yes, it is. But you’re still a beautiful woman.”
“Thank you.” Much good it did her.
“I’m sure you’ll have men lining up at your door. Or rather, your mot
her’s door. You’re living with your mother now, aren’t you?”
Hildy made it sound like the hallmark of failure. Okay, Daphne wasn’t exactly a success story so far, but her story wasn’t over yet.
“I’m helping her run Primrose Haus,” she said.
Hildy’s eyebrows went up at that.
“I may be getting divorced but I can still plan a wedding reception,” Daphne said, her Miss Congeniality smile disappearing.
“Oh, well, yes. Of course you can. It’s not like you’ve never had your own reception before.”
Three of them, but who’s counting?
Hildy must have realized what that implied because her cheeks suddenly flushed red. “Your mother must be happy to have you back. And everything will work out fine,” she added, handing over Daphne’s change along with her breath mints.
“Thank you,” Daphne murmured.
She left the drugstore, the memory of her romantic failures keeping her company. That was enough to depress even the most optimistic of women.
It was starting to drizzle and she drew her coat tight against the cold March air. Instead of popping a breath mint, she pulled out a dark chocolate–chipotle truffle from her Sweet Dreams candy box and gave her taste buds a treat. There. Life wasn’t all bad. It was darkest just before the storm and every cloud had a chocolate lining. And she was taking her new life one day at a time, one step at a time. And the next step was to convince Muriel that she needed an assistant.
Maybe, while she was helping Muriel, Muriel could help her.
Situated next to a vineyard, Muriel’s cottage was a Thomas Kinkade painting come to life. White with green shutters, the cottage was hugged by azaleas and rhododendrons. A dried-flower wreath hung on the front door in anticipation of spring.
Daphne’s heart rate picked up as she knocked on the door. The very thought of trying to convince a potential future employer that she was worthy of being hired stressed her out. Which was probably one reason she’d stayed at the same job all those years. That hadn’t gotten her very far, but when it came to moving up the ladder of success, she was afraid of heights. And all her mother’s nagging had only increased her fear. Performance anxiety, she supposed.
This was an old family friend, though; she didn’t need to be nervous.
Muriel opened the door and, at the sight of Daphne, broke into a delighted smile. “Daphne, what a nice surprise!”
Her delight was a balm to Daphne’s wounded spirit. “I should have called. Are you busy?”
“Just editing some pages. I’m happy for the distraction,” Muriel said. “Come in. How about a cup of chocolate mint tea?” she asked as she ushered Daphne into the small living room.
Mint...breath mints. She should’ve taken one before she got out of the car. Did her breath smell? “That would be great,” she said, taking care not to stand too close to Muriel.
“Have a seat. I’ll be back in a minute,” Muriel said and disappeared into the kitchen.
Daphne settled on a floral love seat and dug out a mint. She popped it in her mouth as she looked around. The place was half the size of Muriel’s old house, but it was homey. In addition to the love seat, it held two matching chairs and an ornately carved coffee table. In the far corner, off the kitchen, sat a small mahogany dining table and four chairs. A vase filled with green carnations brought spring into the house and served as a reminder that Saint Patrick’s Day was right around the corner. A buffet stood against one wall, topped with a mantel clock. One large painting of a garden entrance blooming with wisteria hung over the love seat, and framed photographs of mountain scenes—her daughter Samantha’s work—occupied space on other walls. The house smelled faintly of lavender.
Now Muriel was back bearing a tray with a chintz teapot, cream and sugar and two china mugs, plus a small plate with finger sandwiches and one with some of her daughter Bailey’s famous lavender sugar cookies.
Daphne smelled something new, the enticing combination of chocolate and mint. “That tea smells delicious.”
“It is,” Muriel said with a smile. “Just the thing for a cold afternoon.”
“It’s sweet of you to feed me,” Daphne said, helping herself to a cookie.
“I was getting hungry. I thought you might be, too.” Muriel poured tea into a china mug and handed it to Daphne. “How are you settling in?”
“Pretty well. I’m glad to be back.” Even if the whole town did know she’d failed at love. Again.
Muriel nodded. “This is a good place to come and heal a broken heart.”
“I’m hoping it’s a good place to build a new life,” Daphne said.
“It is.”
It was now or never. Daphne took a sip of tea for courage. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, I’ll be working with Mother at Primrose Haus, but I’m also looking for something I can do part-time to bring in a little extra money. Cecily said you might need an assistant. I have a lot of experience in that area.”
“I could certainly use the help,” Muriel said. “It seems that these days an author has to do so much more than simply write a book, and I do find mailings and organizing blog tours to be very taxing.”
Daphne knew what a blog was, but what on earth was a blog tour? Whatever it was, she was sure she could handle it. “I’m good with a computer and I’m very good at organizing.”
Muriel looked at her eagerly. “Even paperwork?”
“Especially paperwork.” She might not have inherited her mother’s cleaning gene but she could certainly file.
“Let me show you my office.”
Daphne followed her into a tiny bedroom that was serving as her office. It had a filing cabinet, several bookshelves crammed with books and a huge desk...piled high with papers. There was barely room for the computer. The filing cabinet was covered with more papers and so was the printer that sat on a little table next to the desk. A stack of books lay on the floor next to the desk, and in another corner a wicker basket overflowed with still more paperwork and magazines. Muriel Sterling definitely needed help. She’d written a book on simplifying your life. It obviously hadn’t included a chapter on simplifying your office space.
“Between my personal life and my writing life, I’m afraid it’s all kind of...overwhelming,” Muriel confessed as if reading Daphne’s mind. “I got rid of a lot when I moved, but managing my business is becoming too much for me. I think hiring an assistant would really bring some order to that part of my life.”
“I think you’re right,” Daphne agreed. “I’d love to help you,” she said. “And you’d be helping me, too.”
“It’s hard starting over, isn’t it?” Muriel said kindly.
Daphne’s eyes suddenly prickled with tears. “Yes, it is.”
“But it can be done.” Muriel opened the closet, revealing more clutter—shelving filled with everything from printer paper to sachets and soaps, candles and gift baskets. And more books. “When I do author events I always bring a basket full of goodies as a door prize,” she explained. “I love giving things away. And speaking of giving things away...” She selected a book from one of the many stacks. “You might find this helpful. I like to think it helped Bailey when she came home to make a new start.”
Daphne took in the book cover. It was simple and striking, with a single long-stemmed red rose against a blurred black-and-white garden. The title was gold embossed. “‘Starting Over,’” she read. “That’s me. Thank you.”
“No, thank you. You’re going to make my life so much easier.”
Now, if Daphne could just find someone to make her life easier. Maybe a genie. Or a fairy godmother. Or a Jiminy Cricket to warn her every time she was about to make a dumb decision. No, never mind. She made dumb decisions only when it came to men, and since she was done with men she didn’t need old Jiminy.
She left Muriel’s p
lace feeling far more positive about her life and her future. She could hardly wait to earn a paycheck again. She and Muriel had agreed on a fair salary for three mornings a week, and Daphne was going to start on Friday. That was fine with her. Cash flow was a good thing, and working only three days a week, she’d still have time to get her affairs in order, as well as take some of the load off her mother’s shoulders. And prove she was capable of doing so.
Daphne sighed. Maybe that would never happen. Her mother was a perfectionist and an overachiever. Not content with her job at the bank and having a pretty house, she’d started her own business and turned herself into one of the grande dames of Icicle Falls. In the past, Roberta Gilbert had chaired any number of committees, seeing to everything from town beautification to organizing the Oktoberfest parade. She still rode in it every year on the Primrose Haus float, along with any of the local brides who’d gotten married or held their receptions at the house that year. Oh, yes, she was a hard act to follow. Not to mention an exhausting one.
But Daphne was determined to do it.
This job was a hopeful beginning. Her mother might not have thought highly of her skills but Muriel Sterling obviously did, enough to hire her. Who knew where she might go from here? Today Muriel Sterling’s loyal assistant, tomorrow the organizer of some new Icicle Falls festival. She wouldn’t always be a loser.
She smiled. Once she was free of Mitchell and had money from the sale of the house, she’d be sitting pretty. Heck, she was sitting pretty now.
She was so busy thinking about how her life was going to improve, she almost didn’t see the dog darting into the street in front of her. She stomped on the brakes and just about throttled herself with her seat belt. The animal dodged out of the way, then romped back to the side of the road to give a huckleberry bush the sniff test.
“You are not going to last long if you do that,” she muttered.
The dog, some sort of yellow Lab mix, still seemed to be a puppy. She got out of the car and called, “Here, boy,” and the dog came bounding over, tail wagging.
A Wedding on Primrose Street (Life In Icicle Falls Book 7) Page 11