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Some things never changed. Bad cafeteria food was one of those things.
Libby glanced at her daughter’s brunette curls. Another thing that never changed, and never would, was the delight she got watching Meg. Every year she just seemed more wonderful. Her baby was ten years old. Where had the time gone?
“Do you have homework?” Libby asked to cover up the fact she was suddenly feeling nostalgic. Ten-year-olds didn’t appreciate being sighed over.
Meg frowned. “You ask me that every night. Maybe I did it at the Hendersons?”
Libby stirred the sauce and smiled. Her daughter was a normal ten-year-old girl in every sense of the word. She put the spoon down and said, “And maybe you didn’t. Which is it?”
“Fine. I’ll do my homework.” Meg’s hands moved much slower than when they recited Jenny’s barf experience.
“Dinner’s on in about fifteen minutes, so get to it,” Libby said as she signed.
Moving fingers. Dancing hands. Those signs were the only indication that there was something different about Meg.
She watched her daughter stomp away and couldn’t help but smile again. Meg groused about homework, had a room that resembled a pigsty and spent as much time as she could manage chatting with her friends on the Internet. Libby wouldn’t allow her to use public chat rooms, but they’d set up a private one where all Meg’s friends could meet. And meet they did whenever Meg could sneak some computer time on their antiquated model.
She’d be thrilled with the new model Libby planned to buy her for Christmas. Computers, sign language, lip reading—Libby encouraged anything that opened communication for her daughter.
She started slicing the Italian bread, visions of modems and mouses floating through her head. Like any other fifth grader, Meg would love a faster model.
Like any other fifth grader. That phrase summed up Meggie to a T. Well, maybe not just like any other fifth grader. Meg was special, and it wasn’t her hearing impairment that made her that way. She was just a very special little girl.
Too bad her father, Mitch, hadn’t stuck around long enough to see that he was right—their daughter wasn’t normal. No, Meg was spectacular.
Mitch’s loss was Libby’s gain. Raising Meg was probably the most wonderful thing she’d ever do. Getting dinner with her, nagging her about homework, seeing the world through her daughter’s baby blue eyes was a gift. And Libby tried not to let a day go by without reminding herself how blessed she was.
Fifteen minutes later the two of them sat down to their spaghetti and meatballs. In between bites Meg bubbled about her score on some new computer game she was playing with Jackie Henderson. “I beat her, big-time.”
“I suppose she’ll want a rematch, and she might win, so don’t get too cocky.”
“No way. My fingers are quicker than hers will ever be.”
After nine years of signing, Libby’s fingers were fast, but not nearly as fast as Meg’s. She was probably right—Jackie didn’t stand a chance.
The kitchen light flashed at the same moment the doorbell buzzer sounded.
“I’ll get it,” Meg signed even as she flew out of her chair before Libby could protest. She didn’t like Meg answering the door after dark, and evenings came early in November. She hastily trailed after her daughter.
“Flowers!” Meg signed before she took the arrangement of fall foliage from the deliveryman.
The dark-haired deliveryman flashed a lopsided smile as he checked his clipboard. “Libby McGuiness, right?”
“Right.” Libby fished in her back pocket and pulled out a couple dollars. “Here,” she said, thrusting the bills at him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, ma’am. Whoever he is, he’s sure sorry. He called the shop and sent me out after hours, even though it cost him extra.”
Libby shut the door and took the card from the arrangement Meg had placed on the hall table. “Dear Ms. Snippy,” it read, “Here’s a number for Dan’s Driving Lessons. I suggest you start ASAP.”
What an arrogant, couldn’t-park-to-save-his-truck sort of man. Without thinking she bent and sniffed the flowers. He might be an idiot, but that didn’t mean Libby couldn’t enjoy the beautiful arrangement.
“What?” Meg asked, grabbing the card.
“I had a run-in at work,” Libby explained, all her previous annoyance flooding back. “Come on, let’s finish dinner.” She stuffed the card in her pocket and started walking back to the kitchen.
Meg stopped her with a tug on her sleeve. “An accident?” Concern was etched on Meg’s expressive face.
“No,” Libby reassured her. “A very bad parker who thinks he’s funny.”
“I think he is, too,” Meg said. “Is he cute?”
“No, he’s not cute, and you’re a traitor.”
“I’ve seen you park.” Meg pantomimed numerous parking attempts. “You end up miles from the curb.”
“And you’re grounded,” Libby said, laughing. Her frustration with Dr. Hunky-can’t-park Gardner evaporated in the face of her daughter’s amusement.
“Am not.”
“Are, too.” Hands flew as they talked over one another. “No.” “Yes.” “I still have homework.” “You’re a cheat.” “And you can’t park.”
“Eat,” Libby said, and Meg’s hands quieted as she finished her spaghetti. Unfortunately Libby’s thoughts didn’t have to quiet while she ate, and no matter how she tried, they kept circling back to Dr. Gardner. He obviously thought his good looks and a cute card attached to some mums and leaves would get him out of trouble. Well, he had a thing or two left to learn.
Libby didn’t like him—didn’t like him a bit. He was arrogant, and he had a warped sense of humor. Add to that the fact he was far too good-looking for his own good, probably had half of Erie’s female population eating out of his hand, and you had the right mixture for trouble.
Okay, he just moved here. So, he might not have all that many women yet, but just give him time and he would. But one of those women would never be Libby McGuiness.
She could sense trouble when she met it, and in this case trouble had a name—Dr. Gardner.
Trouble.
The pattern of the waiting room border was the least of his worries the next morning, but Joshua Gardner found himself staring at the wallpaper book anyway. Visions of wallpaper designs might be dancing before his eyes, but it was visions of his new neighbor that kept dancing in his mind. A new neighbor whose snapping blue eyes had haunted his dreams last night. A new neighbor who didn’t appreciate his parking abilities.
She did have a point. It certainly hadn’t been his best parking job ever. He’d been in such a hurry to get into his office—his office—that he’d simply jostled his truck into the first available space and never even checked that the oversize vehicle hadn’t infringed on anyone else’s space.
And, of course, his response to her anger had been a bit over the top. He’d been tired, and the tension of getting his practice off the ground might not impress her as a good enough excuse, but there it was. He’d been tired and grumpy and she’d simply set his teeth on edge.
Josh had felt bad moments after he’d pulled out of his parking space. He hoped his flowers had eased the tension between them. The last thing he wanted was to start off on the wrong foot—or tires as the case may be—with his new neighbors.
She was cute though. Ms. McGuiness. She was all bristles and outrage. Both of which happened to look very good on her. He chuckled as he forced his attention back to the task at hand. Wallpaper. It might not be one of his most earth-shattering decisions, but it was his decision. His new life, his new office…his new wallpaper border.
“This,” he said, pointing to a bold, geometric-shaped border.
“You’re sure?” Amy’s tone suggested she was anything but sure about his choice.
“Yes. I’m positive.”
His cute, just-out-of-high-school, bundle-of-energy receptionist shrugged and grabbed the book. “Okay, you’re the boss. It’s your office.” She strode from the office and slammed the door.
The boss.
That was him. Joshua Gardner was in charge, in control. It had been a long time since he’d felt as if he was in control of anything. But now he was the sole owner of Gardner’s Ophthalmology. Every piece of furniture and all the equipment in the office was his. The hiring and firing of staff for the office was all up to him. Even the wallpaper decisions were all his. The buck stopped at his desk.
The problem was the bucks were close to stopping altogether. Buying Dr. Master’s practice, deciding to buy the office building rather than rent it, relocating to Erie…It all took money. After his divorce, his bank account was suddenly lighter than it had been in years. At the moment it wasn’t just light, it was next to empty. But the practice came with a built-in patient base, so hopefully he’d recoup some of his money soon.
Joshua glanced around his office, most of his things still in boxes. The painters were coming tonight to give the waiting room and his office a badly needed face-lift. His new border—which was perfect no matter what Amy thought—would go up sometime next week. Things were progressing.
The move had been the right thing to do. Coming home to Erie, Pennsylvania, had been just what he’d needed to begin his life anew in the city where he’d begun his life. If he walked to the corner and looked down the road, he could see the hospital he was born in. Farther down State Street was the bay where he’d learned to water-ski. Happy memories were stored in about every corner of the city.
Dr. Joshua Gardner was home, he was in charge of his destiny and things were going to be great.
The intercom buzzed. “Doctor?”
“Yes, Amy.”
“Your eight o’clock is here.”
“I’m coming.” Josh shoved his papers to the back of the desk. He was home, doing the job he loved to do, and had probably even scored a few brownie points with his new neighbor with his flowers. Every woman loved to get flowers.
Yes, things were going to be just great.
Chapter Two
“So, what do you think?”
Eight o’clock in the morning was too early to think, too early to deal with Mabel, too early to deal with just about anything. That’s why Libby never scheduled her first hair appointment until eight-thirty if she could help it. Coffee and paperwork for half an hour. It was quiet and eased her into a fully functional human.
And if customers were too much to deal with, Mabel was a complete overload of her fragile system.
Libby finished scooping the coffee into the filter, trying to come up with a convincing reason why she couldn’t help Mabel out. “I don’t think—”
It’s a good idea. That’s how Libby had planned to end the sentence, but Mabel cut her off and said, “So don’t think. Just say yes. It will be fun.”
“If it’s going to be so much fun, why don’t you do it?” Libby slammed the filter into the coffeemaker and hit the switch.
“Hey, I’m president of the association, I can’t hog all the fun jobs. And I’m doing my bit for the area. Now it’s your turn.”
“Couldn’t I find some other turn to take? I could plan a bake sale, or—”
“You could plan the Christmas party.” Mabel shook a motherly finger at Libby. “I need someone I know I can count on.”
“But I don’t have the time.” Time. Libby felt as if every day was a race against the clock. All day long on her feet, then her evenings with Meg, and all the responsibility for the household chores and…
Libby shook her head. No, she didn’t have time for anything else.
“What if I got someone to co-chair the event?” Mabel asked.
Mabel wasn’t going to give up. Libby could see it in the older woman’s stubborn expression and realized she’d lost this particular battle before she’d even started fighting.
Facing the inevitable, she asked, “Someone who’ll co-chair in name only, or someone who is willing to dig in and really work?”
“Work.” Mabel held up her fingers in a scout’s honor sign and then crossed her heart.
If the woman had a heart she would never have come to Libby and made this absurd request in the first place. Despite the fact that everything in her was screaming to refuse, Libby found herself saying, “Maybe, if I’m not doing everything all by myself, I could manage.”
“Of course you can,” Mabel promised. “This is a good way for you to have some fun. We all worry about you. All you do is work and take care of Meg. You need a life.”
“And planning a Christmas party is your way of assuring I get a life?”
Mabel shrugged even as she broke into a grin. “It’s a start. And if you have any problems or questions, you know you just have to ask.”
The coffeemaker made the glug, glug sound that indicated it was done brewing. Gratefully Libby poured herself a mug. If Mabel had come after her first few cups, she suspected she would have done a better job of getting out of this particular task.
“If I have questions, you’ll have the answer?” she asked.
“Of course not. I’m a delegator, not a problem solver.” Mabel grinned infectiously. “But I’ll sympathize.”
“Gee, you’re too generous.”
Mabel shrugged. “It’s a fault.”
“Do you want a cup?” Libby asked, but Mabel shook her head. “You know it’s going to be your fault if this party is a bust. I don’t throw personal parties, so what do I know about throwing one for around fifty people?”
“As much as anyone else, I’m afraid. And, Libby?”
Something in Mabel’s tone made Libby even more concerned. She took a fortifying gulp of coffee. “Yes?”
“Um, I did mention that this Christmas party isn’t just for the group?”
“No?” It was for more than the dozen or so businesses, and their employees, that made up the Perry Square Small Business Association?
“Families, too.”
“Mabel!” Quickly Libby’s mind tried to come up with some calculations. The Perry Square Business Association, the PSBA, had a dozenish businesses as members, about fifty people. If families were included, that was definitely over a hundred people.
“Just how many people am I planning for?” Libby asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Somewhere under two hundred. And don’t worry. I’ll have a list of kids for you, and their ages.”
Libby glared at the woman she used to consider a friend. “Why do I need the children’s ages?”
“So Santa can have the appropriate presents there for them.”
“Presents?” What on earth had she gotten herself into? “Mabel, you didn’t say anything about families, or kids or presents. I was thinking a brunch at some restaurant, maybe a party favor or two. There’s no way—”
“—you could do it alone, which is why the idea of a co-chair is such a good one.” Mabel must have sensed she’d best get while the getting was good, because she grabbed her coat and started toward the door.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Libby called. “We’re not done talking here.”
