At the moment, she couldn’t imagine herself with anyone other than Larry. Which led to an interesting question. Where did they go from here?
Since her disaster of a marriage with Simon, she hadn’t thought much about the future with any individual man. She’d had a generic fantasy in the back of her mind of a husband and children, a picket fence and a dog.
Her gaze strayed to Rufus where he was snoring on the living-room mat. He wasn’t what she’d pictured for the dog, but he was growing on her. And now she, astonishingly, had trouble imagining any other dog.
Just like she had trouble imagining any other man.
But Larry might not want more children. She knew Dean was in his late forties, so Larry must be fairly close to the same age. She hadn’t asked, because asking made it seem like it mattered, and it really didn’t. Except when it came to the tricky question of children.
Steve was completely grown up. He had a great career. He was engaged and about to embark on his own life. Heck, Larry could become a grandfather in the next few years. Why would he want to become a new father?
And, really, why on earth was she obsessing about this? They’d slept together one time. They’d had, technically, three dates. And here she was planning their happily ever after. Larry would probably break out in hives if he had the slightest inkling of the direction her thoughts were taking.
There was a shuffling noise on her porch as somebody reached the top of the stairs.
Rufus’s ears perked up, and Crystal rose in anticipation of a knock. Maybe it was Larry. And maybe she should wipe this stupid, dreamy expression off her face and behave like an adult.
“Crystal?” her mother called through the closed door.
“Hey, Mom.” She quickly wiped the expression off as her mother turned the knob to enter.
“You coming down to work today?” her mother asked without preamble.
Crystal nodded. “Sure. Something going on?”
Stella closed the door behind her. She was dressed in no-nonsense charcoal slacks with a pale-blue, Softco Machine Works collared shirt tucked into the waistband. She’d always tended toward stocky, but she was solid and healthy and still full of energy, even though she was in her fifties.
“Just the usual,” she said. Then her gaze went to Rufus, and she wrinkled her nose. “I came up on Saturday, but it looked like you were away.”
“I went to the race at Dover.” No sense beating around the bush. Amber had met Larry last night, and word would be out in the family by the end of the week. “With Larry Grosso.”
Her mother’s expression tightened. “I thought he was helping you with your cookbook.”
“We’re also friends.”
“Friends?”
“We like each other. We enjoy each other’s company.”
Stella’s face pinched in suspicion, but she didn’t voice the obvious question. “Your father and I wanted to talk to you.”
Crystal’s first thought was about Amber. Or maybe it was Larry. Then she had the horrible thought that one of her parents could be ill.
“Is everything okay?”
“Pretty much,” said Stella.
“What does
“It means I want to talk to you later, with your father and Amber.”
“You’ll just have to be patient. This curiosity of yours has always been a problem.”
“I’m not curious.”
Her mother frowned at her.
Crystal wanted to press further, but Stella was as stubborn as they came. Stella wanted a family conference, and she’d wanted to pique Crystal’s interest. She had.
“What time?”
“Six.”
“For dinner?”
“Of course for dinner.”
So much for her date with Larry. “Did Amber say yes?” On the bright side, at least it would keep Amber away from Zane tonight.
Then Crystal had another thought. “Are the kids coming?” She didn’t want any more marginal babysitting situations.
“I haven’t talked to Amber yet.”
“Make sure she brings them.”
Stella stared at her with a probing curiosity. But Crystal wasn’t about to crack. She could play things equally close to the chest.
After her mother left, Crystal went straight to the phone, dialing Larry’s number, which had mysteriously lodged itself in her brain. Funny, it usually took her weeks or months to memorize a number.
“Larry Grosso,” came his clipped greeting.
“Larry, it’s Crystal.”
His tone immediately softened. “Hey, Crystal.”
“Sorry to bother you.”
“What makes you think it’s a bother?”
She found herself unaccountably nervous. “Well, you weren’t expecting me to call…”
“I love it when you call.”
“You do?”
“Yes. What’s up?”
She cleared her throat. “My mother just invited me for dinner tonight.”
Silence.
“It’s some kind of family conference. Something big, or at least big in her mind. Amber’s invited, too.”
“Then our date is off.”
She sighed. “Afraid so.”
He was silent again.
“I’m sorry,” she quickly told him, putting all the sincerity she could muster into her voice. “
“How late will it go?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Call me after?”
“Yeah?” She couldn’t help the almost breathless tone of anticipation.
“Yeah,” he assured her. “Call me as soon as you’re done.”
LARRY DIDN’T BELIEVE IN LUCK. He believed in hard, cold facts as proven out millions of times a day through the laws of physics and mathematics. But it sure seemed like fate was throwing a lot of roadblocks in his way when it came to Crystal. Given how anxious he was to spend time with her, and how interested she seemed in spending time with him, the law of averages said they should have gotten together more times than they’d managed so far.
If he was a superstitious man, he might be getting a little worried. But he wasn’t, and he wouldn’t, and he was going to finish redecorating the bedroom.
As usual, he’d been up since four. He’d hauled the guest bed down to the basement, moved Libby’s brass bed into the guest room, and was busy reallocating her touches to the living room and dining room.
She’d loved watercolors, where he preferred oils. The mauve and pink floral painting that had hung above their bed was now at one end of the formal dining room. He’d taken a pair of seascapes from the living room and put them on the wall of the bedroom. He’d found a massive, dark oak four-poster in an Internet catalogue this morning. It was being delivered from a local store at noon.
Libby had chosen a French provincial loveseat for their bay window alcove. Larry was replacing it with a pair of hunter-green leather armchairs. The dressers were fine, but the doilies and cut glass perfume bottles could be put away. And right now, he was heading for the hardware store to find a light fixture that would suit his new vision of
