The Shop on Blossom Street

Carol smiled at the dreamy look on Jacqueline’s face. “I thought I’d died and gone to heaven the first time Doug kissed me,” she recalled. She noticed that Lydia was doing busy work around the shop, straightening patterns that were already straight. “What about you, Lydia?” Carol asked.



Lydia jerked around, almost as if she resented being included in the conversation. Then she sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything more than a…kiss. It was always pleasant, but nothing earth-shattering happened afterward.”



“It will one day,” Jacqueline assured her.



“Don’t you think you’re placing a lot of importance on a simple kiss?” Lydia asked. “Good grief, we’ve all been kissed, and while it’s very nice most of the time, it’s not that big a deal.”



Jacqueline motioned toward Alix. “Was it a big deal for you when this preacher kissed you?”



Carol could tell Alix was uncomfortable with the question. The girl tossed her head in a nonchalant movement. “Yeah, I guess, but I don’t think about it, you know?” She looked around, and her expression said she’d thought of little else.



For a moment the room was silent as each woman concentrated on her individual task. Carol wasn’t sure what Jacqueline was working on these days. She’d started knitting scarves using an ultra-expensive yarn and then moved on to felting hats and purses. It was hard to keep up with Jacqueline’s current projects because she leaped from one to another and seemed to have several in progress at a time. Carol suspected she’d become one of Lydia’s best customers.



“Didn’t I see you come out of The Pour House last Friday?” Alix suddenly asked Lydia. “With that UPS driver.”



“Me?” Lydia’s cheeks flamed and she raised her hand to her chest. “Yes…I was meeting Brad Goetz for a drink.”



Alix let out a low whistle of approval. “He’s hot stuff.”



Lydia seemed to find something that needed attention in her display of knitting books. “We’re going to dinner later in the week.”



“Do I sense a romance developing?” Jacqueline asked in a friendly tone.



“That would be nice,” Carol said. She was amused at how shy Lydia was about men. Brad was the first one she’d mentioned. And this young preacher of Alix’s…Carol felt touched that the girl had confided in them.



“Would you like to come up to the condo to get the yarn one day next week?” Carol asked impulsively.



Alix nodded. “You wouldn’t mind?”



“Not at all. Or I can bring it to class, if you’d prefer.”



“I can stop by your place.”



Carol had the feeling the girl didn’t get many such invitations. “Why don’t you come for lunch on Monday? Does that work for you?”



“Yeah, sure.” Despite her indifferent-sounding response, Alix couldn’t hide her eagerness to accept.



Carol looked around at the others with an affectionate smile. There was Alix, of course, whose defensiveness had diminished so noticeably. And Jacqueline, who no longer tried to impress them with her social connections. Lydia had become less reserved, and her warmth and wit were more in evidence every week.



Odd how these things went, Carol mused as she continued to leaf through the pattern book. A group of mismatched personalities, four women with nothing in common, had come together and over the course of a few months, they’d become real friends.



CHAPTER 29



JACQUELINE DONOVAN



M onday morning following her hair appointment, Jacqueline returned to the house to find that a local florist had delivered a dozen red roses. Martha, the housekeeper, had placed them in the center of the formal living room on a round coffee table.



“Who sent the roses?” she asked, stunned to find them.



Martha shook her head. “I didn’t read the card.”



Jacqueline walked into the living room and examined the red buds, gently taking one in her hand. The roses were perfect, still dewy and just ready to open. Their scent was so lovely, Jacqueline thought they must be antique roses. If so, they would’ve cost a fortune. She couldn’t imagine who’d be sending her roses or why.



She reached for the card but didn’t open the small envelope, wanting to linger over the suspense. It wasn’t her birthday or her wedding anniversary. Her husband had never had much of a memory for such events, anyway. In fact, Reese hadn’t sent her flowers in years. Paul was too much like his father to think of doing such a thing, especially when there was no obvious reason for it.



Unable to guess, she finally tore open the envelope, withdrew the card and read it.



Reese.



Her husband! There was no explanation, no message. Confused, Jacqueline sat down on the sofa, still holding the card. She found Martha staring at her, making no attempt to disguise her curiosity.



“Well?” the housekeeper asked.



“They’re from Reese.”



Martha beamed her a broad smile. “I thought so.”



Despite herself, Jacqueline smiled, too. Maybe her housekeeper knew more about her life than she did.



“Would you like me to start dinner for you this evening?” Martha asked as she turned toward the kitchen.



Jacqueline shook her head. “No, I believe I’ll cook tonight, Martha.”



The housekeeper didn’t so much as blink, but Jacqueline could tell she was surprised. Jacqueline rarely ventured into the kitchen, and hadn’t made a complete meal in years. Early in their marriage she’d found a chicken curry dish that Reese had particularly enjoyed. She’d torn the recipe out of a magazine. Jacqueline thought she knew where it was, although it’d been quite a while since she’d gone to the effort of preparing it.



“Martha, do we have any curry spices in the house?”



“I think so. Let me look for you.”



“Is there chicken in the freezer?”



“Should be.”



Jacqueline was only half listening. She moved past the housekeeper and into the kitchen, opening a bottom drawer where she kept her cookbooks. “Do you remember a recipe I had years ago for chicken curry?”



Martha frowned. “Can’t say I do. Are you going to be making a mess in my kitchen?”



Jacqueline smiled, biting back a retort that would have reminded the other woman whose kitchen this really was. “Don’t worry,” she assured Martha. “You’ll get it back in the morning.”



Martha nodded, but she still looked concerned.



After paging through six cookbooks, Jacqueline found the recipe in the back of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking, together with a number of other loose recipes she’d collected over the years. Sitting down at the table, she wrote out a grocery list.



By the time Reese walked into the house at six o’clock, the kitchen was redolent with the scent of coconut milk, chicken, curry and yogurt.



“What’s this?” Reese asked, loosening his tie.



Jacqueline hadn’t heard him come in and whirled around, a wooden spoon in her hand. “Dinner,” she announced cheerfully.



Forgetting herself, she walked over and kissed his cheek. “The roses are beautiful. Thank you.”



Reese’s eyes widened just a little. “I figured I owed you an apology,” he murmured. “I came down on you pretty hard about parking in the alley. I shouldn’t have said the things I did.”



“You were worried about me. It’s a case of me running over the mailbox with the tractor.”



He frowned. “What?”



Jacqueline laughed and quickly retold Tammie Lee’s story. “That’s why her daddy hollered at her mama,” she concluded. “Twice.”



Reese chuckled and then to Jacqueline’s amazement, he kissed her. She was sure he only meant to brush her lips with his, but when their mouths met, something wonderful and exciting took hold of them both.



The wooden spoon clattered to the floor and Jacqueline slid her arms around her husband’s neck. Reese’s mouth was on hers, as avid as if they were new lovers.



Jacqueline lost all sense of time and didn’t know how long they remained locked in each other’s arms. When they broke apart they both seemed at a loss as to what to say or do next. This was by far their most passionate kiss in years.



What astonished her most was the zeal with which she’d responded to his kiss. She’d assumed that after years of celibacy, the sexual part of her nature had atrophied. It was a shock to realize just how alive—how sexual—she was capable of feeling.



“I’d better shower,” Reese said as he backed away from her. He seemed to be in a state of shock himself.



Jacqueline didn’t trust her voice enough to speak, so she merely nodded. Leaning heavily against the kitchen counter, she closed her eyes.



“Wow,” she whispered to the empty room. Now that was something! Once she’d stopped trembling, she retrieved two dinner plates and set them on the dining room table.



When Reese returned from the shower, his hair damp, he’d donned slacks and a golf shirt. Jacqueline had just finished lighting the candles, pleased with her efforts. She could be domestic when called upon and today she’d rediscovered how much she actually enjoyed it.



“Can I do anything?” he asked.



She glanced at him over her shoulder. It was ridiculous to feel shy with her own husband of more than thirty years. She would never have expected this, but she felt as if that kiss was the first one they’d ever shared—as if their intimacy was completely unfamiliar. “Would you pour the wine?”



“Sure.” He opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of chilled chardonnay, which he uncorked. After he’d poured them each a glass, he turned on the CD player.



Singing along to the soundtrack of Les Misérables, Jacqueline mounded rice on their plates and ladled on generous servings of curry. She carried the plates to the table, where Reese was waiting for her. He stood behind her chair and pulled it out, a courtesy he hadn’t bothered with in years.



“It’s a long time since you made me chicken curry,” he said when he was seated across from her. “It smells delicious—thank you.” He reached for his wineglass and raised it. “Shall I propose a toast?”



“Please.” Happiness settled over her until she was nearly giddy with it. Until now, Jacqueline had lost hope that they might recapture the love in their marriage. She felt light-headed with anticipation as she lifted her wineglass and touched the rim to his.



“To the future,” Reese said.



“The future,” she echoed.



After a sip of wine, Reese picked up his fork. Jacqueline held her breath while he tasted his first bite, anxiously awaiting his reaction.



She knew she’d succeeded when he closed his eyes and murmured a soft sigh of appreciation.



“It’s even better than I remember.”



Jacqueline relaxed and took her first taste. The curry was as good as she’d hoped. In retrospect, she wasn’t sure why she’d buried the recipe when she knew how much Reese enjoyed her meals—and how much she used to enjoy making them. Years earlier she’d done all their cooking, even for their many social events. More recently, she’d had her parties catered. She’d casually mentioned that in last week’s knitting class when they’d started talking about memorable meals. To her surprise, Alix had said she’d like her own catering company one day. Alix of all people! This was a rather unexpected revelation, but it made her wonder. She owed Alix….