Blossom Street Brides (Blossom Street #10)(47)

“My weekend was lovely. Rooster and I—”

“Who’s Rooster? You’ve never mentioned him before.”

“That’s because I just met him.”

His name seemed to amuse Elisa. “Doesn’t he get teased with a name like Rooster?”

Lauren had wondered the same thing, and she smiled as she recalled his answer. “I asked him and he said, if he was teased, it never happened more than once.”

Elisa smiled. “I haven’t met this new man in your life, and I like him already.”

“I like him, too.” Like, Lauren mused, was such a weak word. It didn’t come anywhere close to expressing how she felt about Rooster.

Elisa’s gaze widened. “My goodness, look at you. You’re positively glowing. This new guy must really be someone special.”

“Rooster is beyond special. I’m in serious danger of falling in love.”

“Really? After only a few days? This isn’t like you, Lauren.”

Elisa was right. This was an entirely new experience for her. “I’m sorry to be so happy when you’re so miserable,” she told her friend, “but I can’t help myself.”

“Be happy, please. I’m sure I’ll remember what that feels like again, one day, myself.”

Lauren’s cellphone chirped. Normally when on the job she would ignore it. “Do you mind if I get that?” she asked hurriedly. She hadn’t heard from him yet this morning. “It might be Rooster.”

“Go ahead. Far be it from me to stand in the way of young love.” Then realizing what she’d said, Elisa added, “Young love doesn’t mean I’m referring to age.”

After four rings, just before her cellphone went to voice mail, Lauren dug it out of her purse and answered. She didn’t recognize the number and had to assume it was Rooster phoning from a landline.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

It was Todd.

Lauren’s heart sank first with disappointment, then frustration. Both emotions warred with each other and she found herself unable to speak for the first few seconds.

“I’m calling from a line at the station. I thought you said you’d be in touch. I waited all day Monday. You’re normally so responsible. What’s up?”

He’d waited for her? After all the times he’d left her sitting in a restaurant, all the times he’d left her dangling or just plain stood her up.

“What’s up?” she repeated. “I told you before, Todd, it’s over. This isn’t a ploy to get you to marry me, I’m sincere. I’m moving on, and I suggest you do the same.”

“You don’t mean it,” Todd insisted.

“Yes, Todd, I do mean it. Now, please, don’t call me again.”

She tried to be kind; she wasn’t angry, just determined, and all she could do was hope that Todd would believe her and leave matters as they were.

Chapter Eighteen

My knitting changed when I allowed myself to look up from other people’s patterns and instead started to watch the work build in my hands stitch by stitch. I stopped worrying about making errors and began wondering “What if …” New directions presented themselves.

—Kathryn Alexander,

spinner, knitter, and weaver

Lydia knew something was troubling Casey the minute her daughter slumped into her chair at the breakfast table. The teenager, who was by nature a chatterbox, didn’t say a word. Even Cody noticed.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Lydia said, and served up a bowl of old-fashioned oatmeal she’d cooked with plump raisins. Because the yarn store was closed on Monday for the holiday, she wasn’t opening until noon on Tuesday and took more time than usual with breakfast.

“Are you sick?” Cody asked as he dumped sugar and milk over his oatmeal, and when he thought Lydia wasn’t looking, he added two additional scoops of the sweetener.

“No,” Casey snapped. “Do I look sick?”

“No, you look mad,” Cody returned. “What did I do that was so terrible?”

Lydia delivered toast to the table. “Did you get out on the wrong side of the bed?” she asked, and placed her hand on Casey’s shoulder.

“What does that mean, anyway?” Casey shrugged off Lydia’s hand.

Lydia exchanged looks with Cody. He seemed to be saying he was glad he could escape. The school bus would pick him up in ten minutes, which was one reason he rushed to finish his breakfast.

“What does that mean?” Lydia repeated the question as she sat down across from her daughter. “I don’t really know. I never thought about it before. It’s something my mother used to say to me. I bet we could find out where it originated online.”

“I’ll ask Grandma.”

“Okay.” Actually, it was a curious question. “I know it has to do with being grumpy in the mornings,” she said, musing out loud. “From what I remember, it goes back to something from the Middle Ages about getting out on the left side of the bed, but I could be wrong. Mostly it has to do with being cranky.”

“I’m not grumpy, and I’m not mad,” Casey insisted, raising her voice.

Cody stood, shoved another spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth, grabbed a slice of toast and his backpack, and headed out the door. “What’s for dinner?” he asked, pausing in the doorway.