Back story: As you can see, daughter and I love each other a lot. It all began when the birthday son I blogged about two weeks ago was in town at her old/new home. She mentioned lack of counter space and wondered where she could get something on wheels to suffice. Brother piped up he just so happened to have one in his basement upstate and would be so happy to gift her with same. BUT since he was leaving for Denmark for a long time and soon and daughter works full time. . .at that point, I said not to worry, we’d meet him halfway early one morning, have a quick breakfast and transfer said treasure to our wagon. Cool.
Wednesday early a.m., husband with seriously bad cold, and I drove up to Liberty, NY to meet at the splendid Liberty Diner. Not bad for a late November day, hour and a half trip, roads clear. Arriving, he parked, left the car calling he had to you know what and left me to scramble out alone. No biggie, right? Except at that moment a truck pulled up, five or six hunters got out; I could tell by their camouflage ensembles, folks; and one made a beeline straight for me. He held out his hand, this tall weathered stranger, and escorted me inside smiling all the way. I thanked him and joined my husband who had not a clue as to what transpired.
And that’s not the end of this lovely moment in time. While waiting for my son, I saw the nice guy pay his bill, surrounded by pals, and waved as I walked across the restaurant. He hurried over, pulled me in his strong arms and kissed me. On the mouth.
We didn’t exchange names. Someday I may just decide to drive up to the Liberty Diner again. Are we having fun or what?
In my book Now What, Carly Evans meets a man by chance. Enjoy the following excerpt:
Even if nothing came of this fine day, I’d enjoy the private me. Before I knew it, three miles zipped by. My body felt alive with a plan in mind. Two hours later, dressed in a pink turtleneck sweater, butter soft leather jacket and new matching skirt, I headed for Lake Shore Drive.
Stopped at a red light while listening to a hot chapter from a recorded novel on CD, I suddenly couldn’t hear because a motorcycle pulled up next to me. So I turned up the volume. At the same moment, the bike’s loud growl became a purr and every word of passion from my speaker poured out the open window of my Mercedes. Startled, I glanced at the biker hoping his helmet prevented the words from getting through to him. He lifted the visor and grinned displaying whiter than white teeth and dimples you could die for. Not the best expression a widow might use but it came to mind. The light turned green, he waved a leather glove and beckoned for me to follow.
I must have been out of my mind because I followed him. Dumber than dirt, that’s me. I found a small can of hair spray deep in the handbag next to me. Placing a finger on the trigger and hoping I wouldn’t spray myself, I followed the biker to a busy section and parked next to him. By now, I’d rolled up the window and locked the doors. A mixed message if there ever was one. Now what?
I watched him gracefully swing a black leather covered leg over the Harley, unsnap the helmet adorned with a lightning bolt down the side and stride toward my car staring straight in my eyes. Whoa. Smoldering blue eyes blazing, he gestured for me to open my window. I shook my head with an emphatic no. He didn’t seem flirty or friendly; more like a policeman about to arrest me for a serious crime. He even assumed the stance with powerful legs astride and said, “Get out of the car.” What had I gotten myself into? So I fell back on the one thing I did best. It had worked when I dated before, it should work again. I played the dumb blonde although my hair was brown with a few highlights. My eyes widened, lower lip trembled, and I even managed to eke out a tear from one eye. It trickled down my cheek and his eyes followed the slow progress. He caved. Gone was Mr. Tough and in his place was Mr. Apologetic.
Shaking his head, helmet with the strap dangling back and forth, he said “Sorry. I was just angry to see a woman be so careless following a stranger. I could have been a bad guy for all you know.” He removed black leather gloves and unzipped one of a myriad of zippers. Producing a card, he held it to the car window for my inspection.
Now I had to search for my glasses. The first item out of my bag was the hair spray.
He laughed. “Were you going to protect yourself against me with that?”
I nodded and continued to feel for the elusive glasses. Triumphant, I perched them on my nose and read his card. Martin Ambrose. Architect. His address was what singles call geographically desirable.
“Now will you come out?”
I unlocked the car door, stepped out of safety and into Martin’s arms. Removing his helmet, he swept me into an embrace that made my senses—if I had any—reel, knees grow weak, and every other cliché I’d ever read about in love stories. They were all true. Me, the widow, thrust up against my car in the most popular mall for miles in broad daylight where who knows what neighbor or friend might pass by, kissing a man I didn’t know existed a few minutes ago. I loved it, loved the abandon and didn’t care, in the heat of the moment, who saw me. And that was the first kiss.
Top pick-Night Owl Review:Touching and often humorous, this book is easy to read – never mushy-sounding or overly sentimental – and written from a perspective that is entertaining yet also seems realistic. It was no chore suspending disbelief and becoming fully invested in this remarkable novel. Carly is an endearing character; her story sublime and heart-warming. Highly Recommended.