1022 Evergreen Place - Debbie Macomber [80]
While she was fussing with her hair one last time, the doorbell rang. The car was ten minutes early. Flustered, Shirley grabbed her purse and hurried to the front door. She opened it and, to her astonishment, Larry stood there on her porch. Just seeing him like this, so handsome and dynamic, just seeing his smile, left her breathless.
When she didn’t immediately greet him, Larry said, “You weren’t expecting me?”
“No,” she blurted out. “I wasn’t expecting you to arrive with the car.”
“It worked out so I could. Are you ready, or do you need a few more minutes?”
“I’m ready.” Or she would be, once her heart settled down and she could breathe normally again.
He guided her to the car. The driver held open the rear passenger door for her while Larry walked around to the opposite side.
Because of her initial reaction, Shirley was convinced she wouldn’t be able to utter an intelligent word during the entire eighty-minute drive into Seattle. But they talked constantly—about everything, from personal histories to what they were reading to preferences in art. When the driver pulled up in front of an elegant Bellevue gallery, Shirley couldn’t believe so much time had passed.
She’d learned a great deal about Larry, and had confided much about herself. Like her, he’d lost his spouse, which she already knew. His two children were both married. He asked about Jim and her children, whom she discussed at length. Shirley thanked him again for helping Shaw and brought up her concerns about Tanni.
Manny Willingham was a sculptor. Larry introduced Shirley, and Manny took her hand in both of his, looked her directly in the eyes and said, “Go easy on my friend. This has been a long time coming.”
Larry growled something under his breath, but Shirley didn’t hear what he’d said, only that he was displeased with Manny’s remark. Soon after, Manny was inundated by others with questions about his work and they didn’t speak to him again.
They viewed Manny’s work and Shirley could see why he commanded the prices he did. Several items already had red dots beside them, indicating a sale. Several others were for display only. One piece in particular struck Shirley, and she studied it for at least ten minutes. It was a bronze, a bouquet of roses just at their peak.
“This is one of my favorite pieces, as well,” Larry said, standing behind her.
“It’s not for sale,” she noted. She would gladly have purchased it if the price had been one she could afford—which she doubted. But the decision had been taken away from her.
“Actually, I own that piece,” Larry said.
Astonished, she turned to face him. “You do?”
“Manny made that for me shortly after Rosie died.”
“Your wife’s name was Rose?”
“Rosemarie. I called her Rosie.”
Until that moment, Shirley hadn’t realized that Larry had never mentioned his wife’s name.
They left for an early dinner at about five. Unlike Will, who’d taken her to one of the most expensive steak houses in town, Larry chose a quaint family-run seafood place along the Tacoma waterfront.
“I hope seafood’s okay with you,” he said when he told her about it. “I’m not much of a meat eater.”
So this was something else they had in common. “I love seafood. This is perfect.” And it was.
She wanted to remember every minute of their time together, everything they talked about. They had so many of the same likes and dislikes, from small things like favorite songs and movies to big ones like philosophies and beliefs. After a while, all the similarities between them seemed almost eerie—and yet wonderful.
As the limo driver took them back to Cedar Cove, Larry reached for her hand. Shirley gave it to him, acutely conscious of his