Second Chance Love (9 page)

Chapter Thirteen

The groundhog didn’t see his shadow on February 2
^nd
, but Old Man Winter didn’t pay attention to the eviction notice. Valentine’s Day weekend was cold and snowy, with several inches of accumulation and more coming down. Steve and Elizabeth didn’t care.

They were both wearing warm coats, gloves, and scarves, walking hand in hand over a stone bridge spanning a small stream that fed into a picturesque pond. It wasn’t cold enough to freeze the pond, where a family of long-necked swans were swimming in circles. In the distance, The Cottage Grove was set like a jewel against the falling snow: a Currier and Ives print come alive.

At the crest of the bridge, they stopped and took it all in, the falling snow muffling nearly all sound.

Elizabeth turned to face Steve. “A few weeks ago, you told me you loved me, once through a closed door and once right to my face. I didn’t say anything then, because it takes me a little more time to process things. I’ve noticed that you haven’t said it since then, and I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t either. This morning, when I woke up, I realized that every day that went by that I didn’t hear those words from you is a wasted day. I don’t want any more wasted days.”

She stepped closer, so she could feel his warm breath against her cheek.

“I love you, Steve. I will never shut you out like that again. You have my heart.”

Tears spilled from Steve’s eyes and he smiled gently at her. When he tried to speak, his voice was thick.

“I love you, too, Lizzie. I never stopped. All these years, I carried you with me. Knowing that you love me too is the sweetest thing I’ve ever known.”

He pulled her as close as their bundled clothing would allow and kissed her. They got lost in the kiss and Lizzie felt a warmth spread inside her. She reached up to wipe away his happy tears and turned to glance out at the postcard view in front of them.

“It’s so beautiful here, and I want to come back, but right now I want nothing more than to take you back to our room, light a fire in the fireplace and feel your arms around me.”

Steve said, “That tempts me to say I’ll race you back, but the last thing I want to do right now is fall in the snow and break my leg, so let’s walk back slowly like the adults we are.”

They didn’t run back to The Cottage Grove,
but they hurried.

Chapter Fourteen

Elizabeth Coleman walked briskly along the city sidewalk in the early morning sunshine. It was mid-May, and the warmer temperatures nearly made her forget the times she had made this same walk through snow and icy wind.

She had kissed Steve goodbye at the curb in front of her apartment fifteen minutes earlier. Though her fortieth birthday was coming up, she felt like a teenager.. The feel of his lips still thrilled her. After twenty years without a kiss, attention came as a change of pace. It would never be old hat.
Not with him
.

In front of Elizabeth was an old brick building with a green awning and a large plate glass window. Across the window, faded, peeling gold script read:
The Prints and the Pauper
. She turned the key and pushed open the door. Its smell had become the fragrance of home for her: tons of musty old paper, a dash of binding glue, and a strong finish of thousands of gallons of coffee. Steve had hinted on more than one occasion that maybe she should think about quitting this, the only job she had ever known, but Elizabeth refused to contemplate it. The store had been her second home for too long to leave it behind now, and dependency on anyone else had never been her way.

Steve had made the point that a used bookstore specializing in nothing other than pleasing its customers couldn’t survive in a 21
^st
century economy. Steve's point was immaterial, because it was based upon Steve's business assumptions. The store's owner, Mr. Bartleby, did not care about profit. The only time he looked at a Profit & Loss Statement was every April, at tax time. “Another good year,” he would say, smiling. “Another write-off for me.”

She went into the back room, took the basket assembly out of the old percolator, and dumped the grounds into a plastic grocery bag that hung under the sink for just that purpose. She took the bag home each weekend and dumped it into the rhododendrons in front of her apartment building, and the philodendrons and African violets she kept in her kitchen window. It was the secret to her green thumb. She was spooning fresh grounds into the basket when she heard the bell chime over the front door, accompanied by a rather carrying female voice.

Gail.

“…so I said, sure, why not. I’ve watched enough of those shows, I might as well be on one of them. After all—"

“Morning, Gail. What kind of show is that? Did they finally call you to be on
Dancing with the Stars?”

“No, damn it, they didn’t, and why not? Just because I’m not a size two? Or is it because I’m not a star? I suppose that could be it, but can they really say with a straight face that all those people are stars? I don’t think so. That guy that played the pool cleaner for two seasons on
Melrose Place
? Or, how about that Olympics table tennis champion they had on last season? Had anybody ever heard of him? I don’t think so. I think they might do better—"

“What were you saying about being on a show?”

“Oh. Oh, right. Well, they’re holding auditions for
Guest House Gestapo
this week, and I’m going to try out.”

“How can they resist the force of nature that is Gail Weathers? But,” a look of mock concern crossed her face. “They do have more than one microphone on that show, right? Because you will need one all to yourself.”

Gail nodded. “Those kind of shows like people who talk a lot, so I figure I’ll fit right in.”

Gail, my friend, besides being a wonderful person and friend, your most shining virtue is that you are completely unapologetic for being who you are
.

“I still don’t have television,” Elizabeth said. “What’s this show about?”

“Well, it’s on the CW, so it’s not exactly the big time, like
Survivor
or
Big Brother
, but they have a $100,000 prize for the winner. You know the drill…” Elizabeth didn’t, but Gail continued on as if she did. “…throw a bunch of strangers with big personalities together, and have them vote each other off one by one. Except on this show, secret police come in and arrest you, try to get you to dime out your fellow players. It's like a kinder gentler jail. The last one standing gets the money. They usually cast a bunch of twenty-somethings that look good in swimsuits in these shows, so I figure they’ll be easy pickings for a woman of my, umm, experience level.” Gail ruffled her graying afro a bit. “Well, I’ve got to run and get to the store. We got a big shipment in over the weekend and I’ll be all day sorting and pricing them. See you for a cup of coffee when Dalya comes in at eleven?”

“I’ll be here,” Elizabeth said, as Gail began a new conversational tangent with herself on the way out the door.

Chapter Fifteen

That night, just as Elizabeth was locking up, Steve pulled up in his Mercedes SLS. He parked it in the loading zone directly in front of the store, hopped out, and struck a grinning pose with both arms casually resting atop the roof. More and more, he looked like the boy she remembered from high school. Since they had been together, Steve had sworn he was adhering to a much stricter diet and exercise program. If so, it wasn't doing any good, but the constant look of guileless joy on his face was that of a man much younger and more innocent than forty.

Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow at him. “Those yellow lines are there to tell people not to park there, you know. I thought you had a meeting tonight? I was just heading home.”

“Maybelle’s?”

Maybelle’s Home Cooking Diner
was the source of much of his extra weight. He seemed addicted to the meatloaf, mashed potatoes, deep dish apple pie, and berry cobbler. After many years of dining on ramen noodles and mac and cheese, with only her white Persian cat Sebastian for company, she had come to look forward to dinners at Maybelle’s almost as much as he did.

Elizabeth shook her head, but took a step toward the car. Steve bounded around the back and opened the door for her, beaming.

As soon as they were settled in, Elizabeth said, “So I gather that Maybelle's is a key secret to your intense workout and dietary regimen?”

“No, it’s not. But when I think about going home and popping one of those healthy dinners in the oven, then eating it with no one but Suzi for conversation, well, that is not appealing to me.”

Elizabeth had almost been jealous of Suzi when they had first gotten together. The app knew more about Steve and his life than Elizabeth did. When they had gone to the movie
Her
with Joaquin Phoenix, she had found the moments about falling in love with an artificial intelligence rather disconcerting.

Then came the next step; one she should have seen coming. Steve had shown up at the bookstore the next day holding a prototype phone that wasn’t yet available to the public. He often tried to give Elizabeth gifts that could make her life easier, and Elizabeth made a practice of declining them. He had finally won the battle of the cell phone, though, piercing her resistance with the inarguable reality that a mobile phone would enable them to talk on the nights they were apart, since Elizabeth didn’t have a phone in her apartment.

When Steve had unboxed the sleek, black phone, she had said, “I said a phone. Something I can talk to you on. That looks like something out of a Ray Bradbury novel.”

“No, no, it’s a phone! Yes, it does some other, pretty trick stuff, but it’s still a phone. Watch.”

Steve slid his thumb across the black face of the phone. “We’ll set this to your thumbprint, so you’ll be the only one who can use it, but watch this.” Steve cleared his throat a little. “Hello, Max.”

A smooth baritone voice issued from the phone. “Hello, Steve. Is Elizabeth nearby? I am programmed to respond only to her voice after this initial conversation.”

Steve had nodded at Elizabeth. “Say hello to Max. He’s your Suzi.”

Many shades of doubt passed across Elizabeth’s face. “H…hello?”

“Hello,” Max said. “I recognize your voice pattern. May I call you Elizabeth, or do you prefer Lizzie? I know Steve calls you that.”

Elizabeth fixed Steve with a gaze that might have said,
You have given me a slimy thing from the briny deep
. “Eliz… Elizabeth is fine.”

“Very good. I will call you Eliz…Elizabeth, then.” Steve had found something fascinating in the distance and was making every effort to keep the smile off his face.

Elizabeth gathered her dignity. “No, just ‘Elizabeth’ will be fine. Thank you, Max.”

“You’re welcome, Elizabeth. Whenever you need me, say my name. I will respond.”

Over time and almost against her will, Elizabeth had come to like Max. He had served as her guide into the world of the Internet, new technology, and all that she had missed out on during her twenty-year hiatus from new things. Eventually, now that she knew it to be possible, she might even nerve herself up to write a book review on some website. Sometimes, Elizabeth wondered if Suzi and Max had any digital hanky-panky while she and Steve were asleep.

The diner wasn't far, and they walked up the steps and inside. First came the routine inspection and welcoming hugs from Maybelle, who showed them to their regular booth in the back. Elizabeth said, “Seriously, honey, I know we both love it here, but I think we need to cut it down to once a week. I can’t cook like Maybelle, but who can? I’m sure Max can find me some healthy recipes and show me videos on how to cook them.”

Steve reached across the table and took her hand. “It didn’t take long for you to become a 21
^st
Century girl, did it? You always were adaptable. And you’re still my Always-Practical-Lizzie.” He sighed a little. “I know you’re right. It’s just… These last six months with you have been so wonderful that I still feel like I'm making up for lost time. I want to
live
. For so long, it felt like I wasn’t really doing that."

“Me too,” Elizabeth admitted. “Thank you for this time. It’s meant everything to me.”

“That sounds like the beginning of a brush-off speech.” Steve grinned. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Are you ever serious?”

“Sometimes. Right now, I am seriously thinking that we need to make plans for the 4
^th
of July. It’ll be here before we know it. There’s so many places I want to go with you, and we haven’t been able to do any of them yet. I still feel bad that I had to cancel our Mexican cruise last month because this big deal came up. So, how about we fly to San Francisco and drive down to Monterey? I’ve heard it’s gorgeous there this time of year. Or maybe Sedona? We could let the summer sun burn out the last traces of winter from our bones? Or, since we’ve both got our passports now, we could fly to one of those resorts in the Caribbean for a few days. What do you think?”

“I think you are extravagant when you don’t need to be. They’ll have the fireworks display down by the river. Why don’t we just stay in town and watch them like we did when we were kids? We had so much fun. I could pack us a picnic, and we could spend the afternoon talking and reading and then watch the fireworks. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“Sure it would, until the mosquitoes showed up and carried us away to feed their young.”

“Steve Larson, you have turned into a fuddy-duddy in your middle years.” Her voice scowled, but her eyes sparkled. “Besides, you have planned every single thing we’ve ever done. I'm competent to plan a simple outing. Let me take care of our Fourth, okay?”

Steve wasn’t often beaten at the negotiation table, but he was smart enough to know when to quit. He nodded. Elizabeth changed the subject. “So, what kind of earth-shaking happenings occurred at Larson Industries today?”

“I know things are usually pretty boring at the office, but we actually had big doings today. Do you remember my trip to Japan?”

“Last December? Of course.”

“Well, today was the culmination of that trip. About a year ago, Suzi was monitoring some online chatter about a resort development in the Philippines that was nearly finished when the builders ran out of money. They had tapped every resource they could find, but couldn’t get enough capital to button things up. All they had was an unfinished resort that was leveraged to the hilt and beyond. They went under, and the bank that had underwritten the bulk of the loans took ownership, but they didn’t want to carry such a big fixed asset on their books. And the last thing they wanted to do was open a resort subsidiary to finish the place and run it. The bank was ready to horse trade, if someone had the resources.”

Elizabeth nodded.
I spend my days dusting and reading books written more than a century ago. He spends his days looking for deals that are worth millions or maybe billions. At night, though, when it’s just us, we’re the same.

“I knew it was too big for us. We didn’t have the kind of capital to swing a deal like that, so I reached out to some Japanese investors that I had met at a conference a few years ago, to see if they were interested. They were, and we’ve spent the last six months hammering out the terms and new financing with the bank. It’s the biggest deal we’ve ever done, by a factor of ten, and we closed on it today. I think that’s worth a celebratory meal, don’t you?”

“What do you do now? Are you going to try and operate a beachfront resort in the Philippines from here?”

“No, that would never work. That’s not my expertise. I put deals together, not operate resorts. We ended up paying about forty cents on the dollar. There’s a lot of meat on the bone for all of us when we sell it. We’ll put in the last few million that’s needed to finish it up, and then it will be attractive to a big buyer. Maybe one of the resort or timeshare chains. It’s a jewel of a setting, forty acres right on the ocean. Even with our investors, it’s stretched us thinner than we’ve ever been, but when we sell it, it will make more money for the firm than we’ve made in the last three years combined.”

Does it really matter that your company earns $200 million this year, instead of $50 million? I guess it does, to him.

“Congratulations, then.” She lifted her water glass and clinked it against his. “Let’s celebrate.”

“I believe I will. With some meatloaf and mashed potatoes.”