Larkspur Dreams (6 page)

Zeta stood silent for a second, looked confused, and then burst into laughter. He’d never heard her laugh before. Guess he’d better count that as a blessing.

“How very clever,” Zeta said. “I love it. Mothballs. Definition. A condition of being in storage. You know, you really are too much of a hermit here in your home office.”

The conversation felt
way
too personal and more than annoying. Everett glanced in the entry mirror and noticed his face had reddened to a rich, tomato hue. Zeta’s rudeness was more than he could stand sometimes, but he was determined to keep his cool. “Larkspur Wendell left the mothballs on my doorstep.”

Zeta eyeballed him like Igor’s assessing parrot gaze, and then she detonated with another round of laughter. Directed at him. Again. This brief meeting was racing downhill fast. And worst of all, he’d gotten the meaning of the mothball gift all wrong. Maybe it had been more of a putdown than a lighthearted gift between neighbors. His leg began to twitch all on its own again.

Lark tapped on his door and let herself in with a stack of books. She set them in Zeta’s waiting arms. “Oh, thank you, Larkspur. May I call you Lark?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve personally autographed each one and added a little special note in the top one,” Lark said.

Zeta’s fingers clutched the pile of books as if she were afraid someone would take them from her. “You are a peach for doing this for my daughter.”

Everett tuned out for a moment and then suddenly noticed the gavel in Lark’s back pocket. She pulled it out and set it on the entry table with all the other assorted items.

Guess Lark didn’t think the gift was witty after all.
Then as she stared at him, her lovely, brown eyes softened. “Gavels are meant for silencing people. Aren’t they?” Her voice sounded more hurt than angry.

Everett turned to Lark. “That’s not what I—”

“Okay, I’m lost here,” Zeta said. “I tell you what. You can finish this peculiarly stimulating conversation tonight. Everett, why don’t you bring Lark with you to our company party? I read that Lark is single, and you have nothing important to do tonight.”

“Company party?” Everett asked.

“You know,” Zeta said with more than a hint of sarcasm. “Ozark Consulting?”

He’d totally forgotten. But then maybe he’d meant to forget it.

“You mean you hadn’t planned on coming tonight at seven?” Zeta asked.

“I’ve been busy with the move, so I—”

Zeta touched her fingers under her chin in a dramatic gesture. “It’s a stylish affair at the Majestic Hotel,” she said to Lark. “I can already tell you’d love it. Then I’d get a chance to visit with you some more.”

Is she arranging my dating life?
He chose not to lash out at Zeta, but he had to admit his job and its handsome salary were being worn down by her edges.

Lark’s expression continued to soften when she glanced at him. He thought the look might be one of pity.
Please, any emotion but that one. I may look like a toad next to my boss, but I still have my pride.

Then Lark smiled at him, a warm and effervescent one. The kind he was growing very fond of. Something thawed between them like two blocks of ice left in the afternoon sun. Everett decided to set his aggravation with Zeta aside and just ask Lark to the party. “I have to admit it’s a good idea. Lark, would you accompany me to the party this evening?”

Lark hesitated and then stared at him as if trying to read his expression. “Yes. I’d love to.”

Zeta stomped her foot as if she were starting up some Irish dance. “Good. It’s settled. I’m off. See you lovebirds tonight.”

Everett rubbed the back of his neck.

“By the way, Lark, this is supposed to be our company Christmas party. Everett suggested we schedule it in early November on a Monday evening. Saves money,” Zeta said.

Everett groaned inside as he walked Zeta to the front door. With one last salute to her, he shut the door.

“I guess I’d better get going, too.” Lark made a few steps toward the front door.

“I wish you’d stay for a bit.” Everett wondered what was going through her mind.

Lark turned back to him and smiled. “I like your boss.”

Everett could feel his head pound just thinking about Zeta. “I’d better not say anything.”

Lark looked concerned. “Is Zeta really that hard to work for?”

Everett wasn’t sure how much to tell her. “Let’s put it this way. Before she became my boss, I had more hair.”

Lark chuckled.

She actually laughed again. A bubbly kind of noise. Not frenzied, but a pleasant sound of contentment. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d made anyone laugh so much. “Would you like to sit down?”

“I don’t want to keep you from your work.”

“Well, I put in some long hours last night, so I’m pretty much caught up for a little while.”

“Okay, then. Maybe I’ll stay for just for a minute.” Lark eased onto the end of his brown leather couch. She picked up a small brass abacus and studied it.

Everett sat on the opposite side of the couch. They sat in silence for a moment, until he thought of how he wanted to apologize about the gavel. “I wanted to—”

“I’m truly sorry about the mothballs.” Lark rubbed her earlobe. “I thought they would be an encouragement. You know, to get out of the house once in a while for some fresh air. I was concerned about you. But it
truly
was none of my business.”

“Apology accepted.” Everett rested his arm on the back of the couch and then realized he’d made himself too relaxed for what he needed to say. So he leaned forward. But now he couldn’t see her.
Oh brother.
He gave up and just looked at her. “The gavel represented a way to welcome you to speak. In other words, ‘you hold the reins of speech now.’ I wasn’t thinking of the other side of the meaning. A comedy of errors here, I guess, but I do apologize.”

Lark sighed. “Errors like straws upon the surface flow: He who would search for pearls must dive below.”

“Dryden?” Everett asked.
Or was it Shakespeare?

“Wow. I’m impressed,” Lark said. “I thought for sure you’d say Shakespeare. College literature class I presume?”

“Yeah. Forced at gunpoint by a sweet professor lady who loved English authors. Well, I say sweet. I think she really had a broom in the back.”

Lark chuckled.

Oh, how he could drink up her laugher.
Drink?
Should he have offered her something to drink? He suddenly felt as clumsy as Frankenstein trying to learn social skills.

Lark scooted to the edge of the couch and rose. “Thank you for taking the time to let us dive below the straw for pearls.”

“You’re welcome.” Everett got up from the couch.
Guess it’s too late to offer beverages.

Lark set the brass abacus back on the end table. “I admire people who are good with numbers. You were probably born counting your toes.”

Everett chuckled, and he noticed how good it felt. “I saw one of your covers when you handed the books to Zeta. It was extraordinary. Were those pictures done in oils, too?”

“No. I do all my illustrations in watercolor. My oils are something I do more for me. By the way, I like your living room,” Lark said.

“Thanks.” She changed the subject, and he wondered why.

“With all the stone and wood, it makes me think of a vacation home.”

“That’s why I picked it.” Had he been caught staring? Lark looked so beautiful today. Luminous dark hair and eyes that could wake a guy up in the morning better than any shot of espresso. Better than anything, in fact. He’d better not drift any further down that road. Dangerous territory. What had she said? Or had he been talking?

“So are you taking me to the company party to please Zeta?” Lark looked vulnerable as well as cute.

“No,” Everett said. “I’m taking you to please myself.”
Was that egotistical?

“Sounds like an honest answer.” Lark smiled as she walked to the door. “But I think Zeta railroaded you, so if you want to back out, here’s your last chance.”

“I don’t want to back out,” Everett said. “Relaxation tends to be at the bottom of my to-do list, but I really do want some fresh air. . .with you. Maybe you can teach me how to breathe again.” Did those words actually come out of his mouth? Maybe there really was a romantic heart beating inside him.

Lark looked over at the corner of the living room where his mother’s piano sat with the lid down. Then she smiled at him. “I guess I should go.”

Everett opened the door for her, but he didn’t want Lark to leave. He wanted to keep listening to whatever she had to say about anything. Her voice had a gentle ebb and flow to it like an ocean’s tide. But duty called, especially since Zeta had brought the new files to add to his project.

“I’ll pick you up at six thirty. Is that okay?” Everett asked.

“Yes.” Lark stepped over the threshold, but when she turned back around, they were suddenly standing close.

“I look forward to this evening,” Everett whispered.

Lark blushed when she looked at him.

The rosy color looked so good on her cheeks, he wanted to kiss the very spot he’d made warm by his words. In fact, what fragrance did she wear? Some expensive perfume, no doubt. “Okay.” If he were being drugged by the scent, he knew he wouldn’t put up a fight.

“Okay,” Lark said.

Everett walked her home, which took all of two minutes, and then he settled into his office assimilating Zeta’s file into his project like a good little accountant. Suddenly, he wondered if he could get by with a suit for the party or if he was expected to wear a tux. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d worn his tux. The goofy thing probably didn’t even fit anymore. Did his sedan have enough gas? And what about flowers? Was he supposed to buy a corsage for Lark, or did that practice go out with the high school prom?

Everett looked over at Lark’s office window. He couldn’t see her because the sun’s brightness had darkened the view inside. He tugged on the ribbon on the mothballs instead, hoping Lark was having just as much trouble concentrating as he was.
In fact, what could she be up to right this minute?

“Thank you. Guess you’re working on those French language tapes again.” Jeremy rubbed his chin, which seemed to have a perpetual five o’clock shadow.

Lark leaned against the doorframe. “Would you like to come in?”

“Thanks, but I’d better get going.”

But you just arrived.
Lark blinked hard. “You look sort of expectant.”

“Boy, I hope not.” Jeremy gave her a smirk.

“I mean, did I forget something?” A sparrow flew overheard looking jittery in the cold. Lark could certainly relate.

“The teen craft fair. Remember? You’re the one in charge of signing people up for the pies. Since I have my bike, we can load your Hummer.”

Lark’s hand flew to her mouth. “Pies? Teen craft fair. I wish I could plead amnesia.”

Jeremy frowned. “You’re sweet, but you’re not going to be able to charm your way out of this one.”

“Oh, dear. I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” Lark asked.
I can’t believe I forgot.

“We’ve got a snag if you don’t have thirty pies.”

Lark smiled, wishing she could disappear. “I don’t have any. . . I mean I didn’t—”

“You didn’t sign
anybody
up?” Jeremy’s mouth popped open like he’d jumped off a cliff without the cord.

“No. But I can buy a lot of pies at the store. I have money. How many do we need?”

Jeremy scratched his head. “Well, I have to say, one of the reasons people come is because they’re looking forward to a thing called
homemade
.”

“I’m so sorry. I don’t think I can make thirty homemade pies by this evening.”

“Not unless you’re my grandmother.” Jeremy wore his trademark half smile. “Okay, how about this. . .I
buy
the pies. Some good ones, and you’ll owe me a dinner this week.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Lark said. “Drive-through burgers, right?”

“Wrong. No junk food. I don’t care where we go, but it’s got to be expensive.” Jeremy stuffed his hands in his pockets and cocked his head.

Lark noticed he had his usual stance when he was full of beans. “I’m being robbed here. Police!” She chuckled. “I’m truly sorry. I’m a mess about remembering things sometimes.”

“Yes, you are.” Jeremy shook his head. “I guess we’ll need to get you some string to tie around one of your little fingers.”

“Well, they’ll probably want a rope for my neck when the parents find out those are fake homemade pies.”

“No ropes, but there’s still some tar and feathers in the church storeroom for me.”

“Oh, yeah? And what did
you
do?” Lark asked.

Jeremy shrugged. “I volunteered the teens to be servers at the Valentine’s banquet. Without their permission.”

“Ooww. You are in so much trouble,” Lark said. “And who decided to have the teen craft fair so close to the fall festival?”

“Yeah, I know. Bad move. Bet I don’t do that again next year.” Jeremy shifted his weight back and forth. “And so what magnificent mischief have you been up to, little lady?”

“Oh, not a lot. Just trying to coax a hermit crab out of his shell.”

“And have you succeeded?”

“Maybe,” Lark said.

Jeremy put a hand up. “Well, I’ve learned never to ask details. So I’ll pick you up tomorrow night for dinner. Six. Okay?”

“On the back of your bike?” She noticed his usual scent. Eau de motor oil.

Jeremy winked. “No, we can take your Hummer. Okay?”

Lark grinned and watched as Jeremy hopped on his motorbike, revved the engine, and rumbled off with no helmet. His habit of never wearing a helmet did seem kind of reckless, but it was hard to admonish Jeremy for irresponsibility when she had just forgotten all about the teen craft fair.

Pies. Hmm.
She shut the door, vaguely recalling signing up.
I wonder what happened.
She glanced at the calendar on the side of her fridge.
Yikes.
She saw the bold words in the Tuesday slot. “Pies, craft fair, don’t forget,” was the note she’d scrawled to herself.
Maybe I need to get
my
life in order.

Lark could hear the words
How are you?
coming from the kitchen CD player and then
Comment ca va?
What a good question.
How am I anyway?
She felt befuddled about her apparent unreliability and even more confused about her relationship with Jeremy.

The phone rang, and Lark startled. She glanced at the Caller ID as she picked up the phone. Calli was calling from her home in Springdale.

After a few pleasantries, Lark told her all about the day’s events. “But I think it all ended well. Don’t you?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

“I mean he invited me to the party this evening even though I sent over those mothballs. I still can’t believe I did that.” Lark groaned.

“I can’t either. It’s a good thing he didn’t think you were crackers. What made you think of mothballs?”

“It was a spur of the moment kind of thing. You know—”

Calli made a comical huffing sound. “Before you had time to pray kind of thing?”

“Hey, are you spreading a little chastisement?” Lark sighed. “Oh well, I deserve it.”

“No way, ladybug.” Calli did a smacking thing with her lips. “Well, maybe a little.”

Lark grinned. “Hey, what’s with this ladybug stuff, anyway? Surely I’m not that flighty.”