A Lot in Common

            I decided to slip back inside the house to tell my boss thank you for a great party, nice of him to invite me, but it was time for me to go. Then the glass door to the deck where I was standing slid open, and a tall young man stepped onto the warm summer night with me. The party clamor followed him until he pushed the door closed.

"Hi," he said. "I saw you escaping several minutes ago.

I thought I might join you."

"I needed a breath of air."

"Pretty loud in there. "

He strolled to the edge of the balcony, stood next to me, and looked across the lake. "What a view!" he said. "You work for Leo Goldwyn?"

"I'm his secretary. Laura Prescott. And you?"

"Tim Crockett. I'm Leo's mechanic."

"Mechanic?"

"Your boss is into sports cars big time," Tim said. "Porsche and Jaguar." Then Tim explained he owned his own gas station and garage in Fairfield, thirty miles from here, and was the only guy for fifty miles around who worked on foreign cars. "Leo's going to be in a car rally Sunday and wanted his Jag tonight no matter how late. I drove it over—purring beautifully—gave him the keys, and he asked me in."

"How will you get back?"

"He'll loan me his Mustang and drop his wife off next week to pick it up." Tim pointed at the sliding glass door separating us from the party. "You're boyfriend's probably wondering what happened to you."

I turned and rested my elbows on the railing that surrounded the deck. "No," I said. "I'm not with anyone. I wouldn't even be here except..." My voice trailed off.

"Except if you're the boss's secretary, and if you're invited, you have to at least show up."

I nodded. "Mr. Goldwyn is a wonderful man, I have a great job, but this isn't my kind of affair, I guess."

"Mine, either," Tim said. "A lot of glamour and glitz in there." Then he hesitated a moment, and asked, "Want to walk on the beach?"

I looked at him curiously. "A Saturday night—you don't have a date?"

"No girl, no date," he said.

I peered at the stairs leading from the balcony to the ground. Wearing a  summer dress and heels, I wasn't exactly dressed for a stroll on the beach. But Tim said, "Nothing like soaking up a lake breeze in the light of the moon and stars."

"I agree with that," I said. I pushed off my heels and set them on the railing.

I followed Tim down the steps to the grass, already delighting in the pine scent from the trees close to the lake and the hoot of an owl. When we passed the corner of the house, a motion light above us flicked on. We halted in our tracks, like deer caught in headlights.

My heart skipped. I saw instantly how handsome Tim was—chiseled features, wavy blonde hair, and blue eyes. After he'd had a good look at me and we'd stepped out the light's glare, he said, "You any relation to Curly Prescott? Runs the bait and tackle shop in Cascade."

"My dad. Why?"

"Small world, " he said. "I've been buying bait at your dad's place since I was a kid."

"Really? We might've met. I mean, I worked behind the counter when I was a kid."

He tilted his head and peered at me. "You were skinny with freckles and braces, right?"

"Right! You were tall and"—I smiled—"kind of clumsy."

"Exactly!"

We laughed and ambled across the grass to the sandy beach. The trees on the far side of the lake silhouetted the brightly lit sky, and the breeze blew my hair. We were silent for a while. Finally I said, "Look at that moon. Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes it is," Tim said. "You like to hike in the woods?"

"Whenever I get a chance."

"Paddle a canoe?"

"My favorite."

"Sit around a campfire?"

"Nothing better."

Tim let out a long breath, and I became warmly conscious of him standing close to me. "We really do have a lot in common," he said. "You have a car here? You like pizza?"

I nodded twice.

"Rudy's Pizza Palace okay?"

"Perfect."

"Let's split—unless you want to go back to the party."

"I'll pass on the party," I said. "But I have to get my shoes and say good night to Leo."

"Right. I'll tell him I won't need to borrow his Mustang."

As Tim and I started toward the deck, my heart skipped again. I wondered what else we might have in common. "Do you like black olives on your pizza?" I asked.

"Love 'em."

My smile felt as wide as the moon above us.

The End
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Attic Treasures

 "Hi, Ms. Manning, I'm Billy Cooper."

  he man standing before me at my front door at eleven in the morning—soft blond hair, startling blue eyes—nearly took my breath away. Somehow he seemed to think I should know him.

 "I'm Stacy Manning," I said. "But I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met."

 "I'm your landlord's son," he said, smiling. "I guess Mom forgot to tell you I was coming by."
"Oh!" I laughed. "Your mom did call yesterday. I forgot."

We shook hands, and I felt totally sheepish.

     Not only had I forgotten that Billy was coming by, but I stood in front of him in faded cutoff jeans and a raggedy-looking purple top—my paint-smeared painting gear. I'd just finished painting what I'd decided would be my bedroom in this old but comfortable two-story home I'd moved into a week ago.

       "Don't mean to bother you," Billy said.    "But I left some gear in the attic when I took off for the Navy. Mom said I should clear it out. You'd need the space someday."

 I'd just arrived in this quaint college town and had taken my first real job as a college English teacher. My landlord, Billy's mom, who now lived in a condo, said she was tired of itinerant renters, so she agreed to sign a rent-to-own contract with me. I couldn't have been more delighted.

I told Billy to come in. I followed him up the stairs and nearly died when he headed for the very room I'd finished painting. "Used to be my room as a kid," he said. "Cool paint job." Then he pointed. "Attic door's in the ceiling in this big closet."

He pull the spring-loaded folding ladder down. He climbed the steps into the dark hole and switched on a light that apparently hung from the attic ceiling.

He lugged down an old computer, a twenty-gallon aquarium, skis, ice skates, golf clubs, fishing poles, a crossbow and arrows. And tennis rackets. Several of them. I eyed the rackets wistfully.

"Treasure all," he said with a wry smile. "But I don't know if I'll ever use any of this stuff again. Except for the tennis rackets." Finished, he swung the attic door up to the ceiling.

"You've been in the Navy all this time?" I asked.

"Six years. Destroyer. But I decided to get out. I'd taken a few college courses and finished up on the East Coast. Earned a masters degree. Now I've come home. What brings you to this little town?"

"I'm a new English teacher at the college," I said proudly. "My first real job."

His brown eyes got big. "Good for you!" he said.  "I'm a new math teacher. My first real job outside the Navy."

"Oh, wow!" I said. "That’s great!" We both laughed, and my heart skipped when I realized we surely would be bumping into each other occasionally.

"Well," he said, "I suppose I should lug all his stuff out to the car."

"I'll help. Do you play tennis much?"

"All though junior and senior high. Not much in the Navy, but I got back in shape and played in college. Never first team, though. You?"

"State champ in high school," I said, puffing up a bit, "but in undergraduate and graduate school I always needed to work nearly full time. I haven't touched a racquet in awhile."

We hauled his things to his car, where we stood a moment, facing each other. I thought surely he would drive off—I didn't want him to. He looked at me again, as if he were seeing me for the first time. I blushed under his gaze.

Shuffling his feet he said, "Mom told me you were single, but she didn't say if you were...well, seeing somebody."

"I'm not."

He smiled broadly, a beautifully warm smile. "I'm single—and you know what?

"What?"

"I'm the new assistant tennis coach at the college."

I blinked and leaned on his car so I didn't fall over. "Really?"

"Honest. How about we hit a few this afternoon?"

I needed a second to catch my breath and slow my pounding heart, thinking, It's strange how the ball can bounce your way when you least expect it. "I'd love to," I said, delighted that one of the treasures Billy dragged out of the attic had been tennis rackets. Not a football. Or basketball.

The End
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Homecoming

         When my plane landed at the airport late in the afternoon, the stewardess came to fetch the bright-eyed little boy sitting next to me and take him to his parents, no doubt. He was six. We'd been pals from St. Louis to Cedar Rapids, an hour.

         “Thanks for giving me the window seat,” he said, shaking my hand—a little gentleman. "And for talking to me.

I think you're a nice lady."
         "And you're quite a young man."

         Later, I was skittering along with the rush of people to the baggage-claim area when I saw him again, standing with a tall dark-haired man. “There she is, Dad! The nice lady on the plane.” Jamie rushed over and grabbed my hand. “Didn’t I tell you she’s pretty? Her name's Lynn.”

         An awkward moment passed before the man said, “I’m so grateful to you for looking after Jamie. He’s been visiting his grandparents in Dallas. It's the first time he's traveled alone."

         “My mom died,” Jamie said solemnly, still clutching my hand. “She’s in heaven. I was close to her when I was flying, wasn’t I Dad?”

         “Yes, you were, son.”

I couldn't help but smile. The handsome man with startling blue eyes, black hair, and a soft smile said, "I'm Michael O'Brien. What brings you to the Cedar Rapids airport? Passing though?"

On the way to claim our baggage, I explained that I had I'd quit my job as a tax accountant with a big firm in St. Louis . “Tired of the rat race,” I said. "And my parents are always begging me to come home. I just want to get back to my small-town roots, Clear Creek. Start over after five years. I left because I felt there was nothing here for me. And now, well—I'll just wait and see.”

He glanced quickly at my left hand, didn't see an engagement or wedding ring, and he could obviously see I didn't have a boyfriend tagging along with me.

         “I'm form Dexter," Michael said. "I took over the Ace Hardware dealership in Clear Creek. Sure could use a good tax accountant.”

Clear Creek was fifty miles from the airport. I decided to ride with Michael and Jamie. I hadn't told my folks I was coming home. I knew the surprise would thrill them. As Michael drove us over the two-lane blacktop meandering through rich farmland, Jamie fell asleep in the back seat.

         "I'm sorry about your wife," I said.

         He sighed. "Been two years now. Icy, winter roads. She spun her car around, slid into a ditch. Hit a culvert. That simple." Then he asked, “How long has it been since you’ve been home?”

         “Last summer.”

         “Want to see the town?” He laughed. “This year it suddenly jumped to the big leagues. We’ve got a Kentucky Fried Chicken and a McDonald's.”

"Wow! That is big-league."

         He showed me the newly completed wing on the high school and the new football field. I marveled at the new blue paint job on the water tower. When we passed the fairgrounds, Michael said, “Fair starts in two days.” He gazed at me shyly. “Suppose you’d like to go?”

         I blinked. Dating someone when I returned to Clear Creek was the farthest thing in the world from my mind. I had to decide where I was going to live—I didn't want to live with my folks. Decide what to do with my future.

         “Dumb idea,” Michael said the instant he saw me hesitate. “I know you must have a million other things on your mind.”

         “It’s not a dumb idea, Michael. It’s just that—”

         “That’s the Ace Hardware store. ” He pointed at a small brick building on a corner as we drove into town.

"My folks have been trading there forever," I said.

         “Something to eat?” he asked. “It’s nearly five. You must be hungry. You awake back there, Jamie?”

         “I’m starved,” the boy said through a big yawn.

         We ate at the Main Street Café—a home-cooked meal of stuffed pork chops and mashed potatoes and gravy topped off with apple pie and ice cream. “This is great, Dad!” Jamie beamed. “We should take Lynn here again.”

         "We'll see," Michael said.

         In front of my folks’ house, Michael hauled my luggage to the porch while I peeked in through the car’s back window and said good-bye a second time today to Jamie. "Why won't you go to the fair with Dad and me?" he asked. "I heard him ask. I wasn't sleeping all the time."

Suddenly my folks stood on the front porch eyeing my baggage—laughing—I think crying, too.

"Will you puh-lease go the fair with us?" Jamie said.

I looked at Michael. Smiled. "Call me," I said and rattled off my cell phone number.

"I will," he said, grinning. "I promise."

"You finally coming home?" Dad yelled from the porch.

"Yes, I am," I called back. "And a wonderful homecoming it is."

The End
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The Best Man

          "If you need a dependable used car, reasonably priced," Cindy said over the phone, "Sam Brownlee's the best man in town to see."

"I know everyone says that."

"It's true, Laura. If you think you'll feel funny seeing him again, forget that thought. Sam wasn't to blame, anyway."

"Your're right."

"Go, girl. You won't be sorry."

That afternoon, Sam Brownlee smiled the instant he recognized me browsing among the fifty or more shiny used cars, trucks, and SUVs gleaming in the sun at his Kar Korner lot.

"Laura?" he said, strolling up to me, hand extended.

"Wow! This is a surprise. And a pleasure." Tall, lean, and blonde with midnight blue eyes, he shook my hand. My heart hit an unexpected speed bump, and my face felt warm. "Looking for a car?"

"I am. And everyone says you're the best man—" I halted. Smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry. Poor choice of words..."

"How long ago has that been?" he said. "Over a year, probably?"

"Eighteen months."

"Have you seen Rick? He's working in Dexter, but I thought maybe he'd come back. Try to patch things up."

"I haven't seen him since he walked out, leaving me at the altar."

Sam's smile was soft and sympathetic. "His backing down—me, his best man—I had no idea what was going on with him, I swear. When it came to crunch time, he simply walked."

"We eventually talked things through. He said it wasn't me—he just wasn't ready for marriage."

"You were lucky," Sam said. "You could've married the wrong person."

"I know." Then I smiled and said, "You think I could get even luckier buying a used car?"

"You bet! We'll find you something you can trust, I promise."

As we meandered from car to car, I explained to Sam I'd been hired as a full-time teacher in Lancaster. My first full-time job after working three years as a sub. But Lancaster was thirty miles away. I didn't want to move, so I needed something better to drive than the ancient Ford Tempo I now owned. My commute would be sixty miles, round trip.

"Have you done your homework?" Sam asked, as we stood in front of a gorgeous red Ford Fusion. "What kind of car would you like? Have you checked blue book values? How much money are you willing to spend?"

"I'm not sure."

"Let me help. First thing you've got to know is how much money can you afford. Don't budge. Be firm. Or you'll end up with payments way over your head."

"I don't want that."

"Once the money question is settled, we'll find you the best car to fit your needs and budget."

This guy is awesome, I thought. "All right."

We inspected a host of cars—all low-mileage, moderately price cars.

I finally settled on the Ford Fusion that I'd like from the beginning.

After I thought I'd made up my mind, Sam said, "Now's the time when I should tell you to take the car home and drive it around for a few days because I know you'll fall hopelessly in love with it, come back and buy it no matter what the price. But that's not what I'm going to do."

"What?"

"I'm going to tell you to take it, shop around, and see if you can find a better deal."

"You're kidding? You might lose a sale."

He shrugged. "Remember, stay firm about your budget."

That night I talked to Cindy again on the phone.

"Isn't he something?" she said. "He's not married, you know."

"I'm lookinmg for a used car, Cindy. Not a husband." Then I told her how great he'd treated me. And about the car I liked and his letting me keep it a few days while I shopped around.

"Told you he was the best man," Cindy said.

I spent the next day, Saturday, shopping around, as Sam had advised.

Unbelievably, I thought I'd found a better deal at Larry's Used Car Lot. Chuck, the salesman, said he could he could sell me a Honda Civic that had fewer miles on it and was a newer model than the Ford Sam had loaned me—for less money.

I realized I'd be a fool not to accept the offer.

"But I've got to talk to my boss, Larry, first," Chuck said. When he came back, all sad-eyed, he said Larry wouldn't let the car go for that low price, but I could take it home and drive it for a day or two to see if I liked it.

I smiled politely. "No thanks."

When I drove back to the Kar Korner, I walked into Sam's trailer office—he was alone, sitting behind his desk—and said, "You've got a deal."

"You looked around?"

"I did," I said, and told him about my experience at Larry's.

"That's the good guy/bad guy ploy," Sam said.

I sunk down in a chair in front of his desk. "Let's do the paperwork."

As we filled in the proper forms, Sam kept glancing at me nervously.

I couldn't imagine why. Was he selling me a lemon? Had is conscious suddenly sideswiped him? This couldn't be.

Finished, he leaned forward and laced his fingers on his desk. He seemed hesitant. "Look, I want you to know I'm a reputable used car salesman..."

"The best man, I've heard," I said, and smiled.

"I never ever date customers, but—well..."

My heart sped up, then suddenly seemed to skid, headed for a ditch maybe.

"Would you like to go out tonight?" Sam said.

I grabbed a breath and slowed my heart to idle speed.

A date with the Best Man. Could it be?

I plucked the extra keys to the Honda from the top of Sam's desk and said, "All right. "I jiggled the keys in my palm, smiling again. "Pick me up at seven. I'll let you test drive my new car."

The End
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