When I wrote Pieces of Blue, Maggie’s story, it was with no intention of returning to Harper Loch, Michigan for another book. I mean, really, how much is there to say about a 40-acre lake in the middle of farm country with a full-time population of 80-something?
What was I thinking? That’s 80-some stories, right?
Well, no, not really.
But Maggie’s best friend Ellie, with her long red hair and a liberal dose of OCD—not to mention her years spent as a nurse practitioner and a bartender-bouncer combination—invited herself in. So I said, Okay, fine, a sequel, and then I’m done.
Or maybe not.
Book Blurb:
He’s handsome but couldn’t even remember her name. She’s pretty, but her finickiness drives him crazy. And yet …
After twenty years as a nurse practitioner in the same practice, Ellie Wentz gives notice. When office politics interferes with her job, it’s time to get a new one. When her son and daughter-in-law buy her house and she has sold and given away everything else that’s not attached to her heartstrings, she packs up what remains and goes to Harper Loch to spend time with her best friend. She’ll decide what to do and where to go from there. No matter how much the handsome friend of her friends annoys her.
Jesse Grant comes to Harper Loch to help out his niece for a few weeks. He’s retired from the navy, his boys are grown, and he’s at loose ends. But he really likes the little lake community in Michigan—he thinks he might stay. Long widowed, he has no interest in getting married again, and neither does the redhead he can’t seem to avoid. And yet … again.
Excerpt:
“You have all new days in front of you,” he said now. “If a chance doesn’t work out, take another one the next day until something sticks.”
“I theory, I agree,” she said after a moment. “In reality, I think I have some missing pieces. I need to find out what they are.”
He nodded. “Understood.” He’d never found his, just stitched up all the torn places and gone on. But he remembered feeling just like she did now. The memory made a painful ache.
They stood in her doorway, leaning against opposite sides of the frame. Her arms were crossed and she’d put on some kind of sweater thing over the long dress she wore. The sweater was a creamy color…not quite white…and it looked soft. How could a woman who was completely covered up and had her hair in a braid look so sexy?
He realized he didn’t know how to leave any more than he and the boys knew how to say goodbye on the phone. He and Ellie weren’t dating, although they were spending time together. They weren’t “hooking up,” because it didn’t feel right. At least, not yet.
But he still wanted to stroke the sleeve of her sweater to know if it was as soft as it looked, to feel the texture of her skin through the thin fabric. He wanted to touch the long braid to see if it still held the warmth of the day’s sunshine in it. He thought it probably did.
He wanted to make her feel better.
He was out of practice, he guessed. There weren’t a lot of single women in his age group in the area, and none that had captured his imagination beyond being friends. There were several he enjoyed talking to, a few he’d shared casual meals or trips to movies in Willoughby with, but somehow things hadn’t clicked.
He hadn’t wanted to touch the sleeves of their sweaters. The thought made him chuckle, and then he shrugged, because he didn’t know how to explain it to Ellie’s questioning gaze.
She smiled at him. “Thanks for the tour. I really did enjoy it.”
“Me, too.”
When her arms came around his neck, her sleeves touched his skin. They really were soft. So were the hands that linked at his nape and tunneled into his hair. When she raised her face to his, he met her halfway, meeting her soft lips in a long and sweet greeting and farewell-for-now.
Things definitely clicked.
He didn’t try to stop her when she drew away, but he didn’t take his hands from where he’d set them on her hips as they kissed. “Well,” he said.
“Indeed,” she said.
“Thank you.”
“You, too.” She smiled at him, although uncertainty flickered in the expression.
He bent his head, kissing her again. Gently. More quickly. Just as a promise. Sort of. Because it was too soon for promises, and he thought maybe neither of them was the promising type.
Had this been the reason for his anxiety earlier? It didn’t make sense. Or did it? He didn’t do relationships. He wasn’t good at them. And yet whatever was growing between him and the woman with the soft sweater was … something. It lent an air of … well, something … to his days and sometimes his nights. Unease, like he’d thought?
Or anticipation. Maybe.
Author Bio:
Retired from the post office, Liz Flaherty spends non-writing time sewing, quilting, and doing whatever else she wants to. She and Duane live in the old farmhouse in North Central Indiana they moved to in 1977. They’ve talked about moving, but really…40-some years’ worth of stuff? It’s not happening!
She’d love to hear from you at lizkflaherty@gmail.com or please come and see her at:
Website: http://lizflaherty.net
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/lizkflaherty
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