~Chapter 6B~
Blueberries
(originally posted August 11, 2007)

“If I had known I was going to be reduced to shoveling snow like I was the kid down the street, I would have stayed in Africa,” Mart grumbled. “The man has seventeen miles of driveways, parking lots, sidewalks, and footpaths on this property and he can’t buy a snow blower for an old friend?”

When Mart Belden had returned to New York from three years of volunteer work in Africa, he knew he had been very fortunate to get this job as groundskeeper at Jim Frayne’s Winthrop School for Boys. The part-time work would allow him to focus his energies on completing his education degree, and Jim had been more than generous to allow him free room and board at the same time.

Mart had eagerly accepted his offer, dreaming of rolling lawns trimmed to putting green perfection, beautiful flowerbeds alive with a rainbow of colors, and abundant gardens filled with mouth-watering vegetables. After three years on the arid African continent, he had forgotten how infuriating snow was. And how cold. And wet. And heavy.

With a mighty heave, fueled by his irritation, he flung a teeming shovelful of snow over his shoulder.

“Oof!”

Even as Mart desperately wished for it to be Jim he had just bombarded with snow, he believed the sound to be distinctly feminine. He closed his eyes and muttered a few choice curse words.

Turning around slowly, he found himself looking into the most beautiful blue eyes he had ever seen in his life. Mart’s eyes were blue, but they were just … blue. These eyes were midnight, azure, sapphire, indigo, aqua, cerulean, cobalt, sky, navy, turquoise, cornflower, wedgewood, periwinkle, royal, marine … Mart finally ran out of synonyms, but he couldn’t stop staring at the kaleidoscope of hues in the woman’s eyes.

“Well?” she asked testily.

“Excuse me?” Mart replied, startled.

“Aren’t you going to apologize?”

“For…?” Cursing in front of a lady? For ogling the most beautiful non-violet eyes I’ve ever seen? For standing here with my mouth open like a complete doofus?

His failure to complete his sentence drew a little gasp of irritation from the woman that made her incredible blue eyes spark with fire; a blue flame of course. “How about for tossing a shovelful of snow in my face?”

“Gleeps!” Mart exclaimed, finally coming to his senses. “I – I’m – I – oh god!” Well, maybe not completely back to his senses. He hastily let the shovel drop to the ground and moved towards her, intending to apologize profusely and help her brush the snow off of her bright red coat and matching cap.

Unfortunately, his situation abruptly went from bad to worse as he slipped on an icy patch on the newly shoveled walk. His arms flailed, trying to maintain his balance. He teetered backwards, overcorrected, and found himself falling headlong into the beautiful woman. Struggling mightily to keep from falling, his hands landed on places a gentleman shouldn’t touch until he’s known a woman at least…well, longer than thirty seconds, anyway. She staggered backwards with a shriek, partially in avoidance and partially from the sheer thrust of Mart’s body, and the two of them tumbled into a snowdrift by the side of the walkway.

“Good grief!” she exclaimed, sputtering snow out of her mouth and nose. “Where did you grow up … the Sahara? You look like Bambi out here.”

Mart emerged from the mound of snow where he had fallen face first. Small clumps of snow and ice coated his eyebrows and forehead. His cheeks were bright pink with embarrassment or cold, or most likely both. “Uhm sahfry,” he garbled.

Her brief tinkling laughter made Mart’s heart skip a beat, but when he looked up she quickly replaced her mirth with a look of annoyance. She jerked the end of her long, woolen scarf out of Mart’s mouth and asked, “What did you say?”

Mart grinned sheepishly. “I said, I’m sorry.”

“Well, I should hope so,” she huffed, though Mart thought he saw the edges of her lips twitching up in a small smile. “I certainly didn’t expect to get molested when I came outside for my morning walk.”

“Molest–“ Mart exclaimed. He turned beet red and gulped guiltily as he remembered frantically grabbing for something, anything, to keep him from falling on the icy path. He found his eyes unconsciously dropping down to gaze at the would-be handholds. Granted, he couldn’t see much beneath her heavy wool coat, but he remembered how full and firm they felt, even in that brief moment of contact.

He heard her clearing her throat and looked up to see her brilliant blue eyes practically spitting fire at him. “Had your fill?”

That particular turn of phrase created a lewd picture in Mart’s mind. He was very glad he was still lying prone in the snow. The icy wetness ought to kill his lusty feelings...the noticeable ones anyway. He swallowed uneasily and said, “I was just – you – I mean, I – I seem to have ruined your breakfast.” He nodded towards her coat as he struggled to regain his feet.

She looked down at her chest. “Drat!” The dark remains of some type of fruit danish were smeared on the front of her coat.

“Blueberry,” Mart said with a touch of sadness. It was his favorite. He hated to see good food go to waste.

She looked at him with narrowed eyes. “And just how do you know it was blueberry? Did you get a taste on your way down?”

Mart decided his face might as well just stay red, at least until he was no longer in this woman’s presence. “No, it’s Tuesday,” he mumbled with a shrug.

“It’s Tuesday?” she repeated questioningly.

“The kitchen staff bakes fresh danishes every day. Tuesday is blueberry.”

“You have the danish schedule memorized?”

Mart grinned. Now he was in his element. “Oh, I have the entire menu memorized.” Talking about food made him feel more comfortable in the awkward situation and he gallantly stretched out his hand to help her to her feet.

His smile vanished as she ignored his offer and pulled herself carefully up off the ground, brushing off the snow while trying not to smudge the stain any worse than it already was. She leaned down to pick up what was left of the danish, as well as the crushed remains of a styrofoam cup whose spilled contents had stained the pristine snow in sepia tones. With a disdainful glance at Mart, she turned and walked towards the door, stopping to throw the items in a trashcan near the front steps.

As irksome as she was, Mart found he didn’t want her to leave just yet. “I am sorry,” he called out. “I mean for ruining your walk ... and … and your breakfast ... and your coat.” And your whole day, apparently.

She had stopped at the front doors, her gloved hand on the handle. She turned back to him and though she didn’t smile, Mart imagined her magnificent eyes were sparkling. Or were they just reflecting off the snow? “So, where do I send the bill?” she asked, her voice not unkind.

“The bill?” I hope she’s not going to sue me for sexual harassment.

“The cleaning bill. This is a brand new coat, you know.”

Mart waved towards the building, “Here. I work here. I mean, I live here and I work here.”

“Do you have a name?” she queried, and again there was the tiniest twitch of a smile on her full, rosy lips.

Do I? Yes, I do...What is it? “Mart. Mart Belden.”

She nodded brusquely, her lips in a tight smile, opened the door and disappeared inside.

Mart cursed himself. He cursed the snow. He tried to kick the snow, but found it was highly unsatisfying to kick something that fluffed around him in mocking delight. He kicked the shovel instead, still lying where he had dropped it. A corner of it jabbed sharply into his toe, causing him to hop up and down in pain. So he cursed the shovel too, for good measure.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so flummoxed around a woman. A woman who didn’t succumb to his charms no less, which made it so much harder to be charming. She would be positively infuriating if it weren’t for those eyes. Those eyes, the color of ...  Mart rubbed his sore toe and smiled. “Blueberries. My favorite.”

He didn’t even know her name.

*************************************

Jim ambled his way slowly down the hallway, perusing the morning paper and sipping a cup of coffee as he walked. The daily commute from his apartment upstairs to his office downstairs certainly had its benefits, especially during these cold winter months. He tucked the paper under his arm and opened the door to the school office, smiling at Mrs. Foster as he entered. No matter how early he arrived, the efficient secretary somehow always managed to beat him in.

“Good morning, Mrs. Foster,” he smiled, picking up a homemade blueberry muffin from the basket on her desk.

The neatly dressed grey-haired woman looked up from her daily planner with a warm, motherly smile. “Good morning, Mr. Frayne.” She would have preferred to call him Jim. As the unofficial grandmother at the Winthrop School, she knew every student and employee personally. She preferred to call all her co-workers by their first names, but after being unable to get Jim to return the favor, she had finally given up and returned the formality he used with each member of his staff.

“How does my schedule look today?”

“Demanding, as always. Don’t you ever take a break?” She peered at him over the tops of her bifocals, quietly reproaching him for wearing himself so thin.

“I promise when the weather becomes friendlier, I’ll take a morning break to go biking or riding or something. Will that satisfy you?”

“No,” she grumped, “You look terrible and you need some time for yourself. It can’t wait until spring.” She didn’t fool Jim for a minute though, or anybody else for that matter. Mrs. Foster could never really be angry with anyone.

Jim gave her a weary look. “I was just off for two weeks over the holidays, Mrs. Foster. How much more downtime am I supposed to take?” He didn’t wait for her reply, but headed for his office, pulling the paper up in front of his face again to ward off a conversation he didn’t want to have for the umpteenth time since the new term had started barely two weeks ago.

But he could hear Mrs. Foster grumbling behind him, “Whatever it takes to lift that burden off your heart, Jim dear.” And Jim knew she was fully aware that he had overheard her, as she had intended.

He gently closed the door of his office behind him and looked into the mahogany framed mirror that hung over the back wall. There were circles under his eyes and his cheeks were slightly hollowed. He knew he was working too hard. But working himself to exhaustion every day was the only thing that enabled him to get any sleep at night, uninterrupted by the nearly endless cycles of disturbing dreams and wakeful worrying.

In the two weeks since he had returned from Sleepyside, where he had stood as best man for Brian and Honey’s wedding, he had been unable to get Trixie out of his mind. They had been apart for three years now, and she had been with Dan for most of that time. They had managed to hold onto their friendship, for which he was eternally thankful, but Jim had never truly let go of his feelings for Trixie. He had managed to bury them deep in his psyche while he worked to build his dreams for this school, but now, with the romantic wedding atmosphere fresh in his mind, those feelings had returned. He didn’t know how to stop them. He didn’t know if he wanted to stop them. But admitting those feelings to anyone, least of all to Trixie or Dan, had the potential to unleash a far-reaching storm that could make his own internal struggles look like a summer drizzle in comparison.

So he beat his emotions down again, made them obey his honorable spirit, and immersed himself in the day-to-day workings of the school. Even things he easily could have delegated to others he took charge of himself, wanting his mind to be completely filled with something other than thoughts of what he had lost, of what he had thrown away.

He tore his eyes from the haunted specter staring at him from the mirror and looked down at Mrs. Foster’s blueberry muffin, now partially crushed in his clenched fist. He took a half-hearted bite, letting the fresh pastry crumble in his mouth, then tossed it into the garbage can. He wasn’t in the mood for comfort food. He put his coffee cup on a coaster, dropped the paper in one of the guest chairs and went behind the desk to sit in the luxurious, high-backed leather chair. He leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head, closing his eyes and composing his thoughts and plans for the day ahead.

There was a soft knock at his door and Mrs. Foster poked her silvery head inside. “Mart wants to know if you have a minute for him.”

“Mrs. Foster, we do have an intercom, you know,” he smiled at her.

She sniffed contemptuously. She never used the highly impersonal contraption on her desk, but she would never admit that she didn’t really know how to use it, either.

“Do I have a minute?” he asked to appease her. She loved directing Jim’s every moment when he was at work.

“Yes, but just. Remember that you have a teleconference with Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Rainsford at 9:00.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Foster. I had forgotten. What would I ever do without you?”

She smiled happily and returned to her desk, waving Mart through the open door.

“Jim!” Mart shouted exuberantly. “I need your help.” He flung himself into the nearest guest chair, crushing the newspaper underneath him as he flung a leg over the arm. His face was flushed and he was grinning from ear to ear.

Jim listened as Mart excitedly jabbered away about some woman he had met earlier. He described her with his usual verbose imagery and asked if Jim knew who she was. When Jim shrugged in confusion, Mart exclaimed, “Are you kidding me, Jim? You don’t know who I’m talking about? The school isn’t that big!”

“I’m sorry. I don’t usually think of my staff in terms of their ‘splendiferous cobalt orbs’. You’re going to have to be a little more descriptive. Or maybe a little less descriptive,” Jim teased.

Mart’s own orbs were rather glazed over at the moment, Jim noticed, and a small smile was creeping across his face. He waited, but Mart didn’t reply, apparently lost in his lovesick daydreams.

“Mart?” he prompted.

Mart broke his trance and focused on his friend on the other side of the spacious desk. He sat up straight on the chair and leaned forward, elbows on the edge of the desk and chin resting on the tips of his clasped fingers. “She’s got blond hair ... I think. It was kind of tucked under her hat, a red hat. And she’s got a red coat ... with ... a big blueberry danish stain on it. She likes blueberry danishes.”

Jim cast his eyes heavenward. It always came down to food for Mart. He secretly hoped the woman he was describing worked in the kitchen. “So, someone on my staff eats blueberry danishes in a manner sloppy enough to get them all over her coat?”

“Well ... no. I ... sort of ... did that.”

Jim stared at him scathingly. “I won’t ask how.”

“Please don’t,” Mart agreed. “So, do you know who she is?” He realized he sounded like an overeager puppy dog, so he sat back in the chair and casually added, “I’d just like to apologize and see if I can get the coat cleaned for her.”

“Why didn’t you apologize when you did it?”

“I did. But ... well, not well enough. And she left before I could ... well, do it better.”

Jim smiled. He hadn’t seen Mart this flustered since ... well, since Diana joined the Bob-Whites.

Mart had known and loved Diana even longer than Jim had known and loved Trixie. Both men had broken off their relationships for practical reasons. They had formed a brokenhearted bond with one another since Mart’s return from Africa. Diana and Trixie had both moved on and found love again. Now it seemed Mart was ready to move on too.

How did he do that? Jim wondered. And why can’t I?

The mention of the red coat finally struck a chord with Jim. He had commented on the obviously new garment just yesterday. “Sally Drake,” he said aloud.

Mart’s face brightened. “That’s her name? Who is she?”

“She’s my American History teacher. And I’d like her to stay that way, if you don’t mind. Don’t go chasing her away by starting food fights with her on the front lawn.”

Mart snorted, “Like I’d ever purposely waste food. It was an accident, I tell you.”

Jim cocked a rusty eyebrow at his friend, who was drifting off again with stars in his eyes. “All right, I have to ask. How do you do it?”

“I slipped on the ice,” Mart mumbled.

“What?” Jim was confused now. Was Mart suggesting a concussion or a groin pull was the key to finding love again?

Mart sighed. “I threw a shovelful of snow on her. I was going to clean her off when I slipped and fell into her ... and we both fell in the snow.”

“No, I mean ... never mind,” Jim said, shaking his head. He was pretty sure he was going to be making their weekly trip to the local bar alone this week, crying into his beer by himself … again.

Mart stared at him expectantly until Jim took his hand from his chin and flung it outward in a questioning gesture. “What?”

“Are you going to tell me what room she’s in?” Mart asked. When Jim hesitated, he added with a grin, “Time’s a wasting, Frayne. I can’t let that blueberry stain set in. I’m too poor to buy her a new coat.”

Jim did not look amused. “She’s working, Mart.”

Mart made a face. “I know that. What? Do you think I’m going to serenade her or something?”

Jim raised an eyebrow. He could remember when Mart did just that during high school in front of Diana’s government class on Valentine’s Day.

Mart apparently remembered too, because he flushed under Jim’s scrutiny. “I promise I’ll wait until between classes to talk to her.”

When Jim still looked unconvinced, Mart added, “You know, I could just go from room to room, popping in and asking if there are any knock-out gorgeous history teachers inside.”

“Room 115,” Jim said quickly, rolling his eyes.

Mart leaped from the chair and bounded to the door. “Thanks, Jim. You’ll be rewarded for this someday. Maybe she has a sister who won’t think you’re too homely,” he added mischievously, fleeing out the door as Jim threw a pencil his way.

**************************************

Mart tried hard not to sprint down the hallway. First period had already started and if he kept his promise to Jim he would have to wait almost twenty minutes before he could enter Room 115 and talk to Sally Drake.

Sally Drake ... Miss Drake … Sally … Drake. He wanted to say her name aloud over and over – whisper it, shout it, sing it, laugh it. He couldn’t help it. For all his joking and wisecracks, for all his ostentatious verbosity, he truly was a romantic at heart. And his heart hadn’t felt this light in a long time. It had been a very long three years in Africa. Long-term relationship possibilities were few and far between in third world countries and Mart had pined for his violet-eyed Diana for much of that time.

When he returned to the States to find Tad Webster had swept Diana off her feet, Mart had graciously stepped aside for good. Diana was happy and that’s what was important to Mart. He knew Tad would treat her right and he was obviously quite smitten with her. Well hell, who wouldn’t be? Even Mart had to grudgingly admit that the All-American athlete and the homecoming queen made a picture perfect pair. It hurt, but he had many wonderful memories to hold onto, and years of friendship to look forward to with Diana Lynch.

He and Jim had bonded over pints at the local pub several times since Mart’s return to New York, but Mart didn’t want to end up like Jim, still brooding years after his breakup with Trixie. Mart had tried mightily to jostle Jim out of his stupor, but so far had had no luck.

He checked his watch. He could spend the next fourteen minutes trying to figure out Jim’s problem, or he could spend it composing a suitably impressive apology for Miss Drake and let her see that he was an intelligent, educated man and not some klutz with incredibly poor aim.

He reached Room 115 and peeked in the long, thin window above the doorknob. Sally Drake was engaged in a description of some important battle, he guessed, drawing diagrams and maps on the blackboard and turning frequently to her class with animated gestures and a face that lit up the room with excitement. She was obviously a good teacher; her students sat in enraptured silence, barely remembering to take notes, they were so focused on her tale.

Satisfied he was in the right place, and with twelve minutes still to spare until he would be in the right place at the right time, Mart leaned against the wall next to the door and started thinking about what he would say when he finally got to talk to those beautiful blue eyes again. The minutes ticked quickly past as he ran the dictionary, the thesaurus, and every Shakespearean sonnet he could remember through his mind to get just the right words rolling off his tongue. He wasn’t sure why he was worrying about it so much. He couldn’t possibly make a worse impression than he had the first time they met.

As a bell announced the end of the first period of the day, Mart jumped to attention and moved eagerly towards the classroom door. As he did so, the door was flung open and it was only the downward glance of his eyes as he reached for the doorknob that saved him from a broken nose. The door swung into his forehead with a sharp whack and he lurched back, trying not to swear as a flood of pre-teen boys came flowing out of the room. He touched his fingers gingerly to his forehead and pulled them away, checking for blood.

“Anthony!” Mart heard from inside the room, “Slow down, please.” He heard heels clicking his way and swiftly tried to compose himself, but he was seeing spots in front of his eyes. Frankly, he’d prefer to be seeing fireworks when he came face to face with Sally Drake again. She came into view and there they were…those blue eyes. Her shoulder-length blond hair cascaded in generous waves around her face. She was wearing a pale blue sweater – miraculously free of any fruit stains – and black slacks.

She stopped short when she saw him. He must have presented quite a picture – a large contusion on his forehead, sure to be black and blue before long, jaw wide open trying to get the ringing in his ears to cease, eyelids fluttering open and closed in dizziness. “Mr. Belden, we meet again,” she said and even in his woozy state, Mart could swear he saw her eyes twinkling at him.

“Miss Drake,” he murmured. With a final shake of his head he shook off the lingering vertigo, pasted on his most charismatic grin, and thrust a hand out to greet her properly.

On reflection, Mart later decided that what happened next was no surprise. Fate was obviously out to get him for some past sins he had committed.

Sally chose the exact moment that Mart reached out to her to lean down and pick up a piece of paper that had fallen from some student’s notebook. Mart’s hand brushed against her breasts – again – as she bent over. He pulled back like he had scalded his fingers on a hot stove, blushing furiously. Well, at least the red mark on his forehead would blend in now, he thought.

She straightened up and stared at him, clearly trying not to explode – with laughter or anger, Mart wasn’t sure, though he felt mildly better when she spoke in a slightly amused tone.

“This just isn’t your day, is it, Mr. Belden?”

He shut his eyes for a moment and slowly shook his head, “No, it really isn’t. I assure you I am not normally so unsuitably maladroit in my endeavors to converse with a pulchritudinous maiden.” Well, at least his brain and mouth were working this time.

She tilted her head and smiled at his words. A real smile this time too, dazzling and completely unlike her previous attempts to cover her pleasure with irritation.

Mart wasn’t sure if it was her smile or the blow to his head, but he suddenly felt a wave of nausea overcome him. He leaned over and put his hands on his knees and prayed it would pass. If he threw up on her, that would be the last straw. He’d have to move to Mongolia and become a monk.

He felt a soft touch on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Slowly he straightened up and gave her a reassuring grin. “Yes, I just felt a little dizzy.”

Realization hit her. “Oh! I thought that ‘thud’ was the door hitting the wall.” She reached out and tenderly touched the swelling lump on his forehead. Her fingers were soft and gentle and her wrist smelled like ... cupcakes? Mart really thought he might faint now.

“No,” he grinned in embarrassment, “though, lucky for me, my head is almost as hard as that wall.”

“You should probably go see the school nurse,” she said with concern.

“I’ve had worse,” Mart shrugged, “as you can probably imagine considering what you’ve seen of me so far, Miss Drake.”

“Sally,” she smiled.

“Sally,” Mart nodded amiably.

A group of boys was filing into the room, glancing curiously at their teacher and the young man she was talking to.

“I actually came by to see if I could try and clean your coat for you,” he added sheepishly. “There still might be a chance to get that stain out.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I’ve already taken care of it. I think it will be okay.”

She put her hands on her hips and thrust her chin out at Mart with a smug smile. “However, I have no incertitude that you are more than proficient at expelling all manner of bespattered victuals from habiliments, Mr. Belden,” she proclaimed.

Mart’s jaw dropped open as she turned and walked into the classroom, pulling the door shut behind her. The door was almost closed when Mart managed to blurt out, “Mart.”

Sally turned back, her blue eyes shining. She smiled fetchingly at him and echoed, “Mart,” just before she closed the door.

Mart fell back against the wall. He was feeling very lightheaded and it was definitely not from any kind of concussion.

He was in love.

*************************************

Jim glanced up at the clock that hung over his office door. It was still a little early for lunch, but his stomach was growling. Besides, he had two meetings this afternoon and he might as well get lunch out of the way now.

He considered what was in his refrigerator with a sigh. A bottle of ketchup, some slices of American cheese, and a half-empty gallon of milk – probably sour. It didn’t sound like much of a meal. And he didn’t particularly feel like socializing with the students in the cafeteria or the faculty in the teacher’s lounge today, especially if he was going to end up watching Mart mooning over Sally Drake. He’d have to get some groceries anyway, so he decided to have lunch in town and get the dreaded shopping trip over with for the week.

He stuffed a few files in his briefcase, shrugged into his long winter overcoat and exited his office. “Mrs. Foster, I’m going into town for a couple of hours. If anybody needs me, they can reach me on my cell.”

“Don’t forget you have two meetings with potential students this afternoon,” she reminded.

Jim waved his briefcase in reply. “I’ve got the files right here. I’ll look over them at lunch.”

“What if Mart comes looking for you again?” Mrs. Foster asked with a curious smile. When Mart had come out of Jim’s office earlier, he had kissed her soundly on the cheek, snitched a blueberry muffin from her basket, and waltzed out of the office whistling some silly little romantic show tune. Mrs. Foster was dying to know what that was all about, and his friend Jim seemed to be the best source for that gossip.

Jim snorted, “Tell him to call Miss Lonelyheart. I’m sure he knows how to reach her.” He left the school chuckling under his breath at his joke.

He tossed his briefcase into the passenger seat as he got into his dark green Ford Explorer. It had taken only one snowstorm with his reliable old Tercel to realize the little car wouldn’t be up to winters in remote Indian Lake. You couldn’t count on the back roads getting plowed in a timely manner in this area. Jim waved at his stable manager Wes Landon, as he came up the driveway in his heavy-duty truck, plowing as he went. Carefully maneuvering around him, Jim turned out of the driveway and headed for town. The main road had been partially plowed and driving grew easier the closer Jim got to Indian Lake.

An insistent rumble from his stomach convinced Jim to seek out lunch before heading to the grocery store. Options were limited in the tiny town. McDonald’s, the only fast food restaurant in Indian Lake, was out. It was no Wimpy’s that was for sure; although it seemed to satisfy Mart’s occasional yen for greasy burgers. The spattering of other restaurants mostly served the summer vacationers, or couples seeking weekend retreats. Many of them weren’t open on a regular lunch schedule. Jim pulled his SUV into the small lot in front of drab Wally’s Diner. What the plain, colorless establishment lacked in atmosphere, it more than made up for with excellent food and friendly service. The lot was nearly empty and Jim was thankful he would be missing the lunch rush. In small towns like Indian Lake, everybody knows everybody, and he just wasn’t up to making small talk today.

A little bell over the door signaled his arrival. An older couple at a table in the back corner and a burly man in checked flannel at the counter were the only customers at the moment. The reversible sign at the cash register had the “Please Seat Yourselves” side showing and Jim slid into a booth not far from the door, laying his briefcase across the table from him.

“Well hi, stranger. Haven’t seen you here in awhile.”

Jim looked up into the soulful brown eyes of Renee Wallace and smiled. “Hello, Renee.”

“So, where have you been?” she asked, turning over his coffee cup and filling it with the aromatic brew.

“Well, it hasn’t exactly been biking weather now, has it?” Jim chuckled. He had taken up biking in the mornings some time ago, often stopping by the diner for his morning cup of coffee before heading back to the school.

“I guess not,” she agreed with a coy smile. “Doesn’t mean you can’t come in and visit every once in awhile.”

Renee Wallace had often flirted with Jim since his first visit to the diner. He had always been polite and friendly, but her flirtations seemed to have gone completely unnoticed. She knew from the town grapevine that he was unattached, so he simply must not be interested in her.

“Well, I’m here now,” he smiled warmly. “I had a sudden urge for a tuna melt.”

She laughed gaily at him. “Or more likely, you haven’t got any food at home.”

“Guilty as charged. But I do love your tuna melt.”

“I can’t take any credit for it. That’s all Martha’s doing. And she refuses to tell me her secret ingredient; otherwise maybe I’d finally have the key to winning your heart, Jim Frayne,” she said, winking at him. She paused and looked into his emerald green eyes. She didn’t know why she continued to beat her head against this redheaded brick wall, but those eyes could easily be part of the reason. “How would you like to upgrade your potato chips to fries today … no charge?”

“You sure you won’t get in trouble for that?” Jim teased.

“You let me handle management,” she chuckled, as she left to put Jim’s order in with the kitchen. Her widower father had owned the establishment since she was a little girl. He worshipped the ground his only child walked on and probably would have let her give free fries to the entire state if she so desired. Renee worked the breakfast and lunch shifts at the diner and went to school at night. She would graduate with her nursing degree this spring, and was working up her courage to move out of the small town she had lived in her whole life to go see the world.

Jim drew his briefcase towards him and pulled out one of the files he had placed there before he left the school. He wished he didn’t have to pick and choose students, but funds and resources required him to limit the number of boys he could accept into the program. In addition, he didn’t have the specialized staff needed to handle the more serious discipline cases that he would have liked to tackle. Both of the boys he was meeting today seemed promising though and based on their case files, he thought they would soon be enrolled at the school.

He was so engrossed in the file of young Cade Garrett that he didn’t notice Renee standing over the table with his lunch until she gently cleared her throat after a few seconds. He hurriedly pushed the file aside and thanked her as she placed the plate in front of him. He noticed that his helping of fries seemed especially generous. Renee was too good to him.

He looked for the squirt bottle of ketchup that should have been on his table, neatly placed against the wall. It was missing. He turned to ask Renee to bring him some, but she had already turned to the table behind her and was handing him the bottle before the request could move from his brain to his lips. “Where am I going to get such treatment when you head off to Rochester this summer?” he asked, taking the bottle from her with a grin.

Sighing, she turned to look at her father over her shoulder. He was chatting with the older couple as he rang them out at the cash register. Her yearning to shake the dust of this small town off her feet was in direct conflict with her desire to stay in Indian Lake to be with her father. She was all he had left in the world.

Suddenly startled, she looked down to see Jim’s hand on top of hers and understanding in his gentle green eyes. “You’re not abandoning him,” Jim said softly.

She nodded and tried to smile, then hurried off to the kitchen before her emotions could get the better of her.

Munching on his sandwich, Jim studied her as she retreated. She was tall and shapely, probably only a couple of inches shy of his six-foot plus frame. She had brown hair with copper highlights pulled back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her brown eyes always seemed to have a world of worry in them, no matter how bright and chipper she was feeling. And as she had watched her father, Jim noticed an emotion in her eyes that he was all too familiar with … guilt. It had moved him and he had reacted before he really had time to think.

Maybe that was the key to finding love, to stop thinking ... or at least to stop thinking so much. Maybe if Jim had concentrated more on his feelings for Trixie and less on practicality, they might still be together. They might be miserable, but maybe they’d still be together.

Mart, on the other hand, didn’t think at all, knocked a woman into the snow and was now in love. Maybe he had it right.

So Jim tried not to think about Renee moving off to Rochester in a few months. He tried not to think about his workaholic lifestyle. He tried not to think about Trixie. He tried not to think about his demons.

“Renee?” he asked, as she passed his table with a handful of silverware.

“Do you need more coffee, Jim? Let me put these away and I’ll be right with you.”

“No, I...” he paused, his throat suddenly tight. Come on, Jim. It’s not like you haven’t done this before. “I was just wondering ... if you might like to have dinner sometime this weekend ... with me, I mean?”

She looked surprised and Jim fleetingly wondered how long it had been since he had asked a woman out, and if the rumor mill in town had him pegged as gay ... or some eccentric celibate hermit. Well, he couldn’t take it back now, so he might as well just accept her rejection and –

“That sounds nice. What did you have in mind?”

Not anywhere in Indian Lake, that’s for sure. “Umm ... I’m not really sure. I – I haven’t been out – I mean out of town – in awhile. Except for the holidays, when I went home to Sleepyside. But I guess four hours is a little far to drive for dinner, especially for a first date. I mean – it’s just dinner, not really a – well, I guess dinner is a date, isn’t it?” Great, now I’m babbling.

Renee smiled down at him. “How about Friends Lake Inn? It’s in Chestertown, which is about 45 minutes, but anyplace outside of Indian Lake is going to be a drive.”

Jim swallowed and nodded, “Friday night?”

“Sure, but not too late. I’m working the breakfast shift Saturday.”

“Okay ... is 5:00 all right?”

“Sure. You know where I live, right?”

“White house, green shutters...right next door to the diner?” Jim grinned.

“That’s the one,” she chuckled. There was a moment of awkward silence and then she asked, “So ... more coffee?”

Jim shook his head. His eyes drifted down to his plate. He hadn’t finished his lunch. Truthfully, he was still hungry. But a need to escape was settling quickly on him. “I’ve really gotta run. I still have to pick up some groceries before I get back to school and I’ve got a couple of interviews this afternoon and...”

Renee picked up his plate. “I’ll wrap this up for you and you can eat it later, okay? We can’t have your stomach growling in the middle of a meeting.” And she disappeared into the kitchen before he could object.

Jim became conscious of the fact that he had been holding his breath. He let it out in a long, drawn-out sigh and gathered his things.

Renee met him at the register and handed him the brown paper sack with his lunch inside. “I put a slice of blueberry pie in there for you too. Martha baked it fresh this morning. Don’t get any on you; it’s a devil to clean out.”

Jim grinned, “So I’ve heard. Thanks.” He paid for his lunch and waved off the change, “Keep it. So, I’ll see you Friday then?”

“5:00.”

“Right next door.”

“See you then.”

The cold January wind cut right through Jim’s coat as he left the diner, sending a chill through him. What am I doing? he asked himself.

You’re moving on, Frayne, moving on.

**************************************

Mart lurked around the outside of the main building the next two mornings, hoping to catch Sally on her morning walk. His classes at the community college were nearly an hour away, so he didn’t have any opportunities to run into Sally other than in the mornings before school started at Winthrop.

There had been no more accumulation of snow, so he had no real excuse to be lingering out there so early. But he didn’t want Sally to think he was stalking her, so he spent nearly an hour salting the walks heavily each morning, until Jim started getting complaints from the teachers about their ruined shoes and the conditions of the hallways inside the school.

When he didn’t see her Wednesday or Thursday, he got up even earlier on Friday morning, long before classes started or the non-resident teachers had arrived, even before Mrs. Foster came in, and went outside to wait for Sally Drake. He knew she lived in Indian Lake and not at the school. He knew she lived with her family. He knew she wasn’t married or engaged or dating anyone. And she had blushed prettily when she asked about Mart in the school office. He learned all that from Mrs. Foster, bless her meddlesome soul. If only Mr. Lytell’s nosiness could have ever been that helpful.

Mart licked his lips nervously as he saw Sally’s red SUV pull into the parking lot. He felt his heart skipping along in an irregular rhythm. That couldn’t be good. But it was. If he had a heart attack right in front of Sally Drake, at least he’d die happy. He flashed his best smile as she came up the walk, holding a travel mug of coffee in one hand; her other hand held up in front of her to keep him at a safe distance. But she was grinning as she did it, clearly teasing him.

“Good morning, Sally.”

“Good morning, Mart. You’re out here awfully early. Haven’t you run out of salt yet?” She thrust out one foot at him so he could see the salt stains on the edges of her brown suede boots.

Mart grimaced. Those had to cost more than the coat even. Out of sheer necessity he’d learned how to remove all sorts of food stains over the years, but no one had ever taught him how to get salt stains out of suede. If he had to replace all her clothing that he ruined, he’d be broke before he even got to take her out on a first date.

With more confidence than he felt, Mart looked steadily into her dark blue eyes and before he could lose his nerve he asked quickly, “Would you like to have dinner with me Friday night?”

Sally tilted her head at him saucily and asked, “Do you mean tonight?”

It took him a second, but he realized that he had rehearsed that simple question for two days without running into her and now it actually was Friday. He had never felt so at sea in his life. Not when Jim’s sister was engaged in her trademarked Honey-speak. Not when his own sister was spouting a dozen different theories at once to try and solve a mystery. Not even when he was first dating Diana. And he never felt like this when he was around other men. What was it about beautiful women that turned intelligent men into complete idiots?

He couldn’t ask her out tonight, could he? Weren’t you supposed to give women time to think about it or wash their hair or something? And they never wanted it to seem as if they had no plans on a Friday night either. No, he didn’t mean tonight.

“No.” Mart almost smiled to see a shadow of disappointment cross her pretty face. “I – do you – do you want to – I mean – ?” Mart gave up, spreading his arms wide in resignation. “I have no idea what I mean anymore. You’ve taken every polysyllabic word out of my brain and turned it to mush.”

“Thank you, I accept,” she answered.

“You do?”

“Yes. As long as you promise not to assault me or fling food at me.”

“I promise. I mean ... I’ll try.”

She narrowed her eyes and stared at him until he could not withhold the grin inside him. “After all, it’s still pretty icy out, and Jim won’t let me salt the walks anymore. But I can’t wait around until spring to ask you out, so I guess I’ll have to try and keep my equilibrium around you. And that will be no easy task ... I find myself feeling dizzy every time you come around.”

She flushed, hiding her smile behind her coffee mug as she took a sip and stared off across the snow-covered lawns.

“But I promise not to start any food fights ... if you’ll answer a question for me.”

“Yes?”

“What creates that nectareous aroma of freshly baked patisseries whenever you’re in the vicinity?” Mart managed not feel giddy when she flashed that dazzling smile, but he couldn’t do anything about his knees knocking.

“Bath & Bodyworks – Warm Vanilla Sugar.” She looked at him curiously. “Are we going out for dinner or do you just have a passion for desserts?”

“Oh, no! My epicurean fervors extend to all manner of comestibles.”

“Good. We’ll leave right after school.” She moved past him towards the door.

Mart turned around to watch her go. “We will?”

“We will. I know just the place to take you for dinner. Meet me here.”

“Right here?” Mart pointed to the ground in front of him.

“Right there,” she said with a deliberate grin and entered the building.

Mart wasn’t sure what he was going to do about his classes, but he was suddenly reluctant to move one step from his spot until she returned.

**************************************

Sally pulled her truck alongside the curb and stopped, her brow furrowed.

“Are you lost?” Mart asked. He looked outside and saw only suburban residences, no business establishments or restaurants in sight.

“No … just having second thoughts,” Sally murmured.

“About dinner?”

“No, not exactly.”

“About dinner with me?”

She turned and smiled reassuringly at him. “Definitely not. I’m just not sure that –.”

Suddenly, there were shrieks of delight outside, “Aunt Sally!”

Sally and Mart looked outside. On the lawn next to the car was a rosy-cheeked little girl, bundled up in a snowsuit that made her look something like a miniature pink Michelin man and an equally red-cheeked boy, slightly older, waving a mittened hand at them.

“Too late,” Sally sighed.

“Aunt Sally?” Mart asked, looking at her with some minor apprehension.

“My family has dinner together every Friday night. There’s going to be a ton of food, a houseful of people and a great deal of chaos.” Mart didn’t seem inclined to run off, but she had to be sure. “But maybe it’s too much for a first date … meeting the family and all that.”

“Did you say there was going to be a ton of food?”

Sally giggled, “Oh, yes. Everybody brings something and there’s always plenty left over.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that tonight,” Mart grinned. “Trust me, I’d be willing to go out with Lizzie Borden if it meant unlimited helpings for me.”

They got out of the car and Sally fell to her knees in the snow to receive hugs from her niece and nephew. When they finally let her free, she introduced them to Mart. They both belonged to her oldest brother Sam; Sarah was five and Scotty was seven and they clearly adored Sally, telling Mart she was their favorite aunt.

“Only because I have two dogs,” Sally snorted. The beasts in question came quickly from the porch to greet their mistress – two fierce looking German Shepherds who sniffed Mart's feet and legs suspiciously before wagging their tails agreeably and turning to romp with the children. Well, that’s one hurdle cleared, Mart mused. If the dogs don’t like you, the date is over.

Mart was used to Belden bedlam, but even he was surprised at the number of people in the house that was much smaller than the farmhouse in Sleepyside. There didn’t seem to be one spare foot of space anywhere. A long table extended from the dining room into the living room, and two folding tables were shoved up against either end. A hodgepodge of chairs surrounded the table and Mart quickly counted eighteen places. Then he saw the smaller “kids table” just inside the kitchen with another five chairs.

There were loud and enthusiastic greetings when they came in, and not a person there seemed surprised by Mart’s appearance. Had Sally been talking about him already? Did she frequently bring home male guests? Or were they just that friendly? Although he couldn’t be sure about the first two questions, Mart quickly found the last to be undoubtedly true. He found himself instantly surrounded by brothers, in-laws, parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, nieces, and nephews of Sally Drake. He felt like he was home again, though somewhat magnified…and not just in numbers either. When Sally introduced her four older brothers, one by one – Sam, Seth, Shawn, and Simon – Mart knew without a doubt that if he ever made Sally cry, he would be dead. Not just hurt, not just maimed, but dead. Every one of her blond, blue-eyed brothers looked like a linebacker for the Jets. They all greeted him politely, without a hint of animosity in their eyes; but each one squeezed his hand with just enough force to give him sufficient warning that they were very protective of their baby sister.

Sally’s mother seated Mart right next to her at one end of the table. Mart was afraid she’d talk his ear off, but since she kept piling food on his plate, Mart was perfectly content to let her babble away. He kept his mouth full, and she didn’t stop talking long enough for him to answer any of her questions with more than a short sentence or two anyway. Sally’s father was a quiet man (he probably couldn’t get in a word edgewise, Mart figured) with sparkling blue eyes almost as vivid as his daughter’s.

The house really was too small to accommodate all the guests, and all of the furniture in the living room had been pushed together, with coffee tables turned over on top of couches. So they simply sat around the table chatting happily all evening. Whenever anybody got up to retrieve a drink or more food or dessert from the kitchen, or to use the bathroom, or to check on the children who had gone upstairs to watch videos after dinner, somebody else would get up and take their vacated seat. This constant game of musical chairs made for a most entertaining evening and Mart eventually got to spend time with almost every member of the Drake family.

As the evening wound down, and parents began bundling sleepy children in their outerwear and shuttling them out to cars, Mart found himself in the kitchen with Sally, preparing several platters of food for people to take home with them.

“I can’t believe there is still food left,” Mart said in astonishment and appreciation. “The Drakes are my kind of people.”

Sally giggled and handed him two large plastic plates wrapped in cellophane. “These are for you to take home.”

“Two? Does this mean you’ll join me for lunch this weekend?” Mart asked with a sly smile.

“That’s a distinct possibility,” she replied with a smile.

Seth poked his head into the kitchen. “Hey, Mart,” he said, “You want us to take you home? It’s right on our way.”

Mart looked to Sally for affirmation. It was late, and while he was hoping to spend a little time alone with Sally, he didn’t want her to have to drive him to the school and then drive back here again.

“Go on,” Sally urged. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

As Seth left the kitchen, Sally leaned over and whispered to Mart, “It’s kind of a family ritual with my boyfriends. Don’t let Seth intimidate you.”

“Have a lot of boyfriends, do you?” Mart asked with a smirk.

She replied with a disgusted sniff, “I’ve only had a lot because it’s hard to hold onto them after my brothers get through with them.” She squeezed his arm and moved closer to him. “Please don’t let them scare you off. You’re the only one I’ve really wanted to hold onto.”

“Really?” Mart asked with a pleased expression.

“Really.” She looked deeply into his blue eyes with her even bluer ones, then leaned in and kissed Mart lightly. She started to pull away, but Mart put his free arm around her back and held her to his lips a moment longer.

As they parted he whispered, “I wanted to kiss you far more passionately than that, but I was afraid of dropping these plates of food and I couldn’t decide what was more important.”

Sally scoffed and pushed him gently away. “Get out of here before I tell Seth to dump your body in the woods.”

Mart laughed nervously, “You’re joking, right?”

She paused with a wicked smile on her face before answering, “Yes. Of course, if that blueberry stain on my coat hadn’t come out…”

Mart rolled his eyes. “I’ll never live that one down, will I?”

“No. But think what a great story we’ll have to tell our grandchildren.”

Mart didn’t flinch at the insinuation and Sally knew she had found a keeper.

“Mart! Shake a leg!” Seth bellowed from the front hall.

“Yeah, if I live that long,” Mart muttered, giving Sally a farewell kiss, and fervently hoping it wouldn’t be his last.

**************************************

The car was warm. Jim’s palms felt clammy. He could even feel tiny beads of sweat on his forehead. So he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why he was shivering. He pulled into the driveway of the Wallace house and put the car into Park, letting the engine idle. The porch light was on, but none of the windows were lit from within.

“Your dad isn’t waiting up for you?” he asked Renee. It was dark, but it wasn’t all that late.

“I’m sure he’s already in bed. He’s opened up that diner every morning for more than twenty years, every day of the year except Sundays and holidays. He takes ‘Early to bed, early to rise’ very seriously.”

Jim looked to his left where the diner was still ablaze with light, tending to the late movie crowd and weary truck drivers. “You want to get some coffee or something?”

“No, thanks.” she murmured.

That was almost the longest conversation they had had since leaving Chestertown nearly an hour ago.

Hesitantly, Renee reached out her left hand and stroked the hair that curled over the back of Jim’s coat collar. He didn’t react, nor did he object. She pushed her fingers down inside his collar and gently kneaded his neck, not overly surprised when she felt how tense and hard the muscles were.

They had had a perfectly nice dinner at the Friends Lake Inn. Jim had been polite and friendly, yet somehow distant. He had asked all the right questions without really listening to her answers. He had thought carefully before answering any of her questions, almost as if he were debating how much to share with her. When they had danced, Renee knew she had felt his body reacting to the close proximity of hers. But he had kept her at arm’s length, and not just on the dance floor, all evening. Even now, she was getting no response at all. No, “That feels good.” No, “Thanks I needed that.” No groans, no sighs, not even a glance her way. He didn’t just have a brick wall around him; he was a brick wall.

With a nearly inaudible sigh, she pulled her hand away and let it fall to her lap. With her right hand she reached for the door handle.

“Wait,” Jim said. He jumped out of the car, coming around to the passenger side to help her out. He took her by the arm to escort her to the porch, making certain she didn’t slip on any icy spots on the walk.

Without looking at him, she fumbled in her pocketbook for her house key. “Thanks for dinner, Jim. It was a really nice treat to have a night out like that.”

“Yeah. Thanks for suggesting the inn. It’s a nice place.” His voice was flat. He leaned over to kiss her goodnight on the cheek, but at the last second she turned towards him so that his lips landed squarely on hers. She put her hand on the back of his head and held him close to her for a moment. She parted her lips and after a second she felt his part also, almost against his will. Their tongues touched ever so briefly and then he was pulling away from her.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. Even in the dim glow from the porch light, she could see that his face was as red as his hair.

“No, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I shouldn’t have been so forward.”

“Really, it’s okay. I just … it has nothing to do with you, Renee.”

She tried to smile. “You’re not giving me the ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ speech, are you?”

One corner of his mouth jerked upward before settling back quickly into his expressionless face, and that was the most of a smile she got out of him.

She opened the front door and started to step inside. Jim reached out and squeezed her arm, letting his hand linger for just a moment. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. Jim Frayne was unbearably handsome. He was intelligent and polite. He had treated her with the utmost respect and courtesy, perfect first date behavior. And Renee knew there wouldn’t be a second date.

As his hand dropped away, she reached out and squeezed his fingers. She bent and tilted her head until she made his downcast green eyes meet hers and she smiled. “It’s okay, Jim. Really.”

He swallowed and even attempted a small smile, which fell well short of his eyes.

“I’ll see you next week? You’ll come in for lunch or coffee or something, right?”

He nodded and watched her go into the house and shut the door. When the porch light clicked off, he trudged out to the car and got in. He didn’t drive away immediately, but quietly clenched the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

What in the hell is the matter with me?

Renee was sweet and fun. She was intelligent and sexy. She was a good dancer. She was passionate. She was kind and gentle.

She’s too tall. She doesn’t have curly hair. She doesn’t talk too much. She doesn’t have blue eyes. She isn’t adventurous.

She isn’t Trixie.

Jim stared aimlessly through the front windshield for several seconds. With an angry snarl, he slammed his head back against the headrest, yanked the gearshift into reverse and pulled out of the driveway.

The wintry roads weren’t safe enough for Jim to drive quickly, but he knew it didn’t matter. He couldn’t outrun the taunting laughter he heard all the way home. Those chortling demons were inside him and he couldn’t escape them.