Buch lesen: «Finding Mr. Right»
Tyra ran her tongue over the ice cream, closed her eyes and savored the rich, creamy delight
“This is fan—” She stopped in the middle of the sentence, and when she opened her eyes, she was staring into the pools of naked desire in Byron’s eyes. She lowered the ice cream cone from her mouth.
“Byron…”
“It’s all right. You caught me off-guard. Aren’t you going to finish your ice cream?”
She nodded, and as soon as the ice cream touched her tongue, her discomfort disappeared. She reached across the table and stroked the back of his hand, not thinking what her touch might precipitate. He turned his hand over and caressed her palm with his own.
“Byron, tell me why you called me tonight. I…I have to know.”
“I’m a loner, Tyra. I have always enjoyed being alone. I like people and enjoy being with those I find interesting. But I’ve always liked the peace and quiet of being alone. I always did my best thinking walking by myself in the park. Tonight, I suddenly felt as if the bottom had dropped out. I sat in my den trying to work, and suddenly I felt so lonely that I couldn’t stand it. And you were the only person on this earth that I wanted to see.”
GWYNNE FORSTER
is a national bestselling author of more than twenty romance novels and novellas, as well as general fiction. She has worked as a journalist, a university professor and as a senior officer for the United Nations. She holds a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in sociology, and a master’s degree in economics/demography.
Gwynne sings in her church choir, loves to entertain at dinner parties, is a gourmet cook and an avid gardener. She enjoys jazz, opera, classical music and the blues. She also likes to visit museums and art galleries. She lives in New York with her husband.
Finding Mr. Right
ESSENCE BEST SELLING AUTHOR
GWYNNE FORSTER
MILLS & BOON
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To all of my fellow volunteers in the Obama Campaign for President of the United States—you helped make the impossible dream come true. And to President Barack Obama, who is the man for our time.
Dear Reader,
Thank you for making Private Lives, my previous Kimani Romance title, such a success. I deeply appreciate the loyalty of my readers, which I have been so fortunate to enjoy since the publication of my first novel in 1995. Many of you still write to me regularly, and I look forward to hearing from you.
My heroines are usually independent, educated and capable of making their life’s journey a successful one. In Finding Mr. Right, Tyra Cunningham is not an exception. But because her siblings think she needs a man and needs help in finding one, Tyra does a few foolish things, including looking past “Mr. Right,” in order to show her brother and sister that she is capable of finding one. There is a lesson in there, and I hope you catch it. My grandfather used to call it cutting off your nose to spite your face.
Byron is a tribute to those of you African-American men who are great fathers and who put a premium on loving your women and nurturing your children. And he is precisely what Tyra needs.
During 2009, Kimani Arabesque will release reprints of three of my popular Arabesque books, Swept Away, Fools Rush In and Scarlet Woman. All three of these books won national awards. They’ve been out of print for a while, so I hope you will have a chance to read the reissues.
I enjoy receiving mail, so please write me at P.O. Box 45, New York, New York 10044, and send a self-addressed, stamped envelope if you want a reply. My e-mail address is GwynneF@aol.com. Please visit my Web site at www.gwynneforster.com. For business purposes, reach me through my agent, Pattie Steel-Perkins, Steele-Perkins Literary Agency, 26 Island Lane, Canandaigua, New York 14424.
Sincerely yours,
Gwynne Forster
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 1
Tyra Cunningham stood at her bedroom window watching her younger sister, Darlene, drive off for her first day of work as an attorney. The early June breeze was blowing through her hair and drying the tears she hadn’t realized were welling up in her eyes. She’d done it. Nobody would have thought it was possible. With the responsibility she’d taken on for her fifteen-year-old brother and thirteen-year-old sister not to mention herself, she’d produced remarkable results. Her brother, Clark, was a civil engineer working in Baltimore, and her sister had just been hired by one of Frederick, Maryland’s most distinguished law firms. In the meantime, she had managed to educate herself. Of course, she’d had Maggie’s support, but she’d made the important decisions and taken responsibility for the family.
She raced down the stairs and into the breakfast room. Maggie, who had been her parents’ housekeeper before they had died in an accident, indeed, before Tyra’s tenth birthday, sat eating her breakfast. “I feel like celebrating, Maggie. I don’t have to worry about either of them any more. Mom and Dad would have been real proud, and that’s all I ever wanted. I hope you know that I couldn’t have done it without you, though.”
“The Lord always provides. Now, I wish He’d provide you with a man. It’s not a good idea you strolling around here with three decades under your belt and never even looking at a man.”
“I look all the time. I just don’t see any brothers who make me want to go to the trouble.”
“There’s a difference between browsing and looking. When I was your age, I would have been considered too old for marriage, that is, if I’d still been single. When you gon’ have children…after menopause? You young people act like youth is eternal.”
“Oh, Maggie. For the first time in memory, I feel footloose and fancy-free.”
“I know, chile. You’ve had to be a grownup since you were seventeen, and now you feel like you’re seventeen. But take my word for it, that’s not for you.” She refilled her coffee cup. “Tyra, I’m serious. If men want a family, they look for a younger woman. If they fall for you before they think about family, you’re lucky.”
“You know more about this than I do. My one foray into dating wasn’t very good, but I’m still hopeful.”
As she headed up the broad, winding stairs of the house, she was proud that she had not only preserved what her parents, both physicians, left to her and her siblings, but had doubled its value. Their big, white-brick Georgian mansion stood out even among the elegant homes surrounding it. She put on a straw hat and sneakers, got a pair of shears and went out in the back garden to trim the hedges and cut away the dead blooms from daffodils and jonquils before the hot Maryland sun made it unbearable.
Boredom set in almost at once. What was she going to do with the rest of her life? She had a degree in psychology and was qualified to be a psychoanalyst, but she hadn’t pursued a career because she’d been so focused on raising Clark and Darlene.
She went back inside and sat on a kitchen stool and waited for Maggie to come up from the laundry room in the basement. “What am I going to do with myself, Maggie? I plan to get a job. But a job isn’t the answer for what I’m feeling. It’s as if they went off and left me. I’m used to Clark being away, but Darlene’s the baby, and she’s on her own now.”
“You’re lonely, and you’re gonna find out that it’s not loneliness for Clark and Darlene. Being a woman means more than wearing a dress and putting on lipstick.”
“All right. All right. I get the message. I’ve sent out job applications, but with no response so far. I only started last Thursday, so I guess it’s too soon.”
“You’ve got the empty nest syndrome that parents get when their children leave home. You’ll get over it. Excuse me.” She went to answer the telephone in the kitchen. “She’s here, Clark. Just a minute.”
“Hi, Sis. I’m bringing home a friend for dinner and overnight, so you and Maggie fix something real nice. Be there at about six.”
“All right. At least this will give me something to do. With Darlene at work, this place is awfully quiet.”
“I can imagine. For years, you’ve been busier than you had a right to be. See you around six.” Tyra hung up the phone.
“He’s bringing a friend home for dinner, Maggie, and she’s spending the night. He wants us to serve something special, I guess. Wonder who she is and where they met. I’ll put some flowers in the guest room. At least, this gives me something to think about.”
“I was going to serve roast pork. Oh, well. I’ll just dress it up,” Maggie said. “Let’s see. Cold mint-pea soup; roast pork with mushrooms, roast potatoes and asparagus. A salad, and let’s see…crème caramel. Coffee if anybody’s got room left. That’s not so much, since everything’s light except the pork and potatoes. I need some more lemons, mushrooms and some cognac for the dessert.”
“Good. I’ll phone the grocer and the liquor store.”
Tyra finished setting the dining room table, put a bowl of hyacinths and sweet peas from her garden in the center of the table and sat down to watch the local news. A while later, she heard the doorbell ring, glanced at her watch and saw that it was already ten minutes to six.
“I’ll get it, Maggie.”
She opened the door and gasped. Standing beside Clark was a strikingly handsome man, who stood a good two inches taller than Clark’s six foot three. He was a good-looking man who wore success the way peacocks wear plumes. And the way he fixed his gaze on her unnerved her. Annoyed with herself, she looked down at her long, blue denim skirt and flat sandals. Her T-shirt flattered her ample bosom, but that was all it did.
She gathered her wits. “Come in. Clark, the time got away from me, and I haven’t even dressed for dinner. I’ll be right back.” She ran upstairs before Clark could introduce her to his friend. Why had she assumed that his guest would be a woman? Well, at least they hadn’t made chicken-à-la-king. Men preferred food that stuck to the ribs. She took a sponge bath and changed into a long, red-silk dress and heels. The shoes raised her height from five feet eight and a half inches to almost six feet. She liked being tall.
“Byron Whitley, this is my sister, Tyra,” Clark said when she returned to them. “My kid sister, Darlene, should be here in about half an hour. And this is Maggie Jenkins,” he said, as Maggie served hot hors d’oeuvres. “Maggie is our housekeeper and surrogate mother. Maggie, this is Byron Whitley.”
“Welcome, Mr. Whitley,” Maggie said. “I hope you’ll visit us often.” She cast a sideward glance at Tyra and smiled as if triumphant.
Tyra had never learned to drink, mostly because she felt that she had to set a good example for her siblings, especially her sister. Nonetheless, she leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs and, after deciding that she could use something to steady her nerves, she asked her brother to make her a vodka tonic.
Clark stared at her. “You sure? In that case, you’d better eat some of those little canapés Maggie served.”
Tyra looked at Byron. “This morning, my responsibility for my brother and my sister ended. Clark has been on his own for the past five years, and today our sister, Darlene, began her first day at work. She’s an attorney. I think I deserve a drink.”
“You do, and I’ll join you,” Byron said, looking intently at her as if there were no one else other than the two of them. When he raised his glass to her, she shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the sexual tension between them.
She heard the front door open and was about to go to greet her sister when she realized that Darlene had gone directly up to her room.
“Darlene’s here,” she said to Byron. “We’ll eat in a few minutes.”
Byron focused his attention on Tyra. “What do you do, Tyra?”
“I’m a psychoanalyst, but I think I’d make a good counselor.”
He rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Yes. I expect you will be. Counseling can be very rewarding.”
So Clark wasn’t matchmaking, thought Byron. He hadn’t told his sister anything about his coming to dinner. Indeed, she hadn’t expected her brother’s guest to be a man, given her attire when she first greeted them. He smiled inwardly. When she saw him, she dressed in a hurry. He liked that, and he liked her. A woman who looked as if she might be in her late teens came into the room, her face all smiles. He noted that she had the Cunningham looks, but she certainly didn’t have the bearing of a lawyer.
“Hi, all,” she said.
Clark walked over to her, put an arm around her and said, “Byron Whitley, this is Darlene, my baby sister. She did a decent day’s work today for the first time in her life. Darlene, this is Byron Whitley.”
“I’m glad to meet you, Darlene.”
“Thanks. I’m glad to meet you, Byron.” She turned immediately to her older sister. “Hi, sis. Did I keep you guys waiting?”
Not much escaped him, and if he didn’t know better, he’d swear he’d just been given the brush off by someone who was anxious to portray herself as something that she wasn’t.
“No, you didn’t,” Tyra said to her sister. “Let me check with Maggie.”
Tyra strode to the kitchen, her suspicions rising. “What’s going on here, Maggie? Did you get a look at Darlene? From head to foot, she looks the way she did ten years ago with her hair in a pony tail, no makeup, jeans that are too tight and sneakers. She didn’t leave here this morning looking like that.”
Maggie didn’t seem concerned. She handed Tyra two bowls of cold mint-pea soup. “Here. Put those in Clark’s and Mr. Whitley’s plates. I’ll bring in yours, Darlene’s and mine.”
She knew that Maggie’s nonchalance was her way of avoiding things. “Okay, but don’t you think Clark and Darlene are up to something?”
Maggie’s withering look was not unusual. For years, she’d used it as a way to express her disapproval without saying a word. “What on earth could they be up to? You ever know Darlene to keep a secret? Clark’s too smart to be in cahoots with Darlene about anything that’s supposed to be a secret. After you take those bowls in, would you come back and cover that platter while I light the candles?”
“Why don’t you cover the platter and I’ll light the candles? I don’t want to rearrange your handiwork,” Tyra said.
She put the soup at each place setting and looked in the top drawer of the china cabinet for the lighter. When she couldn’t find it, she searched for a match. She lit two matches, both of which quickly burned out.
“Let me do that for you.”
She looked up at Byron Whitley, towering over her in a way that few men did. When he smiled and extended his hand for the matches, her left hand went to her chest as if to lower her heartbeat. He took the matches from her hand, lit the candles and asked her, “Would you go to dinner with me Sunday evening?”
She wanted to say no. Indeed, she thought she was going to decline. Not because she didn’t like him, but because she did. And that was the problem. She didn’t know whether he liked her or knew that she was attracted to him and planned to take advantage of that fact.
“Will you?” he urged.
“I’d love to. Thank you.” Embarrassed because she’d agreed so readily. He raised an eyebrow, but she pretended that she didn’t see it.
After Maggie said grace, Clark asked Darlene about her first day at work. “I think they were all being nice to me. I liked the orientation that Mr. Harris gave me.”
“It was probably very thorough,” Byron said. “That firm knows its business. You’ve landed a good position. What area are you in?”
“I’m in contracts.”
“Good,” Byron said.
With Tyra’s help, Maggie served dinner. She believed that serving one course after another made a meal more enjoyable. For dessert, they each got three heaping scoops of crème caramel.
Byron tasted it, closed his eyes. “I’m never leaving this place. After a meal like this, I could sit here until it’s time for the next meal.”
“Oh,” Tyra said, “I’m not sure I’d like to see roots growing from you.”
Darlene giggled. “I doubt he’d grow the kind of roots you have in mind, Sis.”
Her comment had a suggestive overtone. “What kind of roots do you think I have in mind?”
“Let’s just say you’re not thinking of carrots.” Then, as if to dispel any misunderstanding, Darlene turned to Byron. “I’m out of line, but this is kind of funny.”
Byron’s laugh shook his body. “She’s got your number, Tyra.”
“Yeah,” Clark said. “She’s used to getting away with it. If Tyra sent her to her room, she’d stay there five minutes, come out, say she was sorry, hug Tyra and that would be the end of it.”
“I’m not a pushover.” Tyra felt uncomfortable under Byron’s intense stare. “Let’s go into the living room and play some music,” she suggested, to break the tension.
She and Darlene helped Maggie clear the table and clean the kitchen. “What are you up to, Darlene?” Tyra asked her.
“Nothing. Just relaxing after a hard day’s work.”
“Don’t make jokes, Darlene. I know you. And nothing’s going to convince me that you worked hard on your first day on the job. Nothing! Go in the living room and pick out some music, anything but hip hop.”
“I don’t do hip hop any more, Sis. You’re way behind. I’m going upstairs for a minute.”
Maggie put away the dish towel, removed her apron and looked at Tyra. “You didn’t have to come in here to help me clean up. Why you trying to avoid that man? I saw how he looked at you, and you saw it, too. He’s not wearing a ring, so what’s your problem?”
“If you’re trying to shove me into his lap, you can forget it. I’m not about to throw myself at him.”
“You’re not fooling me, Tyra. He’s gotten to you. You’re thirty-one years old, and men your age are getting married. So quit fooling yourself. Leave that tray here. I’ll take the coffee in. Find another excuse to avoid Mr. Whitley. If a man like him looked at me the way he was looking at you, I’d be in there where he could see me. I’m gonna have to sit you down and talk to you.”
“All right.”
Byron Whitley met her in the hallway. “Are you avoiding me? If you’re not interested, say so. I won’t be offended.”
Well, you couldn’t get more direct than that. She forced herself to meet his gaze. “I always help Maggie in the kitchen. She’s the housekeeper, but she’s been part of our family since we lost our parents in an automobile accident.”
“And you became mother to Clark and Darlene, I presume.”
“I did with a lot of help from Maggie, who’s been with our family since I was nine. She’s a widow now, and this is her home. What time do you want to have dinner Sunday?”
“I’d like to pick you up at six-thirty. There’s a wonderful little restaurant I know in Buckeytown. It’s mainly Italian, but they serve great Maryland-style crab cakes.”
“I…look forward to Sunday.”
“Me, too,” he said without a trace of a smile. “Since you’re not avoiding me, let’s have some of that coffee I smell.”
“It’s in the living room.” When did Maggie pass them with the espresso? Surely she hadn’t let the man fluster her to the point that she didn’t see what was going on around her. She got through the evening by focusing on the music, changing the CDs and finding music by performers that Byron and her family preferred. At the end of the evening she announced that breakfast would be served from seven to seven-thirty, said good-night and went to her room. She had some choice words for Clark and Darlene, but saying them would have to wait.
The following morning, Clark and Byron said goodbye to Tyra. She promised Clark that she would give him a call. Once she had assured herself that both her brother and sister were settled in at work, Tyra placed a three-way call to them.
“What do you two mean by setting me up with Byron Whitley? Take care of your business and stay out of mine.”
“Now look, Sis,” Clark began, “that wasn’t really my intention. If I’d thought about it…”
Darlene interrupted. “So what’s the big deal? If you looked for a year, you wouldn’t find a better prospect than Byron. He’s tall, handsome, and he’s got a brilliant legal mind. You should be thanking Clark. And Byron liked you. Anybody could see that.”
“Yeah,” Clark said. “And he’s the right age—forty. Don’t tell me you didn’t like him. I could see that the minute you opened the door and looked at him.”
“I’m warning both of you. I can find a man on my own. I don’t need help from either of you.”
If Clark was trying to be a matchmaker, she’d no doubt frustrated him. Although he may not have planned it, Clark had already warmed up to the idea. “Byron says he has a dinner date with you this coming Sunday. I hope you’re not going to disappoint him.”
“If you hadn’t meddled in my personal life, Clark, you wouldn’t have to worry about that.”
“He’s a great guy.”
“Remove your halo, Clark. Let me know if you’ll be home this weekend.”
“Since you’re not interested in Byron, Sis, can I go to dinner with the two of you Sunday?” Darlene said. Tyra threw up her hands. “Oh, stop acting so innocent. I’ll show you both a thing or two. See you tonight.”
Byron sat at his desk trying to focus on a case. He seemed unable to think about his legal strategy. He’d spent the previous night at the Cunningham home, hoping to be distracted from the case. But he hadn’t counted on that much of a distraction. He wanted to see Tyra Cunningham again, and he knew himself well enough to know that if he enjoyed her company at dinner, he’d want to see more of her—much more. She’d made a strong impression on him: not even the delicious crème caramel dessert had gotten his attention.
His intercom light blinked, and he pushed the button. “Mr. Whitley, your dad’s on two,” his secretary said.
He waited until the paralegal left his office and then picked up his second line. “Hi, Dad. How’re you doing?”
“I’m fine. I was thinking how nice it would be if I took Andy fishing with me this weekend. Do you mind if he stays over with me Saturday night?”
“That much is fine, Dad, but I have something to do Sunday evening, and I have to check with Aunt Jonie to see what her plans are.”
“If he’s home by five Sunday, that should do it,” Lewis Whitley told his son. “I know you’ll have a fit if a day passes and you don’t see him. But he could spend Sunday night with me, and he’d love it.”
“Don’t tell him until Friday, otherwise, he’ll pester me about it the entire week. I’ll be in touch.”
Andy was his life, just as he and his sister had been the center of his father’s life. He tried to be both mother and father to the boy. Andy had never known his mother since she’d died a few days after his birth. He looked at the picture of the child that he kept on his desk and smiled. The boy looked as much like him as Byron looked like his father. What would his life have been like if Lois had survived.
He flexed his left shoulder in a quick shrug, his way of reminding himself that he couldn’t undo the past and that he had to get on with life. He had already realized that he wouldn’t be over Lois completely until another woman claimed his heart. But four years was a long time to wait.
He always played it straight, and he couldn’t commit to a woman unless he thought she would be a good mother for his son. So far, he hadn’t come close to finding a woman like that. A rueful smile flashed across his face. Wonder how long I’ll be able to say that.
The following Friday night, Tyra sat on the deck in back of her house, waiting for the hamburgers and hotdogs to grill. She almost always cooked dinner on the grill in the summer when Maggie took the night off. The housekeeper didn’t have regular days off. She took a day off whenever she needed to, provided her absence didn’t conflict with Tyra’s plans. She never worked on Sundays. Tyra hadn’t expected Clark, and when he arrived, she put more hotdogs and hamburgers on the grill along with two more ears of corn.
“This is a surprise,” she told him. “Darlene and I thought we’d be eating without you.”
“I wanted to talk to you and saying anything important to you over the phone is never a good idea.” He straddled a chair and rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie. “Byron Whitley is an exceptional man, and I don’t want you to treat him as if he’s an also-ran, an ordinary Joe. He’s not. There are seven lawyers in his firm, and he hasn’t lost a case in the fourteen years he’s been practicing.”
“Okay. He’s a great guy. But I won’t have my brother choosing a man for me. I can do that myself.”
“Yeah?” Darlene said. “Not according to Maggie. She said you wouldn’t have the slightest idea what to look for in a man.”
Tyra rolled her eyes skyward. “I know Maggie’s smart, but her words are not gospel. From now on, leave it to me to get my own man. So lay off, please. I know you mean well, but it is humiliating.”
“Are you keeping your date with Byron?” Clark asked.
“I told you I was, but if you ask me one more time, I’m going to phone him and cancel it. I know you both love me, but I want you to let me take care of this part of my life myself.”
“Okay. Okay. I’ll lay off, but if you need me…” Unwilling to risk aggravating her more, he let it hang.
Ordinarily, Tyra would have asked Darlene’s opinion about which of two dresses she should wear to dinner with Byron. But since she had asked her siblings to back off, that meant not consulting them about anything to do with Byron or any other man. She chose a pale yellow sleeveless silk-chiffon dress that flared below the hips, black patent-leather shoes with three inch heels and a small black purse. She selected a black wrap in case the air conditioning in the restaurant was too much.
The doorbell rang precisely at six-thirty, and Darlene rushed to open it. Tyra took her time walking down the stairs and, at about halfway, she heard Byron say to Darlene, “What happened to your pony tail? I hardly recognize you.”
“That was then. This is now,” Darlene said. “Next time you see me, I may have a completely different look.”
“I doubt it,” he said.
“Hi, Byron. I meant to answer the door, but Darlene beat me to it.” She took the bouquet of pink, red and white peonies that he handed her and smiled. “How did you know that I love peonies.”
“Just luck, I guess. I’m fond of them, and those were so beautiful. I was wavering between the peonies and roses.”
Tyra looked over her shoulder at Darlene. “I’m thirty, Darlene, so I think I can go on a date without a chaperone.”
“Oh, sorry. I just thought you might want coffee or something.”
“Thanks, but we have to leave now,” Byron said. “Maybe next time. Goodbye.”
He helped Tyra into the front passenger’s seat of his Cadillac. Once she had fastened her seat belt, he closed the door, walked around the car and got in. Not bad, Tyra thought.
“I like the way you look. You’re…well…very special. You’re beautiful and elegant.”
A grin formed around her lips, and for some inexplicable reason, she felt like teasing him. “I wouldn’t call you beautiful, Byron. There are other words that describe you. But you’re elegant, and thank God, you’re tall. Oh, and I like the way you look.”
Laughter rolled out of him. “I noticed that you Cunninghams like to pull a guy’s leg. Clark’s good at it, and Darlene’s a prankster. I hope you’re more sober-minded.”
“You don’t like jokesters?”
“I didn’t say that. And I warn you I can give as good as I get.”
She settled back in the comfort of the Cadillac’s soft leather seat and crossed her legs. “I’m no slouch, either.”
They arrived at the restaurant, a rustic setting that she thought would probably be cozy and even more romantic in the winter when the stone fireplace sparkled with a roaring fire. White lace curtains with red tiebacks graced the windows, and offered relief to the red-brick walls. White linen tablecloths and napkins, white candles and long-stem goblets adorned the round tables that were designed to seat two or four. A bowl of white and pink lisianthus sat in the center of each table.
“Byron, this is so…beautiful. Thank you for choosing this restaurant. I imagine it’s even more idyllic in winter when it’s cold.”
He sat across from her and smiled as if trying to put her at ease. But, his smile had the opposite effect. It rattled her composure. He spoke softly. “What a lovely picture you painted. You wouldn’t happen to be an artist, would you?”
Her gaze drifted from his remarkable eyes to his wrist and hands. His fingers were long and appeared strong. How would they feel on her body?
“Do you paint?” he asked again.
Get a hold of yourself, girl. “Yes, I suppose I do. I make stained-glass art. I would love to make stained-glass windows for a modern-design church. I have all kinds of ideas, but I’m not good enough yet to carry them out.”
“I paint with watercolors. I’ve used oils, but I prefer water colors, because I think they’re best for the landscapes and seascapes that I do. I also play the piano. I’m pretty good at that.”
She sat forward. “You are? Gosh, I envy you. I’d give anything to play the piano. I’d settle for any instrument. I just want to play music. I love music. You’re…why are you looking at me that way?”
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