Page 61 of Grown-Up Second Chance

“Kettle.”

“Stop it, you two,” Liz said. “How was your day?” she asked Joe.

“Good,” he said. “I got the writing done I’ve been trying to do for days. It’s a particularly difficult section.”

“What are you writing again?” Kathleen asked.

“A mystery set in Montana in the 1880s,” he replied. “I need something to happen, and I kept running into time period problems. I needed to use things that didn’t exist in that time period.”

“Yeah, way back when we didn’t carry phones in our pockets,” Kathleen said.

“Exactly.”

“Steampunk would be easier,” Liz said.

“But not what I want to write,” Joe said.

“Remember back when we were growing up, some places still had party lines?” I asked. “It was weird.”

“They still had them in 2000,” Joe said. “Most of them were connected to an individual line, so they weren’t really the same thing.”

“Why do you know that?” Kathleen asked.

“Because it was something I researched. In fact, a party line solved one of my key plot problems a while back.”

“How did it do that?” Kathleen asked.

Joe grinned. “Now that would be telling. You’ll just have to wait until I finish the book.”

“I bet you don’t know,” Kathleen said.

“That may be true,” Joe said. “But I’m not telling.”

I smiled. This was good. Old friends, good sisters, for all the ribbing we gave each other, and a beautiful warm summer day. It didn’t get much better than this.

Metal glinted on someone’s hat, and I turned to look. Strolling down the road, holding hands with a lithe brunette walking a small dog, was Mason Bentley. She had to be six inches taller than he was and appeared about ten years younger, but they walked closely, and their heads often dipped toward each other.

“Do you know them?” Joe asked.

“I met him a few days ago by the river,” I said. “Nice guy.”

“Yeah, I’ve run into him a few times before. I don’t know his name.”

“He doesn’t know yours either,” I said. “Calls you that ‘writer fellow.’ His name’s Mason Bentley.”

“She’s Naomi,” Liz said. “She’s taking watercolor lessons at the studio where I work.”

“Well, I need to meet them too,” Kathleen said and waved them over when they glanced our way. “Looks like we’re having a party.”

Mason and Naomi were all smiles, and the dog—a fluffy, white, wiggling mass—made an immediate beeline for Joe. As it perched its front paws on Joe’s knee, Joe scratched around the dog’s ears, making its rear end vibrate with ecstasy.

“That dog clearly likes you,” I said.

“I like dogs. They know it.”

“I haven’t had a dog since I was a kid. My ex was allergic,” I said. God, that man had limited me. Best not get involved with another one … no matter how nice he was.

“Too bad,” Joe said. “They’re great companions, aren’t you fellow.” He put both hands on the dog’s head, gently scratching down the neck and under the chin. The pup looked up at him with adoring eyes. “I’m thinking of getting one for myself once I get settled in the new place. What’s his name?” he asked Naomi.

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