Iris in Bloom: Take a Chance, Book 2 (9 page)

“I’m sorry you couldn’t meet him,” Jack said.

Daphne Chance breezed in to announce that dinner was all set up on the dining table and for everyone to help themselves and sit wherever they could find a spot.

“Iris,” she said, “You go first.”

“Oh, no, really.”

“You have to, Dear. You’re the birthday girl.”

With a helpless shrug, she left him and headed for the buffet table. Since his own mother would have his hide if he took food ahead of anyone female or older than him, Geoff waited. He didn’t mind. It was nice to have an opportunity to see her home, her family and friends.

Daphne appeared and took the chair Iris had vacated. “She’s a published author, you know,” she said as though she were aware that he was watching her daughter.

He dragged his attention from the way that dress fit Iris, the way it emphasized some very nice curves.

“Iris? An author?” She’d never mentioned it. Interesting.

“Yes. She was published in a couple of prestigious magazines.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“That’s Iris for you. She always hides her light under a bushel.” She shook her head fondly. “So you haven’t read any of her stuff?”

“No. But I’d like to.”

She grinned at him as though they were conspirators. “Come with me.” She led him out of the main living area and into a library/den/study/sewing room bursting with books and magazines and board games. Two desks and two computers sat on a long desk that looked like a very long plank of wood with some home made legs supporting it. He could imagine the Chance brood doing homework in this room.

Daphne went to one of the overcrowded bookshelves and she pulled out a copy of
Atlantic Monthly
, bound in clear plastic to protect it.

“Iris was published in the
Atlantic Monthly
?”

She nodded. “She’s very good.”

He flipped to the page. Barely got to start reading “Gingerbread Chess,” by Iris Chance, when Daphne was handing him a photocopied version, clipped with a staple that had gone in crooked.

“Take it with you.”

“Thanks.” He’d love to sit quietly and read Iris’s story to the end, but he was at a party, so he folded the pages neatly and slipped them into his pocket.

He’d only read a couple of paragraphs and already he was fascinated, about what it revealed about the author as much as the quality of the prose.

Chapter Nine

Even though it was Iris’s birthday, as Geoff watched the family dynamic he noticed that when she was with her siblings and her friends, she did more listening than talking.

And when he was near oftentimes she was either listening to complaints or fears or problems or offering advice.

He was helping himself to seconds when he caught sight of a pencil sketch that showed a much younger Jack Chance, but the subject clearly was Jack Chance. He had long hair in the sketch and seemed so peaceful he could be sleeping. The piece was signed, Daphne Naigle. It was dated 1976.

“She drew that the day we met,” Jack Chance said, pausing beside Geoff. “I insisted on having it framed and hanging it here where I can see it every day. Reminds me of what a lucky man I am.”

“How long was it before you knew…” He didn’t know how to end the sentence without sounding like a sentimental fool.

“Before I knew she was the one? The love of my life?” Iris’s dad clearly had no issues about sounding like a romantic fool. “Let’s see. I climbed on a Greyhound bus north of San Francisco. Saw Daphne right away. By the time we got to Portland, probably, I knew.

“You fell in love within hours?”

The older man grinned. “Minutes if you want to know the truth.” He sent Geoff a look that suggested he saw more than Geoff wanted him to. Like he was sizing him up as a possible son-in-law. “That’s how it happens sometimes. If you’re lucky.” And he slapped Geoff on the back and heeded his wife’s call to help him in the kitchen.

After Geoff had eaten far too much and then been served a slab of strawberry shortcake the size of a road paver, Daphne announced that it was time for presents.

“No, Mom,” Iris protested. “Nobody wants to watch me open gifts.”

“Yeah. We do.” Cooper said in his boisterous way. Cooper was the youngest boy, he’d told Geoff when he introduced himself and though he was in grad school he didn’t seem like he took life too seriously. “And if I don’t get major kudos, my present’s going back to the store.”

So Geoff found himself part of a circle watching Iris open gifts.

There were the obvious no-imagination presents of scarves and bath products. A
Kiss the Cook
apron, some chocolates, but those were mostly from old friends and she acted delighted with everything. Her mother handed her a large box and said, “It’s for the café but if you don’t like it you know I won’t mind.”

Iris opened the box and cried out with unfeigned delight. She lifted out an enormous ceramic sunflower with a clock mechanism. “I love it. It will look perfect on that big blank wall.” Then she and Daphne posed for a photo with the clock.

From her sister Rose, the doctor, she got a card. When she opened it and read the contents she blushed and said, “No, it’s too much.”

Her sister shook her head. “The first one’s on me.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

He wondered what that was about. The first what? Figured he’d probably never know. It was likely some obscure cosmetic procedure he didn’t need to hear about.

When she got to his present, she glanced up in distress and said, “Oh, Geoff, you didn’t need to get me anything. Not when my mother roped you into coming.”

“Happy to be here. I wanted to.”

He found that he was excited to see her open the gift, as excited as he’d been when he spotted it. Okay, he hadn’t casually spotted it, he’d tracked it down online and driven all the way to Portland to pick it up.

He wasn't the type to wrap things obscurely to hide what they were so it was quite obvious the wrapping covered a book.

When she ripped off the wrapping she said, “Oh.” She held it up. “
Progress of Love
, Alice Munro.” She opened it almost as though she were going to start reading right there and then and she squealed. “It’s a signed first edition!”

The book hadn’t been particularly expensive but he’d wanted the gift to be special. He was pretty sure he’d succeeded in the birthday present department.

“Geoff.” Her face lit up as he’d hoped it would. “I can’t believe you found this. I love it.” And she ran across the room to hug him. “Photo,” she cried. “I need a photo.”

When he would have risen, she perched on his lap holding the book toward her brother who snapped pictures. He slipped an arm around her waist and posed.

Before she left his lap, she turned her head. Their faces were inches apart. “Thank you,” she said softly and kissed him briefly on the lips.

When the gifts were done people started to drift away, gathering coats and leaving. He judged it was time for him to take his leave.

“Thanks for a great evening, Daphne and Jack,” he said to his hosts. He turned to Iris, felt that sizzle once more. “Happy Birthday again.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you out.”

And so she walked him to the door. They found his coat and he hesitated, wanting to kiss her so badly it hurt but, knowing she’d made it clear she wanted to be friends, and besides her family was inside. He settled for a hug. A long hug that had a lot of sensations to it that did not scream friend.

As he trudged off toward his car, he heard her say, “Mom, Evan’s parked behind my car. Tell him to move it.”

He heard her mother respond, “He and Caitlyn have gone to bed already.” There was a short pause. “I don't want to disturb them.”

“No. They’re probably having sex.” She made an irritated sound. “How did he not know that was my car? How am I supposed to get home?”

Geoff felt the evening was about to take a decided uptick when he turned back to the house. “I can give you a ride home. It’s on my way.”

She stood in the doorway, backlit, so all he saw was her silhouette. Even the shadowy curves thrilled him. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Want me to wait?”

“No. I’m ready to leave.”

He headed back to the house. “I can do Sherpa duty then. Help haul the loot.”

So, he went back inside and helped her carry her presents to his car.

“I’m really sorry about this,” she said.

“It’s fine. I’m glad to you have you to myself for a while.”

He had a way of saying things like that in such a normal tone that it was hard to be completely certain that he was hitting on her, especially as they’d agreed to be friends.

“I hope that wasn’t too weird, getting steamrolled by my mother into coming to my birthday party.”

“I’m glad she asked me. I like your family, and your friends seem nice.”

“They are.”

“I’m happy to be one of them.” He said it with a sideways glance that she could take to be irony if she wanted to. Or she could assume he was being straight.

“I’m glad to have you as a friend too.” She sounded forced even to her own ears like she was trying too hard to believe the words.

Which would be the truth.

Since he’d never been to her house she gave him directions as they drove. When he pulled up in front of her place, she felt a tiny fritz of awkwardness. Invite him up for coffee? That would seem like she wanted sex. Lean over and kiss him on the cheek? What if he thought she was going for his mouth and lunged at her? Get out and slam the door behind her?

He opened his car door and got out while she was still trying to figure out how to say goodbye. He flipped the trunk and she recalled the gifts. Right.

Of course he was coming in. He was her gift Sherpa.

Between them they got everything in one load. She led the way up the two steps to her front porch and managed to unlock the door and get it open.

She flipped on a light switch with her elbow and walked through to her living area to deposit her gifts on the table in there. Geoff followed behind her and similarly bestowed packages and boxes.

When she straightened he was very close to her.

The door was still wide open and she could hear a neighbor’s dog barking. Probably telling the neighborhood that she was home.

“Do you want some coffee—that always seems like such a strange thing to offer a person this time of night. A caffeinated beverage. I have herbal tea.” She was babbling she realized.

“I would love some herbal tea.”

She was about to list off all the kinds she kept in the house, as though she were in the café, when she caught herself. “What kind do you like? I probably have it.”

She shut the front door as she walked toward the kitchen and he followed her. “Whatever kind you’re having is fine.”

“Chamomile?” Calming.

“Sure.”

Her kitchen was her favorite room and probably the reason she’d bought the house. Not large, it boasted top of the line appliances and extra wide granite countertops perfect for a woman who loved to cook. The extra width meant she could leave the appliances she used most often – and there were a lot of them – out for ease of access.

The kitchen flowed through into a den with a fireplace. Geoff wandered in there now to check out the jammed floor to ceiling bookcases that covered every inch of wall.

She left him to it and got on with making the tea. When she had two cups of chamomile brewed to perfection she put honey and napkins on a tray and brought the whole thing over. By this time Geoff was settled comfortably on the couch, his feet up on the table reading. Exactly the way she read. He’d even flipped on the reading light. When she glanced to see which of her books he’d chosen, she noticed he had a stack of photocopied pages in his hand.

Photocopied pages look pretty much the same but the coincidence of him having been in her parents’ house and the appearance of this size stack of pages had her groaning. “Tell me she didn’t.”

“If you mean, did your mother share one of your published short stories with me then yes, she did.”

“Does every mother wake up in the morning wondering how they can embarrass their kids or is it only mine?”

The twinkle was back in his eye. “Probably only yours.” He thumbed the stack against his knee. “I haven’t read very far but this is really good stuff. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you’re an author.”

“Mostly I make coffee and baked goods these days, but thanks.”

“Are you still writing?”

“Yes.” Sort of.

He shifted so he could see her more clearly. “Good. What are you working on?”

She blinked. “Don’t you know that most writers hate that question?”

“I’m sorry. I teach creative writing too. I get so used to grilling my students. I forgot.”

“It’s okay.” She settled on the couch beside him. “I’m working on a linked series of short stories set around the café. They’d be fictional obviously but every day there are dramas in that café. I’m having fun with it but obviously writing a full length novel is more work than a short story.” She shrugged realizing it had been a while since she had sat down and really worked seriously on her novel. It seemed too easy to let life get in the way. “Now that I’m thirty-three I should get more serious about my writing schedule.”