204 Rosewood Lane by Debbie Macomber Page A

out. She might be nervousabout seeing him, but she’d agreed to be there, and Grace believed in keeping her word.
    Cliff slid out of a booth at the restaurant and stood when she approached. “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he said quietly.
    â€œI wasn’t sure I would, either,” she admitted and got into the red upholstered bench across from him. She righted the beige ceramic cup.
    Cliff raised his hand in order to catch the waitress’s eye.
    â€œI’m coming,” Goldie announced from behind the counter. The elderly waitress had been with the Pancake Palace for as long as Grace could remember—as far back as her high-school days. It was a new employee, not Goldie, who’d confused the credit cards.
    Bringing the glass coffeepot, Goldie poured Grace’s cup first, then refilled Cliff’s. “You two planning to stay long?” she asked Grace. “The Chamber’s coming here for dinner.”
    This was Goldie’s subtle way of informing Grace that if she didn’t want the entire business community to know she was having coffee with Cliff, she’d better cut this meeting short.
    Grace wanted to kiss the older woman’s hand. “We won’t be long.”
    â€œUp to you,” Goldie assured her with a wink.
    â€œThanks,” Cliff said.
    â€œYes, thank you, Goldie.”
    Now that he had her attention, Cliff stared down at his coffee, avoiding eye contact. “I have a fairly good notion of how you’re feeling just now.”
    Grace sincerely doubted that. “You do?”
    â€œYou’re nervous, a little agitated and your stomach’s full of butterflies. Am I close?”
    Actually, he was. “Close enough. How’d you know?”
    â€œBecause I’m feeling the same way.”
    â€œYou said you’d been divorced five years?” Did that mean this state of tension in the presence of the opposite sex went on indefinitely?
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDo you want to discuss it?” It’d help if he talked about himself because she had no intention of spilling out the private details of her life.
    â€œNot particularly.”
    â€œChildren?”
    â€œOne daughter. She’s married and lives on the East Coast. We talk every week, and I make a point of flying out to see her once or twice a year.”
    At least he kept in contact with his child, unlike Dan who’d abandoned both Grace and their daughters.
    â€œSusan—my wife—fell in love with a colleague from work,” Cliff said. His hand tightened around the mug and she noticed a spasming muscle in his jaw. “According to what she said at the time, she’d never been happy.”
    â€œIs she now?”
    â€œI wouldn’t know. After the divorce I retired and moved to Olalla,” he said, mentioning a local community ten miles south of Cedar Cove.
    â€œThe locals call it Ou-la-la,” Grace told him.
    â€œI can understand why. It’s beautiful there. I have forty acres and raise quarter horses.”
    â€œIt sounds lovely.”
    â€œIt is, except for one thing.” His eyes locked with hers. “I’m lonely.”
    That was something Grace understood far too well. Her marriage had never been completely happy, but over the years Grace and Dan had grown content with each other. There was a lot to be said for contentedness—conversation overdinner, a night out at the movies, a repertoire of shared experiences. Dan had usually been there to greet her when she walked in the door after work. Now there was only Buttercup.
    â€œI’m looking for a friend,” Cliff told her. “Someone who’d be willing to attend a concert with me every now and then, that’s all.”
    The idea appealed to Grace, too. “That would be nice.”
    â€œI was hoping you’d think so.” His tone was gentle and encouraging.
    â€œBut,” she hurried to add, “only after my divorce is