Coming Home To You. M. K. Stelmack

have to wait for a woman who won’t be afraid of all the love you can give her, and you will have to prepare yourself for getting topped up yourself.”

      “Huh. You don’t know of anybody like that, do you?”

      She wrapped her arms loosely about her giant purse. “Mel, I said you have to wait for her.”

       CHAPTER THREE

      THE SUN WAS going down as Mel gave the chimney flashing a final resounding whack with his hammer and unhooked himself from the safety rope to take the ladder down off the roof and onto his customer’s backyard deck. No sooner had his boots hit the wood than out came Brittany, holding her eight-month-old daughter. She must’ve been on the lookout for him.

      Brittany was Linda’s daughter. He’d taken her roofing job a month ago when things had been cozy between them all.

      “Mom called today,” Brittany said. “She told me what happened.”

      Mel wondered if she was referring to the breakup or the Tim Hortons accident that had gone viral across the region.

      She twisted her mouth in a way that was all Linda. “I’m sorry.” Nope. She meant the breakup. Baby Emma uttered a sharp, gaspy squeal and kicked her chubby legs.

      “That’s right,” Brittany said. “It’s Unca Mel.”

      Emma tipped herself over, arms out to Mel. Mel took her, all soft and mini, and set her on his arm. She’d been born two weeks after he’d started dating Linda. He’d accompanied Linda to the hospital to see the new arrival, and from the second he’d clapped eyes on her tininess, he’d been sucked in. Though he’d gone home and had a bad night in which memories had become nightmares, it hadn’t stopped him from enjoying Emma. Gradually he’d learned to box away his memories and put himself back to sleep.

      He kissed Emma’s downy head—maybe for the last time. Kids were always the awkward, dicey part in any breakup. He had none of his own, so a chunk of his experience with kids came from all but the first of his seven relationships. Six women and fifteen kids in total, counting Linda’s three grandkids. He was still in touch with eleven of them. Last year he’d gone to the high school graduation of the son of the fifth woman.

      Did Daphne have kids? Grandkids?

      No matter. Talking about family was first-date material, and he wouldn’t be going on one with her. No point of a first date if there was no chance of a tenth.

      Arms now free, Brittany grabbed a straw broom and pushed stray shingle trimmings into a pile. His responsibility, but she was a neat freak like her mother. “I think she’s just not over Dad,” Brittany said.

      “It is what it is,” Mel said, not wanting to apply any sense to his sensibilities right now. “Look, I’ve got a stop to make and I want to get there before they close. How about tomorrow, first thing, I’ll swing back, put on the new downspouts and finish the cleanup?”

      Brittany eyed the mess on the deck. Mel felt a twinge of guilt. “Or I could come by later, if it’s still light enough.”

      “No, no. It’s okay,” Brittany said, taking Emma with one arm, the broom still in the other. Ten to one, the deck would be clean before he returned.

      He sneaked another kiss on Emma’s cheek. “You be good for Unca Mel,” he said and hurried down the steps. Fast exits were mandatory around single-minded babies.

      “Hey,” Brittany called. He stopped. Brittany and Emma looked at him over the railing. “Just because things didn’t work out between you and Mom doesn’t mean you need to be a stranger.”

      As always. Unlucky in love but rich in friendships. “You bet,” he said, and beat a path to the back alley, where his truck was parked. Behind him, he heard Emma kick up a fuss and Brittany try to distract her with the excitement of a moving broom.

      Mel headed to the library for his own kind of excitement. Maybe he did have a problem with his pride, too much or too little. Or maybe with loss. Something was the matter with him. Seven women couldn’t all be wrong. But if he had to take Daphne’s advice to wait for the right woman, he could, in the meanwhile, work on making himself into the right man.

      And if Daphne got her good advice from a book, then he could, too.

      No sooner had he cleared the door into the library than his friend Judy hollered from her desk behind the library counter, “Mel! How you doing?”

      Judy was a cheerful yeller. “All the better for seeing you,” Mel said. “I’m here for a book.”

      “A book?” Judy said, not lowering her voice one bit as he walked up to the counter. “I thought you were here for me.”

      Judy and Mel had never dated, but they sharpened their respective romantic saws on each other. Judy’s seemed sharper since she’d reached the altar three times. But sharper meant she got more easily cut. She’d been divorced three times, too.

      “I am here for you,” he said, testing his blade. “How can I prove it to you?”

      Judy sidled up to the counter. “Honey, you had me at book.”

      He pulled on his cap and glanced around. A teenage girl wearing a tuque in July glowered at them, her lip curled in repulsion. She reminded Mel of Ariel—the teenager his sister, Connie, was adopting. That girl, too, was a real romantic.

      “What are you staring at?” Judy said to her. “You should take notes for how it’s done.”

      Mel wasn’t at all sure the girl should be doing anything other than warming her head outside in the sun. “Anyway, I’m serious,” Mel said. “I want a book.”

      Judy hovered her fingers over the keyboard. “Any one in particular?”

       “Sense and Sensibility.”

      Judy’s fingers stayed suspended. “The Jane Austen book?”

      “Yep.”

      “You won’t like it. It’s a classic.”

      “I know that. I...I’m doing...research.”

      “You’re lying. Did Linda put you up to this?”

      Mel paused. He’d met Judy when she’d caught her second husband with his third girlfriend. Mutual misery developed into a friendship they still had twelve years and a raft of romantic breakups on both sides later.

      Not wanting to set Judy off in a place with a general expectation of quietness, but not wanting her to hear it from anyone else, he slowly held up seven fingers.

      Judy growled, picked up the nearest thing at hand—a thick, shiny hardcover from James Patterson—and slammed it on the counter. Tuque Girl jumped in her seat. “You have got to be kidding me. What was the excuse this time?”

      Mel shrugged. “The usual. It wasn’t me. It was her.”

      Judy shook her head. “Women are insane. I have lost all confidence in my gender. All. You’re a great catch. Own your own business. Own your own place. Excellent health. No criminal record. You clean up good.”

      “Why is it again that we don’t date each other?” Mel said.

      “I like you too much,” Judy said.

      “I knew it was something,” Mel said. “Listen, about the book?”

      “You tell me the real reason you want it, and I’ll check to see if we have it.”

      He didn’t want to bring up his discussion with Daphne. His time with her in his truck felt...well, not intimate but...private and new. Like an unbelievable bargain at an auction. “I could go check the shelves myself.”

      “You could, but what would you do if we needed to order it in?”