Starting Over On Blackberry Lane. Sheila Roberts

She’d never in her whole life been alone, always living with someone—her family, her dorm roommate, Steve. Alone was...lonely.

      If she fixed up the house she could sell it and probably make a small profit. Pay back her parents. Then what? Move to New York? Now that she was single, she had no reason not to go where the real business of food photography happened. This was the logical time for a change.

      But she’d made good friends here. Did she really want to leave them and go someplace where she didn’t know anyone? She stared at her computer screen, contemplating. These days you could keep up with friends wherever you lived.

      And she could make new friends in New York. It was the center of the universe, with lots of action and excitement and energy. She’d probably earn a lot more money in New York.

      But New York was big and expensive. And the idea of moving there was a little scary.

      Still, if she didn’t at least go check it out, would she look back in ten years and regret it?

      That brought her back to the question of the day—what was she going to do? She could stay in Icicle Falls and keep scraping by. She could move back home for a while. No, not an option.

      A text came in from Steve. I’m at my parents’ if you change your mind.

      She wouldn’t, and that made her feel a little guilty. Poor Steve. She’d really hurt him.

      But she’d done the right thing—she was sure of it.

      She spent the evening poking around online, researching, considering her options. She crunched numbers and gave herself several pep talks.

      Finally, she left a message at Mountain Meadows Real Estate explaining that she’d like to know how much money she could sell her house for and asking one of the Realtors to call her. There. At least she’d made a decision.

       Chapter Four

      Grant Masters followed the path of flying bronze fish embedded in the terminal floor as he exited the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport on Monday evening. Fish. He’d seen enough fish to last him for a long time.

      At first the idea of retiring early and living it up in Mexico fishing, drinking beer and flirting with pretty señoritas had sounded like paradise. He’d worked hard to build his construction company. Actually, he’d worked hard all his life. So after a year of coping with the loss of his wife and trying to run a company, he’d decided it was time not only to take life easier, but to take life easier someplace far from the memories. He’d turned Masters Construction over to his son who’d been managing most of the projects anyway, and took off.

      But he finally got tired of catching marlin and trying to use his rusty Spanish. The damned sun never stopped beating down and the weather never changed. Just another day in paradise.

      With no purpose and no sweet wife, the days were too long. He missed the mountains; he missed his kids. He even missed work. Not that he wanted to work as hard at sixty-two as he had at forty-two, but he wanted something to fill the days. Part-time would do it. He had skills. Might as well use them.

      That had been his reasoning when one night he’d sat down with a Corona and a notebook and pencil and his new company, Honey Do, was born. Every woman had a honey-do list, and a lot of women these days were single with no honey to do it. By the end of the night, he had a business plan and a plane reservation for Seattle. Next stop, Icicle Falls, where his oldest son was living.

      Now here he was, back in the States. At this time of night, traveler rush hour was past, so he didn’t have to fight the usual crush of people. He was thankful for that, as he was now too tired to cope with women mistaking him for George Clooney and wanting his autograph. There’d been enough awkward moments on the plane.

      He picked up his luggage, rented a car and then hit the freeway, heading to the north suburbs of Seattle. He’d spend a night in the city with his younger son, purchase a used truck the next day and then drive over the mountains to Icicle Falls. He already had a room reserved at Gerhardt’s Gasthaus there, and that would do until he could buy a place he liked. Something modest, perhaps in need of some work.

      But not too close to town. He hadn’t spent much time in Icicle Falls, but he knew enough about the place to know it had become a big tourist attraction. He didn’t need to encounter gawking strangers around every corner. Someplace in the woods or maybe on the river would suit him just fine—a place with easy access to mountain trails so he could hike in his spare time.

      Hopefully, he wouldn’t have too much spare time hanging heavily on his shoulders. He’d had business cards made up online, and he’d get busy posting them around town and see what happened. He was ready to start a new life.

      Louise had been gone three years now, and he still missed her like crazy. What he’d had couldn’t be replaced—he knew that. But maybe he could find something to ease the constant low-grade ache in his heart. Being close to the boys would be good.

      Yep, coming back had been the right decision. Lou would have approved.

      He hit his son’s house, a small place Matt and Lexie were renting, around ten.

      “Hey, Dad, welcome home,” Matt said, giving him a hug and a slap on the back. “You ready for a beer? I’ve got some Hale’s Supergoose double IPA.”

      “Sounds great,” Grant said and followed him into the kitchen.

      The place looked a little bare, sparse on furniture and missing those feminine touches that proclaimed there was a woman in the house. No knickknacks, no flowers anywhere, and some of the pictures had left the wall. The kitchen was downright Spartan. No bowl of fruit on the counter, no figurines of French chefs. No canisters. Not a good sign. He knew his son had been having trouble in his marriage, but the impression he was getting here suggested they’d gone way beyond that.

      “Where’s Lexie?” he asked as he settled on a chair at the kitchen table.

      Matt frowned at the bottle of beer he was opening. “She’s gone.” He handed it over and got busy with his own.

      “Gone. As in forever?”

      “Yeah. The divorce will be final end of May,” Matt said and took a long drink of his beer.

      Grant studied his second-born son. Dan had gotten Grant’s darker coloring but Matt resembled his mom—less square jawline, light brown hair, freckles. He’d been a cute kid and he was a good-looking man. He and Lexie had made a fine-looking couple. Too bad they hadn’t managed to make a fine marriage.

      Grant wasn’t surprised to hear it, though. He’d thought the girl was spoiled. And a whiner. Unlike his Lou, who’d been hardworking and always had a smile, this babe had been a leech and a downer. Matt needed someone positive in his life, someone to encourage him. Grant wasn’t sorry to hear she was gone.

      He did feel bad for his son, though, and it saddened him that Matt hadn’t felt he could call and talk to him. Too embarrassed, he was willing to bet, considering the fact that Grant had questioned whether he and Lexie were really a fit when Matt first started getting serious.

      “Want to talk about it?” Grant asked.

      “Nope.”

      Then this wasn’t the time to tell his son that everything would be all right, that somehow his life would go on. He nodded. “Okay. Got any pretzels to go with that beer?”

      Matt dug out a bag, ripped it open and laid it on the table. “You know what really gets me?”

      Yep, didn’t want to talk about it. “What?”

      “She didn’t even give me a hint that she wasn’t happy.”

      “Are you sure, son?” Women left hints, verbal and nonverbal cues that they laid out like a trail of breadcrumbs for a man to follow. Only problem was, it seemed that most guys had a tendency to step right over