The Late Bloomer's Road to Love Read online

  “Enough with the banter, you two,” she told her friends, then gave Maizie a sharp, penetrating look. “Talk!”

  Surprised and amused, Cilia laughed under her breath as she leaned in toward Theresa. “First time she had to be told to do that.”

  Both sets of expectant eyes turned toward Maizie.

  “Well?” Cilia asked after a beat, her eyes all but boring into the real estate agent’s face. “Just how long are you planning on drawing this out, oh fearless leader?”

  “Sorry,” Maizie apologized, still very amused by her friends’ reactions. “You’ll forgive me, but it has been a long time since our last ‘challenge.’”

  “And you doing this is definitely making the experience a lot longer,” Cilia pointed out, her voice growing somewhat short with her friend. All three women would have gladly given up their lives for one another, but their time was a slightly different matter. They were busier now than they had been years ago. No one cared about the lure of retirement.

  Maizie laughed softly. “All right, all right, the wait is over, ladies.” And with that, she launched into the details as they had been laid out for her by George Fenelli.

  When Maizie had concluded her short summation, she had a pertinent question for Theresa. If she remembered correctly, this would go right to the heart of the matter and make things easy for them.

  “Theresa, didn’t you once tell me that you had a cousin whose son had become a physical therapist?”

  It took Theresa a moment to recall who Maizie was referring to. And then she frowned slightly. “Oh, you mean my cousin Ariel.” Theresa was a very kindhearted woman, but it was obvious that cousin or not, Ariel was not her favorite person. “Yes. Ariel was very disappointed that Wyatt chose to become a physical therapist instead of an orthopedic surgeon, or at least some sort of a doctor. Every time I run into her at family gatherings, it takes her less than five minutes before she starts to complain that she doesn’t know why her younger son decided to waste his life this way and didn’t become a doctor.”

  “Sounds to me as if what this Ariel is really focused on is having some sort of bragging rights that reflect well on her,” Cilia speculated.

  Theresa nodded, barely looking at the cards that Maizie had dealt her. “You’ve certainly got that right,” she agreed. Her expression softened with sympathy. “And Wyatt is really such a great guy. He has this way about him that just brings out the best in people.” She shook her head as her eyes met Maizie’s. “You know, I never understood why that boy is still single.” She bit her lower lip as she said, “Maybe it’s because Ariel winds up intimidating any young woman who Wyatt brings home and introduces her to.”

  Maizie nodded. She was familiar with the type. The woman probably thought that no one was good enough for her son.

  “So this might be a double challenge,” she speculated.

  For a moment, Theresa had been lost in thought. But hearing Maizie’s comment had her mind coming front and center. Her eyes suddenly lit up as she looked at Maizie. “Are you thinking of matching up Wyatt with...?”

  The young man was single and had the necessary profession they were looking for. Those were definitely the first two qualifications.

  “Why not?” Maizie responded with her all-but-disarming smile.

  “Why not indeed,” Cilia murmured under her breath, nodding.

  “Do you happen to have a picture of the young man?” Maizie asked. It wouldn’t hurt to know just what he looked like. Looks weren’t everything, but heaven knew they didn’t hurt.

  “He’s family, Maizie. Of course I have a picture,” Theresa responded, taking out her cell phone. “It’ll just take me a few minutes to locate a recent one, that’s all.”

  Maizie laughed, rising from the card table. “I know what that means. I’ll go get us something to drink.”

  Theresa had managed to successfully flip through her photos by the time Maizie returned from the kitchen with the tray of beverages.

  “Here he is,” Theresa declared, holding up her cell phone for the others to see. “Wyatt Watson.”

  Setting the tray down, Maizie nodded her approval. And then she took the cell phone from Theresa in order to get a closer look. “That boy is definitely cute,” she pronounced. “And he’s not spoken for?” She handed the phone back to Theresa.

  “Not even so much as a whisper,” Theresa replied. “He’s been very busy, first going to classes and then putting all that knowledge to work, taking twice as many clients as the other therapists. From what I gather, Wyatt is a regular whirlwind and exceptionally dedicated. I hear that he formed his own company recently.”

  “Ambitious,” Maizie nodded. “That definitely sounds good,” she said, half to herself. Her eyes swept over her friends as she leaned back in her chair. “Well, I’d say that from the looks of it, we have ourselves a perfect candidate for a good match.”

  “Do we have any idea what the other half of this ‘good match’ looks like?” Theresa asked.

  “As a matter of fact, we do. Rachel Fenelli—” it occurred to Maizie that she had not used the young woman’s full name yet “—runs the family restaurant while taking college courses at night. The girl never sleeps,” she said, repeating what George had told her. “She wants to be a nurse just like her late mother.”

  Cilia nodded her head at the information. “Perfect. If this works, they can get married and set up their own clinic.”

  Maizie knew that Cilia was just kidding, but she gave the matter some thought. “You know, that isn’t a half-bad idea.”

  “That’s because I don’t have any bad ideas,” Cilia told her friend. She was only half kidding.

  Maizie gave her friend a patient smile. “This is not the time to let your ego take over,” she told Cilia. And then she clapped her hands together. This had been a very productive meeting. “Well, ladies, I think we call Rachel’s father and tell him that we believe we have the perfect solution for his problem and just possibly the perfect man for his daughter.”

  “Wait, he has a problem?” Theresa asked, concerned. “What sort of a problem?”

  “It seems that part of his deal with Rachel was that she would allow him to come back to work at the restaurant if he went to see a physical therapist the way his doctor suggested,” Maizie told her friends. “So far, according to him, he’s rejected every therapist that the agency sent to him.”

  “Why?” Cilia asked.

  “It’s kind of like ‘Goldilocks and the Three Bears.’ You know, each therapist was either too pushy, too laid-back or too something. But I have a feeling that Wyatt is going to be just right. I’ll have a talk with George to make sure of that,” she promised the two women. Looking at them, she paused for a moment, then asked, “So, what do you say? Shall we get started on this?”

  “You don’t have to twist my arm,” Cilia said. “Theresa?” she asked, looking at the third member of the group.

  “I’ll give Wyatt a call and let him know that I need his expertise to help a dear friend of mine get some much-needed physical therapy,” Theresa said, smiling at the idea.

  Maizie nodded. “Sounds like a plan.” And then she smiled broadly. “Well, that certainly didn’t take us long.” She looked from one friend to the other. “What do you say that we actually play a game of poker for old times’ sake?”

  Cilia laughed. “Okay. I think I still actually remember how.”

  Theresa exchanged looks with Maizie. Neither were taken in for a moment. “You know what that means,” Theresa told the latter.

  “Hold on to your money,” Maizie said with a laugh.

  Pleasure highlighted Cilia’s expression. “You know I really have missed this.”

  “What? Losing to me?” Maizie asked, her mouth curving.

  “Maizie, you didn’t tell me your memory’s been slipping,” Cilia deadpanned.

  “T
hat’s because it hasn’t been,” she responded. Her hands flew as she shuffled and dealt the cards in earnest. “Prepare to be separated from your money.”

  It was a lofty statement considering that their high-stakes game usually involved pennies and the biggest haul any of them ever made came to a grand total of five dollars, all in change.

  As the game progressed—and they made plans as to how to unobtrusively get the two young people together—Maizie smiled to herself. She dearly loved getting her real estate clients into the home of their dreams, but she had to admit that there was no greater satisfaction than bringing two people together. Every single couple they had united had eventually gotten married and gone on to start families of their own.

  Counting their own children, that made a grand total of twenty-eight couples.

  Not exactly an overwhelming number of people when all things were considered, but each couple was exceedingly happy, and as far as Maizie was concerned, this was their small contribution to the peace and happiness of their current orderly little world.

  “What are you grinning about?” Cilia asked. “You’re not cheating, are you?” she deadpanned, knowing full well that neither she nor her two friends would ever even remotely consider cheating. There was no fun in winning that way.

  “No, I’m not cheating. I’m anticipating,” Maizie answered.

  “Anticipating?” Theresa echoed. “Anticipating what?”

  “Anticipating how happy Wyatt and Rachel are about to become—and they haven’t got the slightest idea what’s out there, just waiting to slip into their lives and surround them,” Maizie answered.

  “They might not have any idea,” Cilia agreed, her smile widening. “But we certainly do.”

  Theresa winked at her lifelong friends. “Yes, we certainly do,” she agreed. “Deal faster, Cilia.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Cilia responded. “When did she get so bossy? I don’t remember her being this bossy, but then, we haven’t been getting together that much lately.”

  “Haven’t you noticed? She’s always been that way.” Maizie looked at Theresa. “It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for.”

  There was no arguing that.

  Chapter Two

  Her neck was killing her.

  She’d done it again, Rachel thought with a weary sigh, straightening up in her chair as she rubbed the back of her neck.

  Every bone in her body was protesting.

  Loudly.

  Despite the promise she had made to herself—over and over again—she had fallen asleep at her computer.

  Again.

  Served her right, she supposed with another deep sigh. She’d put in what felt like a day and a half at the restaurant yesterday, and then, after coming home, instead of crawling into bed the way every bone in her body begged her to, she had opened up her computer and turned it on “just for a minute.”

  She had promised herself she’d merely “look” at something in the class notes she had taken and then that would be the end of it.

  Except that it wasn’t.

  Because that had led to just “peeking into” the ongoing class that was in session and that—well, that had ultimately resulted in her using the keyboard for what turned out to be an extremely uncomfortable pillow.

  The sad thing was that it wasn’t the first time.

  Rachel sighed and stretched, doing her best to realign her neck and spine. There was no point in upbraiding herself. Besides, she didn’t have time for that, anyway.

  Glancing at her watch as she padded into the bathroom, she realized that she had about an hour to shower, get dressed and get to the restaurant. It was time to prepare for another day—and the Rafferty celebration. If she didn’t get moving, she was going to slip off the treadmill she was on and then suddenly she would find herself even more behind than she usually was. Not a good thing.

  Rachel took one of her trademark five-minute showers—and that included getting dressed and drying her hair. She was on the stairs, making her way down into the kitchen in what was an absurdly small amount of time. Her mind was doing its best to catch up.

  The tempting smell of bacon and eggs met her before her foot had a chance to even hit the bottom of the stairs.

  It looked as if her father was up ahead of her—again. She had to admit that she had missed that aroma those long, long months when he had been recuperating. But while she was happy he was trying to get back to his old self, she was worried that he was rushing the process and it could very possibly take its toll on him.

  She didn’t want to think about the consequences of that. It was bad enough losing her mother years ago. The idea of losing her father was too awful to even contemplate.

  Walking into the kitchen, Rachel saw that her father was fully dressed and at the stove.

  He had the timing down pat. Breakfast was ready and on two plates by the time she crossed the threshold.

  Her father looked as good as ever. Maybe a little too energetic, she thought, taking a closer look at the man. Was he trying to throw her off?

  “Smells good, Dad.” She took her place at the table, sitting down. “Looks good, too.” Any offer she made to help him would be rejected and might even offend his self-esteem. This was definitely a tightrope she walked every day. “As do you,” she added. “Maybe a little too good.”

  “Thank you,” George said. “I think a man can never look too good.”

  Raising her eyes to his face, she said pointedly, “He can if all he’s supposed to do is hang around the house and take it easy.”

  “Ah, well, we might have a problem there,” George answered as he took a seat at the small kitchen table directly opposite Rachel.

  Instantly alert, Rachel raised her eyebrows. “Dad, you’re not planning on doing what I think you’re planning on doing, are you?” she asked sharply, although she felt she already knew the answer.

  “That all depends,” he said innocently, avoiding Rachel’s eyes. “What is it that you think I’m planning on doing?”

  “Dad.” There was a warning note in her voice.

  George sighed. This was no time to be playing games. “All right, for the record, I’m planning on going into my restaurant today. All day if a certain killjoy doesn’t have her way.”

  “Dad, we talked about this,” Rachel reminded him, trying not to lose her patience.

  She understood what he was undoubtedly feeling, but she didn’t want him taking unnecessary chances. He still hadn’t complied with the doctor’s instructions to avail himself of physical therapy. So far, he had dismissed every therapist who had shown up, for one reason or another. She had a sneaking suspicion that her father wasn’t nearly as recovered as he was trying to make her believe.

  “Endlessly, as I remember,” George replied wearily.

  Rachel pressed her lips together. She respected him, but her father was behaving just like a little boy. He was constantly looking for a way around the problem, creating another one.

  “And what conclusion did we come to?” Rachel asked expectantly.

  George flashed his daughter a tolerant smile. “Well, if you can’t remember, maybe you’re the one who has been working way too hard.”

  Rachel gritted her teeth together. “The conclusion we came to was that until you have those physical therapy sessions that the doctor wants you to have, you’re not going to go back to the restaurant—unless it’s to grab a bite to eat or just say hi to the staff,” she said pointedly. He had already snuck in a few times, trying to take his rightful place back at the restaurant. At an age where some men were longing for retirement, her father insisted on working harder than ever.

  “I’ve had physical therapy sessions,” George informed her.

  Rachel humored her father. “Yes, you have,” she agreed. “And you’ve fired every single one of the therapists. A record number of eight therapi
sts as I recall.” She saw her father opening his mouth to protest and she cut him off. “You know, until this whole thing happened, I would have said you were a very easygoing guy.”

  “I am an easygoing guy,” George insisted, finishing his breakfast.

  “That is not what all those therapists you fired would say.”

  He frowned. He would have thought that Rachel, of all people, would have understood what the problem was. She might look like her mother, but she took after him. “I had a heart attack, Rachel, but there’s nothing wrong with my brain. I refuse to be treated like a doddering old fool,” he told her heatedly, thinking of his interaction with some of the therapists.

  “You’re not a doddering old fool, Dad.” Rachel sighed. “Maybe you’re taking offense where none was intended.”

  “I’m not imagining things, Rachel,” he told her, trying to keep his temper. He knew she meant well, but she hadn’t been in his shoes.

  “I didn’t say that,” she protested. Finished with breakfast, she rose from the table. “Tell you what, I’ll try to stick around for the next therapist—provided you’re going to get another one. Otherwise, all bets are off, and your doctor will back me up.”

  George sighed a little too deeply, since he knew—but couldn’t let on—about the plan that was in place. “I suppose I have to if I ever want to get back to working for more than a few minutes at a time.”

  She hadn’t realized what a drama queen her father could be. “I’ve let you stay on for more than a few minutes at a time, Dad,” she reminded him.

  He sighed. He missed the hustle of the restaurant, the challenges. “Distributing napkins from a seated position is not my idea of ‘staying on.’”

  “Take it or leave it, Dad.” She gathered her purse and notes together.

  George shook his head, looking at his only offspring sadly. “You know, you’re getting more and more like your mother every day.”

  She knew that underneath it all, he meant that as a compliment. Rachel smiled at her father broadly. “You know I’m right.”