TUESDAY TALES - SOMEONE LIKE YOU - PART 4

 

  Extra long excerpt today as regular Tuesday Tales will be coming back very soon. I want you to have a good dose of this story before I take it off. If it's way too long, I apologize. Here's the next excerpt of "Someone Like You." 

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Monday morning, dressed in her overalls, Charlotte prepared scrambled eggs and bacon and sat down across from her father at their little kitchen table for breakfast.

“You painting today or working on a new table?” he asked.

“Painting. English department,” she replied before shoveling a forkful of eggs into her mouth.

“Got a new job today at The Inn in Pine Grove. The truck is loaded, so you can drop me off,” Tom said.

“Let’s stop at the hardware store. I need two more cans,” Charlotte said. “I’ll be ready in ten,” she added, picking up the last piece of bacon and hurrying out the door. Tom nodded, finished his food and loaded the dishes in the dishwasher.

He pulled the truck up in front of Larch Hardware.

“Don’t be jawin’ forever with Derek,” he said, putting the truck in park and turning off the ignition.

“I won’t,” Charlotte said.

Derek Larch, the son of the owner, flirted with Charlotte every time she entered.

“Charlie! Been a long time. What can I do for you?” he said, coming out from behind the counter and running his fingers through his blond hair.

“Hi, Derek. Need paint.”

“What color?”

Charlotte gave him the paint specs, then picked out a new roller and a roll of blue tape.

While the paint mixed, he wandered over. “Changed your mind about marrying me?” he asked.

She laughed. “You ask me that every time. The answer is still ‘no’.”

“Someday I’m gonna see you out of that baggy jumpsuit.”

“Derek!” Charlotte drew her hand up over her chest and feigned shock.

He colored. “Crap, you know what I mean. Dressed like a girl.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” She wandered through the woodworking tools section.

“How about a movie? Or dinner? Thursdays is meatloaf night at Tony’s.”

“Thanks, Derek. I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. How could she tell him Professor Mark Garrett owned her heart, even though they’d never had a conversation? He didn’t even know who she was. To the professor, she was simply “the painter”. Was it a silly schoolgirl crush? Probably. But who did it hurt? Besides Derek?

“I like you, Derek. But as a friend.”

“Great.” He got the two cans of paint and rang up her purchase. “Charge to the University?”

“Yep. Thanks, and take care,” she said, patting his hand.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” he said, handing her a receipt.

“I’m sure.”

She felt his stare on her rear end. She grinned for a second, glad the overalls were baggy enough to hide her curves well. Poor Derek, staring when there was nothing to see.

As she approached the truck, her father spoke. “It’s about time,” he said, staring at his watch.

Even though she didn’t do anything to encourage Derek, she did get a secret pleasure out of his attention. His clumsy attempt at seduction helped sand down the raw edges of her father’s gruffness.

“I’ll drive,” Charlotte said. Her father got out and went around to the passenger’s side.

She climbed behind the wheel, stepped on the gas, and made it to The Inn before ten, then helped her father unload his supplies. He gave her a peck on the cheek. As she drove away, she waved.

Charlotte took a spot in the faculty parking lot. She hauled her paint cans, brushes, rollers, blue tape, and drop cloth into her brother’s new office. Once she had everything moved away from the wall, and covered with the drop cloth, she walked down to the janitor’s closet. There she found the step ladder she needed.

She taped the top of the walls, then painted the ceiling. When she finished, she stopped to take a bathroom break. One look in the mirror confirmed her guess that her face was splattered with tiny splotches of paint. Fortunately, the cap covered her hair completely and some of her face. Getting white paint out of dark auburn hair would be a giant pain.

She wiped her cheeks off and returned to the room. She finished removing the tape, and then applied some to the ceiling. Finishing up, she heard voices in the hall. She peeked around the corner. It was her brother and Professor Garrett! And they were right outside the door.

“Oh, Mr. Anderson, I found this book in your old office. Poetry for your girlfriend? Those are favorite poets of mine, too.”

“Girlfriend? Let’s see,” there was silence for a moment, then Corey’s voice continued with a laugh. “No, that’s not my girlfriend. That’s my sister, Charlotte.”

“Oh? You have a sister?”

“Yes.”

“Does she go to school here?” the professor asked.

At this point Charlie silently snuck outside and stood behind the professor’s back. She drew Corey’s attention and made a sharp motion across her neck with her finger. Corey smiled. She glared and made the motion again, then scooted back into the room and hid behind her roller.

“No, no. She doesn’t,” Corey said. “Say, look I’m going to be late. I have a session with HR. Good to see you, Professor Garrett,” Corey said, snatching the book from the professor’s hand and darting down the hall. “Thanks for returning the book.”

When the voices stopped, Charlotte leaned back against the unpainted door and sighed.

“Close call,” she whispered to herself.

She put down the roller, stood back and surveyed the walls. They were pristine. And her paint job? Perfect, as usual. After she finished, the bigger job began – cleanup. Washing brushes and the roller, folding and discarding drop cloths, sealing up paint – not to mention getting paint off her face, hands, neck, and fingernails. She didn’t bother cleaning more than her hands, waiting to jump in the shower to get the rest. She scrubbed her hands in the ladies’ room, put her tools in a satchel and ambled down the hall.

A poster colored in bright pink and green drew her eye. She stopped. It read:

 

             The Spring Dance is Coming

             Saturday, May 25, 8pm

             The Gym, Admission: $10.

 

Charlotte made a face and said to herself, “Hah! That’s ten bucks I just saved.” When she got outside, the honking of her truck horn got her attention. Corey sat in the passenger seat.

“I need a ride to town. Figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t. Where are you going?”

“Cleaners. Gotta pick up my sports jacket,” he said.

She put the vehicle in gear. “What do you need your sports jacket for?”

“The dance. You going?”

“Me?” She gave a derisive laugh. “You kidding? No. Of course not.”

“Really? That’s too bad. I heard Professor Garrett’s going to be there,” he said, glancing out the window.

Charlotte screeched on the brakes.

“What the hell? What are you doing?” Corey said.

A driver leaned on his horn, then sped by, giving her the finger.

“Sorry. I didn’t see that car.”

“I guess not.” Sweat beaded on Corey’s forehead.

“Are you sure Professor Garrett is going?” She glanced in her rearview mirror before pulling out.

“Kitty asked him to chaperone,” Corey said.

“And he agreed? He seems too shy to want to do that.”

“Well, all the professors are required to do that kinda stuff. That’s what Kitty said.”

They drove on for a half mile in silence.

“Change your mind?” her brother asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” she replied, pulling up to the curb.

While she waited for Corey, panic set in. What would she wear? How would she do her hair? Makeup? All her makeup was about seven years old. She sat back and pondered if she wanted to get back into that life – the “glamour girl” life as her mother would have called it. Frilly dresses, tons of makeup, fancy hairstyles – dating. She shivered.

After Bart broke her heart, she’d given it all up. No matter how much she dressed up or flirted, in the end, he had chosen someone else to propose to and she’d been left high and dry.

“I want a girly girl, Charlie. Not someone who’s better with a hammer and a paintbrush than I am,” he’d said.

Her father and brother had been outraged. Charlotte had simply been crushed. The one man she thought saw her for who she was had rejected her. He married the prettiest girl in their high school class. Charlotte called Lily the “Queen of D’s” and she didn’t mean bra size! Charlie had made the honor roll every year.

After that, she packed away her makeup and her frilly clothes and lived her own life in her own way. She’d given up on men until Derek at the Hardware store came along. His attention tempted her. He was a nice guy, maybe a little rough around the edges, but she felt no chemistry with him.

Corey knocked on the window, interrupting her reverie.

“Got it. Let’s go,” he said, opening the truck door.

She turned on the vehicle and headed back to campus.

“You’re taking me back to school? Weren’t you heading home?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Very nice of you, Sis. Thanks,” Corey said.

When they arrived at the small apartment building for professors, he got out.

“Don’t forget about the dance,” he said.

“Yeah. Sure,” she said and waved as she pulled away.

Thanks for stopping by!

TUESDAY TALES - SOMEONE LIKE YOU 3

 

This is the third installment from my new book, which is in editing now, called "Someone Like  You." This piece focuses on Professor Mark Garrett, giving some of his story. 

Remember that the other authors will be joining Tuesday Tales again come September. So please read my excerpt and leave a comment and remember to return in September when we will have the full house of all authors posting again! 

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Professor Mark Garrett hated sitting alone at university functions. Ever since his wife, Nancy, passed away, he was forced to participate on his own. Friends had been kind. He’d been invited to many homes of other professors for dinner and fixed up with a multitude of single women.

While colleagues and their spouses thought nothing of Mark dating students, even undergrads, he drew the line at mixing with those enrolled at the University. He’d worked hard to establish a stellar reputation and would do nothing to tarnish it, especially for a roll in the hay. Undergrads, even grad students were off limits for dating. It was a hard and fast rule for him.

It seemed all the professors and their mates knew of various and sundry single women who would be perfect matches for him. Never mind that some of them lived in Michigan or California and were simply visiting.

Each time he was attentive but distant and made an excuse to leave early. Throwing himself into his work had earned him the prize promotion to head of the English department. He also served as advisor to the new doctoral students. Keeping busy, working so hard he simply fell in bed and was asleep instantly, proved to be the most efficient way to deal with his loss.

Still, during the night he’d reach for Nancy only to wake up to emptiness – a stark reminder of his loss. It had been almost five years now. He’d given himself many lectures that it was time to start over, to begin a new chapter of his life. He put his energies into work and tried to ignore his loneliness. He clung to a romantic, if childish, notion that when the right woman came along, he’d snap out of his depression, spring into action and find his happily-ever-after. He never shared that idea with his friends for fear of being called a fool. Still, he clung to it, waiting, but growing more impatient with each passing year.

After the ceremony, he returned to his old office to pick up his briefcase, filled to bulging, with student papers to read for the school literary magazine. On the desk sat a slim volume of poetry titled, From Frost to Wordsworth. Hmm, he stopped. Those were two of his favorites.

He wondered who it belonged to, so he opened the cover to see if there was a name inside. There was more than a name, an inscription:

 

       Charlotte –

      Merry Christmas.

      L.,

     Corey

 

Corey? Must be Corey Anderson. Corey was not a common name and to find two in a town as small as Willow Falls would be unlikely. Could Charlotte be his girlfriend? Probably. Mark smiled. He’d given Nancy a volume of poetry when she was in college. It tickled him to see this as a romantic gift so many years later. He wondered who this person, Charlotte, could be? Certainly, no one in any of his classes. He would have remembered such a pretty name.

He closed the book. A twinge of envy shot up his spine. Young Corey Anderson had a girl he liked enough to buy poetry for, and Mark had no one.

“It’s my own fault,” Mark said aloud to himself. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Talking to

 himself when no one was around. Not a good sign. He’d better find someone, so he could 

talk to a real person. He retrieved his briefcase went out and shut the door. He didn’t lock it, 

figuring Charlotte, whoever she was, would come back when she realized she’d forgotten 

the book. 

Thanks for stopping by. 

TUESDAY TALES - SOMEONE LIKE YOU PART 2

 

And so we contintue with vacation Tuesday Tales. Another excerpt of "Someone Like You" - part 2! I hope you enjoy it and please leave a comment. 

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She noticed the other professors who would be presenting honors from different departments sat with their wives. Not Professor Garrett. He took his position alone. Charlotte wondered why he wasn’t married. Maybe his wife was sick?

Charlotte didn’t see her father following her stare.

“Don’t you go getting any ideas about Professor Garrett,” her father said.

Heat rushed to Charlotte’s face. She turned away, hoping he wouldn’t see.

“I got eyes, girl. I see the way you look at him. He’s forty. Too old for you. Widowed, too. So just forget it. With all the boys going to this college, you’d think a pretty girl like you would’ve picked one out by now,” Tom said, giving his head a little shake.

“Please, Pop. Be quiet!” Charlotte wanted to crawl under her chair. Fortunately, Professor Garrett didn’t hear. Or if he did, he didn’t turn around. She let out a breath. Sometimes her father could be a bull in a China shop.

“I mean…”

The band stuck up the national anthem. Everyone stood.

Charlotte welcomed any interruption of her father’s opinions on her life. 

When the song concluded, everyone sat and the president of Kensington State, Mac Caldwell, took the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen, students, faculty, parents, family, and friends. It is my honor to present this year’s Ph. D. degrees.

Charlotte didn’t hear the rest of his speech. Her eyes filled. All she could think of was Corey’s achievement. Pride in her brother filled her heart, along with a sadness that her mother couldn’t be there to see her son’s success.

He’d nailed down a job teaching freshman English at Kensington State. Not because of his relationship with the president’s daughter, Kitty. They had kept that a secret. But because he had the highest grades of anyone in the graduate program. He’d received offers from several universities but picked Kensington State because he wanted to be close to Kitty, who worked at the University store while she finished up her Master’s. 

Charlotte sighed. Corey always showed up at home when meatloaf was served at the dorm. He’d join Charlotte and Tom for dinner whenever the dorm food slipped below his standards, which was often. After much experimentation her father had cheerfully endured, Charlotte had emerged as a gifted cook. Tom and Corey often complimented her on her meals. At thirty, Charlotte still lived with her father. Not that she didn’t want a place of her own. She had several friends who tried to persuade her to share an apartment. But she felt a responsibility to take care of her father. She’d been doing it since she was ten. And so she stayed.

Her father had never recovered from the loss of his wife. He withdrew. leaving the children to fend for themselves much of the time. Charlotte and Corey had grown close until he graduated high school. Although they lived near enough to commute to college, the boy insisted on moving into the Kensington State dorm, leaving Charlotte alone with her dad.

As she honed her skills, her father recognized he had the helper he’d wanted, just not in his son, but in his daughter. He gradually let go of his prejudices against women in the trades and his set ideas on women’s work and man’s work and let his daughter join him.

Steady and reliable, Charlotte did most of his simpler jobs. Her true love was woodworking. She created some of the most beautiful tables, chairs and cradles ever seen in Pine Grove, Willow Falls or anywhere.

When she wasn’t skim-coating and painting walls, or refinishing floors, Charlotte spent her time fulfilling the never-ending orders for her unique hand-crafted wood furnishings. When the construction was finished, she’d sand the beautiful wood until it was as smooth as a baby’s bottom. She’ run her hand over it and revel in the feel before applying paint, stain or wax.

Preorder for the book will be put up soon. Look for it to release in September. Thanks for stopping by.

TUESDAY TALES - SOMEONE LIKE YOU

 Better late than never! This month, 3 of the Tuesday Tales authors are on vacation. So I'm filling in. I'll be posting unedited snippets from my newest novel, "Someone Like You" every week for the month of August. 

I have posted from this story before, but now I'll be doing it in order. I hope you like the story. I've just sent the rough draft to my editor. It should be up on Amazon the beginning of  September. Next week, I'll post preorder information. 

Til then, enjoy the introduction to a new contemporary romance taking place on the Kensington State University campus, but not involving students. Those of you who have read my Now and Forever series, will recognize the campus and Callie and Mac, stars from the Now and Forever series. They are supporting characters in this mini series called, "Kensington State." 

Here's the blurb: 

Charlotte is 30.  Mark is 42. She’s a carpenter. He’s a college professor. Not exactly a perfect match. But one warm summer night at a college dance, magic happened. Can an imperfect union survive secrets and career-ending allegations? Can love prevail? Read “Someone Like You “ and find out.

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Saddled with the nickname “Charlie” by her father at a young age, Charlotte always preferred pants to dresses, climbing trees to playing with dolls, and woodworking to reading.

When Emily Anderson passed on she left two children, Corey and his younger sister, Charlotte. While 10-year-old Charlotte picked up her mother’s duties, keeping house and cooking, Tom tried to train his son to follow in his footsteps. Corey had neither interest nor aptitude nor patience for carpentry. Instead, the young man could be found with his nose in a book.

Tom turned to his daughter, Charlotte. Surprised to find she had inherited her father’s flair for carpentry, woodworking, painting, and fixing things, Tom treated her like a son and taught her everything he knew.

Painted with the label of “tomboy”, which stuck through high school, she never had the attention of boys, not romantic attention. No date for the prom or the Christmas dance, or any dance or co-ed party. Her brother tried to help.

“Charlie, ditch the overalls. Wear dresses,” Corey had said.

“But I can’t paint a wall wearing a dress. And I need pockets for my tools,” she’d replied.

Corey threw in the towel. “If you’re not going to go to the dance, you might read this. It’s one of my favorites,” he’d said, tossing a copy of “Treasure Island” on the rocking chair his father had fashioned for his mother.

On those cold, lonely nights, Charlotte took the throw hand-crocheted by her mother and curled up in the rocker with the book. Thus started her adventure with reading. No longer alone on the nights of the dances, Charlotte curled up with Jane Austen’s young women, and Sinclair Lewis’ midwestern folks – books recommended by her English teacher and her brother. She received the top grade in both English class and shop, out scoring all the boys on the final shop project.

Though her brother went on to attend college, after Charlotte graduated high school, she shadowed her father, handyman at Kensington State University in Willow Falls, New York. She grew into his assistant and soaked up everything.

Arriving in her baggy overalls with her chestnut hair stuffed under an oversized painter’s hat, Charlotte presented herself as Charlie, there to paint his office. The handsome older man ignored her and went about his business while she scraped, sanded, and painted.

Her father had insisted she dress like that when she worked a job.

“Don’t be flauntin’ your goods around men, Sister. You’ll be working alone there without me or your brother to protect you. And men get ideas. Besides, these men expect a man to be doing carpentry and painting walls, not some delicate flower.”

“I’m no delicate flower, Pa,” Charlotte had responded, pulling herself up to her full five foot seven inches.

“Well, your mother, God rest her soul, thought so.”

Her mother had died before she could see the fruit of her womb turn into a tomboy. Her father tried to teach his son his trade, but the boy ignored his father and spent his days under a tree reading literature while his sister finished each project, which Corey presented as his own.

After three years of letting her brother pass off her work as his, Charlotte spoke up. There was a terrible row. Corey stormed out of the house, then her father followed. When his son went off to college to study literature, Tom Anderson settled himself on hiring his daughter.

Tom did carpentry for the university in exchange for free tuition for his son. There wasn’t money to send his daughter, too. Besides, she maintained that she preferred woodworking. He needed her to keep his business going to put food on the table. He was getting too old to do everything himself and that was just fine with Charlie.

As she became more adept with tools, her reading faded away, giving in to creating beautiful objects. Never one to pass time reading when she could be working with wood, Charlotte’s jaw dropped when she saw the floor-to-ceiling shelves overflowing with books in Professor Garrett’s office. She questioned her abandonment of reading. There must be something about reading she’d missed if this attractive man held books in such high regard.

Wearing one of her few dresses, Charlotte Anderson stood next to her father in the fifth row, at the garden where the doctorate degrees were to be presented. English professor Dr. Mark Garrett walked right past them. Of course he wouldn’t recognize her.

Ever since she did the renovation of his office, Charlotte had developed a huge crush on Dr. Garrett. He didn’t recognize her because she always tucked her long dark hair under a painter’s hat and wore worker’s overalls. And she answered to the nickname of “Charlie”. Her gaze followed his attractive form to the front row.

That's all for this week. I hope you come back next week. Please leave a comment - your feedback is so valuable! Thanks for stopping by.