Larkspur Dreams - By Anita Higman Page 0,7

her love seat, pulled a sprig of baby’s breath from the vase, and stroked the tiny blossoms across her cheek. Lark suddenly thought of Jeremy. So dedicated and funny and genuine. In fact, he had so many good and godly qualities about him, she’d be crazy not to think of him in more serious terms. But she’d known since girlhood Mr. Lifetime would be poles apart from her. Like south meeting north and then trying to find a common parallel. She knew in her heart the Christian man she’d marry someday would not only garner her admiration and affection. . .but also leave her breathless.

She rested her feet on the coffee table. Yes, an acorn has fallen, Lark thought. And Everett’s neatly stacked pile is about to be scattered.

Five

Lark stretched her arms out to a new morning. Sunday had gone well. Church had been good, but now Monday morning beckoned. The clock on the night table read 6:30 a.m. She never bothered with setting her alarm but instead let her natural body rhythms tell her when she’d had enough sleep. She flipped the light on and smiled at the bird in his cage. “Good morning, Igor.”

Bits of his softness floated about the cage as he fluffed his feathers. “Good morning, Igor,” the bird repeated.

Lark shoved her lavender comforter back, slid her wiggling toes into her slippers, and got up. She chatted softly to Igor as she checked his food and water supply. Still wearing her long, granny nightshirt, she padded up the spiral staircase, letting her hand slide along the cool metal railing up to her loft. No need for coffee since she let music rev her creative juices in the morning. Once in her studio, she flipped on her lights and her amplifier, strapped on her guitar, and prepared to rock. Was that classical music she heard coming from Everett’s office? Seems kind of loud. She listened closely. Wow! Vivaldi. Wind and brass. Cool.

She didn’t see Everett standing anywhere in his office so she decided to enhance the music with her own hard rock. Oh yeah. Oboe Concerto in D Minor. Lark positioned her fingers on the neck of the guitar and tapped out her own beat with her foot. Almost time for my part. Lark raised her guitar pick high in the air and lowered it on her strings, adding her own metal sound to the bright melody. She closed her eyes, swooning to the joining of two great musical styles. Crescendo. Oh, there’s that sweet spot on the guitar.

The classical music stopped. Lark turned toward her window. Until now, she hadn’t realized her large, bare office window faced Everett’s large, bare office window just a few feet away. And when the lights were on, they could see each other perfectly.

Everett stood like a soldier in his suit with a no-nonsense stare. All in all, he looked pretty daunting. In fact, on the jovial scale, he was a minus fifty. But even so, he had an irresistible earnestness about him, too.

He held up a large piece of paper with a phone number on it. She let her guitar make a slow dying sound and placed the instrument on its stand. While still humming the melody, she pushed in all the right numbers on the phone. One ring. Two rings. Why is he waiting?

He finally picked up the phone. “Hi. Everett Holden. Your neighbor.”

Lark had to pucker her cheeks to keep from laughing. “Yes, I can see you. . .right in front of me. Good morning.”

Everett cleared his throat so loudly Lark had to pull the phone away from her ear. “Please,” he began. “Please don’t tell me you get up every morning at six thirty to play your electric guitar.”

Okay, I won’t tell you. “I guess you want me to turn down my amp. It’s just that I loved your Vivaldi, and I couldn’t help but join in. It’s so exhilarating.” She shot him her sweetest smile and waited for his face to brighten. It didn’t. “But I don’t think it was any louder than your music.” Lark tried to stay lighthearted.

Everett moved around the room, stacking manuals on his shelves, obviously multitasking. “But your music doesn’t mix with my music.”

Did he actually say that? Lark wondered what the magic words were to turn up the corners of his mouth. Maybe spreadsheets and revenues.

Then she noticed it. Tiny lacelike specs floating just outside the window. “Look. An early snow!” Still holding the telephone, Lark opened the window and