Larkspur Dreams - By Anita Higman Page 0,1

suits me. I like quiet. Well, actually, I require it.” He raised his head and made a little sniffing noise.

Lark tried to smooth the folds of her angora sweater. She gave up and looked over at Everett’s gingerbread cottage. She couldn’t imagine him buying such a dainty, rosy-colored house. “You certainly bought a pretty place to live.”

He glanced at his home and then nodded. “It should be an excellent investment.”

Lark waited for him to say more, but he just stared at his house. Many homes in the neighborhood were Victorian with pocket gardens, but she also loved the charm of the whole town with its galleries, trolleys, and quaint shops. For now, though, she couldn’t help wondering if her new neighbor had also been captivated by the delight of Eureka Springs.

Everett tapped his shoe against a rock.

Okay, it’s time for me to leave. “I’ve kept you too long. I’m so sorry.” She turned to go. “By the way, we all have get-togethers around the holidays.”

“Holidays?”

Surely Everett hadn’t forgotten Thanksgiving would be arriving in just a few weeks. “You know, Thanksgiving and Christmas?” Lark said.

Everett shifted his weight as if he were losing patience. “I realize what holidays. I’m just not used to spending them with anyone.”

Lark could feel her mouth gape open. What could she possibly say in response to that? She looked back at Everett. “Oh, but to spend Christmas alone sounds so. . .I mean. . . wouldn’t it be lonesome?”

“I don’t know. I’ve not spent a lot of time thinking about it.” Everett straightened the sleeve of his suit, making Picasso think he had a treat. As her duck waddled toward his shoes, Everett took a conspicuous step away.

“I always have guests over around Thanksgiving, so I hope you’ll be one of them.”

Everett looked up at the sky as if he were expecting bad weather. “I really hate to obligate myself right away. But thank you.”

What a peculiar response. “You’re welcome,” Lark said. “By the way, you’ll enjoy your new neighbors. They’re down-to-earth, generous, and practically like family.”

“That’s nice. By the way, do you mind?” Everett pointed at Picasso’s handiwork. “You know, hosing that off my walkway?”

Lark jolted back from her reverie. “Oh, yes. I’ll clean it up.”

Everett nodded.

“I’ll say bye for now,” Lark said.

“Good-bye.”

Lark turned to leave, but when she heard the pounding of piano keys, she glanced back. The movers lifted an old, high back piano down from the truck. “Do you play?”

“Excuse me?” Everett asked.

Lark motioned toward the instrument. “The piano. Do you play?”

“No. I don’t.” His frosty countenance softened, giving him a boylike appearance. “It was my mother’s.”

“Well, it’s a pity. With some lessons I’ll bet you could make it come to life.”

“I don’t think I have enough aptitude.”

“All you need is the passion. Then everything else falls into place. . .like colors on a canvas.” She wondered if the piano made him nostalgic. She could tell he had a smile aching to be released. A good sign. It meant Everett had a warm, beating heart under his cool, starched veneer, and a handsome man with heart would make good cocoa-sharing company on a cold evening.

Lark wiggled her fingers in a wave and headed toward her backyard gate, which she could see had indeed been left ajar. Without any commands, Picasso followed Lark. She sang to him softly as he waddled next to her along the limestone path. Before shutting the latch, Lark glanced toward Everett. He’d been caught gazing at her. Why did his interest give her so much pleasure?

Quickly Everett turned away and headed toward the delights of Mutt and Jeff.

“Well, what do you think of our new neighbor?” she whispered to her duck. “I think he reminds me of my old university professor, Dr. Norton.” Picasso paused to look up at her and then toddled on his way with his tail feathers wagging. Lark recalled her professor had craved such a private life he eventually left his career. In fact, he’d become so withdrawn, one by one everyone left him to his lonely existence. “We’ll watch out for our new neighbor, won’t we, little fellow?” Picasso continued to have nothing to say on the subject, so she secured him in his large habitat and blew a kiss in his direction.

A gust of crisp, autumn air turned Lark’s mind to the church’s fall festival. She wished she’d remembered to invite Everett. She could tell he needed to get out. Maybe I can ask him later.

Lark scooted into her old tire swing