Reaching For Risks

  Just Jemi Books

  Canada

  2020

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  REACHING FOR RISKS

  First edition. July 21, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 Jemi Fraser.

  ISBN: 978-1999125882

  Written by Jemi Fraser.

  Also by Jemi Fraser

  Bloo Moose Romance

  Reaching For Normal (Coming Soon)

  Reaching For Risks (Coming Soon)

  Reaching For Everything (Coming Soon)

  Standalone

  Dancing With Dementia: Recognizing and Coping With the Early Stages of Dementia

  Watch for more at Jemi Fraser’s site.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Also By Jemi Fraser

  Dedication

  Reaching For Risks (Bloo Moose Romance, #2)

  The Nosy Trinity

  Champagne Regrets

  Clamshells & Sea Breezes

  Should I Stay Or Should I Go?

  Looking Fine

  First Contact

  Connecticut's Calling

  Awkward All The Way

  Checking Off #7

  Betty Crocker Explosions

  It's About Time

  Good Morning

  Reflections

  Open The Door

  Taking Care Of Business

  Taking Control

  Brother Dearest

  Final Risk

  About Jemi

  Copyright

  Sign up for Jemi Fraser's Mailing List

  About the Author

  To my family,

  Thanks for putting up with

  my imaginary friends!

  by Jemi Fraser

  Contemporary Romance

  Bloo Moose Romances

  Reaching For Normal (#1 Myla and Sawyer’s story)

  Reaching For Risks (#2 Darby and Quinn’s story)

  Reaching For Everything (#3 Kami and Rayce’s story)

  Reaching For Balance (#4 Rebecca and Gage’s story) (Fall 2020)

  Reaching For Trust (#5 Trina and Jack’s story) (Spring 2021)

  Nonfiction

  DANCING WITH DEMENTIA: Recognizing and Coping with the Early Stages of Dementia

  Short Stories

  UNTIL RELEASE (Tick Tock: A Stitch In Crime Anthology)

  Shadows (Flash Bang Mysteries, April 2020 Edition)

  To my family,

  Thanks for putting up with

  my imaginary friends!

  The Nosy Trinity

  Darby Banks swung into the front parlor of her B&B where the Nosy Trinity graced three of the wingback chairs like lace doilies come to life. Their perfumes tickled her nose and on a bright day their glasses could start fires but they were sweet. Even better, the trio sent a whole lot of business her way.

  Mrs. LeClair waved Darby over before she could place the fully-laden tray on the coffee table. The woman leaned forward to study the cookies. A small smile lifted her lips as she nabbed the one with an extra glop of icing. “Gingerbread in March, you’re so good to us, Darby.”

  “Nothing but the best for your last night with us.” Darby set the tray down and poured peppermint tea into her best china cups. Marshmallow, one of the cats who’d adopted her, nudged her hand and tried to poke his nose into the cup. Should have called him Peppermint but the white coat had been matted in tiny clumps when he’d shown up so Marshmallow it was.

  When she lifted the cups to the ladies, the cat turned up his nose and leapt to his favorite spot on the window ledge between the ivy and the umbrella plant.

  Darby smiled as she handed out tea and cookies. The Nosy Trinity had been spending two weeks in her B&B for years. They wrote great reviews and referred many of their friends. Whatever treats they wanted, they got. If her grandmothers were still alive, she imagined they’d get along well with these three.

  Darby’s only family remaining was her brother and while they were close, it wasn’t the same as having a mother or grandmother around. These ladies filled some of the gap even if they were an eccentric bunch.

  “That’s a lovely sweater, Darby.” Mrs. Theriault leaned forward to rub the wool between her fingers. “Don’t you have one just the same, Maria?”

  Darby’s arm jerked and she looked at Mrs. Reyes, who was nodding. “I do, except mine is blue. I wore it yesterday. That’s the one my granddaughter bought me for my birthday a few years ago. You have lovely taste, my dear.”

  She was wearing the same clothes as an octogenarian?

  “Oh, look. Our shoes are almost the same, too.”

  No. No way.

  Except yes. The styles were shockingly similar. Darby’s pulse picked up and her cheeks heated.

  “You could be one of our group, Darby and join us on our tramps through the Vermont countryside.”

  Everyone laughed and if anyone noticed her own was tinged with hysteria, they were too polite to mention it.

  Darby didn’t spend a lot of time on her appearance, she had a B&B to run. Besides, cooking, baking, cleaning and laundry didn’t lend themselves to trendy clothes.

  But, when had she bought this sweater? When was the last time she’d gone shopping?

  Months?

  “Have you thought about adding a splash of lipstick, Darby?”

  Darby’s hand flew to her unadorned lips.

  All three curly white heads tipped in her direction. Three mouths pursed in disapproval. “Men like a bit of color. On the cheeks as well. You don’t need to look sallow, you know.” Three heads bobbed in agreement.

  “Washed out isn’t in, dear. You need to wear makeup.”

  “Not so much that you look like a tart, though.”

  Mrs. Theriault smirked. “Depends on what kind of man she’s looking to catch.”

  The other two women twittered then Mrs. Theriault leaned forward in what she obviously thought was a discreet whisper. She was wrong. “Maybe it’s a woman she’s wanting to catch.” She straightened and lifted innocent eyes at Darby. “Are you one of the lesbians, dear?”

  Mrs. Reyes shook her head. “Lesbians wear lipstick, too. Do keep up with the times, Jean. Leslie and Irene always look lovely. They could help you, Darby, if they weren’t back home in Boston.”

  Darby managed to back up a step. Her nearest escape was the kitchen door, a dozen feet behind her.

  Mrs. Reyes, of the thick-as-bread-slice nylons and sweater-twin to Darby, pointed her finger at Darby’s jeans. “You should show a little leg, Darby. Men do like to look at legs. Makes them think romantic thoughts.” The women all swished their skirts in unison.

  Like geriatric cheerleaders.

  Darby took another step closer to freedom.

  “Have you thought of doing something differently with your hair?”

  Her hair. Unable to stop, she reached up to pat at the ponytail. She didn’t have time to fuss with her hair all the time. A ponytail was practical.

  Like her shoes. And sweaters. And lack of makeup.

  Two hundred and fifty years of experience studied her, sized her up and found her lacking.

  Worse, she wondered if they were right.

  “If you need some help finding a man dear, you should have let us know earlier. We’re leaving tomorrow.” And Darby had never been more thankful. “If you’re still struggling, we’ll set up a plan next year.”

  Struggling? She wasn’t struggling. She dated.

  When was her last date? That boring dinner with what’s his name last summer? Or the summer before?

  Yikes. She was struggling.

  And it had been ten years since, well
, since.

  “You’re not getting younger so you’ll need to step on your game if you want to get married one day.” Mrs. LeClair nodded sharply.

  Mrs. Theriault laughed. “Up, Diane, step up her game. But you’re right. Time is running out.”

  Darby stumbled back another step. She was twenty-eight, not eighty. Twenty-eight was in her prime. Well, not in her dotage, anyway. If she wanted a man, she could go out and get one.

  Couldn’t she?

  Mrs. Theriault smiled like Cruella De Ville. “I wonder if...”

  “The phone,” Darby lied with no compunction, “I hear the phone ringing. Excuse me, I have to go.”

  Turning, Darby fled to the relative safety of the kitchen but the women were too close. They could come in at any moment to scrounge for more cookies. Heart racing, Darby ran up to her third-floor apartment where she slammed the door shut, flipped the lock and let herself slip to the floor.

  They didn’t know what they were talking about.

  Sure, it had been a long time since she’d shopped for clothes or makeup but she couldn’t possibly fit in with the eighty-year-old crowd. Except they didn’t think she was quite that fashionable.

  Eep.

  She must have made the noise aloud because Meatball turned his head almost a full inch. The orange tabby had his bulk splayed wide as he let the sunshine warm his belly.

  He didn’t care what he looked like, he didn’t care what others thought. Had she turned into Meatball?

  The one mirror in the room was a full-length antique mirror she’d bought at a thrift store. At some point she’d tossed an afghan over it. How long ago?

  Feeling ridiculous, Darby forced herself to her feet and across the room to stand in front of the mirror. Figuring it was like a bandage, she whipped the afghan off and immediately regretted it.

  It was that bad.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Darby counted to ten. Twenty. A hundred.

  She certainly didn’t look like a twenty-eight-year-old woman who enjoyed her life. Nothing about her appearance said happy.

  Time to put the past in the past where it belonged. Time to move forward. It had been an entire decade. Time to prove to herself that she was past it, that he couldn’t control any part of her. She was in charge.

  A shudder ran through her and she glanced back at the mirror. Time for a true assessment of where she was at. Then she could make a list, figure out the equipment needed and tackle it one item at a time. Like her Reno List.

  Darby’s heart slowed and her panic eased at the thought of a controllable list. For some people, New Year’s was the time for renewal but for Darby, it was the last two weeks of March. Those weeks were sacred. Every year, she scraped, painted, replaced, remodelled, buffed and polished her B&B until it was fresh and new.

  Every year.

  Why had it never occurred to her to do the same for herself?

  Because the thought was scary. A whole lot scarier than the renovations.

  Too bad. No matter how much it terrified her, she was going to put the past in its place and take a few steps toward looking like a woman in her twenties, not eighties.

  A craving for brownies hit her but Darby pushed it aside. Heading to the kitchen meant risking an encounter with the Nosy Trinity and her self-esteem wasn’t up to another pounding. She was going to be brave all on her own without sugar.

  Meatball stretched, yawned and strolled over to rub against her legs. Darby scooped him up and picked up her notebook with her other hand. The Reno List and sublists took up pages.

  Breathing deeply, she flipped to a clean page.

  With a cringe, she moved back to the mirror and took a long look. Talk about depressing. The best that could be said was that she had good hygiene.

  Blah ponytail. Blah face. Blah clothes.

  Meatball appeared to agree as he leapt from her arms to her bed.

  Darby whipped off the offensive sweater and tossed it to the middle of the floor. It would be her burn pile. Beneath the sweater, she wore one of her brother’s t-shirts. As a former Navy SEAL, Sawyer had more muscles than she had recipes and his body mass was easily twice hers. Obviously, the shirt did nothing good for her, especially when it was stained with three, no, four types of batter.

  Narrowing her eyes, she took a deep breath and lifted the hem of the shirt. The jeans sagged in more places than she would have believed possible. Did she even have a butt in there?

  Hopeless.

  Before the depression could worm its way in, she turned away from the mirror and focused on her notebooks. Lists always helped.

  The first few items were easy.

  1. Buy makeup (learn how to use it)

  2. Get a hair cut

  3. Buy new clothes

  Breathing easier, Darby sat back. Sure the items were as scary as a basket of snakes but doable. With some research, she’d be able to figure out where to go and what to buy.

  It would be a whole lot easier if she had a close friend but she’d let that lapse along with everything else. Ten wasted years. Way past time to fix it.

  Her brother’s girlfriend would be a great choice for a friend. She’d spent a few weeks at the B&B and they’d become close but now Myla had moved in with Sawyer out at his cabin in the woods so they didn’t see each other as often. She could do something about that.

  Blowing out a big breath, she picked up her pen and added it to the list.

  4. Make a lunch date with Myla.

  A glance back at the to-be-burned pile told her she’d made a good start but it wasn’t enough. Not if she was serious about stepping back into the real world. She didn’t only need to dress better but she needed to be better. To believe in herself as a person. As a woman.

  5. Buy some sexy lingerie.

  A giggle escaped and she squirmed in her seat. She’d obviously let things go far too long if even thinking about sexy underwear had her blushing. Catchup time. Surely wearing the lingerie would give her some power.

  6. Cause some fun gossip.

  7. Talk with a sexy stranger. (Flirt?)

  Could she flirt? Maybe talking would be enough. Unless the lingerie came with flirting instructions, she doubted she’d be able to handle it. Talking to guests at the B&B was easy and natural but chatting with a sexy man? Awkward.

  She should be able to think about flirting and lingerie without flinching. She needed to push herself harder if she wanted to end in the land of normal someday.

  The next items flew onto the page.

  8. Kiss a man.

  9. Be kissed by a man.

  10. Have a fling.

  11. Whipped cream and chocolate sauce?

  Laughing out loud, Darby crossed off the last two items as soon as she’d finished writing them. The thought of flirting had her hyperventilating, no way was she anywhere near capable of those last two.

  But, they made her smile and she realized she’d missed the most important element of all.

  She’d changed a lot since that night. He had taken a lot from her. She’d let him.

  Not any more.

  She was done behaving like her cats. No more hiding out inside.

  Darby titled the page Risk List and added one more item. Time to take the biggest risk of all.

  12. Learn to have fun.

  QUINN Charters grinned as his latest customers waved and walked out of the shop. His cash register might be happy but he’d tried to talk the couple out of their purchases.

  They’d insisted on buying top of the line ice-fishing gear and clothing. Didn’t matter to them that the huts had been pulled off the ice last week because the weather was heating up. More money than sense but who was he to argue with crazy tourists?

  To think he’d almost put away the winter stock. Hell, if he’d had enough storage, he’d have done it by now and missed out on a grand’s worth of sales.

  Couldn’t realistically avoid it any longer, though. He needed to move in all the summer stock that was currently in boxes towering in every a
vailable space. Time to commit to a decision.

  He’d moved to Bloo Moose a decade ago out of sheer pissed-offness and a need to get the hell away from his family. He’d landed here because he hadn’t known where else to go.

  Old Joe had hired him to help out in the sports store, probably because he’d been hanging around drooling over all the things he couldn’t afford. The old man had let him live in the storage room, helped him figure out how to be a man. A real man. Not one who lived off the misery of others.

  When Joe had retired, Quinn had bought him out. Along with the help of a big-ass mortgage from the bank.

  Originally, Quinn’s plan had been to become a success, thumb his nose at his family then disappear to another part of the country where he’d never have to see them again.

  Not that they’d ever made any attempt to see him. Until recently. Phone calls had started a couple of months back. He hadn’t answered, hadn’t returned their calls, either. Or listened to the messages. Then letters had started arriving, letters he hadn’t opened. Registered mail he’d refused to accept.

  They were circling like vultures, which could only mean they wanted something from him. He didn’t plan on giving them a single damn thing.

  He could disappear. Sell the store and move. They’d never find him. CharterGear was a success—which still shocked the hell out of him. He’d never imagined himself running a retail business but he loved it.

  Starting over again would add some excitement, a new challenge. He’d been edgy lately and he couldn’t lay all that at the feet of his jackass family. Something was missing from his life but he hadn’t figured out what it was.

  Maybe a move would be the right step.

  Except the quirky town of Bloo Moose had grown on him. He’d been eighteen when his parents had bought their fancy summer house on the bluffs so his father could try and schmooze with a senator. For the first time in Quinn’s life, his time hadn’t been strictly controlled and he’d snuck out of the house and down to the town. Often.

  He’d found friends. Friends who didn’t give a shit that his family had money. Friends who played rough and lived out loud. Friends he didn’t want to leave. But he was restless, frustrated. He needed a challenge. Something new.