Authors: Debbie Macomber
Starting Now
Dear Friends,
Long ago I learned a valuable lesson as a writer, and that was the importance of listening to my readers. One thing I consistently hear from you is: “Please write more Blossom Street books.” And so, my friends, here is the latest update from my heart to yours. You’ll meet some new characters and visit familiar ones. Naturally, Lydia, from A Good Yarn, with her daughter, Casey, is front and center, as well as a handful of others.
You’ll also meet Libby Morgan, who is becoming reacquainted with knitting after being laid off from a high-pressure job at a law firm. Wayne and I are familiar with what it is like to go through a long stretch of unemployment. The year our daughter Jenny Adele was born, Wayne, who worked as a construction electrician, was out of work nearly nine months. He made good use of the time and took classes at the community college while I cared for our older daughter and found a hundred different ways to stretch our unemployment check. In fact, Wayne was in Alaska looking for work on the pipeline in the early 1980s when I sold my first book. So you can see this story comes from a wealth of personal experience. Most of us have gone through similar situations at one time or another, and while it’s never fun, there are lessons to be learned and truths to be discovered. I hope you enjoy meeting Libby and watching the world unfold as her eyes are opened and she discovers the meaning of friendship … and love.
As always, I welcome your comments and letters. You can reach me in a variety of ways. Old-fashioned snail mail still works. Contact me at P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366 or through the guest page on my website at
DebbieMacomber.com
. I’m also on Facebook and have my own phone app. I’m connected just about everyplace there is to be plugged in.
Now sit back, turn the pages, and enjoy.
Warmest regards,
Starting Now
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Debbie Macomber
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
B
ALLANTINE
and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Grateful acknowledgment is made to Watson-Guptill Publications, an imprint of The Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., for permission to reprint one baby hat pattern and photograph from
Baby Beanies
by Amanda Keeys, copyright © 2008 by Amanda Keeys. Used by permission of Watson-Guptill Publications, an imprint of The Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc. Any third party use of this material, outside of this publication, is prohibited. Interested parties must apply directly to Random House, Inc., for permission.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Macomber, Debbie.
Starting Now : A Blossom Street Novel / Debbie Macomber.
pages cm
eISBN: 978-0-345-53353-1
I. Title.
PS3563.A2364S737 2013
813’.54—dc23 2012041206
Title-page and chapter-opening illustration: ©
iStockphoto.com
Jacket design: Belina Huey
Jacket images: Marcie C. Fields/Shutterstock (interior),
Igor Stramyk/Shutterstock (picture frame)
v3.1
This was it. Surely it must be.
The instant Libby Morgan heard her paralegal tell her “Hershel would like to see you in his office,” she knew. Oh, there’d been rumblings around the office about layoffs and early retirements. Such gossip simply verified what she felt in her heart Hershel was sure to tell her. She’d waited for this moment for six very long years.
Libby had always wondered how she’d feel when she finally got the news. She longed to hold on to this sense of happy expectation for as long as possible. In retrospect, she must have intuitively known something was up because she’d worn her best pin-striped suit today, choosing the pencil skirt over her normal tailored slacks. And thankfully she’d had a salon appointment just the day before. Getting her hair cut was long overdue, but seeing how good it looked now, she felt it was worth every penny of the hundred dollars Jacques had charged her. A good cut did wonders for her appearance. She wore her dark brown hair parted in the middle in an inverted bob so that
it framed her face, curling around her jawline. Jacques had mentioned more than once how fortunate she was to have such thick hair. She hadn’t felt that way when he’d insisted she have her eyebrows plucked. But he’d been right; she looked good. Polished. Professional. She promised herself not to go so long between appointments again.
Libby didn’t see herself as any great beauty. She was far too realistic and sensible, was well aware of her physical shortcomings. At best she was pretty, or at least Joe, her ex-husband, had told her she was. She knew she was probably no better than average. Average height, average weight; brown hair, brown eyes, with no outstanding features, but on the inside she was a dynamo. Dedicated, hardworking, goal-oriented. Perfect partner material.
Reaching for her yellow legal pad, Libby headed toward the managing partner’s opulent office. Outwardly she remained calm and composed, but inwardly her heart raced and her head spun.
Finally. Finally, she was about to be rewarded for the hard choices and sacrifices she’d made.
Libby was in her sixth year of an eight-year partnership track. Hopefully she was about to achieve the goal that she had set her heart on the minute she’d been accepted as an associate in the Trusts and Estates Department at Burkhart, Smith & Crandall, a high-end Seattle-based law firm. She was about to be made partner even earlier than anticipated.
While she didn’t want to appear overly confident, it went without saying that no one deserved it more than she did. Libby had worked harder, longer, and more effectively than any other attorney employed by the firm. Her legal expertise on the complex estate-planning project for Martha Reed hadn’t gone unnoticed either. Libby had provided a large number of billable hours and the older woman had taken a liking to her. Over the past month two partners had stopped by her office to compliment her work.
Libby could almost feel her mother looking down on her from heaven, smiling and proud. Molly Jo Morgan had died of breast cancer when Libby was thirteen. Before dying, Libby’s mother had taken her daughter’s hand and told her to work hard, and to never be afraid
to go after her goals. She’d advised Libby to dream big and warned her there would be hard choices and sacrifices along the way.
That last summer her mother was alive had set Libby’s life course for her. Although her mother wouldn’t be around to see her achievements, Libby longed to make her mother proud. Today was sure to be one of those
Hey, Mom, look at me
moments.
Early on in high school Libby had set her sights on becoming an attorney. She was the president of the Debate Club and was well known for her way of taking either side of an issue and making a good argument. Reaching her goal hadn’t been easy. Academic scholarships helped, but there were still plenty of expenses along the way. Funds were always tight. In order to support herself through college she’d worked as a waitress and made some good friends. Later on in law school she’d found employment as a paralegal in the Seattle area.
Her career path had taken a short detour when she married Joe Wilson. Joe worked as a short-order cook. They’d met at the diner where she waited tables while in college. When she moved from Spokane he willingly followed her to the Seattle area and quickly found another job, cooking in a diner. He was the nicest guy in the world, but their marriage was doomed from the beginning. Joe was content to stay exactly where he was for the rest of his life while Libby was filled with ambition to be so much more. The crux came when he wanted her to take time out of her career so they could start a family. Joe wanted children and so did Libby, but she couldn’t risk being shunted off to the “Mommy Track” at the firm. She’d asked him to be patient for a couple more years. Really, that wasn’t so long. Once she was established at the firm it wouldn’t matter so much. But Joe was impatient. He feared that once those two years were up she’d want another year and then another. Nothing she said would convince him otherwise.
Hershel glanced up when she entered his office. He wasn’t smiling, but that wasn’t unusual.