Moonshadows by Mary Ann Artrip

heavy with dampness, separated in the middle and flipped little wings back from brown eyes flecked with specks of golden topaz. He fingered back the hair and the porch light picked up a few errant strands of silver. He grinned rather sheepishly as Janet got her first clear look at the man who had nearly knocked her down earlier.
    He held out the paper bag. “Excuse me for popping over, but I wanted to bring you this.”
    “You didn’t have to do that.”
    “I know, but I wanted to. I hope I got everything that was ruined.”
    Janet dug into the bag and shuffled items around. She looked up and frowned. “Where’s the Rocky Road?”
    “You didn’t have Rocky Road.”
    She thunked her head. “I didn’t? Darn, it sure would be great right about now.”
    The man laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said. “By the way, the name’s Stephen Prescott. I just spent the last couple days moving into number fifteen.” He pointed to the apartment across the way, directly in line with Janet’s front door.
    “Nice to meet you, Stephen. I’m Janet Lancaster.”
    “How did I miss you earlier?”
    “I’ve been out of town and just got back.”
    “And I had to ruin your homecoming.” He shoved the dark hair back from his face. “Some neighbor I turned out to be.”
    “If you ask me, I think you’ll be a great neighbor.” Janet hefted the bag on her hip. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”
    “Don’t mention it,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Maybe we’ll bump into each other again sometime.”
    Janet laughed. “Maybe we will.”
    They stood for an awkward moment, each waiting for the other to speak.
    “Well, goodnight,” he said, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets and backing off the porch.
    “Goodnight,” Janet said and closed the door.
     
    Later as she prepared for bed, the handsome face of Stephen Prescott kept skipping across Janet’s brain, and she felt just the slightest seduction of leaning into his wide shoulders and getting herself thoroughly lost in the depths of those gold-flecked eyes.
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scolded herself. “He’s probably married to a gorgeous corporate power-broker who blends her own teas and buys strictly organic.”
    Besides, had she healed enough to become emotionally involved again? She decided not.
    Changing into a flannel granny-gown, Janet dove beneath the covers and pulled the down-filled comforter to her chin. She lay motionless until the bed warmed then she reached for the bedside phone and punched in some numbers.
    “Hello,” Chelsea answered.
    “I’m home.”
    “I’m glad. I worried about you. You okay?”
    “Yeah. No. Lord, I don’t know. Want to come for breakfast? I’ll make blueberry waffles.”
    “It’s serious, isn’t it?”
    “How did you know?”
    “Because it’s breakfast. Lunch is strictly library stuff, supper’s pleasure. But breakfast means serious discussions are on the agenda.”
    “See you at nine?”
    “Nine.”
    “’Night.”
    “You too.”
    Janet hung up the phone. She switched off the lamp and lay for a moment in the darkness. The only illumination in the room was the green glow of the lighted dial of the clock. It was 10:03. Burrowing her head into the pillow, she dragged her hair from beneath her shoulders, fanned it out and let it tumble against the headboard. Exhaustion and a sense of loss overtook her and she slept.
     
    By the time Chelsea arrived the next morning, Janet had breakfast ready. She layered the waffles on their plates and set them on the table next to maple syrup and butter. They sat down at the table and Chelsea sipped her coffee in silence while Janet related to her all that had happened over the past week.
    “A cousin you didn’t even know about?” Chelsea’s lovely pearl-gray eyes widened with astonishment. “A cousin who’s an actor.”
    “And an aunt—Aunt Isabella. Lord Chels, I wonder where they are.”
    “Do you think they’ll turn up—either one