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ALTHEA
After my wedding to Archie, I returned to Snug Harbor, but my parents wouldn’t allow me to live with them. Their friends could count, and when this baby arrived five months from now, everyone would know I’d been pregnant before I got married, and imagine the scandal! Appearances were important to them and their social circle. Tim’s loss was less devastating because he died with honor and courage. The shame of a living daughter with a baby who might have been conceived on the wrong side of marriage was too much to bear.
Luckily, I found a basement apartment about a mile away in the home of Lorraine Rugerman. Lorraine was a widow with one son and five daughters and had to take in a boarder to help her pay her mortgage. My job as a front end manager, basically the head cashier, at a local supermarket meant that, with overtime, I could afford my rent and put aside some money for baby necessities. Luxuries were out of the question. I wrote letters to Archie every other day, and he wrote me back once a week. On payday, he’d call me and we’d talk for about five minutes—long distance was expensive in those days. As harsh as it sounds to modern ears, it was what we were used to, so we made it work. I was terrified about what might happen to Archie when he finished training, but I made sure to never let my fears come out when we spoke.
Lorraine’s son, Lou, was the oldest of her kids. He was eighteen and stood six-feet tall, a wall of solid muscle. He worked on the fishing boats down at the docks, leaving the house before dawn every day and sometimes not returning home again until long after dark. Still, he never turned me down when I asked for help, whether it was to move something, fix something, or lift something. He was a sweet kid, and the teenage girls all seemed to love him. They’d ride their bikes or drive their cars past the house and honk when he was outside, mowing the lawn or shooting hoops or just helping his mother bring in the groceries. Every time, he’d look away, his cheeks all red, and ignore their catcalls. For a while, I silently questioned if he even liked girls.
One sweltering July night, Lou knocked on my door. When I answered, he gave me a curt nod. “Hey.”
I responded in kind. “Hey.”
He slouched against the brick wall outside my entranceway, his shaggy head somewhat swaying as if he couldn’t make up his mind what to say. “I’m...er...headed into town to get my sisters some ice cream. Do you...er...want some? You could come with me. Pick out a flavor.”
I shook my head. “That’s sweet. Thanks, anyway, but I’m just gonna take a lukewarm shower to cool off before bed.”
“How about a root beer float? Or a shake? We could head over to Parson’s.” Parson’s was the local burger drive-in restaurant. That was when he said it. “I’d really like to take you out, Thea.”
My jaw dropped as realization struck. This boy had the hots for me! I clamped my lips into a tight line. I was about to break his heart, and didn’t that bite the big one?
“Lou,” I said slowly and touched his wrist, gentle as a dandelion puff. I had to choose my words with care and compassion. “I’m not the girl for you.”
“Yeah, you are. You know, you look just like Faye Dunaway. I love Faye Dunaway.”
I sighed. While I appreciated the compliment, I wouldn’t lead this kid on. It wasn’t fair to either of us—or to Archie. “I’m married.”
Lou pushed off the wall and crept closer to where I stood in the doorway. “So? He isn’t here.”
I stamped my foot. For goodness sake, how could I get through to this child? “He’s in the army! And anyway, it doesn’t matter if he’s here or not. He’s my husband, and I love him. You’re an awesome guy—a real fox, too—but you need to find a girl your own age.”
“There’s only five years’ difference between us. When you’re sixty, I’ll be fifty-five, and then, five years won’t mean nothing.”
I hid my discomfort and put on an air of lighthearted humor. “Cool beans, bro. I’ll make you a deal. When I hit sixty, if I’m single, I’ll look you up and we can go to dinner.”
“Nana?” Siobhan’s voice invaded my head, shattering thoughts of sweet, teenaged Lou.
“Huh?”
“I asked if you’re done with your bagel.”
I looked down at my plate where the second half of my golden, toasted, delectable sesame bagel had gone cold, congealed butter making it unappetizing to my eyes and taste buds.
My memories had tossed my heart into turmoil. Had I really said that to Lou all those years ago? I must have, as a way of letting him down easy. He’d apparently seen it as a life mission.
“So, what’s with you and Mr. Rugerman?”
I jerked back to stare at her. “What do you mean?”
She smirked. “Oh, come on, Nana. I saw you two making goo-goo eyes at each other at the bagel shop, and I heard him ask you to dinner.”
“We were not making goo-goo eyes!”
“What’s the big deal if you were? You’re widowed, he’s divorced. You should go out together. Have some fun. You two would make a nice couple.”
“Speaking of nice couples, how’d you wind up with Jimmy this morning?” My eyes narrowed in sly innuendo. “You didn’t sneak him into the house last night after I went to bed, did you?”
Now, she jerked back. “Nana! No. Of course not.”
Hmm. Too bad. “Then, how’d you two wind up together this morning?”
She gave me a brief rundown on my kitties’ antics and glossed over whatever went on between her and Jimmy. Before I could fully take control of the narrative, she went for the jugular. “What are you going to wear tonight?”
I squirmed. “Wear?”
“Yeah. For your date. Where’s he taking you?”
“Oh, umm...” I turned my gaze toward the kitchen window and mumbled the restaurant’s name under my breath.
“Where?”
“The Gull and Oar.” I sensed an incoming snarky comment, so I pointed to a scarlet bird perched on the naked branch of the birch tree outside. “Look at that cardinal. What a gorgeous pop of color on such a dreary day.”
To my relief, her gaze followed mine, and her lips spread in a wistful smile. “I wish I had my camera here. I’ve come up with a new way to take photos, and that bird would be perfect to practice with.”
“Really?” Finally. A safe topic. “Tell me about it.”
She shrugged. “Not that much to tell. It’s a technique that’s been around for ages. I’ve just enhanced it with my own style. Black and white with a simple focal point in vivid color that stands out against the stark backdrop.”
“I get it.” I did. I could visualize it so clearly. “The bright red of the cardinal is a shock to the eye in contrast to the gray and white tree.”
“Exactly. I did a series of Christmas cards for one of my customers yesterday in this style. Plaid scarves fluttering on the kids’ dark wool coats, the line of streetlamps with the wreaths hanging. With each pose, I highlighted a different feature. The effect was ah-maz-ing. The mom was thrilled with the results.”
“You must have been thrilled she was thrilled.”
“I was.” Her smile faltered. “Then I agreed to only use it for her during the holidays.”
My jaw dropped. “Why would you do that? If the pictures were half as good as I imagine, you could have had customers begging to pay for your services this month. Christmas cards, landscape photos, you probably could have named your price.”
“You know me, Nana. I’m a sucker for a sob story.” She started to drop her chin onto her upraised fist on the table, but stopped halfway there and snapped up straight again. “But you’ve just given me a fabulous idea.”
“I have?”
She nodded, and her eyes lit up with excitement. “I told you Justin Vais hired me, right?”
“Yes, but...” I waved a hand. I wasn’t interested in her dealings with Justin. Jimmy was our target.
“Don’t you see?” She practically danced in her chair. “I can still use the style I developed, but not on Christmas cards—on his brochures. Landscapes. I’ll take some shots at the lighthouse, the village center waterfall, that new spa and hotel on Crab Beach. All at different times of the day: sunrise, sunset, noon...”
“Sunrise at the lighthouse would be gorgeous.” I don’t think she heard me. If she did, my comment no doubt came out like the adults in those old Charlie Brown cartoons. “Wuh-wuh, wuh-wuh, wuh...” I’d lost her to the creative fog all artists fell into when obsessing about a new project.
“I wish I’d thought of this sooner. I could’ve started first thing this morning. Oh, well. I can still grab a few pics at the waterfall or the spa. I’ll have to do sunrise tomorrow instead.”
There went my early morning yoga routine. Then she turned that laser focus back to me, and I cringed.
“So, what are you wearing tonight?”
♥♥♥♥
SIOBHAN
Once I got Nana’s fashion choice sorted out—I mean, seriously, who wears a caftan to a five-star restaurant?—I headed to my studio for my equipment and the notes I’d taken during my meeting with Justin last night. From what I remembered of our discussion, my idea would definitely fit his requirements. I just needed to make sure I hadn’t missed anything in his specifics.
With my memo pad in hand, I headed to the town center at Coffield’s Wharf where, I hoped, the sun would be in the ideal position to create million-dollar photos, or at least photos my client would love and pay a pretty penny for. I found a parking space easily. One of the best benefits of Snug Harbor in December was the lack of tourists. Beginning shortly after Mother’s Day and running ‘til late September, our sleepy town became a mecca for vacationers with money and time to burn. During those months, finding a parking space, a space to lay a towel on the beach, or even a table at a favorite restaurant became impossible. Add in the pumpkin people who showed up throughout October, and by mid-November, we can’t wait to have the town to ourselves again.
Today, the wharf was quiet with only the occasional passerby, bundled up in coat and gloves, huddling against the harsh sea breeze while rushing to get indoors. By the time I had my gear set up, the sun glinted like diamonds on the man-made pond. The wind ruffled through the ivory and scarlet poinsettias, and their leaves seemed to dance on the frantic air. My heart leaped. This was going to be perfect! I held my camera up to my eye and framed the first shot. Gorgeous! I snapped at least a dozen pictures, slowly sidling around the landscape to capture various angles of light and focusing on different aspects of the scene each time.
Click. Click. Click. Click. Click.
On the next opening of the lens, a smiling face filled my viewer—way too close—and I gasped, jumping back in surprise and letting the camera fall. Thank God for the strap around my neck!
With a hearty laugh, Justin shot out a hand to steady me. “Easy. Don’t fall.” He grabbed my upper arm in a strong yet gentle grip.
“You scared the crap outta me!”
“Sorry. I thought the photo would look better with a human in it. You know, for scale.”
“All I got was your giant eyeball.”
“Oh, good. That’s my best feature.” He leaned closer, squinting his left eye while making his right eye enormous. He looked like a cockeyed pirate. “Don’t you think so?”
I stifled a laugh. “What are you doing here?”
“Spotted your car in the lot, thought I’d see what you’re up to.” He nodded toward his landscape design. “I distinctly remember telling you I wanted you to include pics of this in the new brochures. Does this mean you’re already hard at work on the promo materials for my company?”
I shrugged. “I wanted to catch the waterfall at the right time of day. The angle of the sunlight makes all the difference.”
“That’s dedication. I’m glad Ted talked me into hiring you. Most places in Boston would have me waiting six months at least before I’d even hear from them again.”
Most places in Boston weren’t scrounging to make next month’s lease payment, I bet. I kept that comment to myself and donned the carefree successful artist persona I often wore these days. “I woke up with an idea this morning and couldn’t wait to get started.” Something else he’d said struck me, and I held up a hand. “Wait. How do you know what kind of car I drive?”
He snorted. “Hard to miss that blue van with the ‘Photos by Siobhan’ placards on the door that say.”
“Oh, right.” Didn’t I feel like the town’s biggest moron now? “They’re not placards, though. They’re magnets.”
“Handy,” he remarked with sarcastic admiration.
I felt the need to justify their ridiculous existence. “They are. I can put them on for work and take them off when...” Words failed me, since I rarely—if ever—took the dumb things off.
“When you have a hot date?”
He made it sound like that happened once in a green moon. Well, he was wrong. It was even rarer. But I wasn’t about to discuss my love life with Justin Vais. “Yeah.” I lifted the camera to my eye again. “Enough small talk. Back to work.”
His face filled the viewer again. “What’s your hurry?”
“I want to catch the light right.”
“Oh.” He stepped out of the frame, thank God. “Mind if I watch then?”
“Don’t you have work to do?”
“I have a meeting with a client at two. Until then, I’m all yours.”
“Gee,” I retorted. “How’d I get so lucky?”
“Dunno. Did you make a wish on a falling star or something?”
I cocked my head at him, allowed myself to scrutinize him from head to toe. Who would’ve thought the scrawny annoying brat would grow up—at least, on the outside. “Hmm. Given the results, I must’ve been mistaken about the star. It was probably falling poop from a seagull that flew too close to the old nuclear power plant.”
He sucked in an exaggerated breath. “Ouch. What’d I ever do to you?”
“Right now, you’re blocking my light.”
“Wow. Tough crowd. Makes me afraid to ask what you do to the kids who close their eyes when you’re trying to take their picture. Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Do you execute ‘em?”
“Nope.” I lifted the camera again, but this time, I pointed it at him and depressed the shutter. “I just tape their eyes open. They never make that same mistake again.”
I clicked off a few more shots until he blocked his face with a hand. “Stop, okay? Are you finished making me uncomfortable yet?”
“Nope.” I snapped two more. “That should do it.” When I lowered the camera, he wore an expression I couldn’t quite fathom—part amusement, part confusion, part interest, and part who-is-this-person-and-why-am-I-having-fun-with-her. “What?” I asked.
“I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
“About what?”
“You. You always struck me as this serious, no-personality, appearance-is-everything kind of girl.”
“And you always struck me as a smart-ass brat, so at least one of us was right.”
He laughed. “Yeah, you’re probably right about that, too. Okay, I get it. I’m intruding on your creative time. I’ll leave you alone for now. When do you think you’ll have proofs for me?”
I looked up at the sky to gauge the sun, figured I’d done all I could here today and started packing up. “Sometime next week, I think.”
His eyes rounded. “That fast?”
I hid a wince. Did I sound as desperate as I was? Once again, I feigned nonchalance. “May as well get used to it, Justin. You’re not in Boston anymore. Small town people expect answers right away and won’t wait six months for the completion of a project. We, as business owners here, aim to please our customers.”
Smirking, he offered me a mock salute. “I’ll keep that in mind, princess. So far, I’m very pleased with you. Talk to you soon.” He stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets and strolled away.
I stood near the waterfall, watching him leave, my brain struggling to register what just happened. Somehow, I got the feeling few people got the better of him. For a brief second, I thought I did. Then he turned it all around again and got the better of me with a backhanded insincere compliment.
Which was worse? His jerky attitude or his brother’s?
♥♥♥♥
ALTHEA
Siobhan insisted I couldn’t wear a caftan and my Keds to the Gull and Oar. As if anyone would notice what I had on and care. After all, once I was seated, I’d only be visible from the waist up anyway. The gold and red floral pattern would look like a pretty blouse to the other customers and restaurant staff. But, no. Bon-Bon made me promise I’d wear something dressier.
Still, I wanted to be comfortable. After some heated debates, we finally settled on a deep blue, crushed velvet jumpsuit that worked for both of us. I loved the bell bottom cuffs and the drawstring waist. At my age, I’d outgrown the need to suck in my gut by shimmying into control-top pantyhose and stumble around in high heels meant to arch my back for a man’s appreciation. And I told her so. When she pushed a pair of silver ballet flats on my feet, I was surprised how nice they looked peeking out from the hem of my pants.
“And they won’t make your feet ache or arch your back to entice Captain Lou,” she pointed out.
Because I didn’t like her snippy attitude, and besides, the whole date idea made me ornery, I retorted with, “I’m not puttin’ on tons of makeup or a bunch of jewelry, either. I’m too old for that kinda stuff. I’d look like some vain woman, desperately trying to cling to her youth. I won’t be seen as ridiculous. I’m seventy years old and proud of it. Lou’s getting me the way God made me, wrinkles and all. Take a tip from me, Bon-Bon. Love who you are first. Only then will real love find you.” My granddaughter glared at me, and I realized a minute too late I’d touched on a sore subject. I had to backpedal. Fast. I fussed with my collar. “I swear, if Lou makes one snide comment about how I look, this date is off.”
The anger left her eyes, but the hurt remained. I’d have to double down on my efforts to get her fixed up with Jimmy Vais. Once she was happily in a relationship, she’d mellow out.
When Lou showed up at six on the dot, the look he sent my way didn’t make me feel ridiculous at all. He made me feel...admired. “I’ve been looking forward to this night for forty-five years,” he murmured, “but I still never fully appreciated the gravity of this moment. Thanks for agreeing to go out with me, dollface.”
I swear to God, I blushed. “You’re welcome.”
The ride to the restaurant was quiet. My mind couldn’t grasp that I was on a date—and with Lou Rugerman, no less! I stole a glance at him while he focused on the road. He was still an exceptionally good-looking man. Tonight, he wore a button-down shirt in powder blue that perfectly matched his eyes, a black sport coat and black slacks. His unruly curls had been tamed. He’d even shaved! I’d never seen him without his signature scruff or wearing anything other than jeans, t-shirts, and outdoor rain gear. Glancing down at the velvet pants I wore, I mouthed a silent thank you to Siobhan for fighting with me about my outfit. She’d been right. My caftan would have been completely wrong and set a bad foundation for the evening.
Conversation was stilted. After forty-plus years, Lou and I were miles past the small talk stage and, despite a certain intimacy we’d shared decades ago, we were still little more than strangers to each other. It was an odd juxtaposition, knowing he’d seen parts of my body on one fateful night that only my husband and I had ever previously been familiar with.
I could still recall the heavy humidity in the air that horrible Friday in August. The air was so stifling that breathing took more effort than I had the energy to expel. I’d worked a full day at the supermarket, fighting off several bouts of nausea and the occasional twinge in my back. A few days earlier, I’d finally received a letter from Archie, who was at that time stationed in Truong Lam, too far away and remote for phone calls. I’d already read the letter twice and had pulled it from the envelope to read a third time when the first pain hit, a hot knife through my abdomen. Gasping, I sank to my knees. At the last second, I clutched the edge of the dinette table to keep from hitting the floor. I hung there, struggling to get back on my feet when another contraction tore into me. I gave up the fight and landed on my butt. Instinctively, I rolled to my side and brought my knees toward my chest.
Oh, God, no. It’s too soon. Way too soon!
The pain came in waves now, eliciting screams from me that had my ears ringing. I curled up tighter, clutching my belly in the hope I could stave off the inevitable. I never heard Lou bust open my door, but there he was, kneeling beside me and pushing the hair off my forehead.
“Mom!” he shouted up at my ceiling. “Call an ambulance!” In a softer voice, he crooned to me, “Easy, Thea. I’m gonna help, okay? What can I do?”
“Help me up.”
His ruddy complexion paled, and his eyes widened with panic. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You probably shouldn’t move ‘til the ambulance gets here.”
I looked up at him, and the tears fell from my eyes before I could stop them. “I’m wet, Lou,” I confessed. “Soaking wet. I need to know if it’s...” I couldn’t say the word. If I said it aloud, I’d make it true. Not that it mattered. One look at Lou’s somber expression told me I was bleeding profusely. “I’m losing the baby, aren’t I?”
To Lou’s credit, he didn’t try to fool me. “I think so. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, God!” I wailed both at the incredible pain and the absolute loss I experienced.
Lou stretched out on the floor next to me and drew me up against his warm, strong body. “I’m gonna stay right here with you, okay? Until help gets here. You’re not alone. I’m here. I won’t leave you.” He placed his large hand over mine on my belly.
His even breathing and steady presence kept me calm until the EMTs arrived to take me to the hospital where my worst fears were confirmed. Through it all, Lou kept his promise, holding my hand while riding along in the ambulance, staying by my side during the very invasive exam in the ER, and only letting me out of his sight when the doctor insisted he couldn’t accompany me into the operating room. Yet, when I came to in my semi-private room God-knew-how many-hours later, it wasn’t Archie’s concerned face that greeted my eyes, it was Lou who slept in a chair at my bedside.
We never talked about that evening again. I mean, it wasn’t exactly a topic polite people mentioned at cocktail parties—or on dates. Never let it be said, however, that I was one of those “polite” people. As Lou turned onto Main Street, I reached out a hand and touched his forearm. “I never thanked you, you know.”
He swerved his head from the road to glance at me. “For what?”
“That night. The night I miscarried.”
He refocused his attention on his driving. “Oh. That was a long time ago. I’d forgotten all about it.”
I twisted my hands in my lap. “I didn’t. You were extraordinary when I was a total wreck. At first, I thought you were crazy when you spooned me on the floor, but you holding me like that kept me from pumping blood faster and probably saved my life. That was genius. I doubt any other teenager would’ve thought to do that. I don’t know if any other non-medical adult could’ve handled that moment as calmly as you did.”
“Whoa! Hold up. I think you’ve got a faraway look about the whole incident.” He pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot and found a spot in the front.
I blinked. “Faraway look?”
He cut the engine before turning in the driver’s seat to face me head-on. “Yeah. Because it happened a long time ago, the memory is far away. And you’re looking at it as you want to see it, not as it really happened. When you’re out at sea and there’s a lot of distance, you tend to perceive what you think you see, and not necessarily what you’re actually seeing. That’s how the Titanic missed the iceberg ‘til it was too late. In your case, you were also going through something pretty traumatic that night, so it’s easy to understand why you’ve skewed the facts. You’re remembering what you want to remember. To tell you the truth, I was hardly the extraordinary genius you think I was. When I saw you curled up on the floor, and all that blood on your skirt, I was downright terrified. I nestled you against me because I didn’t want you to see me crying.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. I was a kid, thrust into a situation way over my head. I thought you were going to die, and I couldn’t bear to watch the life drain from your eyes.”
I considered his words, and a sudden thought had me grinning. “All these years I thought you were wasting your life on those party boats when you should’ve been an obstetrician.”
His laughter rumbled up from his chest, rich and full of humor. “No, thanks. You know what they say. ‘A bad day of fishing still beats a good day at work.’”
I gave him a dubious look. “Who in the world says that?”
“Me, but I’m pretty sure I first read it on a wooden sign in Nia Wainwright’s gift shop.” He unclipped his seatbelt. “You ready?”
I checked out the front entrance of the restaurant, surprised at the changes in yet another of my longtime memories. Gone were the old neon sign with the eternally buzzing capital G and the weathered wooden deck where knotholes could catch a heel and send a guest toppling. In their place was a striped awning that proclaimed the restaurant’s name in elegant black script and a larger, sleeker outdoor dining area, complete with a slate floor, for the summer crowds. I sighed. Everything around me kept changing. Maybe Lou was right. Maybe I did see the whole town with my faraway look. If that was the case, maybe it was time for me to start seeing things as they were, rather than as I remembered them—especially the man beside me.
“Yes,” I said with open enthusiasm as I unclipped my seatbelt. “Let’s go.”
The restaurant’s interior was even more changed than the exterior, though, to my delight, the new owners had kept the original bar. Made out of one long piece of an elm tree uprooted during the infamous hurricane of 1938 known as the Long Island Express, that polished bar was treasured history to locals. Nothing else looked the same as it used to be. The old dark wood paneling had given way to walls of windows and vaulted ceilings, creating a light and airy atmosphere. We sat at a table overlooking the rear courtyard, which was barren and gray on this December evening, but I could readily imagine how lively and colorful the gardens would look in the warmer months.
“I really am glad you’re here,” Lou said, drawing my attention away from the window. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you.”
I unfolded my napkin and placed it in my lap. “Years. How are things with you? The fishing business? Your kids?” Lou had two daughters and a son. The girls were both married, and Evan was living with his long-time partner.
“Mostly good. I worry about Kristen. That husband of hers...” He shook his head. “But I try to stay out of it. And Courtney’s pregnant. The baby’s due in June. She and Brice are over the moon.”
I clapped with delight. “Wow. You’re finally going to be a grandpa! Congratulations.”
He beamed. “Yeah. And I’m already kind of a grandpa. Evan and Dom are foster parents these days. They’ve got a ten-year-old boy named Jesse, who’s a pretty good fisherman already, and his baby sister. I think she’s two or so.”
I bit back an indulgent smile. “What’s her name?”
“Huh?” He looked at me, his face void of expression. “Who?”
“The little girl. Jesse’s sister. What’s her name?”
He scratched his temple in obvious puzzlement. “Angela, I think. No. Wait. Maybe it’s Angelina? Something with ‘angel’ in it, I’m sure.” He paused. “I’m pretty sure.”
It figured. Lou could relate to the boy, talk fishing with him. But a little girl he couldn’t take on the boat or to a baseball game didn’t register in his mind.
I reached across the table to clasp his hand. “Never mind. Don’t tax yourself.”
“She’s just a baby,” he tried to explain. “I don’t spend a lot of time with her.”
Men of my generation all seemed to suffer from that malady. “Well, I hope your son pays the poor baby some attention,” I retorted.
“Are you kidding? He’s crazy about that little girl. You’d think he gave birth to her himself.”
I quirked a brow. “That’d be a neat trick.”
He flushed and looked past me, but he squeezed my hand, so he knew I was teasing. “You know what I meant.”
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of delicious food and even better conversation. Remember how I said my juices still ran as full as they did in my youth? So did Lou’s. And I admit, it was fun to hang out with someone close to my age who didn’t act old just because he had an AARP card. Like all those idiots content to sit in their cookie-cutter condos at Sunny Hills and wait for death to come calling. Not me. And not Lou, either.
At the end of the date, he walked me to my door. I wasn’t sure what to do next. It’d been fifty-some-odd years since my last first date. Nowadays, I had no parents waiting up for me, though I’d bet my last pair of clean underwear during the apocalypse Siobhan was awake and ready to pounce the minute I walked inside. I paused on the front porch, bouncing from one ballet-slippered foot to the other. “Well, umm...thanks for dinner,” I said at last.
“Thanks for coming out with me.” He touched my hand, tentative but secure. “I’d like to kiss you. Would that be all right? Or will you club me with a garden gnome for trying?”
I snorted back a laugh. “I think you’ll be safe.”
His lips landed on mine, warm but harsh thanks to his life on the sea, with a sweet mint taste from the hard candy he’d swiped out of the basket at the maître d’s station when we left the restaurant. It had been years since a man kissed me—a real kiss, not a peck from my son or an old friend. While Lou was an old friend, his was a kiss of passion, and the man had a set of talented lips. Too soon, he broke the kiss, taking a step back and leaving me befuddled.
“Thanks again. See ya around, dollface.”
Whistling an old song I remembered from the sixties, he strolled down to the curb where his car waited, while I fumbled with my keys and scuttled into the house.