They got a table on the patio. It was barely four in the afternoon, but an awning protected them from the sun. The server came around and they each ordered a glass of wine. Red for her, white for him. Art asked for a couple of cubes of ice in his. When the server flinched, Denise did her best not to cringe.
“So tell me about yourself,” Denise said, knowing she was stuck for at least half an hour. Then she told herself she shouldn’t be so quick to judge Art. He was probably a very nice man. If she gave him a chance, maybe they would hit it off.
“I’m retired,” he began. “I live east of Sacramento, in a nice little mobile-home park. Got me a double-wide. But I’m thinking of moving to Florida. Love Florida. There’s lots of fishing. You fish?”
“Not so much.”
“You should try it. It’s great fun. I’ve been looking at some real estate online. I can’t decide between a condo or a patio home. I don’t want to worry about a yard.” He grinned. “At my age, you always got to be concerned about a heart attack.”
The server returned with their wine and a mini quesadilla.
Art swirled his glass, clinking the ice cubes together, then took a sip. He smacked his lips together. “That’s a fine wine.” He looked over the quesadilla. “I’m really not supposed to have a lot of cheese,” he said, then grinned. “What the hey. You only live once, right?”
He picked up the whole quesadilla and swallowed it in two bites. Then he looked at Denise. “Did you want some of that?”
“I guess not.”
Art seemed unfazed by her response. “We can order another one.”
“That’s okay. I’m not hungry.”
They spent the next ten or fifteen minutes discussing the ins and outs of retirement financial planning. Art was very proud of his 401(k). He also told her in great detail what she should look for when she had to pick a Medicare supplement.
“I’m a few years from Medicare,” she said faintly.
“It’s never too early to start getting prepared.”
“I suppose.”
So far she hadn’t touched her wine. As a rule, she didn’t like to have a glass without having something to eat, but she wasn’t going to order more food. That would not only be awkward, it would mean she would have to stay longer.
She checked her watch. It had only been twenty minutes. Was there something wrong with the earth’s rotation? It felt like an hour had passed. She sighed.
“What else do you like to do?” she asked. So far they had only talked about Art, but she was okay with that. It wasn’t as if they were going to have a relationship.
He set down his glass and leaned toward her. If she didn’t know better, she would swear he was leering at her.
“I still enjoy those bedroom games,” he said with a wink. “I wouldn’t mind doing a round or two of the escaped prisoner and the warden’s wife, if you’re interested.”
Denise opened her mouth, then closed it. She felt herself blushing and hoped no one had heard him.
She stood. “I don’t think so. It was very nice to meet you, Art, but it’s time for me to go.”
He grabbed her hand. “You’ve been widowed ten years now. You’ve got to be hurting. I’m willing to help, offer what I can.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. Frankly, the best idea seemed to be throwing his ice cubes with white wine in his lap. But that would cause a scene and she wasn’t that kind of woman. More’s the pity.
“Goodbye,” she said firmly, as she put her handbag over her shoulder.
She turned and marched purposefully toward the exit. The stone path was a little uneven and as she rounded the corner she nearly lost her balance. Before she began to fall, she felt someone take hold of her arm and steady her. For one horrifying moment, she thought that Art had followed her. That he was the kind of man who didn’t understand the word no.
She straightened and looked at the man who had rescued her.
Frying pan, meet fire, she thought, staring into a familiar pair of dark blue eyes.
She might not have seen Max Thurman in nearly forty years, having spent the past year avoiding running into him, but she sure recognized him. He had the same broad shoulders, the same muscled build. And, dammit all to hell, the man still looked like a god in jeans.
“Denise?”
Max stared at her. She thought he looked more pleased than surprised, but she wasn’t sure. Just as unsettling, her stomach went all fluttery, and she felt nervous, as she had when she’d first met him. She’d been seventeen and he’d been twenty. A man, while she’d still been on that cusp between girl and woman. The night of her eighteenth birthday he’d helped her cross over.
He grinned. “It is you. I’ve been hoping we would run—”
Into each other? Not likely. She’d done her best to make sure that never happened. She’d wanted to avoid any moment like this one.
“I have to go,” she said desperately, interrupting him.
She couldn’t talk to him now, not like this. Not after all this time. What if he saw Art and thought they were together? What if he said she looked old or…
Her mind was close to exploding with hideous scenarios. So much for the years adding serenity and grace.