Leaving Normal, Stef Holm [ebook reader screen .TXT] 📗

backyard squirrels and birds, and I help out at my daughter's store. I make the deliveries. I get to meet a lot of people that way…" His voice trailed, he stared hard at her. "I remember everyone who I make a delivery to and I wonder if they remember me."

Then he said nothing further, but she had the strange feeling she should have added something or rnade a comment.

"I'm sure you're good at it," was all she managed, thinking that in a familiar way, she should know what he was talking about, but why couldn't she remember?

Damn menopause anyway; it messed with her memory sometimes.

"Is there anything else I can help you with?" she asked, not really wanting him to leave, but she did have that review, and her performance would be under scrutiny—much as it was now. Her performance as a woman, that is.

She felt as if she was saying the wrong things, perhaps acting as if she wasn't interested in him when she was, and yet, she wasn't the kind of woman to throw herself at a man. It was usually the other way around and they did the throwing at her.

Fred was different. He appeared very cool under pressure, or maybe he wasn't interested in her in the way she felt she could be interested in him.

That thought made her frown. Perhaps she had misread him.

"Yes, there is some thing else," he replied.

And it was then that she knew he was interested because he got this vague blush across his cheeks that touched the tips of his ears.

She waited for him to elaborate.

"I was thinking…since you aren't married and neither am I and I was thinking that maybe when you get off work you might want to meet me in the snack bar and we can talk more…maybe. If you aren't busy after work. I was just thinking maybe…but it's up to you. You can say no."

"Yes." She didn't take a second to contemplate it— she responded in an impulsive manner.

"Yes?"

"Yes, I would like that, Fred." She slid her fingertip down the price-scanner gun, her thoughts running together. "But I don't get off until six and then I have a performance evaluation."

Fred did something completely unexpected when she said that. He burst into laughter and she was momentarily taken aback.

"I feel like I've had some performance anxiety just asking you to meet me in the cafe. I don't do this sort of thing, you know."

"Neither do I." She laughed with him. "You're the first customer to ask me to meet him after work."

"As pretty as you are, I find that hard to believe."

Now it was her turn to blush. "I can call you when my evaluation is over so you don't have to wait. I'd need your cell-phone number."

"I don't have a cell phone."

"You don't? I like mine. It's very handy."

"I don't call many people. Just my girls, the dentist and the doctor. I called the rug-cleaning outfit last week to have my carpets cleaned, but I didn't need a cell phone to call them." He rubbed his jaw. "I don't mind waiting. I'll come back at six o'clock, find a good table, and when you're able, you can join me."

"All right—since you don't mind."

"Not at all. I'm planning on buying the latest Popular Science, so I'll give it a look over while you're being given the look over by your boss." He took a sip of his slushy and added, "I hope you do okay."

"I don't worry too much about it. I've worked here for three years. If I can't pass a performance assessment by now, then I'd better start looking for another job."

"What would you do?"

Iris pondered that a moment. "Honestly…I don't know. But I'd think of something. I'm not one to rest on my laurels. I have to save for my retirement."

For some reason, what she said made him smile. He spoke with a quiet tone, one reserved with admiration. "I'm looking forward to this evening, Iris."

His smile was infectious, a spark of something burning to life in the core of her heart. "Me, too, Fred."

Chapter Fourteen

Guns and Hoses

Aunt Natalie, I think you should wear this top instead of the one you have on."

Natalie gazed at the slinky, black silk blouse on a hanger that BreeAnn held for her inspection.

Sydney agreed. "Yeah, it's sexier."

Her eleven- and thirteen-year-old nieces had come over with Sarah. They'd said it was to bring back the lawn chairs Sarah had borrowed. If it hadn't been six months ago and the weather too cold to sit on the patio, Natalie might have bought into it. But since she recalled telling Sarah she could have the chairs, the excuse was thin, not to mention, concocted.

The three of them had come over to offer their clothing and makeup suggestions to get her ready for the hockey game.

In hindsight, Natalie never should have told Sarah that she'd gone to Chuck E. Cheese's with Tony, much less that he'd invited her, as friends, to a Steelies game.

But with a careless comment on the phone this morning during her conversation with her sister, she'd blabbed. Maybe it had been the rush of excitement that Natalie had been trying to keep at bay—whatever it was it had gotten the best of her.

She didn't know why she was so anxious about tonight. Probably because her sister and nieces had gone into overdrive making sure she looked perfect.

The special attention was unnerving.

BreeAnn and Sydney were like miniatures of Sarah; they liked to dress the same, wear makeup and their hair was always styled. Natalie thought it a bit much, but then Cassie had preferred to play sports than take an hour to flatten her hair. BreeAnn was the queen of hair design.

Grudgingly, Natalie allowed BreeAnn to fix her hair and it had turned out really good. Great, in fact. BreeAnn had gotten the layers to curl just right so that they fell in soft curves around her cheeks and lay against her neck.

Sydney was the