Why Not Tonight?

“Your grandma coming up to visit you any time soon?”

“In November. For her birthday. She’s turning seventy-five, but last time I saw her, she informed me that seventy-five is the new sixty. Based on how active she is, I believe it.”

Mallory was about to interrupt, suspecting by the speculative look in Mrs. Trigali’s eyes that Adam was about to be bombarded with a barrage of personal questions of the “are you married, what do you do for a living, how are your finances” variety, but before she could say a word, a loud knocking sounded on the door.

“Anybody home?” came a muffled masculine voice. “Don’t start the meeting without me.”

“Oh, it’s that pest Ray Finney,” Mrs. Trigali said in an undertone, her features pinching with clear displeasure. “I should have known he’d show up. Well, if he thinks he’s getting any of my ham and provolone, he’s mistaken.”

Mallory pressed her lips together to hide her amusement and headed toward the door. From the first day Mr. Finney had moved into the small ranch next door to Mrs. Trigali three months ago, they’d rubbed each other the wrong way. She complained that he made too much noise with his power tools, and he thought she was a busybody.

When she opened the door, she was greeted by a heat-wave induced blast of hot, humid air and Mr. Finney who carried a flashlight in one hand and a large canvas tote similar to Mrs. Trigali’s in the other. As always, his full head of white hair was neatly combed and his tortoise-shell-rimmed bifocals rode low on his nose. He wore his usual summer attire of rumpled, short-sleeved tropical-print shirt, wrinkled khaki shorts and battered deck shoes.

“The meeting hasn’t started yet, has it?” he asked with a smile, stepping into the foyer.

Before Mallory could answer, he caught sight of Mrs. Trigali and he froze, his smile faltering. He jerked his head in a nod. “Evening, Sophia.”

Mrs. Trigali raised her chin. “Ray.”

Mallory introduced Adam and the two men shook hands.

“What do you have in that tote bag, Ray?” Mrs. Trigali asked, eyeing the canvas bag as if it contained snakes.

“My emergency supplies.” He ticked off items on his fingers. “Battery-operated radio, extra flashlights and batteries, candles, matches, a bottle of single-malt scotch, a deck of cards and poker chips, Oreo cookies and canned spaghetti with meatballs-and a can opener.”

“Canned spaghetti and meatballs?” Mrs. Trigali said, her nose wrinkling with obvious distaste. “What sort of man eats canned spaghetti and meatballs?”

“The sort of man who doesn’t know how to cook something unless he can slap it on a grill.” He turned his attention to Mallory. “Carl and Tina Webber are out of town, so they won’t be coming to the meeting. I’m not sure about Wanda Newton.”

“Wanda’s in Jersey this weekend visiting her son,” Mrs. Trigali said. “So it’s just us,” she and Mr. Finney said in unison. They turned and glared at each other.

Wanting to forestall an argument and get her evening with Adam back on track, Mallory quickly interjected, “Mrs. Trigali, I keep my emergency supplies in the kitchen. Do you think you could bring your flashlight to help me find them?”

“Of course, my dear.” She directed her beam of light toward the archway that led to Mallory’s kitchen and moved forward.

“We’ll be right back,” Mallory murmured, shooting Adam a quick smile. To her relief, his good humor was clearly still intact as he smiled in return and shot her a wink. To her further relief, there was no missing the desire banked in his eyes.

As soon as she entered the kitchen, Mrs. Trigali grabbed her hand and pulled her to the farthest corner. The low murmur of male voices reached them, indicating Adam and Mr. Finney were chatting.

“Okay, tell me everything,” Mrs. Trigali whispered.

“Everything about what?” Mallory whispered back.

Mrs. Trigali looked toward the ceiling. “About your new young man. You can start by telling me what happened to your other man, Greg.”

“We’re no longer together.”

Mrs. Trigali nodded, her sharp eyes alight with…something. “Aha. I knew something wasn’t right there.”

“You did?”

“Of course. You dated him for months, yet you still weren’t in love with him. If you haven’t fallen in love after all that time, it’s never going to happen.”

Well, hell. Now she gets this great advice. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Mallory asked, half-joking.

“You didn’t ask me. Besides, that’s the sort of thing a woman has to find out for herself. Now tell me, when and where did you meet this Adam?”

Mallory suppressed a knowing grin. She’d known the questions would come and it occurred to her as it often did that her neighbor would make a fine newspaper reporter. She had a nose for a story and an uncanny knack for ferreting out information. Some people, namely Mr. Finney, found that trait annoying, but Mallory found Mrs. Trigali’s ways endearing and motherly. Her husband had passed away five years ago after forty years of marriage, and Mallory knew the woman suffered from bouts of loneliness. At least once a month they had dinner together to swap stories and recipes.

“Adam and I have known each other for years, even dated briefly, but we lost touch about five years ago. We bumped into each other last week and-”

“And here he is. So he’s ‘The One Who Got Away.’” Mrs. Trigali’s dark eyes lit up with unmistakable excitement. “I just read an article about this in Metro Chick magazine. Did you know that eighty-eight percent of women who meet up again with ‘The One Who Got Away’ discover that he’s ‘The One’? Eighty-eight percent, my dear.”

Mallory couldn’t help but chuckle. “So I’ve recently heard. When did you start reading Metro Chick?”

“Just started. My fifteen-year-old granddaughter bought me a subscription saying I needed to ‘get more hip’ and ‘check out the hotties.’ I must say, after just one issue, I’ve learned a lot. Who knew lip gloss came in so many flavors? And did you know that two out of three men prefer the cherry-flavored?”

“To wear?” Mallory teased.

“No, my dear. To kiss. I drove right over to Walgreens and bought some.”

“Oh? Who are you planning to kiss?”

Mrs. Trigali became visibly flustered. “No one. But you know my motto-Always Be Prepared. But back to your new young man-now he’s what Metro Chick would call a hottie. Wanna borrow my lip gloss?”

Smothering a laugh, Mallory reached out and hugged the woman. “That’s very sweet, but I already have some.”

“Good. Make sure you use it. I like your Adam. He’s a fine young man, I can tell. He’s polite and he clearly loves his grandma. That counts for a lot.”

“We’re only friends.”

“Perhaps for now-but don’t forget. Eighty-eight percent.”

“We have…very different lives. I’m not planning that we’ll even see each other after tonight.” She firmly ignored the unsettling flutter her words caused in her midsection.

Mrs. Trigali studied her over the rims of her bifocals for several long seconds, then said, “That may be your plan, my dear, but I don’t believe it’s his.”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw how he looked at you.” She leaned closer and her voice dropped even lower. “He’s very interested.”

Yes-very interested in picking up where they’d left off. As was she. But there was nothing more to it than that. Of course, she wasn’t about to share tidbits that personal with Mrs. Trigali.

“He’s leaving for an extended trip to Europe the day after tomorrow, and after that he’s off to God knows where