"I hope you've been doing all right," she said, the sentiment seeming so mechanical.
"We're getting along pretty well these days. My sons are playing in home games tonight at two different schools and I'm spread thin. These are the times I wish I had a clone." The pleasant, albeit stressed, laugh was added to the latter.
Natalie smiled. "Well, is there anything I can do to help you on your way?"
He grew quiet, thoughtful. "Actually, I was wondering if you were still married. I noticed you aren't wearing a ring anymore."
"Oh…" Automatically, she gazed at her left hand. "I'm divorced."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It's fine. For the best," she hastened to add.
"Well, good. Then I was hoping you'd join me for dinner one evening."
Taking a moment to let him continue, she regarded him.
"I know you probably get asked out a lot, and you don't know me," he went on. "But the first time I came in, I recognized you and I've come back a few times now just to buy some things I don't really need."
His confession warmed her heart, made her smile widen.
"I realize it's the holidays and everyone's busy," he added. "But I'd really like to take you out to dinner."
Natalie suddenly felt nervous, noticing he looked at her with more than casual interest. How long had it been since a man had caught her attention? Jonathon was nice-looking, pleasant to talk with, and he was a widower. They were a different breed. No baggage, no ex-wife. He'd had a good marriage and that was a plus.
Why, then, didn't she just accept?
"I think your offer is very generous, Jonathon, but you're right about the holidays. I just opened the store and my daughter's coming home in a few days and she'll be with me through the holidays."
He nodded, shrugged. "I understand about family." In a voice that was both soft, yet firm, he added, "Maybe you can find the time after the first of the year. I'd really like to take you out—if you're not seeing anyone."
For the briefest of instants, Tony Cruz's face flashed before her. It was utterly ludicrous that she'd even think about him right now.
"No, I'm not seeing anyone. I've just been too busy."
"Then it'll do you good to have a relaxing dinner. After the first, can I call you?"
She licked her dry lips and, unbidden, glanced over her shoulder at Sarah, who was fixated on them. "All right." She slipped a hand into her apron pocket, and pulled oat a Hat and Garden business card. "You can get hold of me here."
"Thanks, Natalie. I'll look forward to it." He pocketed the card. "I hope you have a merry Christmas."
"Thank you. Same to you."
He left and Natalie returned to the cash-register counter, raising her hand to silence Sarah before she could open her mouth. "I really am busy and I really might go out to dinner with him and I don't need any input. I have to check on Dad. I sent him out on deliveries over an hour ago and I see he hasn't returned, so honestly, Sarah, I don't need to hear whatever it is you want to say."
Sarah's mouth dropped open, then snapped closed. A few seconds later, she gave Natalie a scowl. "I was only going to say that we're all out of gingerbread-man cookies for the tea cart and I'll go get some more."
"Hmm," Natalie responded, more of a hum than a reply. A quick glance to the tea cart with its carafe of spiced apple cider and its silver tray empty of shaped-iced cookies, Natalie bit back anything further she would have said.
Indeed, they were out of gingerbread men.
But she was quite certain Sarah would have been mentioning a different sort of "man" had she been given the chance.
* * *
Fred Miller drove the 1997 Ford Econoline van with Hat and Garden scripted in pink across the side. The big gas guzzler was filled with flower arrangements, and the interior air was perfumed like a hothouse.
Absently, he sniffed his shirtsleeve and wondered if he smelled like flowers. Hard to say. He detected a hint of starch from the dry cleaners where he had his shirt laundered.
A Big Gulp sat in the drinks console, and as Fred turned the steering wheel, crushed ice inside the cup sloshed up against the lid. Dr Pepper was a second choice over what he really would have liked to be drinking. He wished he had been sent in the direction of Target; he would've made a quick pit stop for a white-cherry slushy, but Natalie had him delivering to southeast Boise.
Glancing at the road map he'd printed from Natalie's computer, he checked the cross streets, signaled and proceeded. The subdivision was fairly new, kept up nicely but didn't have mature trees. A yard needed a bunch of mature trees in order to attract squirrels.
Squirrels were God's gift to the retired.
At sixty-one years old, he was amazed by how much he depended on those squirrels to entertain him. He had a big yard up on the Boise bench and he could sit out there for hours and watch them. His favorite thing to view was when they'd lift the lid off the peanut box and take a nut out. He had often wondered how they'd figured that out. How did they know that the lid could lift up? There were bite marks on it, little tooth scratches so, at one time, they had thought to gnaw their way through the wood. Then one of them must have been smart enough to figure out that the lid came up. It was something that would remain a mystery to him.
Hell, he had time to figure it out. He was in no hurry.
He'd rushed all his life delivering mail. It was always hurry up and go. Now that he'd been retired, he did everything slow. He got up in the morning slow, he read the paper slow, he dressed slow, he drank his coffee slow,
