Leaving Normal by Stef Holm (whitelam books txt) 📗

he ate his lunch slow… Everything he could do, he savored and he enjoyed.

Making flower deliveries for Natalie wasn't a full-time job and, after Christmas, he probably wouldn't be doing it as much. He was bothered by the fact that his daughter insisted on paying him. He would have helped her out for nothing.

While working for her got him out of the house, he liked his off-days, when he could take his time with all that he had to do.

Scanning the mailboxes for the correct address number, he pulled over to the curb. Shifting the gear column into Park, he pressed down on the brake. This van was a fuel monster compared to his Hyundai Elantra with its sporty sunroof.

He loved his car.

AARP said that when a man retired he needed to trade up to one of those big luxury cars. To hell with that. He wasn't a Cadillac kind of guy. Not even a Buick Century kind of guy. An economy car did him just fine, although there were those rare occasions when he caught himself getting in on the wrong side to operate it. Old habits died hard, and the older he got the more he regressed to the old days. He'd used the passenger side for so many years to operate a government Jeep, he sometimes forgot the right way to start up the Elantra. And damn if it didn't get his Dutch up when he did that.

Stepping out of the van, he ambled to the back, opened the door and got the iris arrangement. The thick cluster of flowers were a deep purple-blue with yellow eyes. The card read:

Sarah's handwriting couldn't find its way out of a paper bag it was so sloppy. All he could make out was the "C" of the last name. The rest was one big squiggly line.

As Fred took the walkway up to the front door, he thought whoever sent Iris some irises was pretty clever.

He punched the doorbell and waited for an answer.

The door opened and a woman stood in the opening. At first glance he assumed she was younger than she was by the nice shape of her figure. On closer inspection, she was actually a more mature lady. Not mature in a way that was aged and unbecoming, unflattering or unappealing. But mature in a very lovely way.

She was tall, too. Probably a couple inches taller than him.

He gazed at her feet to see if she was wearing heeled shoes. No.

He hadn't dated much since he'd been a widower. The first several years had been hard ones, then he'd gotten into the swing of things being on his own. He'd had a few dates his girls didn't know about. Decided real quick that women his age were no fun. Amazing how many didn't want to go to the lake because they didn't swim, or the sun was too hot or they didn't water-ski because of their hip. Or didn't want to in-line skate or bike. Didn't want him to open the sunroof on his car because the wind gave them an earache. Or didn't want

to go to Las Vegas because plane travel upset their stomachs. Those who took a shine to him had only been interested in being taken care of by his retirement checks. He was no woman's keeper. He'd only done that for the single love of his life because she had been the mother to his children, and nobody else could ever replace that special spot in his heart.

"Flowers for Iris," Fred found himself saying, staring into a pair of nice brown eyes.

"I'm Iris." -

He should have known.

She was very attractive. He liked her hair. The light shone on it in a soft, kind of warm way that looked nice. Her eyes were brown and she actually wore makeup. Many of the ladies his age had forgone makeup and styling their hair. They'd gone over to the dark side— bouffants and Marlene Dietrich eyebrows.

"Then these are for you."

"How sweet." She took them, paused and said, "Oh, let me thank you for your time."

He knew what she was getting at—a tip. "No thanks necessary. I was happy to do it."

And he was. Happier than he realized when she smiled at him. But that only made him think of something else—

Who in the hell had sent her the flowers? A boyfriend? A husband? One of her kids, if she had any?

Why did he even care?

"Have a merry Christmas," he muttered as he stepped off the porch, only to catch himself glancing over his shoulder at her as she pressed her nose into the flowers with the sweetest smile he'd ever seen. Fred climbed into the van, cranked on the heater and braced himself by gripping the steering wheel. What had come over him?

The cell phone he'd set on the dash chirped and startled him.

He answered and Natalie asked him where he was.

"I'm just now done with Iris, um—whatever her last name was," he replied, wishing he'd had the foresight to read what had been written on the card before he'd made the delivery.

"I know you like to take your time, Dad, but we have a bunch more deliveries."

"I'm heading out to the next stop now." He turned over the ignition, took a sip of his Dr Pepper, the ice having melted enough to knock some of the carbonation from the syrup. He made a sour face. "Hey, none of my afternoon deliveries happen to be in the direction of the Milwaukee Street Target, are they?"

"No." .

"Well, hell."

He clipped the phone line dead, punched his foot on the accelerator, and snuffed out thoughts of how tasty a white-cherry slushy would be.

"I hope Austin doesn't look as rough around the edges in person as he did in the photos Cassie e-mailed me," Natalie stated above the noise of the airport's PA system.

Sarah's expression went from enthusiastic over Cassie's imminent arrival to guarded. "Don't get your hopes up. He did look a little…uh, not really