Leaving Normal by Stef Holm (whitelam books txt) 📗

He's in great shape and I think he should be used in the game. He is one of the best players they've got." He stopped himself. "Anyway, let's not talk about basketball."

She hadn't been.

They sat at the bar together, settled in while drinking glasses of wine, and Natalie forced herself to relax. They talked about the basics, how long he'd been married, how he was coping with being a single parent and she having an empty nest.

They talked about his job and—actually, mostly about his life and job and how stressful it was. He didn't ask her too much about herself or her work and, call it instinct, she got a weird feeling about him at this point. Natalie didn't offer any answers to questions that weren't asked.

They conversed long enough to drink two glasses of merlot before it was close to their dinner-reservation time.

She set her glass on the cocktail napkin, wondering why this man was on a date when, in such a short amount of time, he'd made it evident he was only interested in hearing himself talk.

She tried to attribute it to nerves—he did confess he was still rusty in the dating department.

But as she was making excuses for him, his question broke through her musings. "So what do women your age do?"

"About what?"

"Sex. A lot of the ladies I've met who are your age— they don't have much of a sex drive left, or so they tell me when I ask them. I'm forty-six and I wake up every morning with an erection—and it takes care of itself. If you get my meaning. I don't even have to touch it."

Natalie sat there, stunned. Was this the same man who'd come into Hat and Garden, smiled softly at her, and almost shyly asked her out on a date?

Knocked out of her stupor, she blinked back the disillusionment that swept through her. So much for getting back into dating. If this man was a sampling of her options, she'd rather go it alone.

"Bartender, I'd like to order a screwdriver." Then to Jonathon, "Excuse me, I need to visit the ladies' room."

The bathrooms were in the back, so was the door. She opted to wait inside rather than stand in the cold back alley.

For a moment, she thought about going back there and telling him to his face that he'd been out of line. Then she opted out of confronting him. Then again, he knew where she worked.

Feeling the pulse of a headache building, Natalie wondered what in the world she was going to do if he called her again. Her disappearing act should have been signal enough that she was not interested. v

She leaned her butt against the restroom sink and folded her arms with a shake of her head. She was holed up in a toilet, walking distance from her car, but not wanting to brave the frigid February air, much less the dark streets alone, with Mr. Take Care of Itself perhaps following her.

Long ago, she might have put up with the man just for the sake of finishing a date that she knew would be a first and last. But no more.

Natalie Goodwin had turned into a dating renegade.

Pulling into her garage not forty minutes later, Natalie got out of her car and went down the driveway to collect the mail out of her mailbox.

She was glad to be home, relieved to have made an escape from the date from hell. Shock still encompassed her, reeling her senses. How could he have said such a thing to her?

As Natalie returned up the walkway, she paused. A splash of color out of place on the front porch caught her attention.

She slowed. Rather than retracing her steps and going into the garage, she went to the porch.

Flowers.

There was a bouquet of flowers on her porch. And not just any bouquet—but the very one she'd made for Tony Cruz.

A moment's panic flashed through her. As she thought of all the reasons he might have returned them—dissatisfaction, change of heart…whatever the case, none prepared her to kneel down and see her name written on the card.

She opened it.

Natalie. These are for you. Thanks for being there when I needed a friend. Tony

She swept her hand over the petals. They were cool, not cold. They hadn't been sitting here very long.

Straightening, she felt her heartbeat skip.

Unbidden, she glanced across the street to his house, only to find it dark. Was he home? Asleep? Or watching to see if she came home and got the flowers?

She caught herself pressing the card to her lips, thinking this was an infinitely better end to her evening—above and beyond anything she could have imagined from the way it had begun.

Knowing that Tony Cruz thought of her as a friend was almost too much for her to grasp. The man could have any woman he looked at, and yet, he'd gone out of his way to show her his appreciation.

Why this pleased her immeasurably was something she hesitated to grasp for fear she wouldn't be willing to accept the answer.

But the thought came to her just the same…

He might want to be more than friends.

Chapter Seven

It's Raining Men

"What are all these good-looking men doing in my room?"

Ninety-one-year-old Elsie Fisher lay in a twin bed, her nightgown twisted about her spindly legs. The as-sisted-care facility's white sheets bunched at her knees and a pillow was laid flat beneath her head.

There was a translucence about her skin, as if it were tissue paper covering her veins and weak muscles. Lamplight gave her skin a yellow tone. From the large medical bag at his feet, Tony got the blood-pressure cuff and pulse ox.

Captain Palladino, James "Wally" Wallcroft and Tony Cruz attended Elsie, three big firemen standing over a slight and elderly human being. Their presence in the tight quarters, wearing long-sleeved blue shirts and boots, had the potential to overwhelm even the fittest patient.

Tony knelt at Elsie's bed, the bottoms of his