Leaving Normal by Stef Holm (whitelam books txt) 📗

she liked, what she wanted. Looking back at Greg, their sex life had been fine for the most part, but she hadn't always been the most uninhibited unless she'd had a few glasses of wine.

Strange that now she was discovering her sexuality, she had no one to explore it with.

Looking at Tony, she could imagine him naked, sprawled across her bed on the sheets…reposed and relaxed, waiting for her to join him and—

"I didn't expect to see you here tonight," Natalie said, willing illicit thoughts away.

"Why's that?"

"I didn't think you were a bachelor."

"I am as of last week."

"Everything went well?"

"It was all right." A distant expression caught on his facial features, his nostrils slightly flaring.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." His eyes fell on hers, locking her into a gaze that was both riveting and disarming. "I'm just fine."

The music ended and Natalie backed out of his hold.

She quelled the impulse to slip her arms around his waist, rest her cheek next to his chest, then tip her chin up and seek his mouth for a kiss. Instead she said in a somewhat shaky tone, "Thanks for the dance."

"Anytime."

His voice was smooth, his body language even smoother. He shifted his weight, his arms by his sides, his hands big and wide.

In a low voice, he added, "I wish it had been you who had bid on me and won. I could dance with you all night."

Before she could reply, Tony disappeared into the crowd.

His comment was unnerving, yet exciting. The implication set off warning bells inside her mind, things she should ignore but didn't. Not right away.

For a scant few seconds, she let herself envision what it would be like to be held in his arms for the rest of the night.

With a blink of her eyes, she released those thoughts.

She was gun-shy about dating these days, very reticent about getting involved. Her track record wasn't very good, and falling for someone was low on her pri-ority list—and barely even on the list at all. She had way too much going on.

Besides, he was too young for her; even though he did seem mature. Then again, he hadn't been divorced long enough to know what he wanted.

Steeling her resolve, she made a decision.

She had to blow the pilot light out before any kind of flame could be lit. Getting involved with him would only mean sure heartache.

Chapter Nine

Blame It on Squirrels

This wasn't Fred Miller's neighborhood Target store and he felt discombobulated by aisles that weren't where he expected them to be.

"Where in the hell is the squirrel food?" he muttered to himself while pushing the red plastic cart. He rolled past laundry-detergent shelves, the smell of lemons and perfumes pressing in on him, making a sneeze tickle his nose. The cart's rear wheel rattled unless he pushed while applying pressure on the handle.

He was used to the Milwaukee location, the "old" Target. Against his better judgment, he'd come to the Eagle Road location after his dental visit on Chinden. He thought he'd check out the new store, assuming it would be a carbon copy of the one he always shopped at.

As soon as he stepped inside he realized the snack bar was in the wrong spot. And they didn't sell white-cherry slushies. This one had cola and wild berry. He disliked both. Whoever invented the cola slushy was a moron. It never tasted like cola.

The popcorn was the same and he bought a small bag along with a Dr Pepper. Roaming through the store, he took a sip through the straw, paused at the picture frames and picked one up. It was a double frame. He thought about the two photos he had of his daughters. Natalie and Sarah had given him five-by-seven pictures of themselves for Christmas and he'd yet to find a frame for them.

This one sort of appealed to him. It was black, about a half-inch all the way around with hinges in the middle. A little gilt sheen to it. Maybe he'd come back and get it after he found the damn squirrel food.

Pushing through the aisles, with different items stocked on either side of him, he realized how different his life was these days. He enjoyed it, but there was something missing.

He'd been thinking about that ever since he'd been at that veterans' home talking with Maynard. Maynard might have been an old fart, but he offered a perspective that Fred had never taken the time to think about in the last few years. Now he did.

He wasn't getting any younger and didn't want to die by himself.

His sweet wife had passed on twelve years ago after a battle with breast cancer, and he hadn't really taken great care of himself. Healthwise he was fine, but the house wasn't all that clean most often, and he didn't like to scrub his shower real good but once a month. He usually shot some of that contact-spray cleaner in there each week, but aside from that, he wasn't much into housework.

Speaking of which…he needed more of that cleaner.

He reached for his wallet in his back pocket and produced his shopping list. Then he ate some popcorn and stood in an aisle intersection of towels to the north, bowls to the east, electrical to the west and electronics to the south. It was as if he were in a foreign land. This was supposed to be something else entirely. He should have been standing in the music department looking for the latest Johnny Cash greatest hits.

"Well, hell." An oath was muttered once more, spoken to himself. A customer who happened to be walking past ignored him. "Where's the damn squirrel food?"

He caught a flash of red smock. A clerk. Rolling ahead, he wobbled after her to get directions. Unlike most men, he wasn't about to waste all day looking for something when he wanted it right now.

"Ah, miss," he called after her retreating back. "Lady…ah, I'm lost."

She turned around and recognition hit him immediately—as if he could forget