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“Yes. It does seem like the most practical and sensible solution, all things considered.”
“Well then. That’s settled… Great… In that case, howdy partner.” I tip my imaginary Stetson. “How would you ladies like a ride home?”
Chapter 9
Molly
“So, how’s it going?” asks Lydia, relaxing back on my couch.
She came over for Sunday brunch. It’s my turn. I made my signature dish: eggs Florentine. But I cheated and bought a packet of hollandaise. Who can be bothered making it from scratch? Not me. We ate at the kitchen table, but we moved into the lounge for coffee and a game of Scrabble. I open the box and place the board on the low wooden table in front of Lydia, then hold out the green cotton bag so she can take a letter which will determine who goes first. She shows me an E.
“Everything’s going great,” I say settling on a bean bag opposite. I put my hand in the green letter bag. “The posters are printed, and contestants are signing up on the website.” I pull out an S, then pull a sad face. “We have prizes and sponsorship.” Lydia loads up six more tiles on her letter rack. “I’m really happy with the way it’s going.” She passes me the green bag and I do the same. “What about you? Is everything on track for the Floral Display Awards?”
“Yes. No drama so far. But it’s early days. Haha,” Lydia says with a twinkle in her eye. “But the Spring Fair is not what I’m interested in.” She looks at her letter rack, then she lifts her gaze, head on one side. “How are things going with the lovely Cam?”
“Great. He’s great. It’s great.” My voice comes out weirdly high-pitched. I cough.
Lydia reaches down for her coffee mug with one hand, making clickety-clack noises as she rearranges her letters on the smooth plastic rack, with the other. She scowls and tells me she doesn’t have many options. But she always says that just before an outstanding score, usually on a triple-word square.
My attention is partially distracted by more noise: a bouncing ball from next door. I try to concentrate but the thump, thump, thump, pause, thumpity thump is like a headache encroaching on my concentration. The more I try to blot out the bouncing, the louder it seems, and the more it takes up my conscious thought because I know it’s Cam playing basketball. I secretly want to watch, but my friend is here and we’re playing Scrabble.
Lydia puts down her word: CUPID. A strong start. She picks up the cotton bag to replenish her letters, then sips her coffee.
“So, tell me?” she says impatiently. “I want details, Molly.”
“Lydia, please. I’m trying to concentrate.” I shoot her a withering look then place my word on the board. OUCH is inadequate, but it’s all I’ve got, and I know I’ve taken too long. The bouncing continues. “Cam? Yes, he’s been great. So helpful. And generous with his time.”
Lydia places DREAM on CUPID, cleverly using a double-word square.
“But how do you feel about him?”
“What? What kind of question is that? Haha.” I reach for my coffee and hold it in front of me like a shield.
“Well, the way I see it… You’re a beautiful single woman. He’s a hot single man. The chemistry is crackling between you beyond belief.” Lydia laughs at the ceiling. “So, what gives?”
Bounce, bounce, bounce.
“Lydia. You are incorrigible. We’re neighbors and working together on an events committee. Outside of that, we have nothing in common.”
Bounce, bounce, pause, bounce.
“What? You don’t need anything in common when there’s animal magnetism. And you guys have that in bucket loads.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I sit up and focus on my letter rack which offers nothing more than pathetic monosyllable words.
Lydia crosses her arms, scowls at me, and says, “Liar.”
Lydia is right, of course. As she always is. The past few weeks have been a dream. Cam and I started planning together the day after the first meeting. Each day I’ve felt myself slipping more and more toward my handsome firefighter neighbor. My careful plans for avoidance have been blown out of the water.
We arranged to meet after work at The Old Oak Bar & Grill to brainstorm ideas and nut out details for the activities on our list. I arrive first and open my laptop on a secluded corner table by the open fire. It’s warm and cozy and, being a weeknight, it’s quiet. Only a couple of other tables are taken. Soft country music plays a subtle sound bed as I check messages and emails. Then I lift my head as Cam walks in. He smiles when he sees me and strides over, says hello, and sits down in the chair beside me.
“This is a nice place,” he says gazing around the rustic timber room.
“Yes. I haven’t been here for a long time. But you’re right: it is nice.”
Cam asks what I’d like to drink and goes to the bar to place an order. He soon returns with a soda water for me, a Coke for him, and a menu.
“I figured we’d be hungry,” he says sitting down again. “Nothing like event planning for working up an appetite… Unless you’ve had dinner already?”
