“Dagnabbit.” He grabbed the yellow ones, and soon they were involved in a competitive game of mancala.
After he’d bested her in three out of four games—dagnabbit, indeed—she started collecting the marbles, then stopped. It was nearly 9:00 p.m. She should go home. Normally she was getting ready for bed by this time. But she was having too much fun, and going back to her empty house didn’t appeal. When Jasper yawned, though, she bagged up the pieces. He was eight years older than her, and she didn’t want to keep him up too late.
Once she had gathered up the game, she stood. “Have a good evening, Jasper.”
He sprang from his chair and went to her, faster than she thought he could move. “Why’d you come over tonight, Erma Jean?”
That was a strange question. Certainly he wasn’t getting senile. He had all his marbles, pun intended. “To play mancala.”
“And?” When she found herself at a loss for wordsagain, he grinned. “I think you like me.”
She stumbled back a step as his eyes locked on hers. “Stop being presumptuous. And ridiculous.” But the lack of verve behind her words only made him smile wider.
“You’ve been a good friend to me over the years, Erma. Even when we’re insultin’ each other, which I never minded too much. Kept me sharp, it did.” His expression turned serious. “But lately, there’s been something... I reckon I can’t describe it.” He rubbed his thick thumb over the edge of his old round table. “Tarnation, I’m not good at this.”
“Jasper, just spit it out,” she said softly. “What are you trying to say?”
“I like ya, Erma Jean. I like sippin’ lemonade with ya. I like dancin’ together. I like playin’ games and matchin’ wits with you.” He met her eyes. “I want to court ya. That’s what I’m trying to say.”
Oh. My.She almost giggled.Courtwas such an old-fashioned word. Then again, she and Jasper were old, so it suited.
His expression was muted, even a little defiant. But she glanced at his thumb, now rubbing so fast she was sure he’d take the finish off the table if she didn’t stop him.This man...
She moved closer to him. There were no butterflies crashing in her stomach. Just a sense of peace and the knowledge that this was right. The good Lord certainly enjoyed throwing her a curveball occasionally.
“Well?” he barked. “What’s takin’ ya so long to answer?”
“You’re right, Jasper. I do like you.” Erma took his hand. Squeezed it. One lone butterfly leapt for joy. “My answer... is yes.”
***
Due to his flight being so early in the morning and the fact he had an hour’s drive to the Little Rock airport, Kingston decided to turn in for the night, even though it was barely past nine. He’d already gone through his condo to make sure everything was set for him to be gone for a few weeks and had taken out the trash. He went inside and washed his hands and was just about to turn off the lights when he saw headlights shining through his front window. Had his mother changed her mind about staying out of his business? He hoped not, but he wouldn’t put it past her.
He opened the front door in time to see Olivia on the second step of his front stoop. She froze midstride, looking at him, then finished the motion. When she was in front of him, she said, “Hi.”
“Hi.” He frowned, unable to fathom why she was here. They’d said their goodbyes at the library, and he’d been positive they’d never see each other again except when they were both in Anita’s orbit. But here she was. Her hands were in front of her, and she was wringing them in a manner similar to that of her aunt Bea last night at the dance studio. “Is something wrong?”
“No.”
He waited for further explanation, but she had started rocking back and forth on her heels. “Do you want to come in?” She nodded, and he gestured for her to go inside. After shutting the door, he said, “Olivia, are you all right?”
She nodded, but she didn’t look all right.
“Do you want to sit down?”
This time she shook her head, then switched to nodding. He motioned for her to sit on the couch and then gingerly joined her.
Silence.
“Is there something you want to talk about?”
She took a breath. Blew it out. “Yes.” She looked at her lap. “I want to talk about us.”
He stilled. He hadn’t realized there was still an “us”to discuss.
“I’ve been driving around your neighborhood for half an hour, trying to find the right words to say. All I could come up with was ‘I’m sorry.’”
“For what?”
