Thinking of sweater weather made her smile.
Friday-night football games, campfires, marshmallows, and watching for shooting stars. Autumn was her favorite time of year.
Natalie’s phone pinged. It was Paul letting her know they were about done.
She thought about Orene’s comments about him. He seemed perfectly sane to Natalie.
Not wanting him to assume she’d ignored his advice to explore the town, she waited until she saw him come outside before pulling out of her parking spot and up to the door.
When she turned the corner, he waved from the curbside.
She maneuvered the car right to the ramp access, and Paul got back in the car.
“How’d it go?” she asked.
“Excellent,” he said with a lift of his chin.
“Terrific.” She pulled out from under the entrance canopy and pulled to a stop. “Now, I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but I saw this cute restaurant just a little way up the road. Something to Crow About.”
He laughed. “The place with the giant rooster?”
“Yes. Doesn’t it look fun?”
“It looks interesting. I’ve wondered about that place.”
“You haven’t eaten all day, and I’m getting hungry. How about we get some lunch?”
“I’ve never been asked that when I’ve been driven to an appointment before.”
“Is there a rule against it? I’ll pay for my own, of course,” she said.
“No. No rules that I know of. Yes, let’s do lunch, young lady.”
“Great.” She dropped the car back into gear and drove straight to the restaurant. After she had parked in the handicapped spot out front, he was out of the car before she got around to help him.
“I’m so glad your appointment went well,” she said.
“Being alive to make it to the next appointment is an achievement in itself.”
“Oh, stop,” she said with a laugh. “You get around quite well.”
“Yes. Well, I do work on that. When you’re as old as I am, you’ll realize that there’s a new ache, pain, or bother every day. It’s just part of getting old. It’s not for sissies, I tell you.”
“I’ve heard that before.” She put her arm out without a word as he took the step up to the sidewalk.
He placed his hand on her arm and made the step. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Not making a fuss was often the best way to be of service in these situations. She was glad to do it.
When she got to the door, he stopped her. “Let me, please.” He opened the door. He looked a bit off-balance for a nanosecond, but she refused to flinch, trusting he knew his limitations.
“Thank you, sir.” She dipped inside, and he followed.
“Two for lunch?” the hostess asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” he spoke up.
They were seated in a booth near the windows in the back of the restaurant.
