Page 11 of Protect My Heart

I open the door and I’m out of breath because evidently changing shirts now counts as aerobic activity.

“Fletch? What are you doing here?” I ask.

He holds up the flowers. “Taking you on a proper date.”

I take the flowers and move into the kitchen to get a vase. “I have BINGO. I told you that already.”

He claps his hands together and rubs them. “I’m ready for some BINGO.”

I stare at him for a minute while I arrange the flowers—a bouquet of lavender and some tiny green leafed plant I don’t recognize.

“You look really nice,” I tell him. “You’re really going to stand out at the retirement center.”

He shrugs. “I’m probably a little younger than the residents.”

“Yes and very male. I mean they have some widowers over there, but they don’t last long before those ladies snatch them up and marry them. It’s kind of adorable.”

“You’re kind of adorable.” His blue eyes dip down to my cleavage, then back up at my face. “And you look gorgeous.”

“You know you don’t have to do this. I know you were just saving me in front of Trip today. But it’s not like he’ll be at BINGO, so he won’t know if we go on this ‘date’ or not.”

Fletch frowns. “I don’t give a damn what Trip thinks.”

And with that he leads me to his truck and drives me to the retirement center.

chapter nine

Fletcher

When we got here to the assisted living center called Resting Oaks, Daphne was greeted like a celebrity. She hugged everyone, I think, and got lots of orange-lipped cheek kisses and wrinkled hand pats.

I watch her now as she stands at the front of the room with the microphone and the big cage of BINGO balls. She spins the cage and is talking to them as casually as if she were speaking to them one on one. It’s mesmerizing. She’s mesmerizing.

“Did you get your cards, Hot Stuff?” a voice to my right asks.

“I’m sorry?”

“Here, Sweet Cheeks, you can help with mine.” The woman across from me has something like fifteen cards spread out in front of her. She pushes two towards me.

“Uh, thanks,” I say. “Do you play all of those at once?”

The women around me chuckle.

“Yes. Only Banksy over there plays one card at a time.” The lady next to me points at the table across from us where an old man sits.

“Filbanks!” she hollers. He looks up at her. “You need more cards?”

“One is good, Gladys,” he says with a secret smile.

“I’m Helen,” the lady across from me says. “That’s Gladys.” She points to the lady on my right. Then she rattles off the names of the rest of the women at the table. Wanda, Sue, Bobby-Jo and Mable.

“I’m Fletcher, but you can call me Fletch.”

“So, you’re sweet on our Daphne?” Gladys asks.

“Yes ma’am,” I say. All the while trying to keep up with how quickly Daphne is calling the numbers. The women around me are dabbing their cards like crazy.

Helen reaches across the table and dabs something on one of my cards.