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She grinned. “Fantastic.”
I felt a little like I’d sold my soul to the devil. Well, if the devil was an elderly woman sporting bright-pink lipstick and bedazzled Easy Spirits who sold sex toys.
But with Alma running the show, I didn’t have time to rethink my decision.
She dove headfirst into work after that, and the rest of the day was a blur of learning the ropes.
Alma showing me the inner workings of her online business. Me trying not to gag when she went into a long ramble about which items were her favorites and explained what do with the return pile.
Come on. Returns? On sex toys?
What was wrong with people?
I can understand where some of you may be curious what happens with the return pile, but I can tell you from real-life experience, you do not want the answer to that question. So, I’m going to go ahead and play my trump card here and keep that traumatic information to myself.
By the time the clock struck three in the afternoon, Alma demanded I take a break from my current task of preparing shipment labels and have a coffee break with her out on the back terrace.
Alma’s version of a back terrace looked a lot like something MTV’s Cribs would have featured in its prime. Lush landscaping. A big-ass pool with a Jacuzzi. Old Alma, nutty as a fruitcake though might she be, had some serious dough.
“I hope you’re not going to take offense to this, Alma, but why do you even bother with the whole online business thing? I mean, it appears you’re not hurting for money…”
She shrugged and took a sip of her coffee. “For most of my life, Donnie’s career was always the priority. Once he passed, I decided I wanted to do something for myself.”
“What did your husband do?”
“He was a defense attorney turned prosecutor turned judge.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s quite the career.”
It was also safe to say I knew why she saved the sex toy business for after his death. I can’t imagine a judge would have been okay with that kind of publicity.
“My Donnie was an impressive man. Very smart. Ambitious.”
She talked with pride and admiration, and a little part of me squeezed inside. I loved the affection she had for him, but it made me think about the way my parents used to talk about me…and the way they most definitely didn’t talk about me now.
Shaking it off and focusing on her, I got back to the conversation.
“How long were you married?”
“Just shy of fifty-two years,” she responded nostalgically. “I had all of the best years of my life with that man.”
“Did you guys have any kids?”
“Nope,” she said. “We were childless. But all three of my sisters had a boatload of kids, and they were always over here spending time with me and their Uncle Donnie, so I’ve always kind of felt like I got to experience motherhood. Plus, we never really wanted kids of our own. We were far too selfish and liked to travel too much,” she said with a little smile. “What about you, honey?” she asked.
“What about me?”
“You got a special man in your life?”
Hah. Yeah, right.
“Nope. I’m currently a lone wolf.”
“Do you want a man in your life?”
“Eventually?” I grinned. “Yeah, I think so. But right now, I’m still trying to figure the whole adult thing out.”
“I guess that explains why a pretty thing like you is even bothering with temp work.”
I snorted. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
“Well, you know, my nephew Leonard is a really nice boy. If you ever want to put yourself out there, just let me know and I’m sure I can set something up.”
Her nephew Leonard sounded like a fifty-year-old divorced guy, but I kept that assumption to myself. She obviously had a soft spot for him, and I didn’t think my first-day impression would end all that well if I jumped right into insulting family.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said and busied myself with a sip of my coffee.
Even though I’d only known eccentric Alma for all of seven hours, I was pretty certain she was the last person I’d seek assistance from in my quest to find a man.
That’d be almost as bad as letting Abby set me up on a blind date.
Guidos from Jersey and middle-aged divorced dudes weren’t exactly my speed.
Now, an incredibly handsome man with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen and the body of a professional football god?
Most definitely.
But it’d been weeks and weeks since I’d seen him, and I’d no doubt been too awkward to make any sort of first impression that revolved around the word good.
In fact, I doubted he remembered me at all.
As the team dispersed from the locker room, I grabbed my bag from the locker behind me and slammed it shut. I had to shuffle some clothes around to make room for the dirty ones—that shit could not touch the clean stuff—and the delay in my exit was apparently all the opening Cam Mitchell needed.
