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“You okay?”
He heard rustling and wondered if she’d join him under the stars. They’d shared a drink once before. He should have put on a shirt with the sweats he’d pulled on after his shower....
“Mark?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t realize you were out there.” Her voice came from the kitchen window over his right shoulder.
He sipped, but didn’t turn around. “I worked late. I was too wound up to sleep.”
“I thought you were off at eight.”
God bless Nonnie. He could sure count on her to let everyone know every detail about him.
No, that wasn’t fair. Not everyone. Just those she approved of.
“A guy called in sick. I covered for him until they could get someone else in.”
She didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure she was still there.
“How’ve you been sleeping?” He peered up at the sky, seeing only a couple of stars, waiting to see if he’d get an answer.
“Fine.”
She was still there. Was she not dressed? Was that why she wasn’t coming outside?
“No more nightmares?”
“No.”
He wasn’t sure he believed her.
And he didn’t like that they were becoming strangers again.
“You free Wednesday night?” Veronica What’s-her-name was stopping by to see Nonnie after Bible study—maybe with another lady or two in tow—to share that week’s spiritual message.
“Yeah.”
“Want to have dinner then?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Well, good night.”
“’Night.”
Hot dog! He had a nondate with the girl next door.
* * *
RUSTLER’S ROOST in Phoenix was everything the guys at work had assured Mark it would be. Named after the early Phoenix cattle rustlers who’d supposedly built the mountain hideout, the restaurant boasted a slide, by which patrons accessed the dinner tables, set one floor below the entrance.
More uptight patrons, or those with disabilities, used the stairs. He slid down the slide. Addy opted for the stairs. She claimed she’d made the choice based on the calf-length black cotton skirt she was wearing with black wedges and a black-and-red ruffled blouse. He didn’t buy the excuse. She could have tucked her skirt under her. The wedges and blouse had no bearing on slide proficiency.
In black jeans and an off-white button-down shirt he used to wear the couple of times a year he had to look nice for church, Mark was about as dressed up as he got. He’d tried to leave his sleeves buttoned at the cuff but hadn’t made it out of the house before he’d rolled them up his forearms.
Sitting there at the rustic, but somehow still very ritzy, window table overlooking the Phoenix valley with
