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The event coordinator, Carrie Meadows, gave us a nice introduction to the room full of seniors, some of them bright-eyed and excited, others looking bored or simply unfocused.
“Go on and talk to them. If they’re not interested, just move along to someone else, okay? Give your gift to the first senior you visit.”
Toby looked around nervously. “Who should I talk to?”
“Actually, I have someone specific for you,” I said as I guided him across the room to a frail woman with thin wisps of hair held back by pins with pink gems on the end that matched the fuzzy cardigan and slippers she wore with a pajama set. “Toby, this is Mable Williams. Mable, this is the little boy I told you about who lives in your old house.”
Mable’s eyes lit up. Though she was pushing ninety, she was still sharp. “I am so thrilled someone moved in.”
Toby looked from me to Mable. “It was your house, really? Was it nicer when you lived there?”
Hunter’s low voice rumbled behind me. “Toby, be polite.”
Mable just gave a tinkling laugh. “Oh, it was beautiful when I was a child. My father took such good care of it.” She sighed, sounding a little sad as she added, “My brother didn’t take the best care of it, and then his son really let it go south before he died.”
“I’m sorry,” Toby said. “It’s not so bad. My dad put in a new water heater, and he’s working on the side porch. My bedroom is pretty nice.”
“Is it? Which one do you have?”
“Um, it’s upstairs. Third door down from the stairs, facing the street?”
“That’s my old room!”
“Really?”
“Really. If you look hard, you’ll find a loose floorboard, and maybe a few surprises inside.”
Toby’s eyes went wide. “Whoa, cool.”
The two talked excitedly for a minute before I had to butt in to put my plan into motion. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but before you two get too far into this conversation, I wanted to ask Toby a question.”
He glanced at me. “What is it, Clar—er, Mr. Fletcher?”
I squeezed his shoulder. “How would you like to stage a re-enactment at your house, playing the part of the very first guy who ever lived there?”
“Oh, that would be exciting!” Mable enthused.
Toby grinned, looking a little bashful. “Yeah, I guess it could be cool.”
“All right, so maybe Mable can give you some tips based on her family history and knowledge of the house.”
“I’d love to,” she said.
I glanced at Hunter, and he grinned. Over his shoulder, Cheryl glared. But who the heck cared? I was the one making his son happy. I was the one he was going to fake date. Cheryl could have all her jealousy; I wasn’t interested in letting it burst my bubble.
I focused on what mattered, Toby getting invested in this project, and his father, seeing him finally appreciate the house he wanted to make into their home.
Still, Hunter caught the direction of my glance and grimaced. “Cheryl is persistent,” he said quietly. “I told her about our date coming up this weekend, but she seemed to take it as a challenge.”
I nodded. “These women are tenacious. A date with me might not convince them. They’re pretty skeptical I could turn your head.”
“Then they’re close-minded or shallow,” Hunter said, sounding irritated.
“Are you sure you want to…”
“Oh, you’re not getting out of it now,” he said in a flirty voice. “If these women need convincing, we’ll just have to go on more than one date.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
