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“Oh, ha ha, of course. I’m at 4550 Cherry Tree Lane. Second house on the left.”
“4550. It’s a date,” he said and then immediately stiffened, shook his head, and cleared his throat. “I mean, yeah, I’ll see you Saturday.”
Erin’s phone rang, jolting them both.Saved by the bell.“See ya,” she said and turned to walk home, pulling the cell phone from her pocket. “Hello?”
“Erin. It’s Liza. Darlene is in the hospital.”
“I know. I tried to take her some soup this morning and the Wilsons told me what happened.” Remorse returned but with a little less bite thanks to Brock and his friendly request. She wouldn’t read any more into his invitation. It wasn’t a date. He’d made that patently obvious.
“Meet me at the clubhouse,” Liza said. “We’ve got some planning to do.”
“Liza …” Erin felt too heavy—too guilty—to plan the party. Especially with Darlene in such bad shape. “This feels wrong.”
“I talked to the groupies. They admitted Darlene to the hospital as a precaution. She’s going to be fine.”
“It still feels wrong.”
“As they say in the business, the show must go on.”
Erin shuffled her feet along the sidewalk and contemplated her options. With Darlene in the hospital, it truly was up to her to be the lead hostess for the Christmas party. Why not add some spark to the party, if only to distract everyone from worrying about Darlene? “Fine. I’m on my way.”
She hung up and turned left to go to the clubhouse instead of turning right to go home. She found Liza shaking her head at the contents of the storage closet. “That was quick.”
“I was close when you called.” Erin pulled the mittens from her hands and shoved them into her pockets.
“Do me a favor,” Liza said. “If you’ve been picking up poop, go wash your hands.” She wrinkled her nose. “It disgusts me to think of what you’ve touched.”
“I wasn’t walking a dog. I took the soup I made for Darlene to Brock and his pawpaw.”
Liza’s eyes flared. “You met Ben?”
“I did.”
“Well, what do you think? Is he an older version of Brock?”
“He’s …” Erin thought back, but could only conjure a vague impression of Ben after Brock’s mother had tainted the encounter. “They’re about the same height and build. Ben has a bit of a belly.”
“At our age, who doesn’t?” She lifted a singular brow. “Is he a Michael Douglas or a Samuel L. Jackson?”
Stumped and more than a little warm in her coat, Erin unzipped her jacket. “I have no idea what you’re asking.”
“Does he have hair, or is he bald?”
Erin snorted at Liza’s flair with words. “He’s got hair. I think.”
“You probably couldn’t take your eyes off of Brock long enough to form an impression of Ben.”
“That’s not true.” She walked into the kitchen and set her jacket on a barstool.Notexactlytrue.
Liza followed like a dog with a bone. “You and Brock didn’t come to blows?”
“No, we came to a truce. I’m having dinner with him and Ben tomorrow night.”
“Well, I’ll have to get your soup recipe and make a delivery of my own.”
If only Erin could borrow some of Liza’s confidence. “They’re covered for a while, but go right ahead.”
“Sweetie, men have ravenous appetites. And so should available young ladies. Are you ready to admit you’re interested?”
