had been the mother that Paris had always wished he had. She’d doted on him, offering affection and unconditional love. Even though Paris had been a boy who’d landed himself in the principal’s office most afternoons, Mrs. Jenson had never raised her voice. And Mr. Jenson had always come home from his job and sat down with Paris, giving him a lecture that had proved to be more like a life lesson.
Paris had never forgotten those lessons. Or that man.
He blinked the memories away and returned his attention to the design he was working on. It was good, but he only did excellent jobs. Your best is the only acceptable thing.
He stared at the design for another moment and then decided to come back to it tomorrow when he wasn’t so tired. Instead, he went to his Facebook page and searched Albert Jenson’s name. He’d done so before, but no profiles under that name had popped up. This time, one did. The user had a profile picture of a rose instead of himself. Paris’s old foster dad had loved his rose gardens. This must be him!
Paris scrolled down, reading the most recent posts. One read that Mr. Jenson had gone to the nursing home to visit his wife, Nancy.
Paris frowned at the news. The transition must have been recent because Mrs. Jenson had been home when he’d called late last year. She’d been the one to pretty much tell him to get lost.
He continued to scroll through more pictures of roses and paused at another post. This one read that Mr. Jenson had just signed up for a computer skills class at the Sweetwater Library.
So it was true. Mr. Jenson, the foster dad who’d taught him so much, was also the Frowner.
* * *
Lacy had decided to stick to just lemonade tonight since she was hosting the Ladies’ Day Out group. But plans were meant to be changed, as evidenced by the fact that the book discussion she’d organized had turned into the women sitting around her living room, eyes on a laptop screen while perusing an online dating site.
“Oh, he’s cute!” Alice Hampton said, sitting on the couch and leaning over Josie Kellum’s shoulder as she tapped her fingers along the keys of Lacy’s laptop. Not that anyone had asked to use her computer. The women had just helped themselves.
Lacy reached for the bottle of wine, poured herself a deep glass, and then headed over to see who they were looking at. “I know him,” she said, standing between her sisters behind the couch. “He comes into the library all the time.”
“Any interest?” Josie asked.
Lacy felt her face scrunch at the idea of anything romantic with her library patron. “Definitely not. I know what his reading interests are and frankly, they scare me. That’s all I’ll say on that.”
She stepped away from her sisters and walked across the room to look out the window. The moon was full tonight. Her driveway was also full, with cars parked along the curb. She wasn’t a social butterfly by any means, but she looked like one this evening and that made her feel strangely satisfied.
“So what are your hobbies, Lacy?” Josie asked. “Other than reading, of course.”
“Well, I like to go for long walks,” Lacy said, still watching out the window.
Josie tapped a few more keys. “Mmm-hmm. What’s your favorite food?”
Lacy turned and looked back at the group. “Hot dogs,” she said, earning her a look from the other women.
“Do you know what hot dogs are made out of?” Greta wanted to know.
“Yes, of course I do. Why do I feel like I’m being interviewed for one of your articles right now?”
“Not an article,” Birdie said. “A dating profile.”
“What?” Lacy nearly spilled her glass of wine as she moved to look over Josie’s shoulder. “What are you doing? I don’t want to be up on Fish In The Sea dot com. Stop that.”
Birdie gave her a stern look. “You have a class reunion coming up, and you can’t go alone.”
“I’m not going period,” Lacy reiterated.
“Not going to your class reunion?” Dawanda from the fudge shop asked. She was middle-aged with spiky, bright red hair. She tsked from across the room, where she sat in an old, worn recliner that Lacy had gotten from a garage sale during college.
Lacy finished off her wine and set the empty glass on the coffee table nearby. “I already told you, high school was a miserable time that I don’t want to revisit.”
“All the more reason you