Flirting with Temptation - By Kelley St. John Page 0,52

Putting the shoes on meant she was ready to hit the course, and even if she were merely going out there for lessons, she wasn’t so certain she was ready. Paul was right; she’d never really paid that much attention to the game. She’d liked being outside, being with Henry and riding in the cart. The actual game of golf had never overly excited her, and now she was wondering whether her sole means for communicating with Henry—or at least the main means she’d come up with for communicating with him—might not be all that great of a method after all. She swallowed, frowned, watched a man tee off and send his little golf ball soaring. Would she even be able to hit the thing? How did they make it go up in the air? Would she have to keep pecking hers all through the course on the ground? And wouldn’t that be a tad embarrassing?

“Gertrude.”

Paul’s voice snapped her back to the table, away from the image of her ripping the greens to shreds trying to figure out how to hit the ball in the air. The groundskeepers probably wouldn’t appreciate her for that.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Have you eaten? Because the Grille has an amazing Reuben on rye, and if memory serves, that’s your favorite. Still like extra kraut?”

Her stomach chose that precise moment to growl. Loudly.

He laughed. “Take that as a yes.” Then he strode toward the clubhouse café known as The Grille, while Gert sat dumbfounded. She’d forgotten how close the four of them had been, she, Henry, Emily and Paul, and she’d forgotten what a good friend Paul had been. He even knew her favorite sandwich. Incredible. She tried to recall his favorite, or Emily’s favorite. She couldn’t.

What did that say about her? Maybe she hadn’t been all that great of a friend, but she’d always thought she was. However, a friend should remember those kinds of details. Perhaps her memory was going. Maybe she should make an appointment with her doctor and get that checked out. She might have forgotten all sorts of things, and didn’t even know it. Maybe she’d even known Rowdy’s real name and had forgotten that too.

“Oh,” she said, then opened her bag and looked inside to spot the tiny notebook where she’d written his information. She pulled it out, read what she’d written, and frowned. Babette hadn’t told her his real name. She’d only provided the address and phone number. She’d need to call Babette later and ask, not that she’d actually address him by his real name, since everyone knew him as Rowdy, but if she were going to make a go at connecting with him again, she should probably know his name.

Other things were important too, but she’d figure those out when they finally got together for coffee or whatever. She’d need to ask what he’d been doing all these years, how many kids he’d had, whether he had grandchildren, how he was enjoying retirement. She assumed he was retired. From Sally Mae Lovett, she’d learned that he was a widower, that he was bald, and that he had his own teeth. But that was about it.

Seemed she should know more. But first, she’d need to make sure Henry was okay with her trying to learn more.

Paul returned to the table with their sandwiches. “Sorry. It took a little while, but I think it’ll be worth it.”

Gert thanked him and began eating the sandwich. Amazing how certain foods spark certain memories. This Reuben, toasted lightly and seasoned with just the right amount of Thousand Island dressing and with way more kraut than anyone else would want, but the perfect amount for her, sparked a vivid collage of days sitting on this deck with Henry and Paul and Emily, all of them laughing and chatting and getting to know each other. Paul and Emily had a daughter . . .

“Kate,” Gert said, remembering their pride and joy. “How is she?”

“Fine. She and Ike, her husband, are living in Vermont now. They have three kids, all of them coming up on those fun teenage years.”

Gert thought about that. Kate was his only daughter, and she was living in Vermont. “You didn’t want to move closer to them?” she asked.

He shrugged. “This is home. And I don’t much care for cold weather. Besides, they come down at least three times a year and let me properly spoil the kids.”

She continued eating, and was inwardly grateful that she had family nearby. Three times a