ongoing prelude to the sunset. “I told his wife, Becca, that I thought I remembered him as being quite a catch.” Then she took in her own husband’s still-trim physique, ending with the devilish smile that never failed to melt her in the bedroom. “Speaking of looking good, I don’t think you’ve been this presentable since we left Nashville. And you smell divine! To Kill a Mockingbird be damned! I may have to attack you. What have you got on?”
He inched his sunburned but carefully shaven face closer to hers and lightly kissed her cheek. “Just a splash of Old Spice. I found a bottle in the bedroom closet. It was in one of those boxes we still haven’t opened.”
She put her arms around his neck and kissed him back. “Weren’t you wearing that when we first started dating thirty-something years ago? That bottle belongs in the Smithsonian.”
He pulled away and enjoyed a good laugh. “Not this one. I think Lindy gave it to me for Father’s Day not too long ago. Maybe just before we moved down. She knows her old man’s history, that’s for sure.”
“Not as well as I do,” Connie added. “And I’ve begun to think you’ve given me up for the fishes. Maybe I should grow scales.”
He narrowed his eyes and played at taking offense. “Okay, I haven’t been that bad, have I? I even managed to reread five whole chapters of To Kill a Mockingbird so I’d be up to snuff and wouldn’t embarrass you at the thing tonight. It’s been more than a few decades since high school, you know.”
“Let’s just see how it goes at the library. Then we’ll talk,” she said, managing a smile as she checked her watch. “We need to get there while the food’s still hot. Or before Stout Fella eats it all.”
Douglas looked puzzled. “Who?”
“Your Realtor friend, Justin. Oh, I explained everything last week. I’ll remind you on the way there.”
Miss Voncille got to her feet and smoothed out the wrinkles in her emerald green bedspread. She had been sitting beside her pillow, riveted to her beloved picture of Frank Gibbons on the nightstand for the past five minutes. “I’m going to hide you temporarily in the potpourri,” she said out loud to the photo as she cupped it in her hands as if it were an injured baby bird. “The deal is, I may have company tonight, and I don’t need you making me nervous standing guard the way you always do. But don’t worry, I won’t leave you with my scented hankies forever.”
For a split second she imagined that her sturdy sentinel might just spring to life and answer her, giving her permission to change things up. But she knew only too well that she could not seek permission from anyone but herself. So she headed toward her chest of drawers, giving the picture a little peck before tucking it away among her many fancy sachets. “There!” she exclaimed, nodding proudly. “That’s done. Onward and upward!”
As if staged perfectly by a theater prop crew, the doorbell rang, and Miss Voncille knew that her potential suitor was right on time. She drew in a hopeful, romantic breath and struck a graceful pose. An imaginary photographer would be capturing her at her best and bravest in that moment. After that, the sequence would be a simple one: She and Locke would have something to eat and drink while chatting amiably with the others; then seriously discuss the merits of Harper Lee’s work; and finally Locke would escort her to her cozy cottage as usual. Only this time, she would not shrink like a wallflower from her intentions—
Locke Linwood’s voice crashed in on her reverie from the other side of the front door. “Miss Voncille?!” He pushed the doorbell again. “Miss Voncille?!”
“Coming!” she called out, shutting the bottom drawer and rushing out of her bedroom like a teenager on her first date. “I’ll be right there!”
From the moment she opened the door, she knew something about Locke had changed, and it wasn’t just the single red rose he presented to her right off the bat. “For you, my dear lady,” he told her, handing it over with the suggestion of a bow.
“My goodness, Locke!” she exclaimed, taking it and holding it briefly beneath her nose. “You’ve never brought me flowers before!”
“I still haven’t,” he said. “This is only one flower. But there could be more where that came from. I think you’re getting sweeter every day.”
Miss Voncille found herself