like with a smile. It softens him. “The vintner? Wow, Blanche, that’s something. You’ve lived quite the life, haven’t you?”
She tugs her lower lip between her teeth. “No, maybe that wasn’t his name. Robert… Robert… Robert Mandolin. That’s it! Can you help me find him on the interwebs? I think he still thinks about me.” She leans in as far as she can, so far, her orthopedic shoes squeak against the linoleum, then she whispers, “He sent me a dick pic.”
I face-palm myself, waves of regret washing over me. God, what have I done to this poor widow that I adore? No wonder she was so concerned about forging ahead and stopping at nothing to find Robert. She has a little crush, and it’s keeping her feeling young inside and erasing some of her grief.
I’ve been trying to snatch that away from her. God, I’m such an asshat.
Cora’s eyes widen into moons, and I know she feels the same rush of emotion that’s plaguing me. That’s why Blanche was so intent on finding the dick pic sender. Her motivations are pure.
Chief’s chuckle converts into full-blown laughter. “Ah, Blanche. I can help you find your long, lost love.” He whips out his phone. “How do you spell Mandolin? Like the instrument?”
She chews her lip until I think it’s going to be bloody. “Maybe it’s not Mandolin. I know it starts with an M.” Blanche inhales a ragged breath. “Brian, I just don’t feel like myself right now and my brain is foggy. Maybe we should look for Robert another day. I think I have my old yearbooks up in the attic. I can show you his picture?”
I walk up behind her and drape an arm over her slender shoulders. “I can help you find Robert, Blanche. I promise. As soon as I get home from my next road trip. I’ll come over and you can bake me an apple pie and we’ll find him. How does that sound?”
She beams up at me. “Blaine, you’ve got yourself a date.”
Since I’m the one who sent this runaway train rolling down the tracks, it’s the least I can do.
Chapter Fourteen
Cora
With Chief wrapped up in my Nana’s long-lost love and Blaine heading home to pack for his road trip, I finally take a moment to think. Then my trembling fingers flip over the collage of Rice family photos, finding the one of Blaine in the tub. My heart squeezes in my chest as my breath stalls in my lungs. Standing stock-still, I just stare.
And stare.
And stare.
That scar in the photo I’m looking at seems familiar because it is. The same scar is in the exact same position on the photo on my phone. It’s faded, but there’s no denying who it belongs to. And I remember exactly when he got it. Blaine’s mom spent all Saturday in the ER when a fence post went a few inches into his inner thigh.
At that age, I had no real concept of a medical emergency, but I sure knew that my friend was in a world of hurt for weeks after. No running. No biking. That summer ended up being a dud.
My fingers lightly trace the image. What if Blaine didn’t kiss me by accident? What if he meant to kiss me? What if he wants me as much as I want him?
Is it even possible? Could it be true?
My ragged breaths still struggle to get oxygen to my overtaxed brain. Right now, I can’t think of any other reason why a man would ‘accidentally’ send a woman a dick pic other than that he wants her to see it and push the issue. Like sending your crush that extra special anonymous valentine with the glitter hearts back in grade school but all your classmates know who it’s really from.
He sent it to BOB by accident, but it was supposed to go to me. I just know it. But why is he hiding it? Why isn’t he just coming clean? Is he embarrassed? Between this and Blaine’s sweet treatment of my high Nana, my heart about splits wide open. I spin on my heel and fly out the door, yelling at Gwen over my shoulder to make sure Nana gets home safe. She can’t drive in her current condition.
I skitter to a stop in the small parking lot, but Blaine’s SUV is already on the road. Firing off a text, my fingers fly across my phone.
ME: I’m behind you. I need to talk to you right now. It’s