CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
He’d probably gotten tired of waiting, assumed he’d been stood up, and left, Joan was thinking as she pushed open the front door of the small, outwardly unimpressive, redbrick restaurant at the corner of Cambridge and Blossom. Not that she would have blamed him. She was almost twenty minutes late, having changed both her outfit and her mind about going at least half a dozen times.
Why all the fuss about a man she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to meet? Ultimately, she’d decided that it would be rude to cancel at the last minute, and settled on a pair of white slacks and a stylish turquoise blouse. It was just dinner, she told herself, securing a pair of long, dangling gold hoops in her ears. Harry Gatlin would hopefully prove to be an interesting diversion, but there was little chance she’d find him attractive and even less chance she’d want to see him again. And despite her joke to Paige about a one-night stand, she certainly wasn’t going to have sex with the man.
Like that was ever going to happen again, she thought wistfully.
Joan’s eyes searched the crowded restaurant’s small, brightly lit interior—as unassuming and unpretentious as its exterior—for her date.My date,she repeated silently, holding her breath as she watched an elderly man struggle to his feet from a nearby table against the pale ecru wall. The man reached for the cane beside him as Joan braced herself for his approach, wondering if she had enough time to flee before he worked up sufficient speed to reach her.Damn it.This evening was going to be even worse than she’d imagined.
“Dad,” she heard a woman say, a hand reaching out to grab the old man’s jacket. “The bathroom’s that way.”
The man nodded and pivoted in the opposite direction.
“Thank you, God,” Joan muttered under her breath, catching sight of movement in the far corner of the restaurant.
A man was waving. A tall, good-looking man, she realized as he stood up to maneuver his way around the white tablecloth–covered tables and wooden chairs to where she stood. A tall, good-looking, well-dressed man with slim hips and a twinkle in his clear blue eyes.
“Joan?”
“Harry?”
“Well, we know who we are,” he said with a laugh. “That’s a good thing.”
Harry Gatlin had a full head of gray hair and was both taller and more muscular than Joan had expected. She wondered how it would feel to have those arms wrapped around her.
My God. What was she thinking? “I’m sorry I’m so late.”
“That’s quite all right.”
“I’m usually very prompt.”
“No problem. You’re here now.” He put his hand on her elbow to guide her toward their table at the back.
Joan felt her entire body tingle at the touch of his hand.No. Put it back,she thought, as they reached the table and his hand withdrew. What was happening to her?
“I took the liberty of ordering wine,” he said as they settled into their seats. “I hope you like red.”
“I do indeed.”I do indeed? Who talks like that? What’s the matter with me?She watched as the waiter poured two glasses of wine, then she quickly raised her glass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” Harry repeated, clinking his glass against hers.
Joan took a sip of her wine. “Very nice.”
“It is indeed,” he said.
Was he making fun of her?
“So,” he began. “Linda tells me you two live in the same building.”
Joan nodded. “What else did she tell you?”
“Not much, actually. That you’re a widow, attractive, bright,interesting,” he said, putting stress on the final word.
Joan laughed. “I think she was referring to my hair.”
“I like your hair.”
I likeyou,Joan thought. “Thank you,” she said instead. “She said pretty much the same things about you.”