by Elle Spencer
“Good to see you, Mrs. Stokely.” Lindsay stepped into the foyer. “Thank you for taking care of me yesterday.”
Mrs. Stokely took a close look at Lindsay’s eyes. “What did the doctor say?”
“Yes,” Ren interjected. “Tell us how you’re doing.”
They stood close to one another in the small foyer. Ren’s shoulder brushed hers. It was clear no one had any intention of moving until the question had been answered. “I, um…well. I’m doing well. Everything’s fine. Just a few superficial burns. A little aloe went a long way.” She gave Ren a nervous smile, and damnit, did her eyes have to fall to those lips? She quickly looked away.
“That’s good, dear. Very good.”
Fortunately, Mrs. Stokely seemed satisfied enough with her answer to not inquire any further. Lindsay attempted to keep a sigh of relief from escaping. The last thing she wanted to do was admit she hadn’t actually seen a doctor. Or a nurse. Or even a receptionist. She could tell by the scrutiny Ren’s jeans were receiving that Mrs. Stokely’s hatred for current fashion trends had saved the day.
“I have a sewing machine in the back room,” she said. “I’d be happy to patch up those holes for you, dear.”
“Oh,” Ren said. “That’s very kind of you, but I kind of like the holes. I have to dress up every day for work, so this is a nice change.”
“I appreciate an attempt to separate work and pleasure.” Mrs. Stokely turned and went into the kitchen. “But you swung the pendulum a bit too far in the other direction, if you ask me.”
Lindsay grabbed Ren’s hand and tried hard to not laugh. “Oh my God,” she whispered through her silent giggles.
Ren whispered back, “Did I just get admonished?”
Lindsay’s brain caught up with her heart, and she pulled away. It felt like such a natural thing to grab Ren’s hand. A sign of solidarity against the unsolicited opinions of a woman who meant well but had lost most of her tact over the years.
“Mrs. Stokely was a teacher, my teacher, actually,” Lindsay said. “She still likes to school everyone.”
Ren leaned in closer. “I hope she makes good coffee.”
“Oh. Um, don’t get your hopes up.”
They continued to stand a few feet from the door while they waited. It gave Lindsay the opportunity to look around, and what she saw didn’t surprise her. It was as if time stood still. It was apparent that Mrs. Stokely had purchased good quality furnishings with the belief that she’d only have to spend the money once, just like she had with the 1979 Buick LeSabre.
A sitting room sat to the right of the front door. It was one step down and had a perfectly manicured and maintained shag carpet in the shade of a martini olive. Straight ahead, she could see into the door of a kitchen with all the latest 1970s appliances. The standing mixer matched the dishwasher and the oven. Both were a subtle shade of sunshine yellow, a refreshing contrast to the dark cabinets. Lindsay found herself wondering if Mrs. Stokely had a microwave. Because that was a mission-critical thing to wonder on that afternoon of all afternoons.
What Mrs. Stokely probably didn’t know—though she’d perhaps always assumed it—was that her color scheme of avocado green, orange, and bright yellow was right back in style. Even the dramatic floral wallpaper by the kitchen table would be considered hip today.
“This place is kinda groovy,” Ren said under her breath.
Groovy. Hip. Retro. Who would have thought those words could be used to describe anything related to Mrs. Stokely? Okay, maybe that last one. And who would have thought Ren’s breath would smell like sunshine after a rainstorm? Okay, maybe just spearmint, but Lindsay had to resist the urge to rest her nose on Ren’s lips so she could really get a good whiff. Her thoughts turned to Roo’s smoky kiss, even though Ren looked nothing like her.
“Am I going to meet my maker before you girls think to offer some help?”
They both rushed into the sitting room and reached for the serving tray before Mrs. Stokely had to bend down to place it on the coffee table. They bumped shoulders but managed to not spill the coffee that had already been poured into three small cups, those tiny teacups that came with old sets of dishes. Lindsay knew because her grandmother had some. She associated them with instant coffee. And not just any instant coffee but decaffeinated instant coffee. Sanka, to be exact. She assumed the chances that Mrs. Stokely would serve the same would be slim. Just in case, she thanked God the cups were small. And then, as she reached for the cream, she bumped Ren again.
“First, fainting and now bumbling around like a bull in a china shop,” Mrs. Stokely said. “I’m concerned about you, Lindsay Hall.”
Ren raised her hand. “My bad.”
Mrs. Stokely raised an eyebrow. “Your what? Oh, never mind. We’d be here all day. I think I have a boot polishing kit in the garage. I’d be happy to lend it to you, dear.”
Lindsay gave Ren an almost imperceptible nod, letting her know she should save herself some pain and just accept the offer. Ren widened her eyes in response. “Oh, of course! I’d really appreciate that.” She glanced down at Lindsay’s boots. “And maybe Miss Fainty Pants here could teach me how to polish a boot since I’ve never had the pleasure.”
Mrs. Stokely slapped her knee and let out a big ol’ belly laugh. “Miss Fainty Pants. That’s a good one.” She continued to giggle while she held up a small bowl full of sugar cubes. Ren looked all too pleased with herself until Mrs. Stokely said, “And you can be Sister Holey Pants of the Not So Immaculate Order.” Mrs. Stokely slapped her knee again and laughed even harder at her own joke.
Lindsay tried not to smirk while she stirred milk into her coffee, then offered it to Ren. “A little milk, Sister?”
Mrs. Stokely laughed again and said, “I’m so glad you girls stopped by. I haven’t laughed this hard in years.”
Or ever, Lindsay thought to herself. Jovial wasn’t a word anyone in town would use to describe Mrs. Stokely. Stoic and stern were the more likely choices. It was all very curious. Even the way she’d just used the term stopped by, as if she hadn’t set up the time and place yesterday.
“Thank you for inviting us,” Ren said. “I’ve really been looking forward to hearing more about your work.” She turned to Lindsay. “Both of you.”
The lightheartedness of the moment turned into panic. Those gorgeous brown eyes were on Lindsay, scanning her from head to toe. She needed to say something. “I’m a portrait painter.”
“Where did you study?”
“Study?” Lindsay’s throat felt dry, and the damned scarf around her neck needed to come off.
“She’s a natural,” Mrs. Stokely said. “A rare talent.”
Lindsay wrapped her fingers around the knot and untied the scarf. “I didn’t study anywhere.” She toyed with the scarf for a moment, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. “I mean, uh, you know. Not formally.”
“So you were born with an innate gift.”
“I suppose I was.”
“Well, your work is exceptional,” Ren said.
Wasn’t it funny how the act of removing a piece of clothing could become something entirely different when someone was watching? Even a scarf. Lindsay pulled on one end while Ren looked on. She could’ve taken it off over her head with both hands. It would’ve been quicker. But she found herself wishing the scarf were fifty feet long so Ren wouldn’t look away. Maybe she could take off an earring too. Then the other. Maybe pull the sweltering sweater over her head. Or even better, ask Ren to do it for her.
With the sweater gone, it wouldn’t make sense to leave her bra on. She could turn her back to Ren and let her unhook it. Maybe she wouldn’t turn back around right away. Maybe she’d wait to see where Ren’s hands went. Ren, who stared while the scarf broke free and fell onto her lap.
She heard Mrs. Stokely say something, but she couldn’t make it out. Mrs. Stokely cleared her throat and asked a bit more loudly than normal, “Are you all right, dear?”
Had all the air left the room? Because
Lindsay could barely breathe. “A little warm, maybe.”
Mrs. Stokely got up and adjusted the thermostat. “Forgive me. These old bones get cold.”
Ren removed her jacket. “Would a cold cloth help?”
“No, I’ll be fine.” Lindsay didn’t need a cold cloth. She needed to get control of her thoughts. It was so hard, though. Even harder now that Ren had taken her jacket off.
A fire raged inside Lindsay. The closer she was to Ren, the hotter it burned. Sitting on the sofa together had been a bad idea. She’d have to remember that if they ever saw each other again. Sit. Far. Away.
Mrs. Stokely handed her a glass of ice water. She took a sip and pressed the glass to her cheek. Fainting, stumbling, stuttering, overheating. What was next, spontaneous combustion? An unassisted orgasm? Her eyes shuddered closed at the thought.
Ren patted Lindsay’s knee and turned her attention away. “How about you, Mrs. Stokely? When did you start painting those wonderful landscapes?”
“Oh, years ago. It’s always been a hobby of mine, but I started taking it seriously when someone close to me passed away. I could lose myself in a painting for hours, which meant there were fewer hours in the day to grieve. It became my therapy.”
Lindsay breathed a sigh of relief. Mrs. Stokely would surely go on for some time before the conversation came back around to Lindsay’s work. She sat back on the sofa and sipped the cold water while trying to keep her eyes off Ren.
* * *
Ren gave Mrs. Stokely a final wave and waited until she’d closed her front door to say, “I think I won her over.”
“Won her over? I think she fell madly in love with you.” Lindsay tied her scarf to her purse.
Ren switched the tiny suitcase that held Mrs. Stokely’s shoe polishing supplies to her other hand so she could walk a little closer to her new friend. “Well, I do have that effect on women.”
“Women of a certain age or women in general?”
Lindsay had a quick wit. Ren liked that about her. She set the suitcase down and put her jacket back on. “It really was overly warm in there.”
Lindsay scoffed. “Yeah, like a dry sauna.”
Ren slowed her pace and let Lindsay get a little bit ahead. There was something about the way Lindsay looked at her, even from the very first moment before she’d fainted. Ren knew Lindsay would turn around. She was sure of it. And she was just as sure that when Lindsay did turn to find out what the holdup was, Ren would see that look again.
She waited for it, unable to move until Lindsay stopped and turned. She needed to see it again to know for sure. And there it was. Pain, sadness, uncertainty. Why would anyone look at a stranger with such emotion in their eyes?
It had happened a few times while they sat on Mrs. Stokely’s green sofa. Ren caught her staring. If anyone was making eyes at anyone, it was Lindsay. But it wasn’t the kind of look Ren would want from such an intriguing, beautiful, talented woman. It wasn’t a flirty look or a come-hither look. In fact, if Ren hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought she’d done something terrible and had a lot of making up to do. A lot of trust to rebuild. A lot of wounds to heal. But they barely knew each other.
“Are you okay?” Lindsay bent and picked up the little suitcase.
When their eyes met again, Ren asked, “Are you?”
Lindsay hadn’t just turned. She’d come back for Ren. Picked up her suitcase. And the question hung in the air for what felt like an eternity. Why couldn’t Lindsay say she was fine or not fine or somewhere in between?
Without an answer, Ren felt compelled to pull this beautiful stranger into her arms. Those hands were slow to return the hug. Hesitant. But once Lindsay’s arms wrapped around her, Ren found herself in a warm embrace she had no desire to escape.
It was Lindsay who let go first. The blush across her chest and neck were the first things Ren noticed. Then she realized Lindsay still had a firm grip on her forearms.
“I’m not sure why I did that,” Ren confessed. “I guess you looked like you needed a hug.”
Lindsay’s grip loosened. “You were right.”
“I hope it helped.” Their stance was far too intimate. Their gaze too full of emotion. Ren felt something she couldn’t define. Concern? No, it was bigger than that. She was quite capable of feeling concern for a stranger in distress. This was different.
“I think you’re the only person in the whole world who…” Lindsay shook her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’t what?” Ren wanted to touch her face. Cup her cheeks and urge her gaze upward, but she only did that with girlfriends. Lovers. Lindsay was neither. And yet, she found Lindsay’s chin and lifted it until their eyes met. “Tell me.”
An obnoxious car horn startled them. Instant anger rose in Ren. She wanted to tell the asshole who had honked their horn to fuck the hell off, but this wasn’t the city. Whoever it was, she’d probably run into them again, and that would be embarrassing.
Lindsay took two steps back. “I hate it when he does that.”
A teenage girl jumped out of the passenger seat of the truck. “Mom! I need you to give me and Corey a ride to—” She stopped when she saw Ren. “Oh, hi.”
“Brooke, this is Ren Christopher,” Lindsay said. “Deb’s good friend from New York.”
Ren offered her hand. “Nice to meet you, Brooke.”
“Likewise.” Brooke gestured over her shoulder. “This is my dad, Ben.”
Ben came around from the driver’s side of the truck. “Miss Christopher. Good to see you again.”
“You’ve met?” Lindsay looked to both of them.
“We met on the road,” Ren said. “Officer Hall was kind enough to give me a warning instead of what I imagine would’ve been a very expensive speeding ticket.”
Ben leaned against his truck and crossed his ankles and arms as if settling in for a pleasant conversation. The look on Lindsay’s face said that was the last thing she wanted. “I saved you over two hundred bucks,” he said. “I think that means you owe me one of Deb’s cinnamon rolls.”
Ren couldn’t tell if he was flirting again, but she did a casual sidestep and put her arm around Lindsay. “We were on our way to Deb’s right now.”
“I thought you already had coffee with old Mrs.…I mean, Mrs. Stokely,” Brooke said.
Ren cupped a hand around her mouth. “Sweet lady. Well, not exactly sweet. More like—”
“Hostile toward anyone younger than her? Yeah, I know,” Brooke said. “But you’ll have to get coffee later. I need my mom right now.”
Ben shrugged. “I guess old Dad is just chopped liver over here.”
“Ew. I don’t even know what that means, but it’s disgusting, Dad.”
Lindsay stepped forward. “It means, why can’t your dad take you, honey? What’s this about?”
“It needs to be a woman.” Brooke put up a hand. “That’s all I’m going to say.”
“I’m out.” Ben pushed off his truck. “Love you, Brookey.”
“Love you, Dad.” Brooke turned back to her mom. “Okay, seriously, Dad drives me crazy sometimes. He’s so nosy.”
“Everybody seems nosy when you’re…how old are you?” Ren guessed she was tall for her age since Lindsay couldn’t possibly have a daughter as old as Brooke looked.
“Seventeen. Still can’t drive because of my dad, or I wouldn’t be begging for rides.”
“Brooke, Ren doesn’t need to hear about your woes,” Lindsay said. “Do you need tampons or something? You know your dad has no problem buying those.”
“Really, Mom? You obviously don’t know Dad very well. But you do know when my period is. Same time every stupid month.” She let out a big, overly dramatic sigh and said, “It’s Corey. She needs to get something in Lake City, but she’s been grounded from driving for two weeks. Bad grade on a math test or something.”
“I’ll drive you,” Ren said. “I’ve hardly seen Corey since I got here, so this is the perfect opportunity. She’ll be a capt
ive audience in my car, which means I can grill her on her latest boyfriend.”
“He’s a loser,” Brooke said. “But yeah, she loves to talk about him.”
Ren realized she probably shouldn’t have made the offer without conferring with Brooke’s mother first. “Are you okay with this, Lindsay?”
“It’s fine. It’s good. I mean, for you and Corey to have some time together.”
Ren felt a strange need to say good-bye appropriately. Or inappropriately. She didn’t kiss someone she barely knew good-bye. She didn’t caress their cheek and study their face in case she never saw them again. “I’ll see you again soon,” she said in hopes that the feeling would go away.
“See you soon.” Lindsay pointed at Brooke. “Make good choices.”
“Really?” Brooked huffed. “In front of strangers?”
“Honey, Ren’s not a stranger,” Lindsay said over her shoulder. She got in her car and waved before driving away.
Ren couldn’t suppress the huge grin that popped out, hard as she tried. Lindsay didn’t think of her as a stranger. Was she swooning? She was swooning. “See you soon, Lindsay Hall!”
Brooke furrowed her brow. “You already said that.”
“Which part?” Ren’s eyes were on Lindsay’s car until it turned the corner.
“See you soon. You said it twice.”
Ren turned to Brooke. She had no idea what this kid of Lindsay’s was getting at, and she felt too happy to care. “It’s called a pleasantry,” she said. “You should try it sometime.” She opened the car door and motioned with her head. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Seven
Corey chose to sit in the back seat of the convertible. She seemed quiet. Not the bubbly girl Ren knew. Brooke, on the other hand, hadn’t stopped asking questions. Was Ren one of Lindsay’s clients? How long was she in town for? How fast had she driven in the car?
Ren downplayed that one and said eighty.