Last of the Red-Hot Mammas
Page 3
She suddenly wanted that—or maybe it wasn’t so sudden, but now she had the courage to admit it. Not that she couldn’t exist just fine and dandy by herself as a single woman, but there was more in her life since she’d tripped out of her shoes at Magnolia House. There was Rab. He believed in her, helped her believe in herself again, and the most amazing thing of all . . . he believed in them together. How’d she get so lucky to find him? How’d she get so stupid not to run after him?
“I . . . I blew it, didn’t I?”
“Gee, you think?” Sue Ellen smirked with perfect sibling sarcasm.
“Guess I could call him up and say something like, Hey, Rab, how about a pizza? That’s a start, right?”
Everyone booed and Sue Ellen added, “That’s a coward. You shot him down in public so you’ve got to make up the same way. It’s only fitting.” She swept her hands over the flowers. “The problem is, how in the world do you top all this?”
—
Rab sat back in his chair, reeling from his fifth mom conference this morning, along with his fifth invite for dinner, lunch, a beach picnic, midnight stroll, and two sleepovers. Some women didn’t believe in beating around the bush when it came to what they wanted. Him! He stretched and stood as the most god-awful racket penetrated right through the walls of the school. A bagpipe with the flu? He did a quick trot down the empty hall and flung open the front doors to . . . Gloria? Gloria playing an accordion over a mic and singing the worst rendition ever of “I’m Sorry, So Sorry.”
His ears hurt but his heart kicked into overdrive. Windows in the school flew open, kids and teachers leaning out. Some cheered, all clapped, and Gloria reddened but kept on playing. If he wanted the students to believe in romance and the power of love, here it was in their own front yard.
Gloria finished the song to more cheers. She untangled herself from the accordion straps and took the mic in her hand. “Mr. Langley,” her voice boomed. “I’ve reconsidered your lovely invitation for dinner and would be honored to accompany you, except I think it should be for lunch.”
“And,” said Rab in his loudest principal voice. “Where would you like to have this lunch?”
“Right here is the perfect place.”
A parade of people suddenly crossed the street carrying large pizzas, blankets, and cartons of soda. He recognized the people from the tearoom yesterday when he and the kids dropped off the flowers. A roar of approval ran through the school and students poured out the front door for an unscheduled picnic. Gloria shrugged, then picked up a basket and walked toward him, her yellow sundress fluttering in the breeze, her hair shining in the Savannah sun, her smile radiant. God, he could love her, and in time she’d realize she could love him, too.
“Lunch.” She handed him the basket with an air of confidence he hadn’t noticed before. “And me.”
“A very lovely you. Are you going to teach me how to play the accordion?”
“Only if you teach me how to play the harmonica.”
“A duet.” He winked. “I like the sound of that.” He took her hand. This was definitely the start of something big.