by Annie Rains
Lacy looked at the small postcard that Rose held up.
“You were supposed to RSVP if you were going to your ten-year class reunion,” Rose said. “You needed to send this postcard back.”
“Only if I’m going,” Lacy corrected.
“Of course you’re going,” Birdie said. “I went to my ten-year reunion last year, and it was amazing. I wish we had one every year. I wouldn’t miss it.”
Unlike Lacy, her sisters had been popular in school. They hadn’t had to wear a bulky back brace that made them look like a box turtle in its shell. It had drawn nothing but negative attention during those long, tormenting years.
“It’s not really a time in my life that I want to remember,” Lacy pointed out as she passed them and headed into the kitchen for a glass of lemonade. Or perhaps she should go ahead and pour herself something stronger. She could tell she might need it tonight.
A knock on her front door made her turn. “Who is that?” Lacy asked. “I scheduled the book discussion for seven. It’s only six.” Lacy set down the glass she’d pulled from the cabinet and went to follow her sisters to the door.
“About that,” Birdie said a bit sheepishly. “We changed the plan at the last minute.”
Lacy didn’t like the sound of that. “What do you mean?”
“No one actually read the book you chose,” Birdie said as Rose let the first arrivals in. “Instead, we’re playing matchmaker tonight. What goes together better than summer and love?”
Lacy frowned. “If you wanted summer love, I could’ve chosen a romance novel to read instead.”
Birdie gave her a disapproving look. Lacy doubted anyone was more disappointed about tonight’s shift in festivities than her though.
Chapter Two
Paris hadn’t been able to fully concentrate for the last hour and a half as he sat in front of his computer working on a job for Peak Designs Architectural Firm. His mind was in other places. Primarily the library.
The Frowner, as he’d come to think of the old man in his class, was forefront in his mind. Was it possible that the Frowner was Mr. Jenson?
It couldn’t be. Mr. Jenson had been a loving, caring guy, from what Paris remembered. Granted, loving and caring were subjective, and Paris hadn’t had much to go on back then.
Mrs. Jenson had been the mother that Paris had always wished he had. She’d doted on him, offering affection and unconditional love. Even though Paris had been a boy who’d landed himself in the principal’s office most afternoons, Mrs. Jenson had never raised her voice. And Mr. Jenson had always come home from his job and sat down with Paris, giving him a lecture that had proved to be more like a life lesson.
Paris had never forgotten those lessons. Or that man.
He blinked the memories away and returned his attention to the design he was working on. It was good, but he only did excellent jobs. Your best is the only acceptable thing.
He stared at the design for another moment and then decided to come back to it tomorrow when he wasn’t so tired. Instead, he went to his Facebook page and searched Albert Jenson’s name. He’d done so before, but no profiles under that name had popped up. This time, one did. The user had a profile picture of a rose instead of himself. Paris’s old foster dad had loved his rose gardens. This must be him!
Paris scrolled down, reading the most recent posts. One read that Mr. Jenson had gone to the nursing home to visit his wife, Nancy.
Paris frowned at the news. The transition must have been recent because Mrs. Jenson had been home when he’d called late last year. She’d been the one to pretty much tell him to get lost.
He continued to scroll through more pictures of roses and paused at another post. This one read that Mr. Jenson had just signed up for a computer skills class at the Sweetwater Library.
So it was true. Mr. Jenson, the foster dad who’d taught him so much, was also the Frowner.
* * *
Lacy had decided to stick to just lemonade tonight since she was hosting the Ladies’ Day Out group. But plans were meant to be changed, as evidenced by the fact that the book discussion she’d organized had turned into the women sitting around her living room, eyes on a laptop screen while perusing an online dating site.
“Oh, he’s cute!” Alice Hampton said, sitting on the couch and leaning over Josie Kellum’s shoulder as she tapped her fingers along the keys of Lacy’s laptop. Not that anyone had asked to use her computer. The women had just helped themselves.
Lacy reached for the bottle of wine, poured herself a deep glass, and then headed over to see who they were looking at. “I know him,” she said, standing between her sisters behind the couch. “He comes into the library all the time.”
“Any interest?” Josie asked.
Lacy felt her face scrunch at the idea of anything romantic with her library patron. “Definitely not. I know what his reading interests are and frankly, they scare me. That’s all I’ll say on that.”
She stepped away from her sisters and walked across the room to look out the window. The moon was full tonight. Her driveway was also full, with cars parked along the curb. She wasn’t a social butterfly by any means, but she looked like one this evening and that made her feel strangely satisfied.
“So what are your hobbies, Lacy?” Josie asked. “Other than reading, of course.”
“Well, I like to go for long walks,” Lacy said, still watching out the window.
Josie tapped a few more keys. “Mmm-hmm. What’s your favorite food?”
Lacy turned and looked back at the group. “Hot dogs,” she said, earning her a look from the other women.
“Do you know what hot dogs are made out of?” Greta wanted to know.
“Yes, of course I do. Why do I feel like I’m being interviewed for one of your articles right now?”
“Not an article,” Birdie said. “A dating profile.”
“What?” Lacy nearly spilled her glass of wine as she moved to look over Josie’s shoulder. “What are you doing? I don’t want to be up on Fish In The Sea dot com. Stop that.”
Birdie gave her a stern look. “You have a class reunion coming up, and you can’t go alone.”
“I’m not going period,” Lacy reiterated.
“Not going to your class reunion?” Dawanda from the fudge shop asked. She was middle-aged with spiky, bright red hair. She tsked from across the room, where she sat in an old, worn recliner that Lacy had gotten from a garage sale during college.
Lacy finished off her wine and set the empty glass on the coffee table nearby. “I already told you, high school was a miserable time that I don’t want to revisit.”
“All the more reason you should go,” Birdie insisted. Even though she was only a year older, Birdie acted like Lacy’s mother sometimes.
“Why, so I can be traumatized all over again?” Lacy shook her head. “It took me years to get over all the pranks and ridicule. Returning to the scene of the crime could reverse all my progress.”
“What progress?” Rose asked. “You never go out, and you never date.”
Lacy furrowed her brow. “I go to the café all the time.”
“Alone and you sit in the back,” Birdie pointed out. “Your back brace is gone, but you’re still hiding in the corner.”
Lacy’s jaw dropped. She wanted to argue but couldn’t. Her sister was right.
“So we’re making Lacy a dating profile,” Josie continued, looking back down at the laptop’s screen. “Twenty-eight years old, loves to read, and takes long walks in the park.”
“I never said anything about the park,” Lacy objected.
“It sounds more romantic that way.” Josie didn’t bother to look up. “Loves exotic fruit…”
“I said hot dogs.”
This time Josie turned her head and looked at Lacy over her shoulder. “Hot dogs don’t go on dating profiles…but cute, wagging dogs do.” Her fingers started flying across the keyboard.
“I like cats.” Lacy watched for another moment and then went t
o pour herself another glass of wine as the women created her profile at FishInTheSea.com.
After a few drinks, she relaxed a little and started feeding Josie more details about herself. She wasn’t actually going to do this, of course. Online dating seemed so unromantic. She wanted to find Mr. Right the old-fashioned way, where fate introduced him into her life and sparks flew like a massive explosion of fireworks. Or at least like a sparkler.
* * *
An hour later, Lacy said goodbye to the group and sat on the couch. She gave the book she’d wanted to discuss a sidelong glance, and then she reached for her laptop. The dating profile stared back at her, taking her by surprise. They’d used a profile picture from when she’d been a bridesmaid at a wedding last year. Her hair was swept up and she had a dipping neckline on her dress that showed off more skin than normal. Lacy read what Josie and her sisters had written. The truth was disregarded in favor of more interesting things.
Lacy was proud of who she was, but the women were right. She wasn’t acting that way by shying away from her reunion. She was acting like the girl in the back brace, quietly sitting in the far corner of the room out of fear that others might do something nasty like stick a sign on her back that read KICK ME! I WON’T FEEL IT!
“Maybe I should go to the reunion,” she said out loud. “Or maybe I should delete this profile and forget all about it.”
The decision hummed through her body along with the effect of one too many glasses of wine. After a moment, she shut the laptop and went to bed. She could decide her profile’s fate tomorrow.
* * *
The next morning, Paris woke with the birds outside his window. After a shower and a quick bite, he grabbed his laptop to work on the deck, which served as his office these days. Before getting started on the Peak Designs logo, he scrolled through email and social media. He clicked on Mr. Jenson’s profile again, only to read a post that Paris probably didn’t need first thing in the morning.
The computer skills class was a complete waste of time. Learned nothing. Either I’m a genius or the instructor is an idiot.
The muscles along the back of his neck tightened. At least he didn’t need to wonder if Mr. Jenson would be back.
He read another post.
Went to see Nancy today. I think she misses her roses more than she misses me. She wants to come home, and this old house certainly isn’t home without her.
Paris felt like he’d taken a fall from his bike, landing chest-first and having the breath knocked out of him. Why wasn’t Mrs. Jenson home? What was wrong with her? And why was Mr. Jenson so different from the man he remembered?
Paris pushed those questions from his mind and began work on some graphic designs. Several hours later, he’d achieved much more than he’d expected. He shoved his laptop into its bag, grabbed his keys, and rode his motorcycle to the library. As he walked inside, his gaze immediately went to the librarian. Her hair was pulled back with some kind of stick poking through it today. He studied her as she checked books into the system on her desktop.
She glanced up and offered a shy wave, which he returned as he headed toward the computer room. He would have expected Mr. Jenson not to return to class today based on his Facebook comments, but Mr. Jenson was already waiting for him when he walked in. All the other students from the previous day filed in within the next few minutes.
“Today I’m teaching you all to use Microsoft Word,” he told the group.
“Why would I use Microsoft Word?” Alice Hampton asked. Her questions were presented in a curious manner rather than the questions that Mr. Jenson posed, which felt more like an attack.
“Well, let’s say you want to write a report for some reason. Then you could do one here. Or if you wanted to get creative and write a novel, then this is the program you’d use.”
“I’ve always wanted to write a book,” Greta told Alice. “It’s on my bucket list, and I’m running out of time.”
“Are you sick?” Alice asked with concern, their conversation hijacking the class.
“No, I’m healthy as a buzzard. Just old, and I can’t live forever,” Greta told her.
“Love keeps you young,” Edna Baker said from a few chairs down. She was the grandmother of the local police chief, Alex Baker. “Maybe you should join one of those online dating sites.”
The group got excited suddenly and turned to Paris, who had leaned back against one of the counters, arms folded over his chest as he listened.
He lifted a brow. “What?”
“A dating site,” Edna reiterated. “We helped Lacy Shaw join one last night in our Ladies’ Day Out group.”
“The librarian?” Paris asked, his interest piquing.
“Had to do it with her dragging and screaming, but we did it. I wouldn’t mind making a profile of my own,” Edna continued.
“Me too.” Greta nodded along with a few other women.
“I’m married,” Mr. Jenson said in his usual grumpy demeanor. “I have no reason to be on a dating site.”
“Then leave, Albert,” Greta called out.
Mr. Jenson didn’t budge.
“We’re here to learn about what interests us, right?” Edna asked Paris.
He shrugged. There was no official syllabus. He was just supposed to teach computer literacy for the seniors in town. “I guess so.”
“Well, majority rules. We want to get on one of those dating sites. I think the one we were on last night was called Fish In The Sea dot com.”
Paris unfolded his arms, debating if he was actually going to agree to this. He somehow doubted the Sweetwater Springs librarian would approve, even if she’d apparently been on the site herself.
“Fine, I’ll get you started,” Paris finally relented, “but tomorrow, we’re learning about Microsoft Word.”
“I don’t want to write a report or a novel,” Mr. Jenson said, his frown so deep it joined with the fold of his double chin.
“Again, don’t come if you don’t want to,” Greta nearly shouted. “No one is forcing you.”
Paris suspected that Mr. Jenson would be back regardless of his opinions. Maybe he was lonely. Or maybe, despite his demeanor, this was his idea of a good time.
After teaching the group how to use the search bar function and get to the Fish In the Sea website, Paris walked around to make sure everyone knew how to open an account. Some started making their own profiles while others watched their neighbors’ screens.
“This is Lacy’s profile,” Alice said when he made his way to her.
Paris leaned in to take a closer look. “That’s not the librarian here.”
“Oh, it is. This photo was taken when she was a bridesmaid last year. Isn’t she beautiful?”
For a moment, Paris couldn’t pull his gaze away from the screen. If he were on the dating site, he’d be interested in her. “Likes to hike. Loves dogs. Favorite food is a hot dog. Looking for adventure,” he read. “That isn’t at all what I would have pegged Lacy as enjoying.”
Alice gave him a look. “Maybe there’s more to her than meets the eye. Would you like to sit down and create your own profile? Then you could give her a wink or a nibble or whatever the online dating lingo is.”
He blinked, pulled his gaze from the screen, and narrowed his eyes at his former landlord. “You know I’m not interested in that kind of thing.” He’d told Alice all about his past when he’d rented a room from her last year. After his messy marriage, the last thing he wanted was to jump into another relationship.
“Well, what I know is, you’re young, and your heart can take a few more beatings if it comes to it. Mine, on the other hand, can’t, which is why I’m not creating one of these profiles.”
Paris chuckled. “Hate to disappoint, but I won’t be either.” Even if seeing Lacy’s profile tempted him to do otherwise.
* * *
At the end of the hour, Paris was the last to leave his class, following behind Mr. Jenson, who had yet to hold a personal conversation with him or say a civi
lized thing in his direction.
He didn’t recognize Paris, and why would he? Paris had been a boy back then. His hair had been long and had often hung in his eyes. His body had been scrawny from neglect and he hadn’t gotten his growth spurt until well into his teen years. He hadn’t even had the same last name back then. He’d gone by PJ Drake before his parents’ divorce. Then there was a custody battle, which was the opposite of what one might think. Instead of fighting for him, his parents had fought over who had to take him.
“Mr. Jenson?” Paris called.
The older man turned to look at Paris with disdain.
“How was the class?”
“An utter waste of time.”
Paris liked to think he had thick skin, but his former foster dad’s words had sharp edges that penetrated deep. “Okay, well what computer skills would you like to learn?”
The skin between Mr. Jenson’s eyes made a deep divot as he seemed to think. “I can’t see my wife every day like I want to because I don’t drive. It’s hard for an old man like me to go so far. The nurses say they can set up Skype to talk to her, but I don’t understand it. They didn’t have that sort of thing when I was old enough to learn new tricks.”
“Never too late,” Paris said. “A great man once taught me that.”
That great man was standing in front of him now, whether he knew it or not. And he needed his own pep talk of sorts. “Come back tomorrow, and we’ll get you set up for that.”
Mr. Jenson frowned back at him. “We’ll see.”
* * *
Lacy was trying not to panic.
A blue circle had started spinning on her laptop screen five minutes ago. Now there were pop-up boxes that she couldn’t seem to get rid of. She’d restarted her computer, but the pop-up boxes were relentless. She sucked in a breath and blew it out audibly. Then another, bordering on hyperventilation.
“You okay?” a man’s voice asked.
Her gaze lifted to meet Paris’s. “Oh. Yeah.” She shook her head.
“You’re saying yes, but you’re shaking your head no.” His smile was the kind that made women swoon, and for a moment, she forgot that she was in panic mode.