Epilogue #2
“Alma, it’s almost one in the morning. Everyone’s either gone or they’re in the zone and here pulling an all-nighter.
Come on. My car’s in the rear parking lot.
” He turned and led the way. For such a wide muscular man he moved surprisingly lightly on his feet.
Trailing along behind him, she frantically tried to understand why he made her feel a little unsettled.
He wasn’t exactly handsome, but there was something arresting about his square jaw, long straight nose and that easy broad smile of his.
He looked like a man who would spend a lot of time outdoors.
For some reason she could picture him chopping wood, like one of those exceedingly fit mountain men, who owned a log cabin and wore nothing but flannel shirts and old, worn, tight jeans.
Stepping outside Alma was beyond grateful for the cool Autumnal night air, it was exactly the wake up call she needed.
She had no business picturing Thom, or any man for that matter, in tight jeans and chopping wood.
Too many late nights working and missing too many meals, that’s what her problem was.
There was no other explanation. Why, Thom was a good fifty years younger than her own one hundred and thirteen years young.
She might look like an elegant and very well maintained sixty year old woman, but there was a lifetime of experience separating them.
Still, for some reason she felt the need to be ultra careful as she slid into the passenger seat, Thom having opened the door for her. It was vitally important for some reason that she not touch him, all her instincts flaring in warning. And Alma always listened to her instincts.
“Sorry.” He smiled again, settling into the driver’s seat, hurriedly turning down the volume of the radio as French jazz music filled the car the moment he started the engine. “I usually keep it loud to block out the sound of my own humming.”
Alma laughed, amused. “I can’t hold a tune either.”
“That’s a relief.” They exited the carpark, Thom driving them around the empty square, glancing at Alma briefly.
“Oh?”
“To discover there’s something the Velvet Tank is not good at. That’s valuable rumour currency to have at my disposal.”
Alma glanced out at the passing scenery in order to hide her blush.
Her! Blushing! It was a well-known fact that the family had nicknamed her the ‘Sherman Tank’ - thanks to her heavy handed matchmaking ways.
But the Velvet Tank? She wasn’t quite sure if it was a taunt or, no, there was no way this much younger man could be flirting with her? Was there?
No. Impossible. Still, she felt the need to nip this in the bud, her voice sounding so prim that even she winced a little at how abrasive she sounded. “Trust me, there are any number of things I’m not good at.”
“Really?” He smiled again, sounding like he didn’t believe her. Perhaps he was just a generally good natured flirtatious man and Alma was reading danger signs when none were actually present.
It was a relief when he pulled the car to a halt in front of her old Victorian two storey home.
“No.” She shook her head, stopping him from exiting the car to help her.
She wasn’t that ancient. “I’ve got it.” Releasing the belt and flinging open the door a little bit more forcefully than she intended.
Turning, she glanced back. “Thank you for the ride.”
“I could pick you up in the morning.”
“No need. Patricia swings by on her way to the Library.”
Grey eyes glittered with amusement. “Well, if you ever need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to call me.”
Why did it sound like he was offering her more than just a simple off the cuff polite courtesy? Sweet Lady, she needed some food and sleep, now. “My new car is arriving next week. Once that’s here everything will be business as usual.”
Thom nodded and smiled again. “Night, Alma. Sweet dreams.”
Closing the car door, Alma charged up her front walk, very aware of Thom waiting for her to get inside before re-starting the car and driving off. Heavens, collapsing back against the door.
All her instincts, no, all her matchmaking instincts, were buzzing warnings.
She badly wanted to ignore them, push them away as nothing but foolishness.
However, she hadn’t been an unparalleled matchmaker for over eighty years by ignoring red flags.
Closing her eyes, Alma mentally replayed the events of the last fifteen minutes.
Yes, the evidence was glaring, strings had been pulled, events tweaked.
Only one person would dare. The events of this evening, now she was studying them closely using her magic, showed clear signs of Darcy’s ham fisted machinations.
Hah, it seems the apprentice wanted to match her skills against the master. Well, let the games begin. Alma Richart, Southern Sanctuary Matchmaker, was about to teach Darcy Montgomery how unwise it was to mess with the Velvet Tank.
It really was a rather splendid new nickname.
The End