Chapter 4 #2
I froze in place as the voice registered, that unmistakable smushing together of my nickname, Li’l Joy, into his own version: La-ja. It always reminded me of the pulsing sound in a horror movie as the killer searches through darkened rooms for his next victim. La-ja, la-ja, la-ja.
Then came the footsteps—his footsteps—fast and sure. “I thought that was you! You always had those athletic legs!”
Of course he would know. He’d spent so much time trying to touch them decades ago.
I dropped the skirt and turned to face him, because if I didn’t, he’d probably wrap me up in a bear hug the way he used to do. I liked it, but not too much. Didn’t want to get a reputation, you know.
Before me stood Richard Tatum. All dark-brown six feet of him, with a bald but dent-less head, salt-and-pepper beard, and artificially white teeth twinkling back at me.
He was good-looking as a young man, and honestly he looked even better now.
He’d taken care of himself, it appeared, which always makes an older man seem smart no matter what he’d actually accomplished—or not—in his lifetime.
It was kind of sweet of him to run after me. Something Eric wouldn’t have done.
Richard stood at a respectable distance, smiling broadly. “Why, to what does this entire town owe this pleasure?”
“Hello, Richard.”
“Hello, Joyce. You’re looking mighty fine.”
“Thank you. Time’s been good to you as well,” I had to admit.
His eyes swept down my body and back up again. “Pretty legs holding up.”
“Stop.” I found myself responding to his flirty compliment with a smile that refused to contain itself. What in the world? Am I desperate? Maybe this was what Eileen had seen in me, too. Desperate, lonely, and divorced.
“You never answered my question. What brings you back here?”
I noticed he hadn’t asked about my family, the most proper way to ask about my husband. No, he just stood there asking about me, like he already knew it was perfectly fine to chase me down the street and compliment my legs.
Miss Mary worked fast; I needed to work faster. “I moved back to my grandmother’s old house. How’s your family, Richard?”
His shrug drew my attention to his embroidered shirt. Tatum Printing. His father had owned that business back in the day. “Kids and grandkids all good.”
“And Lucielle?” I asked.
“Lucielle and I split up. About five years ago. A few years before my parents died—they went within months of each other.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Richard,” I said.
Everybody always said that when a couple has been together all their lives and one goes, the other one might die of heartache soon after.
A sad but beautiful love story that I always knew wasn’t going to happen to me—at least, not the “die of heartache” part.
“Thank you for the condolences.”
“You’re welcome. You running the business these days?”
“Yep. When my father passed, I sold my dealership in Dallas, sold my house, and relocated back to Robin Creek. Ready to slow down, you know?”
“Yeah. Slowing down is good for the soul,” I had to agree.
He dipped his head low. “Listen, you…uh…not married anymore. Right?”
I didn’t respond right away.
“I mean, that’s what I heard.”
“So you already knew why I was back in town, then?”
“No, no, no,” he denied a little too adamantly. “That’s what I heard. But I can’t be sure, not until I hear it straight from you.”
Lying about my situation didn’t seem reasonable. “It’s true. I’m divorced. Retired. Starting over.”
He whistled and shook his head. “Whoever thought at our age we’d be out here in these single streets again. You been online?”
“Online for what?”
“For matchmaking.”
I scrunched up my face. “No, I most certainly have not. I’m not looking for a match—and if I were, I wouldn’t be online.”
Richard laughed. “I said the same thing. But it’s how things happen nowadays. How else are you gonna find somebody when most of the people our age are homebodies?”
“I repeat, I am not looking for anybody. And I aspire to become a prolific homebody.”
Richard’s eyes swept over me again. “It’s a crying shame to keep a body like yours at home all the time.”
For some reason, his compliment actually tickled me. A little flutter in my chest. Had it been that long since I’d captured a man’s full attention?
“Well. Home is where I belong for now. It was good seeing you again.”
I tried to step away, but Richard blocked my path as he asked, “You on social media? Can I message you?”
Whatever happened to Can I have your number?
I gave him my full profile name.
“I’ll send you a friend request,” he declared proudly.
This must be what online daters do. “Fine with me.”
Richard tipped his head and allowed me to pass.
As I slid into my car, I wondered if I’d done it right.
Flirting, I mean. The last time I’d flirted, I was a college junior at a fraternity party, batting my lashes at Eric, hoping he wouldn’t take my gestures to mean that I was “too easy.” My father always told me to make a man “work for it.” It could be your company, your attention, sex, your hand in marriage.
I made Eric work to get all of it, but I’m not sure either of us knew what to do after all that workin’ was over.
Maybe that was why I was single again. Back in my father’s hometown, semi-flirting with a man I hadn’t seen in decades because the one I married thought that after we got married, his work was done.
I tsked. I didn’t sign up for a restart, exactly, but it was happening to me. And maybe Richard—with his song-lyric-worthy lines—was as good a person as any to try on my new self with.