Page 25 of The Fast Lane
“Oh, he’s a handsome one,” a voice said behind me. A woman around my mother’s age, her gray hair cut in a neat shoulder-length bob, smiled when I turned around. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Couldn’t help myself.”
“It’s okay.”
Her eyes lit up. “Are you here to see Jolette?”
“No, passing through on a road trip.”
“You must see her. She’s never wrong.”
I squirmed in my seat. “We’re not, um, together.”
“She was right for me. Twice.”
“Twice?”
“The first time she told me we weren’t a good match, but I ignored her. We got divorced after three years. But the second time,” she sighed dreamily, “she said we made a great couple and I listened. In fact, if you look on the wall, you’ll find a photo from our wedding.”
“So, she was right.”
“Oh, yes. We were married twenty-seven years before he passed away.” Her smile turned sad. “I miss him every day. Sometimes when I feel especially sad, I come have lunch here. It’s a bit of a drive but it makes me feel like he’s close. Silly, aren’t I?”
“Not silly at all.”
She peered out the window, a wistful smile on her face. “Thank you for listening to a sad, old woman ramble. I’ll let you get back to your young man.”
“He’s not my?—”
But she was already sliding out of her booth and walking away. Theo held the door for her with a smile, the phone still pressed to his ear, and wandered back to the table.
“August twentieth at ten,” he said. “Yes, I have the address.” Pause. “I look forward to meeting with you then. Thank you for the opportunity.”
After sliding into his seat, he pressed end and tapped away on his phone like I wasn’t sitting right in front of him.
“What’s happening on August twentieth?”
“A thing I have to go to.” He didn’t look up.
“And this thing is…?”
He set his phone down and scratched the back of his neck. “It’s for an article I’m working on.”
“What’s the article about?”
“Sports.”
“What sport?”
His eyes crinkled in the corners in amusement. “All of them.”
“A sports article about all the sports written by a sportswriter. Wow. You are the worst liar.”
He smirked. “Am I, though?”
“Theo Goodnight, do you have a secret?”
“Maybe.”
I leaned forward, propped up on my elbows. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”