While acting as interim publicist for Lakeview Retirement Village, I’ve experienced some of the highest highs and lowest lows, though I appreciate it’s been mostly the former. Ever since handing control of my social life over to a bunch of contrary canaries, anyway.
In some ways, it’d gone as disastrously as predicted, yet in others…
I do another sweep of the crowd forming in the living room, my pulse skidding happily along. Already we’ve drawn more people than predicted, and it feels good to be in the center of the action again, busy with a pinch of anxiety, enough excitement and pride coursing through me to combat my whirlwind of incessant doubts.
I’m not the same broken, shellshocked woman I was when I arrived at the village, and I refuse to go back to her.
Even if Claudia Caldwell just walked in, her pinched expression saying she means to ruin my day.
Except she can’t, becauseIget to decide that, not her. I take control, snagging a welcome bag and meeting her head-on, cheery smile plastered to my face. I give her a quick spiel and hand her a welcome bag. “If you’ll open to August, you’ll see the events we have planned for next month, as well as new amenities we’ll be showing off this evening.”
Eyes narrowed at the older attendees like they might contain her next salacious story, she hits me with a question about our STD rates and whether we have proof they’re dropping.
Sure, I’d done plenty of pearl-clutching of my own in the beginning, but she continued to reduce them to nothing more than stats, and they deserve so much better than that.
“These are people who’ve fought for our country, whether at war or breaking glass ceilings in the workforce or marching for human rights. They have a plethora of wisdom to share with those who’ll listen, and they’ve shown me not giving a damn about what anyone else thinks is truly the happiest life of all.”
I let it hang there for a moment, leaning into the no-fucks attitude my grandmothers coerced me into learning.
Look what I’ve done in spite of all your mean, shittily written articles.
We don’t need you. We’re so much stronger and better than that.
That’s as much time as I’m willing to spend on a person so intent on misunderstanding what the village is all about, so I give her a grin that borders on maniacal and step right on past her to greet a group of incoming guests.
Over the next hour, there’s a steady trickle of people. Jan’s given three tours so far and is readying another group for a closer look at the grounds. People fawn over the gift bags, and the calendars are a big hit. Many potential residents visibly relax once they see neighbors they can relate to and a social calendar as busy as they want it, not loss and gloom and sitting around in solitude and sadness.
In addition to my last-minute project paying off, the assuredness I lost in myself rushes in to fill the gaps so packed with doubt, until there’s simply no room for it.
I’d pat myself on the back, but the puffed sleeves of my burgundy chiffon blouse won’t allow me to lift my arms higher than my shoulders. That doesn’t matter, though, because I love the sheer sleeves with bows at the elbows. I even let the Cronies pick out my jewelry from the Elegance and Grace boutique—a blingy pair of double cherry earrings for luck.
Speaking of good fortune, as if I summoned the man from the dreams I’ve had of him since our tryst in the garden, the prickle at my nape alerts me to his presence a fraction before I smell his cologne and hear his voice.
I turn in the direction I felt “the presence” and press my lips together to stifle a laugh.
Jan’s intercepted and pulled Noah into conversation. I quickly wrap up my chat with a doddling duo that reminds me of Wanda and my grandmother by passing them a brochure. “Two-bedroom floor plans are on page three. I’ll be around if you have any questions.”
I pick up my pace as I cross the room, the beats of my heart echoing the clickety-clack of my spiked golden pumps. With my four-inch heels that make me an expert at that particular distance, I come to Noah’s shoulder and utter a hello.
His eyebrow arches with his sidelong glance, and I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t see anything but him. Then he grants me an easy smile that makes me want to snuggle up and live in the curve of his mouth. It’s a shame our schedules haven’t been cooperating for our date—I crammed a dozen photo shoots into my already packed itinerary as massive rainstorms caused flash flooding damage to areas of the city he’d been busy working to repair—so I’m just glad to finally be in the same room.
Jan suddenly realizes she has a group to attend to, and while she’s whipping around on her scooter, I suggest she invite the duo I’d spoken to. I have no problem admitting that when it comes to the grand tour, nobody does it better. Just watch your toes when she motors closer, because she sure won’t.
“Hey,” Noah says, and I’m no longer a vessel of flesh and bone, but a blissful puddle of a girl.
“Hi,” I reply, and then, because I’m a bit of a smartass, “So? Shopping for a place to retire in…?” I look him up and down, tapping a finger to my lips as if assessing him—which technically I am, anddamn. “Ten years?”
He levels me a glare that was scarier before he fingered me in a golf cart parked beneath a willow tree, although my thighs squeeze together at the memory. “Very funny.”
At the dip of his head, I automatically rock onto my toes.
Our mouths meet in the middle, a light press that sends the world slowly spinning, like that first heave-ho push on a playground merry-go-round. My stomach lifts into my ribcage as he deepens the kiss, and I clamp onto his biceps for support as the momentum sends us whirling faster.
His groan rumbles through me, compelling me to part my lips and let more of him in, and that awakens something hungry from within.
Everything fizzes and pops as Noah bands his arm around my lower back, anchoring me to him as he plunders my mouth with his tongue. He’s a meticulous explorer, too, no stone left unturned. He throws his entire being into holding and kissing me, carving out a tiny, intimate space for just the two of us.
I can’t bring myself to care if anyone sees, or that our grandmas will hear about it, no question.That’s the magic of kissing Noah.
