I hold an arm out in front of her. “Then lead the way.”
Monica guides us past a room labeled the Common Room and out the back doors to a massive grassy area that’s surrounded by what appear to be apartments.
“Most of our residents live here,” she says, pointing to the building along the sidewalk. “Through that archway there are some of our shops.”
“Shops?”
“We have our own on-site hair and nail salon,” she explains. “There’s a café and a Mexican restaurant availableas well. If you keep going down this path, you’ll find the tennis court and the outdoor pool.”
“I’m sorry, is this a town or a nursing home?”
“Neither.” She smiles. “We’re an independent senior living center. We offer a community, organized activities, housekeeping, and other things to make our residents' lives better and easier at this stage. All guests have access to the media room and library. We have a common room where most of them just spend time together and socialize.”
Two women in velour jogging suits smile and wave to Monica as they power walk past us.
“Along with the restaurant, we have a dining room where they can choose to eat meals together or they’re always welcome to take it back to their own rooms. We also have an assisted living and memory care center, but that’s on the other side of the property, and your volunteering won’t cross paths,” Monica continues.
We reach the main building again, and Monica looks down at her Apple Watch. “You still have about thirty minutes left before I can sign off on a full hour. You should head on in and introduce yourself to some people.” She nods to the first door we passed on our tour.
I take a peek in through the windows, noting the heads of either gray hair or no hair over all the chairs before looking back at her. “You do this every day?”
“You’d be surprised with some of the people you’ll meet, Mr. Hall. I bet you might even make a new friend by the time you’re done.”
Fat chance.
At first, I don’t move, but rather watch—and enjoy—her walk back to the desk. After another moment, I resign myself to the next thirty minutes of what will likely be the world’s most boring small talk.
Two men play a game of cards—rummy, from the looks of it. I could easily sit in, but I should probably clock a few morehours before I start hustling some old guys. I continue through the room, walking by a handful of people who are gathered around a television watching what looks like a wartime movie.Pass.Two women stop their quiet chatter as I glance at them, and I deem them the gossip girls.
I spot a man with a pair of thin gold-rimmed glasses and a gold chain much like the one that I wear, peaking out the back of his sweater. He’s holding a book, angled so that it’s getting more sunlight from the window. I’m not much of a reader, so he’s probably out of the running for being my new buddy that Monica was talking about. Across the coffee table sits a woman working on something with a needle and thread, and at her feet, sitting on the floor, is hopefully my new best friend.
“If I had known you were going to be here, I would’ve combed my hair,” I say, running a flat palm over my freshly buzzed head.
Wide round emerald eyes look up at me as Chloe Cooper’s full lips mutter something that sounds likeoh my god.
“Hey, handsome, pull up a seat.” The sewing woman smiles up at me, and I do as she says, pulling a chair from a nearby table.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“Handsome, apparently.” I smile at her, pulling my gaze from Chloe. “And you are?”
“Rosie. With an R.”
As opposed to?
“This here is William.” She points to the man with the glasses, and he offers little more than a nod. “And this little firecracker here—” She smiles fondly, placing her hand on the little blonde’s shoulder, but Chloe speaks up first.
“What are you doing here, Hall?”
“Same as you.” I point to her. “I’m volunteering.”
She closes the back of her Polaroid camera that I hadn’t noticed was in her lap, and sets it on the coffee table in frontof her. Since her best friend started dating my best friend, you would think we would run into each other more often than we do. It’s a shame we don’t, because even though she has yet to give me the time of day, I still have fun trying.
Her jean shorts are frayed at the edges, showing off her legs that look like she spent every day outside this summer, and her tight little pink tank top sticks to her body like a second skin. Her blonde hair that somehow never looks brushed yet always looks good, falls over her shoulders and down her back, and her green eyes shine up at me with a mixture of confusion and intrigue.
“What class are you here for?” I ask.
Her brows pinch together, and I lean my elbows forward on my knees. “Any chance I’m lucky enough that it’s humanities with Professor Geller?”
