“I repeat, I am notlookingfor 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 toCan 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.”Itcould 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.
Chapter 5
Gabriella
I stirred the pot, watching the mixture of onions and garlic sizzle and soften. It was one of those afternoons where the cooking soothed me, kept me grounded. I had the house to myself, which was rare, and I liked it that way—just me and the sound of the spatula scraping the bottom of the cookware.
I heard the front door creak open, and Joyce’s familiar voice echoed through the hallway. “Gabriella? I’m back!” Her footsteps followed shortly after.
“Hey!” I called over my shoulder, keeping my focus on the stove as I stirred the onions. I adjusted the heat just slightly, knowing the key to perfect sautéed onions was patience—you had to let them sweat and release their sugars at the right pace. “How was your trip to the store?”
Joyce huffed slightly as she came into the kitchen, setting down a couple of plastic grocery bags on the counter. I noticed the bags and smiled. Most people used the reusable kind now, but Joyce seemed like a person who was more focused on the here and now—people, relationships—than on trends like grocery bags.How old is she, anyway?
“It was good,” Joyce answered, “but you wouldn’t believe how much groceries for one ten-year-old can cost. I practically cleared out the snack aisle.”
I turned off the stove, wiping my hands on a towel before walking over to peek into one of the bags. Inside, I spotted an assortment of things: kid-friendly snacks, juice boxes, clementines, and even a couple of those mini cereal boxes I used to love when I was little. “You really went all out for him, huh?” I said, reaching in and pulling out a box of granola bars.
Joyce shrugged, but I could see the pride in her eyes. “He’s my grandson. Gotta make sure he’s well fed, right?”
“Yeah, but…” I hesitated for a second, unsure if I should say it out loud. “I don’t think anyone ever did something like this for me growing up. You know, getting specific food just for me.” I glanced at her, feeling a little self-conscious about the admission. “There was always food around, but I can’t remember anyone being like, ‘I got this just for you, Gabriella.’ It’s nice that you’re doing that for him.”
Joyce paused, looking over at me with a soft expression that made me feel seen in a way I wasn’t used to. “I’m sorry to hear that,” she said quietly. “Every kid should feel like they’re important, even in the little things.”
I shrugged, trying to shake off the heaviness that had suddenly plunked down on my chest. “It’s fine. It was just different when I was growing up, you know? We always had a lot of people living in the house no matter where I stayed, so it was kind of ‘Get what you can when you can.’”
Joyce nodded, placing a carton of milk into the fridge. “I understand. When there’s a lot of mouths to feed, it can feel like you’re just another person at the table.”
“Exactly,” I said, leaning against the counter. “My family wasn’t exactly the plan-ahead type, either. I mean, my cousin Lisa hooked me up with the job at Lorenzo’s restaurant, but before that, it was like… I was always trying to figure out where I fit, you know?”
I hadn’t planned to go that deep into my past, but the words tumbled out before I could stop them.It’s those triggering mini cereal boxes!I looked down, embarrassed by how much I’d just shared, but Joyce’s voice pulled me back.
“Gabriella, you’re making your own space now,” she said. “And it sounds like you’ve come a long way.”
As Joyce unpacked the rest of the groceries, I wandered back to the stove, stirring my masterful onions again. “You must be excited for him to come.”
She smiled as she arranged juice boxes in the fridge on a shelf low enough for a child. “I am. He’s a good kid. Smart, kind… But you know how kids are. He can be a handful.”
