“Yep.”
Here we go, thought J. T. Though he thought he understood it better now, and he was mostly fine with it.
Another little silence ensued. Just a trifle tenser than the silence before.
“Her porch could use a little work, too,” J. T. said offhandedly, just as a couple of guys rolled a huge cart covered in two-by-fours, a saw, hammer and nails up to him for his inspection. Which, as the two of them knew, were exactly what he’d need to fix Britt’s porch.
The Home Depot manager came over with a receipt for J. T. to sign.
Glenn shot a wondering look at J. T.
J. T. missed it. His head was bent as he applied his signature with a flourish.
“Say, Glenn?” J. T. said, when he’d finished spending thousands of dollars with the stroke of a pen.
“Yeah?”
J. T. almost said, “Never mind.” It was the damnedest thing. He was a little nervous about asking.
“I think the Misty Cat food is great. But I’m looking for a recommendation for a different kind of place. You know, the kind with white tablecloths. Candles. Wine. Romantic.”
Glenn mulled. “Can’t go wrong with Maison Vert up in Black Oak. About fifteen miles up the highway. French, has a maître d’ and everything. Great food. Atmosphere just like you want. Place has been there fifty years. Took Sherrie there on our first date.”
Glenn didn’t look at him as he said this. But his inflection on those last three words had been on the wordour.
Kind of like the way he’d said “our Britt” that day in the garage.
“Thanks,” said J. T. abstractedly. Without looking at Glenn.
But Glenn could see J. T.’s reflection in the broad, shiny stainless-steel surface of that refrigerator. And he took special note of his expression, which was just a little different than it had been earlier.
“Well, I got to get back to the Misty Cat, McCord. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
J. T. flashed a grin. “See you around, Glenn.”
“Iwas a little worried when I first saw him standing there,” Glenn told Sherrie later that night, as they sat on their porch swing. “Because he was pointing at stuff and he had that look, Sherrie—know the one I’m talking about? Grin ear to ear, like he was king of the world, kind of dreamy?”
“Oh, the ‘I just had great sex smile,’” Sherrie said knowingly.
Glenn was glad he had his wife to finish his sentences, because that kind of sentence was never not going to embarrass him.
“Britt was walking around like that all day, too,” she added. “Bumping into the things at the Misty Cat. Smiling so wide it was like she had a coat hanger in her mouth. Worried me a little, too.”
“Butthen,” Glenn added triumphantly, “he asked about a restaurant with white tablecloths. And when I left he was smiling a completely different smile. Know what I mean?”
Sherrie thought about this. “I think I know the one,” Sherrie said. “See it on you every day.”
Glenn gave her that smile now. He was a lucky, lucky man.
Sherrie gave that smile right back to him.
He slung an arm around Sherrie and she leaned her head on his shoulder and sighed.
“Sherrie Lynn, I’ll be surprised if Britt doesn’t come in some time this week and tell us he fixed herporch.”
They were both old enough to know that hot sex was one thing, and it was all well and good. Fixing a porch was something else altogether.
If Britt had a shift at the Misty Cat, J. T. figured he had just enough time to do the work before she got home.
