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Authors: Kimberly Raye
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very often since two of them lived in Chicago, one in California, another in Florida and the youngest in Texas.
Not that he was lonely.
H -to-the- E -to-the-double- L , no . He liked his peace and quiet. He just didn’t like it all that much without his wife. She’d been his friend and the best damned cook in the city. Her beef stew had been legendary, and what she’d done with a Shepherd’s pie... Holy-friggin’-Toledo. His mouth watered just thinking about it. Nobody could layer mashed potatoes and beef like his dear, sweet Adelia.
She was the reason he was here. The only reason.
“Here you go.” He pulled a check out of his shirt pocket and handed it over. “It’s for the Cheapskates Need Love, Too package. Minus twenty-five percent for my senior discount.”
A rush of excitement went through me, effectively distracting me from the DVDs stashed in my purse and the all-important fact that my afterlife was spiraling down ye old toilet at an alarming rate. Granted, we’re not talking a huge commission--I don’t call it the Cheapskate package for nothing--but I’d just spent a fortune on-line. I needed all the help I could get.
My euphoria lasted maybe five seconds, until I noted the sad twist to Oscar’s lips. Poor thing. He missed his wife’s cooking. Even more, he missed his wife. And the way she’d smiled at him every morning over coffee. And how she’d always smelled like vanilla extract.
“Are you sure you want Fw/>N shto do this, Mr. Fairweather? I mean, it’s only been a few months since your wife died.” What? We’re talking vanilla extract. Not too many could pull off a scent like that. I knew I’d have a bitch of a time trying to replace a woman like Adelia. “Maybe you should give yourself a little time before you jump back in the dating pool.”
He shook his head. “I promised my Dee I’d find someone to look after me and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.” A smile touched his face. “She’d have a fit if she could see me now. She liked me with some meat on my bones. That’s why I need to find somebody. Preferably somebody who knows how to cook. I’ve lost over twelve pounds in the past three months what with eating nothing but those dad-blasted Spaghetti Os. And Pork-n-Beans. And Campbell’s soup. Dee hated the canned stuff. Said it was cheating. She always made every meal from scratch. Baked her own bread, too. Right up until that blasted cancer put her in the hospital this last time...” He faded into his own thoughts for a few seconds and a lump pushed its way into my throat.
“You really should give yourself some time.”
“Time is one thing I ain’t got, girlie. I’m eighty-six years old and practically wasting away as we speak.” His determined gaze collided with mine. “You gonna help me or not?”
No was on the tip of my tongue, but then I saw the desperation that seeped into his expression. He’d kept every promise he’d ever made to his wife, from hauling out the trash every Thursday to ditching his nightly cigars. He had no intention of breaking his word now. He was doing this. If he had to take out an ad in one of the local papers or cruise singles bars or spend every Sunday at church. He’d never been much of a religious man—especially during football season—but a man had to do what a man had to do. And if that meant giving up the Giants, well, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. At least until play-offs.
“You can always DVR.”
“Excuse me?”
“The Giants,” I blurted, breaking the first Vamp Commandment—Thou Shalt Keep a Low Profile. What can I say? I’m a sucker for sad and pathetic. “You could get DVR or even Tivo, and then you wouldn’t have to worry about missing a game if you spend a Sunday at St. Marys.”
His bushy white brows drew together. “How do you know I go to St. Mary’s?”
My brain raced, quickly filling in the blanks. “You, um, mentioned it when we were filling out the personal information on
Not that he was lonely.
H -to-the- E -to-the-double- L , no . He liked his peace and quiet. He just didn’t like it all that much without his wife. She’d been his friend and the best damned cook in the city. Her beef stew had been legendary, and what she’d done with a Shepherd’s pie... Holy-friggin’-Toledo. His mouth watered just thinking about it. Nobody could layer mashed potatoes and beef like his dear, sweet Adelia.
She was the reason he was here. The only reason.
“Here you go.” He pulled a check out of his shirt pocket and handed it over. “It’s for the Cheapskates Need Love, Too package. Minus twenty-five percent for my senior discount.”
A rush of excitement went through me, effectively distracting me from the DVDs stashed in my purse and the all-important fact that my afterlife was spiraling down ye old toilet at an alarming rate. Granted, we’re not talking a huge commission--I don’t call it the Cheapskate package for nothing--but I’d just spent a fortune on-line. I needed all the help I could get.
My euphoria lasted maybe five seconds, until I noted the sad twist to Oscar’s lips. Poor thing. He missed his wife’s cooking. Even more, he missed his wife. And the way she’d smiled at him every morning over coffee. And how she’d always smelled like vanilla extract.
“Are you sure you want Fw/>N shto do this, Mr. Fairweather? I mean, it’s only been a few months since your wife died.” What? We’re talking vanilla extract. Not too many could pull off a scent like that. I knew I’d have a bitch of a time trying to replace a woman like Adelia. “Maybe you should give yourself a little time before you jump back in the dating pool.”
He shook his head. “I promised my Dee I’d find someone to look after me and that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.” A smile touched his face. “She’d have a fit if she could see me now. She liked me with some meat on my bones. That’s why I need to find somebody. Preferably somebody who knows how to cook. I’ve lost over twelve pounds in the past three months what with eating nothing but those dad-blasted Spaghetti Os. And Pork-n-Beans. And Campbell’s soup. Dee hated the canned stuff. Said it was cheating. She always made every meal from scratch. Baked her own bread, too. Right up until that blasted cancer put her in the hospital this last time...” He faded into his own thoughts for a few seconds and a lump pushed its way into my throat.
“You really should give yourself some time.”
“Time is one thing I ain’t got, girlie. I’m eighty-six years old and practically wasting away as we speak.” His determined gaze collided with mine. “You gonna help me or not?”
No was on the tip of my tongue, but then I saw the desperation that seeped into his expression. He’d kept every promise he’d ever made to his wife, from hauling out the trash every Thursday to ditching his nightly cigars. He had no intention of breaking his word now. He was doing this. If he had to take out an ad in one of the local papers or cruise singles bars or spend every Sunday at church. He’d never been much of a religious man—especially during football season—but a man had to do what a man had to do. And if that meant giving up the Giants, well, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. At least until play-offs.
“You can always DVR.”
“Excuse me?”
“The Giants,” I blurted, breaking the first Vamp Commandment—Thou Shalt Keep a Low Profile. What can I say? I’m a sucker for sad and pathetic. “You could get DVR or even Tivo, and then you wouldn’t have to worry about missing a game if you spend a Sunday at St. Marys.”
His bushy white brows drew together. “How do you know I go to St. Mary’s?”
My brain raced, quickly filling in the blanks. “You, um, mentioned it when we were filling out the personal information on
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