Turnabout's Fair Play (14 page)

“I can do the nine o’clock thing, but I told Cole we’d be meeting at your office. I figured it would be…calmer at your place than trying to bring him in here. Plus, you’d both have to pay to park in one of the garages down here, and there’s no guarantee you’d find a spot.”

Flannery curled her free hand into a fist and glanced around her office. No way she’d bring someone like Cole into this paper-hoarder’s paradise. “I’ll try to reserve one of the conference rooms so we can spread out.” And if she couldn’t get one of those, Jack’s office would work just fine—especially since this had been Jack’s idea to begin with.

“That’ll work. Can you e-mail Cole directions to your office and CC me on it?” He read the e-mail address to her.

“I’ll send that out before lunch.” Of course this was turning into a huge pain in the neck. With Jamie O’Connor involved, why had she expected anything less?

“Oh, and let me give you my cell phone number. It’ll be better—easier for you to get me that way.”

She typed his number into the text box at the bottom of the meeting reminder before saving it to her calendar—which promptly warned her that the meeting conflicted with another appointment. She canceled the warning and deleted the block of time labeled W
ORKING at
H
OME
from the calendar.

“I guess I’ll see you at nine on Thursday morning, then.”

“I guess you will.” Flannery flinched at the acidity in her own voice. “Thanks for setting this up.”

“No problem.” He paused.

She leaned forward, waiting for him to say something else—almost afraid of what it might be.

“Okay. Well, then. ’Bye.”

“ ’Bye.” She frowned at the phone after hanging up. That guy was so weird. She just hoped he’d leave behind his awkwardness and stupid jokes and not embarrass her in front of Cole Samuels. She’d worked too long and too hard to land this contract for Jamie to ruin it for her.

Chapter 9

M
aureen stared at the blinking cursor in the box for the e-mail’s subject. She started and then erased several options. How could writing one simple e-mail make her feel like a socially inept teenager? And if she couldn’t come up with a subject, how was she going to write the e-mail itself?

It wasn’t as if this were her first time e-mailing him. Best just dive in.

From:
Maureen O’Connor

To:
Kirby McNeill

Subject:
Weekend Plans

Dear Kirby
,

She knew it looked old-fashioned—her grandson probably never addressed any of his e-mails as “Dear So-and-so,” not even the business e-mails she knew he sent dozens of each day. But she couldn’t help it. Surely Kirby would understand her formality. Hopefully, he’d appreciate it. He seemed like that kind of man.

It was wonderful to have you join us at the food bank and women’s and children’s shelter on Memorial Day. We certainly
appreciated the extra help, and I hope you enjoyed yourself and got to know some of the members of the Keenagers class
.

There. That was a pretty good start. What next? I would like to spend more time with you, so I hope you’ll decide to join the church and the class so I can see you more often
.

Her face burned from just thinking it. So, no. She tapped her fingertips lightly against the keys. As one of the volunteers in charge of outreach for the senior adult group, she usually whipped out several e-mails a week to visitors and members alike. She’d never had this kind of trouble figuring out what to say.

We have some wonderful activities planned

Wonderful activities? No, scratch that.

Our summer schedule is full of activities, and I hope you’ll have time to join us for some of them. This coming weekend we will be hosting a fish fry at the Hillsboro Village Assisted Living Center—two blocks up Acklen Avenue from the church—on Friday evening beginning at four o’clock for setup. Saturday, a group is going to the Country Music Hall of Fame to see the special Southern Gospel exhibit. And Sunday, there is a church-wide dinner on the grounds to help the youth raise money for their missions trip later this summer
.

She looked at the activities calendar and typed in a list of other major activities coming up over the next couple of months. After typing in only about half of the planned events, she read back through them and cringed. They had far too many things on the schedule.

I know this list may seem overwhelming—especially to someone so recently retired. But I just wanted to give you a sampling of all of the choices that the Keenagers group offers
seniors to stay active and busy, while also understanding that most people aren’t going to be able to participate in everything
.

If figuring out the subject line of the message had been hard, coming up with an innocuous closing for the e-mail proved even harder.

I hope

What did she hope? She hoped he’d ask her out on a date—that was what she really hoped.

“Maureen O’Connor, what is wrong with you?” She shook her head at the silly schoolgirl thoughts. “You can’t be thinking about dating at eighty-four years old.”

I hope you’re having a good week, and we look forward to seeing you again soon
.

Sincerely,
Maureen O’Connor

And as she usually did, she included her phone number under her name. Before she could second-guess herself, she clicked S
END
, and off the message went.

She moved on to uploading photos from the food bank and shelter events to the group’s Facebook page. After only a few minutes, the computer chimed to let her know she had a new e-mail message.

She switched over to the e-mail program—and her heart gave a little flutter when she saw the name of the sender on the only new message in her box. She had to make her hand stop trembling to double click on the message.

From:
Kirby McNeill

To:
Maureen O’Connor

Subject:
RE: Weekend Plans

Dear Maureen
,

She knew he’d be someone who would appreciate the formality of pretending like this was a real letter.

I had a wonderful time Monday participating with the group at the food bank and the shelter. Thank you for inviting me to come. I have printed your e-mail and will look at my calendar to see which of the future events I might be able to participate in
.

I will try to make it to the events this weekend, as my granddaughter will be out of town, so I will be on my own and in need of something to do. The weekend after, however, I will be in Alabama, visiting my son and his wife, so I will be unable to attend any events
.

I am thinking about looking for a small apartment or house to rent or purchase in Nashville so I don’t have to stay in a hotel each weekend. Can you recommend the best areas to start my search? Unlike my granddaughter, I have no desire to live downtown, especially since I will only be there for the weekends. Nashville has changed so much since I was in seminary there that I do not know where to tell a real estate agent I would like to begin looking. Your thoughts?

I look forward to seeing you again and to becoming a more active member of the Keenagers group
.

Until next time,
Kirby

Maureen bit her bottom lip. “I
look forward to seeing you”
—singular or plural?
You
as in the group, or
you
as in Maureen herself?

Gracious—she couldn’t, shouldn’t, do this to herself. The computer chimed again with the notification of another new e-mail. She closed Kirby’s e-mail and opened the new one—an automated message from Facebook.

Kirby McNeill wants to be friends with you
.

Now she was certain she would go into a teenage meltdown. How did these young girls stand it—getting signals like this without knowing for sure if the man in question was romantically interested or truly just wanted to be friends?

She considered asking Jamie next time she saw her grandson. But given how much he liked to tease her about how addicted she was to social media already, she decided just to wait and see what happened with Kirby over the next few weeks before even mentioning him to Jamie. They’d met. That was enough for now.

And just to keep from seeming overeager, she closed the e-mail and went into the kitchen to start a batch of lemon cookies. She would answer Kirby’s e-mail and accept his friend request later. She’d learned many, many years ago that it was sometimes better to make a man wait rather than to show one’s eagerness.

But she would be accepting Kirby’s friend request. And possibly any other requests he might put to her. And she wouldn’t be dishonest in recommending he start looking for a place to live right here in Crieve Hall.

Sixty-five years ago she’d discovered the effectiveness of forcing patience onto an eager suitor when she’d made James wait a day or two for her responses to his letters and when she’d turned him down for dates requested hours before he wanted to go out.

But as a twenty-year-old nursing student, she’d had her whole life in front of her—unfortunately, James had fewer than twenty years remaining. But at least she got to spend that time with him before his heart failed.

She returned to the living room and sat back down at the computer. Neither she nor Kirby had twenty years left. And patience was overrated anyway.

Chapter 10

O
h, come on. Don’t act like this.” Every time Flannery got one of Liam’s claws detached from her T-shirt, he dug in with the other three.

“He knows you’re getting ready to leave.” Lola reached over to try to help, while Lala, Liam’s mother, tried climbing up Flannery’s knit leggings to get to her baby boy. Once Lola got Liam detached, Flannery reached down and pulled Lala off.

“Thanks so much for taking care of him for me. My friend who usually takes him is on her honeymoon, and I just can’t stand to put him in the kennel. The only time I did, he lost a third of his body weight and half his hair because he went on a hunger strike in protest.”

Lola held Liam up to her cheek and nuzzled him. “I can’t believe you’d even think of taking this sweet thing to a kennel. No, he needs some Mama and Lola time. That’s what he needs.” The woman who’d practically insisted two years ago that Flannery take Liam began crooning to the cat in unintelligible baby talk.

Flannery leaned over and put the mother cat down inside Lola’s door then backed away. “Here’s the bag with his bed and toys and food, which should be enough to last for the eight days I’ll be gone.”

“When do you come back?” Lola didn’t seem to mind at all when her cat started climbing up the silky fabric of her pajama bottoms.

“Early next Sunday morning. I managed to get the first flight out.” It meant having to be at O’Hare by five o’clock in the morning, but it also meant she’d be back in Nashville before 8:30 a.m.—giving her all day to unpack, do laundry, get caught up on e-mails, and maybe take a nap before coffee with Caylor and Zarah. Because she definitely wasn’t going to miss getting together with the girls on Zarah’s first Sunday back from her honeymoon.

“Well, you just come by whenever you’d like to pick up the little dear”—the little dear who weighed twenty pounds and was currently growling in protest to the way he was being held—“or just leave him here and come by on Monday if you don’t feel up to taking him back on Sunday.”