Wiping her damp palms on the legs of her lightweight black slacks, she determinedly climbed out of the Volvo and marched into Sandusky’s. The cashier, a young woman with her blond hair in a ponytail, was new, saving Sofia from having to stop and make small talk.
The store was a grocery store/butcher shop that specialized in fine cuts of meat, which could be had at a counter that stretched the length of the back of the store.
The four aisles leading to it were narrow and packed with limited selections of bread, wine, cheese and just about every other ingredient that went into serving a nice dinner.
Sofia picked an empty aisle, which seemed the quickest path to Art Sandusky, but knew she’d made a mistake when a short, plump woman rounded the corner.
“Sofia! It’s so wonderful to run into you.”
“Hello,” Sofia said, trying to place her. The population of McIntosh had grown in recent years to about four thousand, not so many that Sofia didn’t frequently run into people she knew but not so few that she was acquainted with everyone. Since she’d won the lottery, however, it seemed that everyone knew her.
This woman was around the same age as she was. Something about her small blue eyes looked vaguely familiar.
“You remember me, don’t you?” The woman fussed with her frosted blond hair. Her roots needed a touch-up. “Betty Schreiber from high school. We sat next to each other in Geometry.”
The years peeled away, and Sofia recalled that Betty had been a popular majorette who’d dated a star football player and barely noticed Sofia was alive.
“I’ve been meaning to call you since I moved back to McIntosh,” Betty said.
“When did you move back?” Sofia asked, mostly to buy time so she could figure out how to make her escape.
“Maybe five years ago,” Betty said. “You know how time flies.”
“Yes, I do. Listen, I’m sort of in a hurry.”
“Then I should come straight to the point.” Betty chewed her bottom lip, shifted her weight from foot to foot. “This is sort of awkward, but considering we were classmates, I was hoping you’d help me out.”
Sofia’s internal alarm sounded. “Help you out with what?”
“The transmission on my car up and died last week. With my husband out of work— did I tell you I was married?—we don’t have the money to fix it. It’s been a real hardship.”
Sofia remained silent, surprised that she wasn’t shocked. But then strangers had asked her for money since she’d won the lottery. Why be amazed that a long-lost classmate was hitting her up?
“It’s not like I’m asking you for a new car. It’s only a thousand dollars. If you could find it in your heart to do this for me, I’d be so grateful.”
Sofia would be grateful if Betty got out of her way. She reached in her pocketbook for her checkbook. She could almost see Betty salivate. “What service station do you use?”
“Excuse me?”
“Tell me the name of the service station, and I’ll write out the check.”
Betty’s face whitened but she recovered nicely. “Surely that’s not necessary. Can’t you just make out the check to me?”
“I’m sorry, but my stepson would kill me if I did that.” Sofia affected a sheepish smile and shrugged. “He’s worried that people might try to take advantage of me. I’m sure you understand.”
“Well, uh, yes, I do.” Betty seemed at a loss as to what to say next. She brought a hand to her head. “Would you believe I don’t know the name of the service station my husband uses? I’ll have to get back to you on that.”
Sofia nodded, careful not to encourage her. She put her checkbook back in her purse. Betty stammered a goodbye and couldn’t seem to leave the store fast enough. Sofia hoped it was because she was ashamed of herself but imagined Betty would dream up some other way to ask her for money.
No matter. The woman was gone for now. Sophia walked determinedly to the back of the store, careful to not make it look like she was hurrying. She resisted the urge to take her compact from her purse and check her makeup. Tony said she looked good. She knew she looked good.
“Just do this,” she whispered aloud when she was almost at the counter.
She faltered when she noticed a middle-aged man placing an order. She glanced at him long enough to ascertain she didn’t know him, but the butcher behind the glass counter caught her attention.
In a white butcher’s apron with his large, strong hands encased in flimsy plastic gloves, Art Sandusky wasn’t trying to be noticed. He was a simple man: kind, hardworking, principled.
She’d known him since he’d moved to McIntosh and opened Sandusky’s fifteen years ago. The gossip was that his ex-wife had left him for another man, something Sofia had found to be inconceivable even before she’d realized she was attracted to him.
It had happened gradually. At some point during the last year, she’d begun to remember her late husband with warmth instead of grief. She’d looked around when her teary eyes had cleared and noticed Art looking back.
He wasn’t a fast worker. She’d dropped half a dozen hints before he’d asked her to the movies nearly a month ago. He’d bought her popcorn, held her hand and made her feel like a teenager. His good-night kiss had made her feel like a woman.
And then…nothing. If she didn’t count the casual nod when they happened to run into each other. Yes, she’d been preoccupied after winning the lottery. But not too busy for Art.
He glanced up at her and for an instant she thought she saw appreciation gleam in his hazel eyes. But then he nodded in that impersonal way she found so maddening and finished wrapping steaks for his customer with quiet efficiency.
Most things about Art were understated. Of average height and weight, he spoke softly, smiled gently and wore muted colors. Only when she looked closer had she noticed his hazel eyes were as soft as a doe’s, his brown hair luxuriously thick and his face etched with the kind of character only accomplished by years of good living.
“What can I get for you today, Sofia?” he asked when the other customer had gone, as though they’d never shared a sizzling kiss at her front door.
An explanation, she thought.
Tell him.
Her stomach rolled and pitched, a reaction she vaguely remembered from high school when faced with the cutest boy in school. She swallowed—and chickened out.
“Tony’s home. I thought I’d grill some steaks to welcome him.”
She never grilled steaks. She specialized in pasta dishes and could do wonders with chicken. She hazily remembered that they had a grill but wasn’t sure where it was.
“I have some top sirloin on sale.” He gestured to the cuts of marbled steak underneath the glass counter while she mentally called herself a coward. “Or if you want something fancier, you could go with New York strip. Or maybe the—”
“Why are you avoiding me?” she blurted out.
He blinked, frowned. “Excuse me?”
Her heart raced and her stomach churned. What was it about this man that made her feel so gauche and unsure of herself? She’d been married and widowed. She’d worked in restaurants, where she was used to handling men with ease and humor. With Art, she had trouble forming a sentence.
“At the store last week, you turned down another aisle when you saw me coming. And at the post office the week before