you I’d be here.”
“How did you know when I’d come back?”
“Easy.” He gestured toward the room where the group met. “Last week I saw you come out. They meet here every week.”
Elenora didn’t comment, suddenly afraid of him and what he might think about her.
“I brought my sister down for a while. She was in a car accident and was afraid to go back to driving. I drove her until her broken arm healed.” He glanced at Elenora. “Once her arm healed she had to drive again to go to work so she got over it.”
Relieved, she said, “Oh.”
“So, shall we go fight over another book?” When she didn’t speak, he added, “My name is Aaron Weis. Lonely bachelor in search of a lonely damsel.”
She laughed in spite of a resolve not to. She had never heard a line like that one. “Elenora Watson,” she said. “Lonely again.” There, that’s vague enough.
He said, “Ah.”
She turned away. “I think I’ve read all of the Nevada Barr’s they have here and will have to find something else.”
“Have you read Tony Hillerman? Or Robin Paige? They both write a good murder.”
“Why don’t you look at what’s there and suggest something?”
He followed her into the stacks.
She found him knowledgeable and willing to talk about a wide variety of mystery authors. She decided to be brave and chose two. He made his choices and followed her back to the desk.
“That was fun . . . Elenora.”
“And thank you, for the help.” She smiled at him and left.
Elenora decided that it was a pleasant interlude, but nothing more. She had a routine to follow, no time for a dalliance, and she could not trust men.
But on the following Friday, Aaron was again by the circulation desk when she emerged from the therapy session, a session she had found more helpful than before, offering her some hope.
“Greetings again, fair lady,” Aaron said. “And did you enjoy your books?”
“I finished one, and I’m halfway through the other.”
“How can you stop half way through a good mystery?”
“I have to when I don’t have time to read.”
He sighed elaborately. “Work does cut into the play time, doesn’t it?”
“Very much.”
“Well, we aren’t working right now, so how about a cup of coffee after you pick out a book? We can talk favorite authors.”
She knew she would enjoy that. It had been a long time, but she hesitated. Do I want to get involved again? Can I trust anyone? Somebody I don’t know?
He said, “I don’t bite. At least not usually, or very hard.”
She laughed. “And I haven’t heard you bark, either.”
Aaron did talk about authors over the coffee and éclairs in the little coffee shop, and he didn’t pry into her reasons for therapy. He left Elenora at her car with a promise to meet her the following week. He didn’t ask for anything beyond that, so she agreed.
But he gave her something to look forward to. It had been a long time since she’d thought beyond the following day’s routine.
By their fourth sharing of coffee and pastries, Elenora was comfortable enough to talk a little about herself. Aaron had told her he worked in construction, usually operating a bulldozer or some other piece of heavy equipment, and that he had an associate’s degree in business science , “ in case I ever get around to running my own company, which I never will.” He had dated a few women in the past, none seriously, followed the Red Sox faithfully, played miniature golf, and read murder mysteries in his spare time.
“I’m not nearly that interesting,” Elenora told him. “I’m a secretary at the newspaper office, got divorced a few months ago, and I’ve never played golf of any kind.” She added, apologetically, “I never had time. My father didn’t believe in sports or that sort of thing.” And neither did Clive, at least for me. He had his nights out with the guys. At least he said it was the guys.
“Why don’t we give it a try? What do you do for
“How did you know when I’d come back?”
“Easy.” He gestured toward the room where the group met. “Last week I saw you come out. They meet here every week.”
Elenora didn’t comment, suddenly afraid of him and what he might think about her.
“I brought my sister down for a while. She was in a car accident and was afraid to go back to driving. I drove her until her broken arm healed.” He glanced at Elenora. “Once her arm healed she had to drive again to go to work so she got over it.”
Relieved, she said, “Oh.”
“So, shall we go fight over another book?” When she didn’t speak, he added, “My name is Aaron Weis. Lonely bachelor in search of a lonely damsel.”
She laughed in spite of a resolve not to. She had never heard a line like that one. “Elenora Watson,” she said. “Lonely again.” There, that’s vague enough.
He said, “Ah.”
She turned away. “I think I’ve read all of the Nevada Barr’s they have here and will have to find something else.”
“Have you read Tony Hillerman? Or Robin Paige? They both write a good murder.”
“Why don’t you look at what’s there and suggest something?”
He followed her into the stacks.
She found him knowledgeable and willing to talk about a wide variety of mystery authors. She decided to be brave and chose two. He made his choices and followed her back to the desk.
“That was fun . . . Elenora.”
“And thank you, for the help.” She smiled at him and left.
Elenora decided that it was a pleasant interlude, but nothing more. She had a routine to follow, no time for a dalliance, and she could not trust men.
But on the following Friday, Aaron was again by the circulation desk when she emerged from the therapy session, a session she had found more helpful than before, offering her some hope.
“Greetings again, fair lady,” Aaron said. “And did you enjoy your books?”
“I finished one, and I’m halfway through the other.”
“How can you stop half way through a good mystery?”
“I have to when I don’t have time to read.”
He sighed elaborately. “Work does cut into the play time, doesn’t it?”
“Very much.”
“Well, we aren’t working right now, so how about a cup of coffee after you pick out a book? We can talk favorite authors.”
She knew she would enjoy that. It had been a long time, but she hesitated. Do I want to get involved again? Can I trust anyone? Somebody I don’t know?
He said, “I don’t bite. At least not usually, or very hard.”
She laughed. “And I haven’t heard you bark, either.”
Aaron did talk about authors over the coffee and éclairs in the little coffee shop, and he didn’t pry into her reasons for therapy. He left Elenora at her car with a promise to meet her the following week. He didn’t ask for anything beyond that, so she agreed.
But he gave her something to look forward to. It had been a long time since she’d thought beyond the following day’s routine.
By their fourth sharing of coffee and pastries, Elenora was comfortable enough to talk a little about herself. Aaron had told her he worked in construction, usually operating a bulldozer or some other piece of heavy equipment, and that he had an associate’s degree in business science , “ in case I ever get around to running my own company, which I never will.” He had dated a few women in the past, none seriously, followed the Red Sox faithfully, played miniature golf, and read murder mysteries in his spare time.
“I’m not nearly that interesting,” Elenora told him. “I’m a secretary at the newspaper office, got divorced a few months ago, and I’ve never played golf of any kind.” She added, apologetically, “I never had time. My father didn’t believe in sports or that sort of thing.” And neither did Clive, at least for me. He had his nights out with the guys. At least he said it was the guys.
“Why don’t we give it a try? What do you do for
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