Then he held her hand and remarked on her attractiveness. He made her sound like a beauty queen when she really was a plain, unfussy, unremarkable, overweight forty-year-old woman with two kids. Alone with two kids and an irresponsible ex who had never been that much help. She didn’t wear makeup, she cut her own hair and had lately been looking at the hair color section of the drugstore. She didn’t have enough money to be getting fancy dye jobs at the salon. Her clothes were the nicest she could find in the discount store and she wore them long after the styles had advanced. She just didn’t live up to all he was saying.

And no one had ever said those kinds of things to her before. Not even when she was a pretty cute, slim, smart high school cheerleader.

Maybe it would have been different if Tom was a dumpy, ordinary guy. But he wasn’t. He was heart-stopping handsome. He had thick brown hair that showed no sign of getting thin. And he was a laborer with all the muscles and fitness of a man who used his strength every day. His smile melted her and he had dimples for the love of God! And if it wasn’t enough that he could be in films, he wasn’t that shallow movie-star or model type. He was kindhearted, funny, smart. Tom was a good father. A responsible man who put his family first and took very good care of them. She was in awe of him.

And being his friend was so lovely.

It had not been easy to train herself to not look for that one special person, that constant and loving companion, a man who would love her through thick and thin. A man who would stay. And now, by saying what he had said, she would get her hopes up and begin to dream of a beautiful man to wake up with, to go to sleep with, to hold on long, cold, winter nights. She didn’t want those fantasies but she was only human.

Tom came in to the diner the next day and they talked of ordinary things. He told her what his kids had planned for after dinner; she told him about the kitchen remodel she’d seen on the Home Channel. “Are you feeling better, Lola?” he finally asked her.

“Yes, thank you. I apologize for the other day. I don’t know what happened to me. I must have been emotional for no reason and didn’t even know it. Besides, I think it’s best if we don’t talk about it.”

“Maybe we should talk about it,” he said. “I don’t think it’s okay that hearing nice things makes you cry. I’ll get paranoid.”

“We decided, didn’t we, that we’re just going to be friends?” she said.

“Well, I don’t remember talking about that. But here’s how I feel—I want to be at least friends.”

“I can’t complicate my life with romantic notions and ridiculous ideas...”

“Then don’t,” he said. “But, my gosh, let’s go ahead and enjoy ourselves.”

“You don’t understand, Tom. I don’t want to make a fool of myself by letting myself be taken in by a lot of sweet talk that isn’t ever going anywhere.”

“Okay. Understandable. But I can’t imagine you ever being foolish. That’s one of the best things about you—you’re so sensible and smart.”

She rolled her eyes. Another compliment and the kind that could really get to her—praising her practicality and brains. “You shouldn’t talk like that. What if that kind of talk undermines our perfectly great friendship?”

“Why would it? I can’t see how being admired can hurt you.”

“I told you, you wouldn’t understand.”

She looked around the diner and saw they were mostly alone. If she kept her voice down, she could get away with speaking her mind. “All right, listen to me. I’m forty. I’m ordinary. I’m fat. I’m a single mother of two sons and have a useless ex-husband—lot of baggage there.”

He laughed at her. “You’re going to tell me about baggage? And you are not fat! Don’t say that about yourself—you’re perfect.”

“Now see, stop that. Talk like that makes me uncomfortable and it’s not going to get you laid.”

He grinned. “Lola, you can’t scare me with that. I’ve been not laid most of my life!” He let out a big laugh. “I can’t understand why it makes you so unhappy to hear nice things about yourself.”

“Because it’s the first time!” she blurted. He tilted his head and looked into her eyes. And they got a little wet. “Damn it, I’m not going to cry! Listen, if we’re friends, I guess I can be completely honest with you.”

“Sure. Of course.”

“I’m not used to that kind of talk, all right? Even my own husband didn’t lay that kind of mush on me. I can count on one hand the number of dates I’ve had since my divorce, mostly first dates. They were very unsatisfactory dates. So maybe you can understand that I’m not likely to take it very seriously. And...and I really don’t want to be let down. Okay? I just don’t want to start to believe a lot of malarkey and then try to pick myself up and brush myself off, get emotionally strong again and learn how to like being completely alone. I’ve been through it.”

“I understand,” he said. “So have I.”

“Then let’s agree—no more of that bullshit. Let’s at least be honest with each other.”

“Do you like me, Lola?” he asked.

“Of course! Why do you think it’s a struggle?”

“All right,” he said. “I’ll be more careful with what I say.”

“Thank you,” she said.

She didn’t hear from him the next day and she was sad about that, but she admitted to herself that it was probably for the best. And the next day he didn’t drop by Home Depot. And he didn’t call that night. Well, she might have pissed him off. She was kind of rough on him, calling his sweet talk bullshit and telling him he wouldn’t get laid. Maybe that wasn’t his intention anyway; maybe she had offended him with her assumptions.

But she missed Tom and his silly potted plants. He was so sensible—just couldn’t bring himself to waste money on fresh-cut flowers. Potted plants lived longer and could be transplanted. She missed his phone calls, which always started out with some contrived question. She wanted to go to home shows with him.

Then at about eight the doorbell rang. When she opened the door, he was there, a little dusty like he’d been working. He was slapping his cap against his thigh. “Hi,” she said.

“Are your kids home?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Why?”

“Oh, I could probably use a little help. I brought you a plant.”

She broke into an unexpected grin. He’d brought her a plant! Maybe they could salvage their friendship, after all. “A plant?” she said.

He stepped aside. His truck was parked at the curb and sticking out the back was the foliage of an aspen.

“That looks like a tree,” she said in some confusion.

He shrugged. “I figured I’m going to have to up the ante. If I don’t want you saying I’m just full of bullshit.” He ran a hand down her arm until he reached her hand. He held it. “I thought the tree would look good on that sunny side of the house. You could see it from the porch. In fall when the leaves turn yellow, it’ll make the trim on the house stand out.”

“Tom...”

“It’s fifteen feet,” he said. “You’ll have to help me get it out of the truck.” He moved a little closer to her. “Kids aren’t home, huh?”

She shook her head.

He lifted a hand to her hair and let his long fingers sink into her thick curls. “I’ve wanted to do this,” he said. He gently let his lips hover right over hers. “I do think you’re beautiful, Lola. Inside and out. Do not cry. My ego can’t take it.”

“You’re courting me,” she said.

“Uh-huh. It’s not going to be that much of a courtship. We have six kids between us. Three in college so far. We’ll be lucky if we have time to make out on the porch now and then.” He gave her a brief kiss and she let her eyes drift closed. He kissed her more deeply. He let go of her hand and slid it around her waist, pulling her closer. It made him moan, a soft purring sound. Then she felt his tongue and she was the one who moaned.

She embraced him and moved under his lips. She thought, I’m sunk now. It is now officially too late for me.

“I love the way you taste,” he whispered. “And you feel so good in my arms. Just like I knew you would.”

“Hmm,” she said, not opening her eyes.

He gave her another kiss, a very thorough one. Then a brief one. “Gotta stop now,” he whispered. “Grrr.”

“Me, too.”

He pulled back slowly. “Should we pull that tree out? While I can still walk?”

“Okay,” she said. “I’m a little weak in the knees, though.”

“We’ll be okay,” he said. “Except, I’m going to want to kiss you every day.”

“Okay,” she said.

They broke apart and turned to go down the walk. Standing on the sidewalk was Trace. He was wearing cleats, carrying a bat and baseball mitt, all dusty and dirty and sweaty. His eyes were wide and his mouth was hanging open. “You’re kissing Mr. Canaday,” he said. “Why were you kissing Mr. Canaday?”

Lola shrugged and smiled. “Because I like him. And he bought me a tree.”

“Wow,” he said. He hit his cleats with his bat, knocking off some dirt. “Wait till I tell Cole.” Then he walked up to the porch, passed them and opened the front door.

“Hey!” Lola said. “Go around to the back door and take off those dirty shoes!”

“Oh,” he said. “Sorry. You kinda shook me up for a minute.”

“Maybe you could give me a hand with that tree?” Tom said. “It’s pretty heavy.”

“Sure,” he said. “Jeez.” He dropped the bat and glove, heading for the truck. “Should you be kissing my mom?”