Page 114 of His Last Shot
It’s her!
Frantically, I search the row of parked cars, and there she is, the window down in a black Mercedes, watching me. The sun illuminating her face makes it all that more beautiful.
I love you, she mouths.
I love youtoo, I mouth back.
Then, the window goes up, and the car drives off.
I have no clue what her definition of soon is because it’s been three months, and I have yet to hear from her. These last ninety days have crawled by, each one heavier than the last, unlike the blur of the past five years. My phone never leaves my side, and I’m always home unless I have something important to do. Like go to the grocery store because I’m out of food.
Which is where I am now.
Being fifty years old is doing a number on my digestion, so I’m trying to decide what kind of yogurt to buy when a flash of familiar brown hair catches my eye.
Turning, I look, and there, standing and studying the shredded cheese, is Rachel.
She’s wearing her usual casual style. Tight jeans and a red V-neck form-fitting t-shirt. Adorable white-painted toenails peek from her sandals, and her hair is in a messy bun.
It’s so Rachel. And she’s perfect.
I avert my gaze, taking deep breaths to regain my composure. Looking back, she’s still there with a bag of shredded cheddar, studying the nutritional label.
With a heart full of hope and nerves, I grip the handle of my grocery basket and head in her direction.
36
We Wouldn’t Want to Make Her Blush
Rachel & Johnny
Rachel
“You know, they say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
His smooth voice cuts through the air, causing me to jump. He’s here, just a few feet away, in the dairy aisle, his presence radiating warmth and confidence, as it always has. The only man I gave my heart to.
Johnny Givens. Paralyzed by shock, my fingers drop the bag of cheese, and it hits the floor with thud. “Hey … hey.” I’m within feet of the only man I have ever loved, and I look likethis.
First, in my scrubs at the hospital, and now today, looking like a bum.
What are the odds?
It can’t get any worse. I’m just a lonely woman standing in the dairy section, shopping for cheese, wearing no makeup, hair a mess, and jeans I haven’t washed in a week. I’m not even sure I put deodorant on this morning, and I’m almost positive these are the same underwear I wore yesterday.
Sexy.
His lips curl into an amused smile, which leads to a joyous laugh, the kind that makes my insides tingle—something I longed to hear again. And his voice. I miss hearing my name from his lips. “Hey, Rachel.”
And there it is.God, that sounded amazing!
Without an ounce of grace or beauty, I bend over to pick up the cheese but drop it again since I can’t stop shaking. I pick it up as my eyes track him, and I drink in the man standing in front of me for the first time in five years. He’s wearing his usual jeans, hugging his tree-trunk legs.
I gulp.
My body bursts to life as my scrutiny of him continues to trace upwards. I take in the tight shirt he wears so well, it should be a crime. Muscles stacked on top of muscle are underneath the cotton polyester blend. Is he still as ripped as he was five years ago?
Don’t be stupid, Rachel. Of course, he is.
