Page 3 of A Summer Mismatch
Winnie’s spine relaxed. It seemed like they were coming around. “That’s a good question. Any ideas?”
The room went quiet. It was rare they were completely stumped.
“There’s Asher.” Polly said. “I’m probably just thinking of him because Don said the words messy and unkempt…”
“I do like him quite a bit,” Winnie agreed. Asher, a speech therapist at The Palms memory-care center, was definitely rough around the edges, with long hair, an overgrown beard, and oversized, worn clothing that Winnie would love nothing more than to burn, but he had a good heart. He was the kind of person who listened deeply when you spoke, and didn’t talk to the elderly like they were toddlers.
“No,” Don said, slashing his arm down. “He’s too much of a project, and we don’t have much time before it’s my turn. Plus, his grandpa just died. He needs time.”
They all nodded sadly. It was always heartbreaking when one of The Palms residents passed on.
“Okay, then who else?” Nancy asked. She checked her watch. Winnie knew she hated when people were late.Don’t apologize again, Winnie.
“Maybe tell us a little bit about Julia,” Harry said. “We know she’s a teacher and that she writes children’s books, but what else?”
Winnie stared at Julia’s picture, and her heart warmed. Oh, how she loved her granddaughter. “Julia puts everyone else first and wants to make sure the people around her are comfortable, happy, and feeling loved.” She lowered her voice, though no one could hear them in the conference room. “I worry about her. That with the wrong man, she’ll give and give until there’s nothing left of herself.” Winnie had fallen for a man like that before she’d met Horace, and it had taken years to recover.
The Secret Seven brainstormed a few more eligible men, but none of them felt quite right for Julia. They didn’t want anyone who worked at The Palms, for fear that it would cause unnecessary drama with Timothy. Which, unfortunately, left them with very few options.
Nancy stood. “Okay, everyone. We need to break this meeting up before the dinner crowd arrives. We all have the same assignment: brainstorm possible matches for Julia. Sound good?” She looked to Winnie.
“Yes.” Winnie took Julia’s picture from the table and stuck it on the empty left side of the white board with a magnet. Beside all those couples’ pictures, she looked even lonelier, alone up there.
Polly squeezed Winnie’s arm as everyone filed out of the room. “We’ll find someone,” Polly assured her. “We always do.”
Winnie sure hoped so, because at that moment, she could feel her hope fleeing from her as quickly as her peaceful retirement dreams.
CHAPTER ONE
Julia
JuliaPetersneededtolearn to say no.
No to running the school’s summer program when she already had summer plans that would now be upended.
No to letting her students go wild with a makeup tutorial—with her as the guinea pig.
And no to driving the school-issued, gas-guzzling, white kidnapper-type van home.
The gas light popped on. Of course, Principal Meyers hadn’t filled it up before asking her to take it home. The school would reimburse her, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that everyone assumed she would do whatever she was asked to do, whenever they asked her to do it.
And they weren’t wrong.
She growled at herself as she rolled into the closest gas station and pulled up to the pump. Worse, she needed to go to the bathroom. Another thing she should have said no to—a dozen tiny cups of fruit punch that turned her tongue bright red, brought to her by the most adorable second-graders on the planet.
Grandma Winnie, who adored any and all self-help books, kept not-so-subtly recommending books to Julia about this very thing. Julia had tried all the methods to no avail: taking a beat to think after someone asked her to do something, trying to reframe her “no” in a pleasant way, having an excuse at the ready, and even blaming someone else for her not being able to do something. The only thing she hadn’t tried was actually, you know, saying N-O.
“No, Mr. Meyers,” she practiced out loud, and an older man pumping gas beside her gave her an alarmed look and hurriedly cut off eye contact.
She held up a hand in apology. “Sorry. Talking to myself.” She turned toward the van and was startled by her own reflection in the dark-tinted windows. Oh, right. She looked like a psychopath. Sociopath? Whichever one the Joker from Batman was.
The kids in her second-grade class had come up with a hilarious idea for their last-day-of-school parent party. Julia had worn an extra-large T-shirt, and one of the students pretended her arms were Julia’s, and gave a blind tutorial on how to put on makeup. As a result, Julia had dark blue-, green-, and pink-colored eyeshadow on her forehead and temples, bright red lipstick slashed across her mouth and cheeks, and blush everywhere else. The kids’ belly laughs as the makeup brush had swiped across her face had been contagious and heartwarming, and she couldn’t regret that.
But she really, really did need to go to the bathroom.
She finished filling the van’s enormous gas tank, cringed at the amount being withdrawn from her account, and raced inside the convenience store. She’d go into the bathroom and out again without making eye contact with anyone. She’d even resist grabbing a candy bar and soda, her usual filling-the-car-up-with-gas treat.
After going to the bathroom, she stared at herself in the mirror in horror. It was worse than she’d thought. The humidity melting all the colors together into muddy Pollock-adjacent painting had been the final, finishing touch. She washed her hands and then splashed some water on her face and looked around for a paper towel. None in sight. This was one of those hands-free bathrooms that only had hand dryers.
