Can't Hurry Love

by Melinda Curtis

  “Do you know what hot dogs are made out of?” Greta wanted to know.

  “Yes, of course I do. Why do I feel like I’m being interviewed for one of your articles right now?”

  “Not an article,” Birdie said. “A dating profile.”

  “What?” Lacy nearly spilled her glass of wine as she moved to look over Josie’s shoulder. “What are you doing? I don’t want to be up on Fish In The Sea dot com. Stop that.”

  Birdie gave her a stern look. “You have a class reunion coming up, and you can’t go alone.”

  “I’m not going period,” Lacy reiterated.

  “Not going to your class reunion?” Dawanda from the fudge shop asked. She was middle-aged with spiky, bright red hair. She tsked from across the room, where she sat in an old, worn recliner that Lacy had gotten from a garage sale during college.

  Lacy finished off her wine and set the empty glass on the coffee table nearby. “I already told you, high school was a miserable time that I don’t want to revisit.”

  “All the more reason you should go,” Birdie insisted. Even though she was only a year older, Birdie acted like Lacy’s mother sometimes.

  “Why, so I can be traumatized all over again?” Lacy shook her head. “It took me years to get over all the pranks and ridicule. Returning to the scene of the crime could reverse all my progress.”

  “What progress?” Rose asked. “You never go out, and you never date.”

  Lacy furrowed her brow. “I go to the café all the time.”

  “Alone and you sit in the back,” Birdie pointed out. “Your back brace is gone, but you’re still hiding in the corner.”

  Lacy’s jaw dropped. She wanted to argue but couldn’t. Her sister was right.

  “So we’re making Lacy a dating profile,” Josie continued, looking back down at the laptop’s screen. “Twenty-eight years old, loves to read, and takes long walks in the park.”

  “I never said anything about the park,” Lacy objected.

  “It sounds more romantic that way.” Josie didn’t bother to look up. “Loves exotic fruit…”

  “I said hot dogs.”

  This time Josie turned her head and looked at Lacy over her shoulder. “Hot dogs don’t go on dating profiles…but cute, wagging dogs do.” Her fingers started flying across the keyboard.

  “I like cats.” Lacy watched for another moment and then went to pour herself another glass of wine as the women created her profile at FishInTheSea.com.

  After a few drinks, she relaxed a little and started feeding Josie more details about herself. She wasn’t actually going to do this, of course. Online dating seemed so unromantic. She wanted to find Mr. Right the old-fashioned way, where fate introduced him into her life and sparks flew like a massive explosion of fireworks. Or at least like a sparkler.

  * * *

  An hour later, Lacy said goodbye to the group and sat on the couch. She gave the book she’d wanted to discuss a sidelong glance, and then she reached for her laptop. The dating profile stared back at her, taking her by surprise. They’d used a profile picture from when she’d been a bridesmaid at a wedding last year. Her hair was swept up and she had a dipping neckline on her dress that showed off more skin than normal. Lacy read what Josie and her sisters had written. The truth was disregarded in favor of more interesting things.

  Lacy was proud of who she was, but the women were right. She wasn’t acting that way by shying away from her reunion. She was acting like the girl in the back brace, quietly sitting in the far corner of the room out of fear that others might do something nasty like stick a sign on her back that read KICK ME! I WON’T FEEL IT!

  “Maybe I should go to the reunion,” she said out loud. “Or maybe I should delete this profile and forget all about it.”

  The decision hummed through her body along with the effect of one too many glasses of wine. After a moment, she shut the laptop and went to bed. She could decide her profile’s fate tomorrow.

  * * *

  The next morning, Paris woke with the birds outside his window. After a shower and a quick bite, he grabbed his laptop to work on the deck, which served as his office these days. Before getting started on the Peak Designs logo, he scrolled through email and social media. He clicked on Mr. Jenson’s profile again, only to read a post that Paris probably didn’t need first thing in the morning.

  The computer skills class was a complete waste of time. Learned nothing. Either I’m a genius or the instructor is an idiot.

  The muscles along the back of his neck tightened. At least he didn’t need to wonder if Mr. Jenson would be back.

  He read another post.

  Went to see Nancy today. I think she misses her roses more than she misses me. She wants to come home, and this old house certainly isn’t home without her.

  Paris felt like he’d taken a fall from his bike, landing chest-first and having the breath knocked out of him. Why wasn’t Mrs. Jenson home? What was wrong with her? And why was Mr. Jenson so different from the man he remembered?

  Paris pushed those questions from his mind and began work on some graphic designs. Several hours later, he’d achieved much more than he’d expected. He shoved his laptop into its bag, grabbed his keys, and rode his motorcycle to the library. As he walked inside, his gaze immediately went to the librarian. Her hair was pulled back with some kind of stick poking through it today. He studied her as she checked books into the system on her desktop.

  She glanced up and offered a shy wave, which he returned as he headed toward the computer room. He would have expected Mr. Jenson not to return to class today based on his Facebook comments, but Mr. Jenson was already waiting for him when he walked in. All the other students from the previous day filed in within the next few minutes.

  “Today I’m teaching you all to use Microsoft Word,” he told the group.

  “Why would I use Microsoft Word?” Alice Hampton asked. Her questions were presented in a curious manner rather than the questions that Mr. Jenson posed, which felt more like an attack.

  “Well, let’s say you want to write a report for some reason. Then you could do one here. Or if you wanted to get creative and write a novel, then this is the program you’d use.”

  “I’ve always wanted to write a book,” Greta told Alice. “It’s on my bucket list, and I’m running out of time.”

  “Are you sick?” Alice asked with concern, their conversation hijacking the class.

  “No, I’m healthy as a buzzard. Just old, and I can’t live forever,” Greta told her.

  “Love keeps you young,” Edna Baker said from a few chairs down. She was the grandmother of the local police chief, Alex Baker. “Maybe you should join one of those online dating sites.”

  The group got excited suddenly and turned to Paris, who had leaned back against one of the counters, arms folded over his chest as he listened.

  He lifted a brow. “What?”

  “A dating site,” Edna reiterated. “We helped Lacy Shaw join one last night in our Ladies’ Day Out group.”

  “The librarian?” Paris asked, his interest piquing.

  “Had to do it with her dragging and screaming, but we did it. I wouldn’t mind making a profile of my own,” Edna continued.

  “Me too.” Greta nodded along with a few other women.

  “I’m married,” Mr. Jenson said in his usual grumpy demeanor. “I have no reason to be on a dating site.”

  “Then leave, Albert,” Greta called out.

  Mr. Jenson didn’t budge.

  “We’re here to learn about what interests us, right?” Edna asked Paris.

  He shrugged. There was no official syllabus. He was just supposed to teach computer literacy for the seniors in town. “I guess so.”

  “Well, majority rules. We want to get on one of those dating sites. I think the one we were on last night was called Fish In The Sea dot com.”

  Paris unfolded his arms, debating if he was actually going to agree to this. He somehow doubted the Sweetwater Springs libraria
n would approve, even if she’d apparently been on the site herself.

  “Fine, I’ll get you started,” Paris finally relented, “but tomorrow, we’re learning about Microsoft Word.”

  “I don’t want to write a report or a novel,” Mr. Jenson said, his frown so deep it joined with the fold of his double chin.

  “Again, don’t come if you don’t want to,” Greta nearly shouted. “No one is forcing you.”

  Paris suspected that Mr. Jenson would be back regardless of his opinions. Maybe he was lonely. Or maybe, despite his demeanor, this was his idea of a good time.

  After teaching the group how to use the search bar function and get to the Fish In the Sea website, Paris walked around to make sure everyone knew how to open an account. Some started making their own profiles while others watched their neighbors’ screens.

  “This is Lacy’s profile,” Alice said when he made his way to her.

  Paris leaned in to take a closer look. “That’s not the librarian here.”

  “Oh, it is. This photo was taken when she was a bridesmaid last year. Isn’t she beautiful?”

  For a moment, Paris couldn’t pull his gaze away from the screen. If he were on the dating site, he’d be interested in her. “Likes to hike. Loves dogs. Favorite food is a hot dog. Looking for adventure,” he read. “That isn’t at all what I would have pegged Lacy as enjoying.”

  Alice gave him a look. “Maybe there’s more to her than meets the eye. Would you like to sit down and create your own profile? Then you could give her a wink or a nibble or whatever the online dating lingo is.”

  He blinked, pulled his gaze from the screen, and narrowed his eyes at his former landlord. “You know I’m not interested in that kind of thing.” He’d told Alice all about his past when he’d rented a room from her last year. After his messy marriage, the last thing he wanted was to jump into another relationship.

  “Well, what I know is, you’re young, and your heart can take a few more beatings if it comes to it. Mine, on the other hand, can’t, which is why I’m not creating one of these profiles.”

  Paris chuckled. “Hate to disappoint, but I won’t be either.” Even if seeing Lacy’s profile tempted him to do otherwise.

  * * *

  At the end of the hour, Paris was the last to leave his class, following behind Mr. Jenson, who had yet to hold a personal conversation with him or say a civilized thing in his direction.

  He didn’t recognize Paris, and why would he? Paris had been a boy back then. His hair had been long and had often hung in his eyes. His body had been scrawny from neglect and he hadn’t gotten his growth spurt until well into his teen years. He hadn’t even had the same last name back then. He’d gone by PJ Drake before his parents’ divorce. Then there was a custody battle, which was the opposite of what one might think. Instead of fighting for him, his parents had fought over who had to take him.

  “Mr. Jenson?” Paris called.

  The older man turned to look at Paris with disdain.

  “How was the class?”

  “An utter waste of time.”

  Paris liked to think he had thick skin, but his former foster dad’s words had sharp edges that penetrated deep. “Okay, well what computer skills would you like to learn?”

  The skin between Mr. Jenson’s eyes made a deep divot as he seemed to think. “I can’t see my wife every day like I want to because I don’t drive. It’s hard for an old man like me to go so far. The nurses say they can set up Skype to talk to her, but I don’t understand it. They didn’t have that sort of thing when I was old enough to learn new tricks.”

  “Never too late,” Paris said. “A great man once taught me that.”

  That great man was standing in front of him now, whether he knew it or not. And he needed his own pep talk of sorts. “Come back tomorrow, and we’ll get you set up for that.”

  Mr. Jenson frowned back at him. “We’ll see.”

  * * *

  Lacy was trying not to panic.

  A blue circle had started spinning on her laptop screen five minutes ago. Now there were pop-up boxes that she couldn’t seem to get rid of. She’d restarted her computer, but the pop-up boxes were relentless. She sucked in a breath and blew it out audibly. Then another, bordering on hyperventilation.

  “You okay?” a man’s voice asked.

  Her gaze lifted to meet Paris’s. “Oh. Yeah.” She shook her head.

  “You’re saying yes, but you’re shaking your head no.” His smile was the kind that made women swoon, and for a moment, she forgot that she was in panic mode.

  “My computer seems to be possessed,” she told him.

  This made Paris chuckle—a sound that seemed to lessen the tension inside her. “Mind if I take a look?”

  She needed to say no. He was gorgeous, charming, and cool. And those three qualities made her nervous. But without her computer, she wouldn’t be able to pay her bills after work. Or delete that dating profile that the Ladies’ Day Out group had made for her last night. Why didn’t I delete it right away?

  “Yes, please,” she finally said.

  Paris headed around the counter. “Did you restart it?” he asked when he was standing right next to her. So close that she could smell the woodsy scent coming off his body. She could also feel a wave of heat radiating off him, burning the superficial layer of her skin. He was gorgeous, charming, cool, and he smelled divine. What woman could resist?

  “I’ve restarted it twice already,” she told him.

  “Hmm.” He put his bag down on the floor at his feet and stood in front of her computer. She couldn’t help a closer inspection of the tattoos that covered his biceps muscles. They were colorful and artistically drawn, but she could only see parts of them. She had to resist pulling back the fabric of his shirt to admire the artwork there. What was wrong with her?

  Paris turned his head to look at her. “Is it okay if I close out all the programs you currently have running?”

  “Of course.”

  He tapped his fingers along her keys, working for several long minutes while she drifted off in her own thoughts of his muscles and tattoos and the spicy scent of his aftershave. Then he straightened and turned back to her. “There you go, good as new.”

  “Wow. Really? That was fast.”

  He shrugged a nonchalant shoulder. “I just needed to reboot and run your virus software.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “To me it is. I know computers. We have a kinship.”

  Lacy felt the same way about books. She reached for her cup of coffee that she’d purchased this morning, even though a jolt of caffeine was probably the last thing her nerves needed right now.

  Paris pointed a finger at the cup. “That’s where I know you from. You’re the woman at the café. You always sit in the back with a book.”

  Her lips parted as she set her cup down. “You’ve noticed me?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  She shrugged and shook her head. “We’ve just never spoken.” And she’d assumed she was invisible in the back corner, especially to someone like him. “Well, thank you for fixing my computer.”

  “Just a friend helping a friend.” He met her gaze and held it for a long moment. Then he bent to pick up the strap of his bag, hung it over his shoulder, and headed around to the other side of the counter. “Be careful on those dating sites,” he said, stopping as he passed in front of her. “Always meet at a safe location and don’t give anyone your personal information until you know you can trust them.”

  “Hmm?” Lacy narrowed her eyes, and then her heart soared into her throat and her gaze dropped to her fixed computer. Up on the screen, first and foremost, was FishInTheSea.com. She giggled nervously as her body filled with mortification. “I didn’t…I’m not…” Why wouldn’t her mouth work? “This isn’t what it looks like.”

  Paris grinned. “The women in my class told me about last night. Sounds like you were forced into it.”

  “Completely,
” she said with relief.

  He shrugged. “I doubt you need a website to find a date. They created a really attractive profile for you though. It should get you a lot of nibbles from the fish in the sea.”

  She laughed because he’d made a joke, but there was no hope of making intelligible words right now. Instead she waved and watched him leave.

  “See you tomorrow, Lace,” he called over his shoulder.

  * * *

  That evening, Paris kicked his feet up on the railing of his back deck as he sat in an outdoor chair, laptop on his thighs, watching the fireflies that seemed to be sending him secret messages with their flashing lights. The message he needed right now was “get back to work.”

  Paris returned to looking at his laptop’s screen. He’d worked on the graphic for Peak Designs Architectural Firm all evening, and he was finally happy with it. He sent it off to the owner and then began work on a new agenda for tomorrow’s class. He’d be teaching his students how to Skype, and he’d make sure Mr. Jenson knew how to do it on his own before leaving.

  Paris liked the thought of reuniting Mr. and Mrs. Jenson through technology. It was the least he could do for them. Technology shouldn’t replace person-to-person contact, but it was a nice substitute when two people couldn’t be together. Paris suspected one of the main reasons Mr. Jenson even came to the library was because it was one of the few places within walking distance from his house.

  Creating an agenda for live communication technology took all of ten minutes. Then Paris gave in to his impulse to search FishInTheSea.com. He found himself looking at Lacy’s profile again, staring at the beautiful picture on the screen. Her brown hair was down and spilling over one shoulder in soft curls. She had on makeup that accentuated her eyes, cheekbones, and lips. And even though she looked so different from the person he’d met, she also looked very much the same.

  “Why am I on a dating site?” he muttered, his voice blending with the night sounds. And for that matter, why was he staring at Lacy’s profile? Maybe he was just as lonely as Mr. Jenson.