It's Never too Late

Adele’s smile reminded him of the Arizona sunshine. Or maybe the sun had blinded his vision.

“It’s a party casserole. My favorite when I was growing up and what she makes for every single special occasion for which she’s well enough to cook.”

He could make it now, too. Just as well. But he didn’t share that tidbit. He held out the dish. “If you’ve already eaten, don’t worry. It’s even better reheated. Gives the flavors a chance to comingle.”

“Your grandmother’s not well?” She took the casserole and set it down on something in the darkness behind her.

“She’s got multiple sclerosis. It’s nothing new. Just more severe as she gets older. The trip across country has caused a bit of a flare-up.”

“Is her condition life-threatening?”

“No.” Nonnie might not be with him forever, but he wasn’t losing her yet.

“Tell her thank you for me, for the casserole.”

He nodded. Stepped back.

“So are you going to Montford?”

She leaned casually against the edge of the door as she spoke. And, standing as she was on the raised ledge leading into her home, her breasts were in a direct line with his eyes. Straight ahead. Right there. Firm and shapely and...

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“I only ask because I was told that while this is off-campus housing, it’s reserved for students. And if your grandmother’s not well, I figure she wouldn’t be enrolled as a senior student, which was what I initially thought—”

“Yes, I’m enrolled at the university,” he got out—naturally, he hoped—as he dug his brain out of his pants. And then asked, “Do you live here alone?” and when he heard how personal the question sounded he quickly added, “Nonnie said that she saw you unloading your stuff by yourself. She sent the food over, insisting that you were alone and shouldn’t be left to fend for yourself on your first night in town.”

Adele’s brow creased, sending another ripple of desire to his nether regions. “How’d she know it was my first night in town?”

Because we were sitting over there, on the other side of the wall, talking about you. “I told her.”

Afraid she’d make too much of that—or exactly enough—he quickly added, “After she asked.” And to solidify his idiocy, he continued rambling. “I hope you’ll forgive her nosiness but she’s spent her entire life in a town the size of a pea pod and believes that knowing everything about everyone makes her a good neighbor.”

Where in the hell was his reticence? Or any vestige of the intelligence he’d been born with?

“Nonnie? Is that her given name?”

“No. It’s my name for her. My version of Grandma when I was kid. Or so I’m told. But that’s all anyone at home has called her for as long as I can remember.”

“I like it.” She stepped back, taking the door with her. “And yes, I live here alone.”

He glanced again at the empty ring finger he’d noticed earlier that day. Because noticing was free.

Hard to believe a woman as gorgeous as she was wasn’t married.

“And you’re a student at the university?”

“Yes.”

“Since you’re just new to town I take it you’re a freshman? Or are you transferring?”

Was there a chance his new neighbor would be in any of his classes?

“I’m a freshman.” And she was over eighteen. How much older he wasn’t sure. And he wasn’t asking, either.

“I had to work to earn enough money to attend college,” she continued, looking away. “I was a receptionist in a law firm.”

She seemed uncomfortable, embarrassed by her circumstances.