Darlene Gardner - Ordinary Girl, Millionaire Tycoon

Sofia would be grateful if Betty got out of her way. She reached in her pocketbook for her checkbook. She could almost see Betty salivate. “What service station do you use?”

“Excuse me?”

“Tell me the name of the service station, and I’ll write out the check.”

Betty’s face whitened but she recovered nicely. “Surely that’s not necessary. Can’t you just make out the check to me?”

“I’m sorry, but my stepson would kill me if I did that.” Sofia affected a sheepish smile and shrugged. “He’s worried that people might try to take advantage of me. I’m sure you understand.”

“Well, uh, yes, I do.” Betty seemed at a loss as to what to say next. She brought a hand to her head. “Would you believe I don’t know the name of the service station my husband uses? I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

Sofia nodded, careful not to encourage her. She put her checkbook back in her purse. Betty stammered a goodbye and couldn’t seem to leave the store fast enough. Sofia hoped it was because she was ashamed of herself but imagined Betty would dream up some other way to ask her for money.

No matter. The woman was gone for now. Sophia walked determinedly to the back of the store, careful to not make it look like she was hurrying. She resisted the urge to take her compact from her purse and check her makeup. Tony said she looked good. She knew she looked good.

“Just do this,” she whispered aloud when she was almost at the counter.

She faltered when she noticed a middle-aged man placing an order. She glanced at him long enough to ascertain she didn’t know him, but the butcher behind the glass counter caught her attention.

In a white butcher’s apron with his large, strong hands encased in flimsy plastic gloves, Art Sandusky wasn’t trying to be noticed. He was a simple man: kind, hardworking, principled.

She’d known him since he’d moved to McIntosh and opened Sandusky’s fifteen years ago. The gossip was that his ex-wife had left him for another man, something Sofia had found to be inconceivable even before she’d realized she was attracted to him.

It had happened gradually. At some point during the last year, she’d begun to remember her late husband with warmth instead of grief. She’d looked around when her teary eyes had cleared and noticed Art looking back.

He wasn’t a fast worker. She’d dropped half a dozen hints before he’d asked her to the movies nearly a month ago. He’d bought her popcorn, held her hand and made her feel like a teenager. His good-night kiss had made her feel like a woman.

And then…nothing. If she didn’t count the casual nod when they happened to run into each other. Yes, she’d been preoccupied after winning the lottery. But not too busy for Art.

He glanced up at her and for an instant she thought she saw appreciation gleam in his hazel eyes. But then he nodded in that impersonal way she found so maddening and finished wrapping steaks for his customer with quiet efficiency.

Most things about Art were understated. Of average height and weight, he spoke softly, smiled gently and wore muted colors. Only when she looked closer had she noticed his hazel eyes were as soft as a doe’s, his brown hair luxuriously thick and his face etched with the kind of character only accomplished by years of good living.

“What can I get for you today, Sofia?” he asked when the other customer had gone, as though they’d never shared a sizzling kiss at her front door.

An explanation, she thought.

Tell him .

Her stomach rolled and pitched, a reaction she vaguely remembered from high school when faced with the cutest boy in school. She swallowed—and chickened out.

“Tony’s home. I thought I’d grill some steaks to welcome him.”

She never grilled steaks. She specialized in pasta dishes and could do wonders with chicken. She hazily remembered that they had a grill but wasn’t sure where it was.

“I have some top sirloin on sale.” He gestured to the cuts of marbled steak underneath the glass counter while she mentally called herself a coward. “Or if you want something fancier, you could go with New York strip. Or maybe the—”

“Why are you avoiding me?” she blurted out.

He blinked, frowned. “Excuse me?”

Her heart raced and her stomach churned. What was it about this man that made her feel so gauche and unsure of herself? She’d been married and widowed. She’d worked in restaurants, where she was used to handling men with ease and humor. With Art, she had trouble forming a sentence.

“At the store last week, you turned down another aisle when you saw me coming. And at the post office the week before that, you couldn’t leave fast enough when I got there.”

His soft eyes slid away, then back. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She swallowed again but the action did nothing to get rid of the lump in her throat. “I had a nice time when we went out. I thought you did, too.”

“I did,” he confirmed in that same maddeningly calm voice.

She ignored the butterflies that fluttered unhappily in her gut. “Then why haven’t you called me?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’ve been busy.”

The universal cop-out line of men everywhere. All the breath left her lungs. She’d been so sure an explanation existed for his sudden chill and now one occurred to her. He didn’t want to date her again.

“I’ve been busy, too.” The corners of her mouth felt weighted by lead, but she forced herself to smile.

A customer—somebody else she didn’t recognize; thank goodness—got into line behind her. Art glanced over her shoulder, then met her eyes, but barely.

“How about those steaks?” Art said. “Can I pick you out two nice top sirloins?”

Sofia willed her lips not to tremble. “You know what, I’ve changed my mind. I think I’ll make Tony a nice lasagna instead.”

His eyebrows drew together, and his expression appeared pained. She waited, hoping he’d say something to stop her from leaving.

“I’ll see you around then, Sofia,” he said.

She nodded, turned and walked blindly down a mercifully empty aisle for the exit. If there’d been a bed in sight, she’d have thrown herself down on it and cried.

“Mrs. Donatelli.” A petite woman with salt-and-pepper hair appeared from an adjacent aisle, flagging her down before she reached the exit. Sofia recognized her as a teacher at the local high school. “I’m Mary Winters. I taught English to Tony years ago.”

Not trusting her voice not to wobble, Sofia said nothing.

“I’m heading up a charity drive to fight illiteracy, and I was wondering if you could—”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t do this right now,” Sofia said and banged through the door to the street.

Everybody wanted something from her, it seemed, except the one man to whom she’d gladly give her heart.

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