The Blind Date by Landish, Lauren (suggested reading .txt) 📕

an oversized T-shirt. Both imaginary Rachels quirk a brow at me, saying, ‘Whatcha think?’

M: I think I have a new fascination with knee socks. Can we talk later tonight?

It’s the first time I’m putting it on the line. She messaged me first and then she gave me a second chance when I auto-replied. I only hope I’ve done enough to earn another conversation with her because this one has been the highlight of my day. Hell, who am I kidding? It’s been the highlight of my week, or maybe month.

R: Talk to you tonight, Mark.

M: Have a good day.

R: (Smile emoji, sunshine emoji)

Rachel logs off, and I plug my phone in to charge. Standing up, I feel the smile on my face, realizing I’ve been talking to Rachel for nearly three hours. I stretch my arms overheard but stop, having to adjust myself.

Wow. I never thought talking about calzones and tacos would have me half-hard in my pants, but I am. Maybe it’s the thought of Rachel in her pajamas . . . that must be it.

“Knee socks,” I murmur to myself. “Who knew?”

I feel another twitch in my jeans. If I’m not careful, I’m going to be pitching a tent while I make lunch. All over someone I haven’t even met yet. Thanks, BlindDate! I think, giving myself a pat on the back for a job well done as I pull out some chicken and greens to make a salad.

Chapter 5 Riley

One of the things I love most about being ‘Riley Sunshine’ is that I have the chance and the time to help out. I can ‘spread the Sunshine’, as I like to put it. Sometimes, I volunteer at an animal shelter, which makes Raffy so jealous when I get home that he’ll literally turn his back on me, and I have to apologize by squeezing shots of canned whipped cream straight into his mouth. Sometimes, I go to the hospital where I get to play games with the kids in the children’s ward.

But one of my favorite ways to spread the Sunshine is to spend the afternoon with Arielle at work.

How the tall caramel-skinned sass machine, who spent her time at the Briar Rose Mall telling off customers and somehow not getting fired, became a healthcare provider is still beyond me. Back in the day, she was the sort who had very little patience for foolishness and more than once threw it right back at a customer if they came in with a ‘the customer is always right’ attitude.

But now, she spends all day dealing with people at the end of their lives. And no matter how many times they snip and snap at her, lashing out in pain or boredom or from dementia, rarely, if ever, does she snap back. Oh, she still has plenty of sass, but it’s the kind of funny bite that has her patients taking their medications, getting out bed for physical therapy, and eating two more nibbles of dinner before digging into their pudding. All without argument.

She’s like a people whisperer.

I’m both sorry and thankful to admit that she’s used that feisty ‘oh, no, you didn’t’ tone with me too, keeping my sweetness and naivete protected, even from myself.

But her talent with people is one of the reasons I like to volunteer at the retirement center and nursing home where Arielle works. I get to see her in action and spend time with residents doing what I can to help them feel appreciated, respected, and loved.

Which is what I’m doing now, with Viktor. He’s in his seventies and has lived here since his wife died five years ago. His children felt like their homes weren’t safe for his limited mobility since he uses a cane, but I think they were mostly unprepared to handle his unlimited mind. Because, though he likes to feign being a daft old guy, he’s sharp as a tack and beats me every time we play checkers, swearing it’s the game that keeps him mentally sharper than the ‘Jell-O pudding heads sitting around watching Ellen all damn day.’ I’d say he’s on to something because he’s already on his way to beating me . . . again.

“When are you going to let me teach you chess?” Viktor complains as he slides a piece. “You keep coming in and are a pretty decent checkers player now, but you refuse to learn chess. Why’s that, missy?” I don’t miss the sly back pat as he takes credit for making me a better player.

“Sorry, Viktor, but I know you’d just mop the board with me. My ego can’t take it,” I tease back, moving. I actually do know the basics of chess, but I’ve seen Viktor hustle people. He draws them in, looking to all the world like a slightly befuddled old man with a cloud of white hair around his head, big glasses, and a sunburned nose regardless of the time of year. Ten minutes later . . . you owe him money and your brownie on Friday at dinner. And brownies in here are like honey buns in prison. Pure gold.

“You still pouting over last week?” Viktor asks, sliding another piece into position. He thinks I don’t notice that he’s setting me up for a triple jump, but I see it. I’ve just got to figure out how to stop him while he’s distracting me from studying the board. “I told you, when my gout gets flaring up, I’m going to sit down.”

I chuckle, shaking my head as I counter with my own move that stops his play. This time. “Viktor, you plunked your stool walker or whatever it is they call that contraption right in the middle of the hallway. On a blind corner.” His cane is one of those fancy ones that has a fold-up stool attached to it so he can sit when he needs to and lean on it as he walks. It’s a mobility aid, but he manages to make it seem like the ultimate in swagger when he struts around