Recently paroled rapist has made friends with the Floss, another waitress at the diner, in order to keep tabs on his true love interest, Linda Wheeler.

Carl pedaled the bicycle without a sound across the grass, then using his feet, rolled to a full stop. He was half an hour late and reeked of grease, wiping sweaty palms on the seat of  his pants. The worst thing about working at the garage – the smell. He hated the heavy scent of gasoline and oil that clung to his skin like thick petroleum. Despite the greasy coveralls he wore when doing mechanic work, the black goop always managed to seep through the material and onto his clothes. And trying to get washed up in the tiny back room was damn near impossible.

He leaned the bicycle against the narrow porch of Floss’s house trailer. A rusty water trail from a drippy spigot had stained the vinyl siding a burnt orange. She wasn’t kidding when she told him she needed a man around.

In more ways than one.

Surprisingly, he didn’t mind. In fact, he liked doing stuff for the ol’ girl.

They’d fallen into a tit-for-tat kind of pattern. He’d do for her – like the other day when he jump-started her car. She repaid him by washing his clothes while he soaked in her bathtub.

On Saturday he mowed the grass and tightened the hinge on the aluminum door to the shed. That afternoon she spread out a picnic lunch of cold chicken sandwiches and potato salad on a blanket beneath the shady oak.

He could honestly say it was the best picnic he could remember. The only picnic actually. His mother had  never so much as packed him a sandwich for school, much less any other occasion. Never had a woman gone to such lengths to please him.

It was a cute game and he enjoyed every minute of it. If only he had more time… he could have power-washed the whole trailer for her. Or put a fresh coat of stain on those dull steps leading to the front door.

Work like that could be costly. Who knows how much? A full body massage or a six-pack of beer and some nachos. Hell, it might have even earned him a blow-job. She could be damn appreciative.

He sighed heavily, unfortunately, he’d run out of time. Floss was a good woman and he really liked spending time with her. The sentimental feelings surprised him. Their time together had been a great distraction. But, as she was so fond of saying ‘time was definitely a-wasting.’

He tapped on the door as he pushed it open, stepping in to the tantalizing smells of a woman in love… cooking for her man. The aroma of garlic and shrimp filled the house and the buttery smell of her specialty biscuits made his mouth water. She cooked like an angel and the bouquet wafting around the kitchen was pure Heaven.

“I was hoping you’d show up soon,” Floss said, standing in the kitchen without looking up. “Everything’s just about ready.”

She pulled a cookie sheet from the oven and placed it near a wire rack. Using two chunky fingers, she hurriedly tossed one biscuit after another onto the wire rack. Determination showed on her face as she swiftly stirred the contents simmering in the pan.

Without the dorky print uniform and apron she constantly wore at the diner, she looked like any other woman, soft and nurturing. Minus the white non-slip waitress shoes, she could be someone’s wife – mother.

Carl stood a short distance away in the hallway and watched her sprinkling a mixture of herbs over the shrimp, butter bubbled in the pan. From the first mention of his craving for seafood, she went all out. Fried flounder, baked salmon, butterfly shrimp. This was the third or fourth time she’d made her famous scampi for him.

Dear Florence, with plump cheeks and soft skin. Her large squishy arms would wrap around him and snuggle for hours, loving him with everything she had.

That in itself was a considerable amount. If only Floss was enough for him, life would be much easier. But hers wasn’t the face he saw when he closed his eyes at night. She may warm his bed, but she didn’t begin to fill his heart.

He turned and walked back to the door and twisted the lock into place. The hall of the mobile home suddenly became smaller as the deadbolt clicked. He yanked a wadded black knit hat from his back pocket; the rough, scratchy material made his palms itch. Still facing the door, he hurriedly capped the top of his head; his breath clouded the small windows on the trailer door.

She walked up behind and his shoulder muscles tensed, tight and unyielding as she pressed her cushiony breasts against him.

“Joey? Is everything all right?” she asked, lightly touching his shoulder. She kissed his cheek. Her hairspray stung his eyes. “You’re sweaty. Why don’t you take off your hat while I get you a beer? I’ve got a surprise for you.”

By the time he turned around, she’d already hurried back to the stove, lifted the pan and shook it vigorously, sending the glazed shrimp around the rim without dropping a single one and then set the pan back on the burner. Despite her size, she flitted around the kitchen like a humming bird, swift and precise.

Polished copper pans hung from the rack above the stove. Floss hummed across the linoleum floor, definitely in her zone, and opened the refrigerator.

He pressed the hat’s knit edges around his ears and slowly unrolled the stocking cap into place, pausing to adjust the material across his nose and eyes before finally covering the rest of his face.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, too.”

Teresa Blue grew up in a Southwest Michigan town so small it didn’t even have a stoplight. Sweltering summer evenings were spent on the front porch hoping to catch a breeze and life seemed to crawl. She discovered books and by the time she entered high school, had sailed the high seas with Captains and rode the English countryside with highwaymen, robbed stages– well, you get the idea. She fell head over heels in love reading romance. And for awhile reading was enough, until the day it wasn’t. For whatever reason, she picked up a pen and just wrote. And has been at it ever since. Happily married for thirty years, the mother of three, she’s also a grandmother to four. Her favorite day of the week is Monday when the kids- and grandkids- all return home for a hot cooked meal. And for a few hours, the house is filled again with kids, cartoons, and chaos.

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