The Single Dad's Second Chance by Brenda Harlen

youth.
    “You sound surprised to hear from me,” he said, after they’d exchanged basic pleasantries.
    “I am,” she admitted. “I know you said you’d call, but I thought that meant sometime during the week.” Certainly most of the guys she knew would have waited rather than risk appearing too eager.
    “Is it okay that I called? Or do you now think I’m pathetically desperate?”
    “It’s more than okay,” she assured him. “I don’t think you’re either pathetic or desperate.” In fact, she was pleased by this proof that he’d been thinking about her, too. Probably not as often or as obsessively as she’d been thinking about him, but still.
    “And would it be okay if I took you out for lunch tomorrow?” he asked.
    “Definitely.”
    “What time?”
    She wanted to say 8:00 a.m. so that she didn’t have to wait too long to see him again, but that might be a little bit early for lunch. Maybe she should propose breakfast instead—preferably after they rolled out of her bed together. Of course, she didn’t suggest either of those things.
    Instead, she said, “Mondays are usually slow, so I can probably get away around one.”
    “I’ll see you then,” he promised.
    She was already looking forward to it.
    And when she woke up the next morning, her lunch date with Andrew was the first thought on her mind. As she dressed for the day, she took a little more care than usual with her appearance. She opted for a pair of slim-fitting charcoal trousers with a slight flare at the bottom and topped them with a long-sleeved dove-gray sweater, then added chunky silver hoops to her ears and slipped a trio of bangle bracelets onto her wrist. A swipe of eyeliner, a touch of mascara, a dab of lip gloss, and she was ready. A final glance in the mirror assured her that she looked stylish but not overdone.
    And then she got into the shop and learned—via the numerous orders for funeral wreaths and bereavement baskets—that Nigel Hanson had died.
    Nigel and Harriet Hanson lived in South Ridge, but their youngest son, Curtis, had gone to school with Rachel and Holly. It was a tentative connection but enough that when Buds & Blooms opened, Nigel brought his business to them.
    In addition to the usual requests for his wife’s birthday, their anniversary and arrangements to celebrate the birth of each of their five grandchildren, Nigel had a standing order for a single yellow rose delivered on the third day of every month to celebrate the anniversary of the day he and Harriet first met. Rachel knew that his wife of fifty-five years would be devastated by his passing.
    She and Holly were so busy making arrangements for delivery to the funeral home that Rachel completely lost track of time—and even forgot about her lunch date—until Andrew walked into the shop.
    She looked at him, then at the clock, then winced. “I’m so sorry.”
    “You forgot?”
    “Lost track of time,” she admitted, and briefly explained about Mr. Hanson.
    “It’s okay,” he told her. “I know what it’s like to be at the wrong end of a business emergency.”
    The statement surprised her. He hadn’t gone into much detail about his work, but what he had told her about carpentry didn’t indicate that it was the type of work that experienced many emergencies.
    But before she could follow up on his comment, he said, “Have you eaten?”
    She shook her head. “No, but there’s no way I can get away right now.”
    “I’m not asking you to—I’m asking if you want ham, turkey or roast beef?”
    She realized he was offering to pick up sandwiches from The Corner Deli across the street, proving that he was both flexible and generous, and she was sincerely touched by his offer. “I feel like I should say ‘no thanks’ but I’m going to say ‘turkey’ instead.”
    “What about Holly?” he asked.
    “Roast beef,” she called out, confirming her presence in the back room and that she’d been shamelessly eavesdropping on their