Page 26 of Gray Hair Don't Care
Lela stepped back and sniffled. “It’s been a long time since I’ve heard any news that was purely good. I feel like everything comes with a ‘but’ these days.”
“You mean like your company’s gotten this great opportunity,butyou have to work with a guy you regret sleeping with?” Tammera asked.
The doorbell rang. Lela held her finger to her lips. “Shush.”
“Hold on. What did I miss?” Delia asked.
“I told you in the cab,” Tammera answered. “Donovan’s the guy Lela crushed on in college. They had sex three years ago and he took off in the middle of the night.”
Delia nodded like this was the most sensible explanation ever. “Oh, right.”
Lela was standing with her hand on the doorknob, but she wasn’t about to turn it yet. “Are you done? Can I answer the door?”
“Yes. Sorry,” Tammera answered sheepishly.
Lela opened the door for Donovan, who was completely loaded down with takeout. “Cute” had never been a word she would have attributed to him—it was too gross an understatement. But something about him standing there, smiling and peeking over the top of an armful of brown paper bags, made it pop into her mind. A warm breeze picked up his hair and blew it sideways across his face. He artfully jerked his head to flip it back into place.
“Hey,” he said in a voice that Lela would only admit to herself still did something to her.
“Hey. Can I help?”
“This is a very carefully constructed mountain of Indian food. If we move one thing, it could all come tumbling down.” He stepped into the foyer.
“Donovan, this is Tammera and Delia.”
Tammera was in hyper-drive, sizing him up and shooting Lela inquisitive glances. “Hi, Donovan,” she said with a very leading tone.
“Nice to meet you,” Delia said.
“Likewise,” Donovan replied. “I should probably set these down somewhere.”
“Come on. The kitchen. Tams and Delia, do you want to open the bottle of wine? There are glasses under the bar in the living room.”
“We’re on it,” Tammera said.
Lela led Donovan down the long hall. He carefully set the bags on the island, unwrapping his arms from the bundle. And that was when Lela saw it. “Donovan. Your shirt.”
He looked down at himself—square in the middle of his crisp white shirt was a round bright golden stain the size of a dinner plate. “Oh, shit. One of the bags leaked.”
“We need to get you out of that. Your shirt’s going to be ruined if we don’t get it into the wash.”
“What am I going to wear?”
Lela snickered. “I have no idea, but I’m sure I can find something.”
“Why is this funny? This isn’t funny. I just met your friends and now I have to wear your clothes all night?”
“It’s a tiny bit funny. Come on.” Lela ducked into the living room to tell Delia and Tammera to go ahead and start with dinner if they wanted to, then she and Donovan went upstairs to her room. She got straight to it, sifting through her closet. “I got rid of anything Mark left behind, so that’s out.”
“I don’t think I want to wear your ex-husband’s clothes, anyway.”
“He had terrible taste, so good call on your part.”
“Speaking of which, I noticed you got some new furniture. I liked what I saw.”
Indeed, on the one year anniversary of the divorce, she’d had all of Mark’s crap hauled away and then had been gradually replacing everything. Her most recent purchase was a sublime peacock blue velvet sofa. “It’s a work in progress, but it’s getting there.”
“I’m glad to hear you continue to move on.”
