Page 23 of Finding His Silver Fox Daddy

Summer had come and gone, but the weather was still warm and sunny as I approached the large three-story building from where the bus had dropped me off a block away. As soon as I looked up, sunglasses fighting the glare and mostly losing, I noticed Mr. Johnson waving at me from his wheelchair under the porte cochère of Lakeside Tranquility Assisted Living.

I smiled, waving back and calling out to him as I started toward the building. Maxwell Johnson’s brain was still active, and he always seemed to remember when I was scheduled to stop by. I could count on him waiting for me every Friday. “Hi, Maxwell! Fine weather we’re having today!”

He grinned back, mouth full of artificial teeth on display. “Why, hello, young man! What are you doing here, wasting this beautiful day away with us old folks?”

I shook my head indulgently. Maxwell, as he preferred to be called—I’d shortened it once and had nearly lost my head—always asked me the same thing, and I always answered the same way. “Spending time with your handsome mug isn’t a waste, Maxwell, you know that. I like hanging out with you.”

His grin got even wider. He couldn’t resist flattery. “You are such a sweet young man.” He patted the hand I’d placed on his shoulder.

“How about we head inside? It’s a little warm out here, don’t you think?” Especially with that wool sweater he was wearing.

He nodded, and I pushed him toward the front door. We only had to wait briefly to be let in.

Cool air kissed my skin when we crossed the threshold, and I moved us out of the way, parking off to the left as the door clicked shut behind us. I loved the vibe of this assisted living facility. They’d decorated the three-story lobby to look like the downtown of a small town in Italy or somewhere equally enchanting. Where we stood was set up like an outdoor café with a large glass ceiling high overhead complete with wrought iron tables and chairs, large potted plants, and even a few old-school streetlights. To the right were a couple of stations set up like a bazaar with awnings overhead and wooden façades that looked like stands that sold produce or homemade goods in a farmers market. I knew the one closest to us was for the receptionist, and another one a little further down was where the security personnel was stationed so they could help if anything happened in the facility.

To our left, near where we stood, offices were decorated like tiny little row homes in front of a smooth tile floor made to look like an old cobblestone road. Above them was a glass-enclosed activity room I knew could be accessed by a hidden elevator in the middle of the space. That was where I was eventually headed.

Scattered throughout the large room—along the “streets” that fanned out from this faux outdoor space—were a coffeeshop, a bakery, a deli, an old-fashioned ice cream shop, a flower stand, a small neighborhood grocery store, a tailor, a clothing boutique, a bookstore, and even a salon. Everything functioned as advertised, and residents could “purchase” anything they wanted up to a designated amount, all included in their monthly fees.

I knew all this because when I started volunteering here nearly a year ago, the administrator, Becky, had given me all the details. I could even give tours to potential new residents and their families in a pinch—and I had.

I stepped in front of Maxwell and smiled again. “So where to, sir?”

He furrowed his brow as if deciding the fate of the world. “Hmm, I could use a fresh bouquet for my living room.”

I nodded seriously then started down the street to our right, waving at Mindy, the receptionist, and Harvey, the security guard, as we passed. One left turn down a side “street,” and we stood in front of the flower stand. Mindy came up behind us—she and whatever staff happened to be nearby acted as the purveyor of anything here in “downtown,” and they all played the part well.

“Hello, there, Maxwell, how may I help you?”

With a wave goodbye to Maxwell and a promise I’d see him soon, I left him in Mindy’s capable hands and headed to the other side of downtown, quickly finding the elevator tucked away in an alcove so as not to ruin the atmosphere.

Once upstairs, I greeted Natasha, the activity director here and my direct supervisor. “What have we got on the schedule for today?”

She smiled gratefully at me. They had sixty residents here, and the assistant activity director had quit a few weeks ago, so I’d become her helper while she was waiting for corporate to hire someone to back her up. Lately, I’d started coming in twice a week to give her a hand. “A simple craft, I hope. If you could help me set out these supplies, I’d love you forever.”

I chuckled and got to work.

The next hour and a half flew by as I monitored the room and assisted where I could. I’d cleaned up several glitter spills, had glue impossibly stuck to the back of my left hand, and there may have been green paint on my hip. Good thing I wore an older pair of jeans. This wasn’t my first rodeo.

After the last resident shuffled out the door, Natasha turned an exhausted smile to me. “Whew, that was a lot today, wasn’t it?”

I smirked. “Well, if Mr. Johnson could keep it in his pants long enough to actually participate in the craft, we’d have a lot less work.” Thankfully, that was hyperbole.

She snorted as she slid the last plastic tub into its place under the long counter on the back wall. “You’ve got that right. Though the women are just as bad. I’ve actually heard some of them planning a trip to a male strip club.”

“What?” I laughed aloud that time, leaning up against the counter. “Are you serious?”

She nodded emphatically, her arms crossed as she matched my stance. “One-hundred-percent. Something to look forward to in sixty years, Tris.”

“Male strippers?”

She cracked up, and I laughed along with her. My chosen profession was a lot closer to that than she realized—say nothing of the fact that she didn’t even know I was gay. “That, too.” She patted my arm. “Well, thanks for coming in. I really appreciate the help.”

“Any promising candidates?”

She frowned. “Actually, corporate told me it isn’t in the budget this year. Maybe in the spring.”

I scrunched up my nose. “Oof, sorry. That’s rough.”