![]() I’m not that old.” Followed by a mumbled, “Not yet, anyway.” As she tried to wiggle past him through the entryway. “I may look decrepit, but I think I can still handle a door. “Thanks, but I can handle it.” She all but snapped at him. ![]() Momentarily stunned by the fiery look she threw him, a slow grin spread over his face when he recognized it as defiance. “I’ve got ‘em,” he said, startling the woman, whose bright blue eyes shot up to meet his over the pile of what he assumed were the pies. Just as he pulled it open, he spotted the stack of boxes starting a sideways slide, and heard a loud yell. With a quick look in the direction of the counter to find no one aware of her approach, he quickly slid out of the booth, and with a few large strides of his long legs, made it to the door before her. Obviously disabled, she was balancing the cake boxes on the seat of the walker while trying to get to the door. ![]() With the driver’s door on the opposite side of him, he didn’t have a good view of the driver, but when he saw a deliciously ripe-looking woman topped with the vivacious head of hair come from around the car pushing a contraption loaded with cake boxes, it took him a minute to realize she was actually pushing a walker. He watched as a small older Ford SUV with a disabled tag dangling off the rearview mirror, pulled into the parking lot a wild riot of auburn curls peeking over the steering wheel. ![]()
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