And being his friend was so lovely.

    It had not been easy to train herself to not look for that one special person, that constant and loving companion, a man who would love her through thick and thin. A man who would stay. And now, by saying what he had said, she would get her hopes up and begin to dream of a beautiful man to wake up with, to go to sleep with, to hold on long, cold, winter nights. She didn’t want those fantasies but she was only human.

    Tom came in to the diner the next day and they talked of ordinary things. He told her what his kids had planned for after dinner; she told him about the kitchen remodel she’d seen on the Home Channel. “Are you feeling better, Lola?” he finally asked her.

    “Yes, thank you. I apologize for the other day. I don’t know what happened to me. I must have been emotional for no reason and didn’t even know it. Besides, I think it’s best if we don’t talk about it.”

    “Maybe we should talk about it,” he said. “I don’t think it’s okay that hearing nice things makes you cry. I’ll get paranoid.”

    “We decided, didn’t we, that we’re just going to be friends?” she said.

    “Well, I don’t remember talking about that. But here’s how I feel—I want to be at least friends.”

    “I can’t complicate my life with romantic notions and ridiculous ideas...”

    “Then don’t,” he said. “But, my gosh, let’s go ahead and enjoy ourselves.”

    “You don’t understand, Tom. I don’t want to make a fool of myself by letting myself be taken in by a lot of sweet talk that isn’t ever going anywhere.”

    “Okay. Understandable. But I can’t imagine you ever being foolish. That’s one of the best things about you—you’re so sensible and smart.”

    She rolled her eyes. Another compliment and the kind that could really get to her—praising her practicality and brains. “You shouldn’t talk like that. What if that kind of talk undermines our perfectly great friendship?”

    “Why would it? I can’t see how being admired can hurt you.”

    “I told you, you wouldn’t understand.”

    She looked around the diner and saw they were mostly alone. If she kept her voice down, she could get away with speaking her mind. “All right, listen to me. I’m forty. I’m ordinary. I’m fat. I’m a single mother of two sons and have a useless ex-husband—lot of baggage there.”

    He laughed at her. “You’re going to tell me about baggage? And you are not fat! Don’t say that about yourself—you’re perfect.”

    “Now see, stop that. Talk like that makes me uncomfortable and it’s not going to get you laid.”

    He grinned. “Lola, you can’t scare me with that. I’ve been not laid most of my life!” He let out a big laugh. “I can’t understand why it makes you so unhappy to hear nice things about yourself.”

    “Because it’s the first time!” she blurted. He tilted his head and looked into her eyes. And they got a little wet. “Damn it, I’m not going to cry! Listen, if we’re friends, I guess I can be completely honest with you.”

    “Sure. Of course.”

    “I’m not used to that kind of talk, all right? Even my own husband didn’t lay that kind of mush on me. I can count on one hand the number of dates I’ve had since my divorce, mostly first dates. They were very unsatisfactory dates. So maybe you can understand that I’m not likely to take it very seriously. And...and I really don’t want to be let down. Okay? I just don’t want to start to believe a lot of malarkey and then try to pick myself up and brush myself off, get emotionally strong again and learn how to like being completely alone. I’ve been through it.”

    “I understand,” he said. “So have I.”

    “Then let’s agree—no more of that bullshit. Let’s at least be honest with each other.”

    “Do you like me, Lola?” he asked.

    “Of course! Why do you think it’s a struggle?”

    “All right,” he said. “I’ll be more careful with what I say.”

    “Thank you,” she said.

    She didn’t hear from him the next day and she was sad about that, but she admitted to herself that it was probably for the best. And the next day he didn’t drop by Home Depot. And he didn’t call that night. Well, she might have pissed him off. She was kind of rough on him, calling his sweet talk bullshit and telling him he wouldn’t get laid. Maybe that wasn’t his intention anyway; maybe she had offended him with her assumptions.

    But she missed Tom and his silly potted plants. He was so sensible—just couldn’t bring himself to waste money on fresh-cut flowers. Potted plants lived longer and could be transplanted. She missed his phone calls, which always started out with some contrived question. She wanted to go to home shows with him.

    Then at about eight the doorbell rang. When she opened the door, he was there, a little dusty like he’d been working. He was slapping his cap against his thigh. “Hi,” she said.

    “Are your kids home?” he asked.

    She shook her head. “Why?”

    “Oh, I could probably use a little help. I brought you a plant.”

    She broke into an unexpected grin. He’d brought her a plant! Maybe they could salvage their friendship, after all. “A plant?” she said.

    He stepped aside. His truck was parked at the curb and sticking out the back was the foliage of an aspen.

    “That looks like a tree,” she said in some confusion.