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  RUSTY

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  Leading Ladies Book 1

  LILAH NICHOLS

  Publushed by Lilah Nichols

  Copyright © 2019

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the author herself.

  All Right Reserved

  The author recognizes the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  ISBN: 978-1-7330546-0-7

  Chapter 1

  Elizabeth leaned back in her chair and looked down the length of the ballroom of the downtown Marriott. The event had a good turn out tonight, slightly better than the previous three Silver and Gold meet and greets that she'd attended in the past. The ballroom almost looked like a romantic restaurant, with white tablecloths on small tables that were not so artfully arranged in two straight rows up and down the length of the room. Instead of waiters and bottles of wine, the hotel staff hovered near the refreshment table, probably watching phones hidden behind their ever-present clipboards.

  Maybe they didn't realize the glow from their phones shone extra bright in the hotel’s effort at ambiance. The lights were dimmed, and each table had an electric candle on it, adding a soft glow to the daters. The hotel was making an effort to have it be romantic, she supposed, but they probably would have had more success getting the singles who turned up to leave as couples if the refreshments had included a glass of wine, and the little tables had included an assortment of cheese and crackers.

  There was always a bit of excitement at the start of the event, the women sizing each other up and the men trying to get a better look at the pool of speed daters before the lights dimmed. Eliza rarely had a chance to speak to the other ladies. They ranged in age from forty-five to almost eighty, although old Mrs. Sparkins insisted she was only seventy-five.

  Eliza had encountered her one evening at the coat check, and stifled a laugh when the sweet older woman teased about how she was on the prowl for a younger man. It would be obvious to anyone that the late forties, early fifties crowd that frequented the live-action speed dating events were more the age of her son that she spoke of so glowingly.

  Actually, it was amazing any hotel still had speed dating events anymore. The world of dating had been taken over by eHarmony and Ourtime.com. Eliza glanced up and down the room, and while it wasn’t truly all silver and gold, it certainly did look like the anti-technology crowd. The ones who didn’t want to swipe left and right or send out flirts and little greetings to find companionship in a world of pixels.

  Eliza always felt she could get a better read on whether or not a man had the right kind of potential by meeting him in person. Something about reading bios and the pictures at the online dating sites, they never quite told the whole truth. And half those sites were thrown up by someone with little experience and an interest in making profits, not matchmaking.

  The man sitting opposite her picked up her hand, drawing her attention back to him. He looked well enough, mid-forties, slightly graying, and devilishly handsome, but the problem was he knew it. He never seemed to stop talking.

  “Been working there for 25 years, been having HR work on my retirement numbers. So I had to sell the condo downtown, the judge wanted me to give it to my ex.” He barely paused for breath, and Eliza tugged slightly, almost succeeding in slipping out of his grasp. “And my summer house, oh, you would have loved that. All the ladies do, my last girlfriend wanted to replace all the furniture, but I like the old charm, and I didn't keep it out of my ex's hands just to let another woman overhaul it!”

  She couldn't take it anymore. She managed a slight cough and yanked her hand free. She looked down the line of tables and saw more of the same. All the same speed daters who had been at the hotel last month. A few of the ladies looked out of a by-gone era, wrapped up in wool sweaters and brightly-colored silk scarves, the look completed with their fanciest charm bracelets and their best clip-on earrings.

  Her impression of the men was slightly different, finding them frequently to be workaholics, people who turned up in work clothes and might be returning to work following the event. She might be standing there in one of her work outfits, but she left the office at five, if not sooner.

  She liked the idea of this kind of dating, spending a few minutes and then moving on to the next table. Shaking hands and reading body language seemed an immense improvement over swiping left and right, even if it was just as ineffective. She groaned inwardly, kicking herself once again for letting her children put her up to this. “Go, mom. Try it.” Jenny had said. “You have to get your feet wet sometime.”

  This wasn’t so much getting her feet wet, as dipping a toe into the pool. It was less of a meet and greet every time and more of a job interview. Paul, or Bryan, or whatever his name was, kept right on talking. Eliza closed her eyes and counted heartbeats. She wondered why finding love a second time around had to be so hard.

  The bell was still a few minutes away. If she excused herself, she might be able to fetch her coat and escape before the next date change. She worked up another polite cough, and stood. “Please excuse me, Philip,” Cough, cough. “I really do need a drink.” She did her best to make her voice sound scratchy and apologetic, and hurried over to the refreshment table, grateful he didn't follow.

  She poured herself a Solo cup of ice water and scanned down the tables again. The ladies were the ones shifting every 8 minutes tonight, and as she peered around she saw faces she knew. Men who turned up, month after month and mostly spent their time talking about their legal victories over their ex-wives or their stuff. She sort of felt like it was coffee hour after church, only without the coffee and donuts.

  Eliza drank the last of her water and waved to Philip. “Bye-bye, Philip,” she muttered to herself. “Hope you find a maid, or a doormat, or arm candy. Whatever you are looking for here.”

  She used both palms to smooth down her trousers. She had worn her confidence outfit tonight. Black pants that smoothed out her generous curves, a perfectly draped top that showed off her long neck and showed just a hint of cleavage, and a gray knit jacket. She'd twisted her dark hair up in a bun, but tendrils escaped and framed her face. She knew she didn't look young anymore, but she wasn't about to resort to creams, needles or surgery to look young enough to satisfy a man ten years older than she was who wanted her to look twenty-nine.

  Nope, it was either a man who wanted to share his later years with a middle-aged lady, or nothing.

  She cast one last glance around the room so she could tell her daughter that yes, she'd tried, and no, there were no interesting gentlemen there. With a resigned sigh, she set her cup down on the table and headed across to the foyer. One quick stop for her coat and she'd make a run for home.

  And then she heard it. A voice. It was low and smooth. Very intriguing. She turned back towards the other side of the ballroom, scanning. She checked her phone. It was almost time for the bell, and soon her window to escape would be gone. On impulse, she wound her way through the tables, trying not to look obvious, waiting for the voice to start again.

  She stood still, feeling a little silly, searching the faces, but some instinct inside was insistent, demanding she find the face that went with that voice. As her gaze skimmed over the couples, many were familiar. Her brain had nicknamed most of them: Legalese, who spoke as if he were delivering a closing argument, and Bad Hair Day, only it seemed
every day was a bad hair day. Eliza smiled as she looked them all over. It wouldn’t be hard to match them up with each other, if any of them could get past what they wanted and get on with what they needed.

  These hopefuls turned up and did this dance every month, meeting to speak for a few minutes, trying to find a connection. Some of the daters were pitched forward, clasping hands, and others were already checking their watches and packing up for the next switch. Every week the short conversations were nowhere near enough time to get past anything but the niceties. Any minute now the bell would ring and it would be the commotion of the change would begin.

  Eliza scanned the far row of tables, and her patience paid off. There was a lull in the low conversation. The voice washed over her again, and she spotted him. She paused and observed him. He wasn't what she expected. Instead, he looked uncomfortable. Older than she was, well, maybe only slightly older. Graying, clean-shaven, sitting politely at the table. His date was gathering up her things, preparing to move on to the next chap.

  She peered through the dim light, taking in the white button-down shirt, paisley tie and tweed jacket. Real tweed, the kind you could slide a pencil through. And unless she missed her guess, leather patches at the elbows. Not a look she normally went for, not since she'd had a crush on her Shakespeare teacher in high school, but it suited him.

  His date stood and departed as the bell rang. The lady was tall, carrying her trench coat folded over her arm. The soft lighting illuminated her short, pale gray bob. She dipped her head one last time and darted off towards the refreshment table. Eliza let his voice wash over her as he said farewell. “Such a pleasure making your acquaintance,” he said.

  There was a flurry of activity as the ladies all stood and progressed to their next date. Eliza regarded him, looking towards the table where his next date would arrive from. But that lady was lingering, still leaning down onto the table, resting her alligator purse on the white linen cloth. She was dressed to perfection, every short blond curl perfectly in place, as she tried to prolong the previous date, hoping the fellow would want her number, perhaps.

  You snooze, you lose, Eliza thought, and stepped up to the mystery man’s table. “Hi there.” She caught his attention and smiled.

  He looked up, and warm brown eyes met hers. He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. He was on the tall side, and the smile that broke over his features was genuine. He buttoned his coat and faced her.

  Eliza couldn't help smiling back. His hair was neatly combed, and he smelled faintly of aftershave. Like he had taken time to get dressed up for tonight.

  “Is there some kind of change in the agenda for tonight?” he asked, sounding a little confused.

  Eliza held out her hand, “I'm sorry to interrupt. I'm Eliza Hamilton.” He took her hand, not quite a shake, but instead he lifted it slightly and inclined himself forward the teeniest bit, just the slightest hint of a bow. He rested his left hand over the back of hers, enclosing her hand in the warmth between his.

  Heat unfurled inside her, and a giggle almost escaped her lips. Oh my, oh my! She was impressed by his manners.

  She saw his intended date finally getting urged over in their direction, and made up her mind quickly. “I know this isn't the way it's supposed to be done. But I was wondering, would you care to get a cup of coffee with me? Right now? There's a little shop across the street. They stay open late when there are singles events here.”

  He looked around, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of walking out on an expectant lady. And for a moment she thought he might refuse. Eliza realized he was still holding her hand, and she gave it a squeeze. “It's all right. It happens all the time, when a couple decides to speak privately, they disappear.”

  “Oh,” he said simply. “I'm Frank, by the way, Frank Sutherland. It is a pleasure to meet you, Eliza.” His voice was still warm, like Cognac, sliding over her skin. He finally let her hand drop, and stepped away from the table, moving behind his chair and using two hands to lift it back into place.

  He had found the itinerary for the evening simple. The ladies came and went, and his only difficulty had been trying to recollect their names and features. It would have been easier with a notepad, they all seemed to run together after a while.

  The offer of coffee was tempting, and Eliza seemed well versed in the event’s protocol, so he chose to follow her lead. A casual chat in a coffee shop sounded appealing.

  Eliza flipped the switch on the electric candle and made up a little fib. "That's how you signal it, that you've met someone and are out." She couldn't stop smiling. Finally. Finally, she'd met someone who made her feel butterflies again. It had been almost five years since she'd lost her husband, Jim to a drunk driver. He had been there one day and gone the next, and his loss left a gaping hole in her world. She hadn’t expected to be alone for so much of her life. Maybe it just took time to find the magic again. Or a Silver and Gold speed dating event.

  Frank followed her quietly to the coatroom and stood behind her while the attendant found her jacket. He stepped around her and slipped the woman a dollar, taking her coat and holding it up for her to shrug into. Eliza relaxed and enjoyed his assistance. He was polite, caring, and made being considerate of her feel as natural as breathing, eliminating any chance she’d look awkward with the sore shoulder or her sleeves riding up.

  He paused with his hands on her shoulders as the coat settled into place, just lay his hands there for a moment, and then smoothed the fabric down. Eliza fought the urge to lean back against him. She didn't want to scare him off. But damn. Everything felt so right!

  She inhaled, wondering what scent that was she found so intriguing about him. She hadn't given men’s cologne a thought in years, but she was trying to make a memory of this one so she could describe it later. It was subtle, like vanilla and... Sandalwood, maybe?

  She smiled over her shoulder, getting a better look at him in the brighter light of the lobby. He was tall, a great deal taller than her five feet four, even in heels. Trim, well built in a professor kind of way. The one from Gilligan's Island. Same stature and build, except slightly older. He wore it all comfortably, like he wore a jacket and tie every day of his life. But she was ready to bet money he wasn't in the business world.

  He was too warm, too old fashioned. She led the way down the marble and glass lobby and out onto a side street. The night air was wet, like it must have rained while they were inside. She trotted across the street, avoiding puddles. There were cars parked up and down either side of the lane, and she made her way around them, not wanting to turn sideways to slip through them and end up getting rainwater all over her slacks.

  It was eerily quiet. The traffic light down the street changed, adding a greenish tint to everything. “This seems so surreal,” she blurted. “I have never had that happen before, met someone at the Marriott and been inspired to walk up and ask them out for coffee.” She hesitated outside the door to the bakery, and he leaned past her, getting the door and holding it for her.

  “I'm glad you did,” came his reassuring reply. "I felt so out of place. Like everyone knew everyone, except me.” She'd felt the same way on her first night there four months ago. And now, she just wished she didn't know everyone there. So many of them had been soured by infidelity, legal battles and financial struggles. Like Phillip. He was probably a nice guy underneath it all, however all he seemed able to focus on at the moment was himself.

  “Sometimes knowing everyone there is not a good thing,” she confided. “It means you've met them all before and none of them are a good fit." Frank nodded, still standing close. Now that they were away from the dimly lit ballroom, he studied her. Her unruly hair framed her pretty face, and her dark eyes met his easily, like they were old friends.

  They studied the placard over the bins of baked goods, and then each ordered a coffee before adding their cream and sugar at a side counter. They sat at a small table in the front window making small talk. “Was that your first time at a Silver
and Gold meet and greet?” Eliza queried. She already knew the answer, it was so obvious, but it seemed a safe topic to start with.

  He cleared his throat and took a sip of his still steaming coffee. “It was. I had no idea what it would be like. My ex, well, my soon to be ex, packed up and left one day. My son, Ben, had been out on his own for a couple of years. And when his mom filed for divorce and started dividing up our things, he said, 'Dad, you can't let it get you down, you gotta get back out there.'”

  Eliza smiled, thinking about how her own children had pushed her to do the same thing. Trust a couple of twenty-somethings to believe it's as easy as walking into a singles bar or wine tasting to meet up with the right gentleman.

  Because the older she got, the more she knew what she wanted, and what she didn't want. Eliza wanted a man who was mature, not the euphemism 'mature' meaning older, but mature, as in able to handle himself. Someone who wanted to be a partner and a companion. Someone adventurous in the right way. Not sky diving, but wanting to get out and explore.

  She had no trouble conversing with Frank, drawing out the details. His hurt that his wife of almost thirty years was leaving him. “I knew things were bad… hell, it seemed everyone we knew was struggling, working more, being home less. She got more and more distant, we shared the same house and the same bed, but not really the same space.”

  Eliza nodded her understanding. “The same emotional space?”

  “I figured we still had it good. The bills were paid, our retirement was on track, our kid was turning out all right, but she was distant. There was nothing left of us. There hadn’t been any intimacy for a long time. She said life with me was humdrum, and then one day she just decided she didn’t want humdrum anymore. Oh, God, I need to stop unloading all this on a stranger…”

  Eliza laughed. “It’s all right, Frank, I don’t feel like we are strangers, not anymore.”