Free A Drunkard's Path by Clare O'Donohue

hear the shock in Carrie’s voice. “What exactly did he say?”
    “He said he liked the quilts.”
    Natalie laughed. “Of course he liked the quilts. They’re great quilts. And since he’s an artist, he’d know.”
    I shook my head. “It was the way he said it. He praised every little thing. And it was more than that.” I paused for dramatic purposes. “He smiled at her.”
    I expected more laughs, but neither woman moved.
    “What did she do?” Carrie finally asked.
    “Smiled back,” I said.
    We all stood in silence in the middle of Carrie’s shop.
    Finally Natalie said, “I want to see this.”
    We were almost out the door when I remembered the reason I supposedly came over. Carrie poured coffee into three disposable cups, and we headed across the street to Someday Quilts, trying to look casual, and absolutely failing.
    Nothing had changed in the few minutes I was gone. Eleanor and Oliver were standing by the quilts, smiling. Kennette was a few feet away, staring dreamily. I gave Carrie and Natalie my best “I told you so” look.
    “Here’s the coffee,” I announced.
    “And it came with friends,” Oliver said happily. In seconds he was charming the new arrivals and asking to see their quilts, which were also on display. It gave me a chance to pull Eleanor aside.
    “What’s going on?”
    Eleanor the unflappable had returned. “Your teacher has a good eye for quilts,” she said, and then went to the counter for her coffee.
    “I would love to sit with you sometime and discuss the techniques you use,” Oliver said to Eleanor as he followed her to the counter.
    “That would be fine. And I’m sure there’s a lot I could learn from someone in your field that would apply to quilting.”
    “No doubt.” He smiled. “Tomorrow perhaps. Dinner?”
    “We have quilt club,” I cut in. “Every Friday.”
    “Saturday, then?” Oliver’s eyes never left Eleanor.
    “I close up the shop about six,” she said.
    He nodded. “I’ll pick you up at eight?” He squeezed Eleanor’s hand. “It was lovely to meet you ladies. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
    “At class,” Kennette jumped in.
    “Yes, of course. And perhaps before then.”
    We stood at the door and watched him get into his car and drive away. Everyone but Eleanor. She was busy stacking some newly arrived magazines.
    “You have a date!” Natalie shouted. “A date with a handsome, successful artist.”
    “It’s not a date,” Eleanor scolded her. “He’s interested in talking about quilts, that’s all.” And with that she disappeared into the shop’s office.
    “Wow” was all Carrie could say.
    “Isn’t he wonderful?” Kennette asked. “He’s so sophisticated and charming. Like an old-fashioned movie star.”
    He was. I had to agree. And so did half the women taking his class, including the annoying Sandra. Even in his seventies, he had a sexy, bad-boy quality about him. It seemed clear that he had spent a lifetime playing by his own rules and was celebrated for it.
    So why was a man like that hitting on my grandmother?

CHAPTER 11
     
     
     
     
    “I t’s off the table,” I whispered. “No one can bring it up. Trust me.” Though Oliver had been in the shop only twenty-four hours before, every member of the quilt club arrived for our usual Friday meeting knowing word for word what had happened. And everyone was dying to talk about it. Except Eleanor.
    Kennette and I had tried to broach the subject when we were sitting in my grandmother’s kitchen having dinner a few hours after Oliver’s visit. The stone silence we got in response made it clear that this was not an open subject.
    All day at the shop Kennette and I made pathetic attempts to look busy while Eleanor waited on every customer who came in, unwilling to let us handle even the easy sales. When we were finally closing up for the night, Eleanor suggested that Kennette stay for the meeting. There was nothing unusual in that, the quilt group was