Free A Table by the Window: A Novel of Family Secrets and Heirloom Recipes (Two Blue Doors) by Hillary Manton Lodge

visions of walking hand in hand with a loved one in an orange grove, him plucking an orange off the tree and offering me a warm, sun-ripened wedge.
    OrangeYouGlad, who confessed to be named Martin, asked if I was interested in having a phone conversation. If so, he included his phone number and a list of times when he would be available.
    A phone conversation! I felt as though I’d graduated to the next step.
    Twenty-four hours later, at the appointed time, I called Martin.
    To my surprise, the throaty strains of “Someone Like You” filled my ear.
    I liked Adele just as much as the next girl, but the song itself was …
    Not masculine.
    But maybe he was just really into British soul music.
    Or something.
    I noticed he had a nice voice when he answered. Maybe a little vague. “Glad you called,” he said.
    “You’re, um, welcome.” Silence. I cleared my throat. “How was your day?”
    “Fine. Work is good.”
    “That’s good,” I said, at a loss. How was this supposed to work? He asked to speak with me, and so far I felt as though I’d interrupted him at a bad time. “So, tell me about the orange grove.”
    “The grove is fine. This time of year, it’s mainly maintenance work, working the soil.”
    “Oh.”
    “What about your work?”
    “Busy,” I answered automatically. “My boss has me working on a new project that I’m not particularly in love with.” At. All.
    “That’s too bad. Do you like what you do otherwise?”
    “I do.”
    “Good. That’s good.”
    I stifled a yawn and wondered if there was anything else I could do while I was on the line. Martin wasn’t exactly requiring my full attention span.
    To prove that point, he asked who the real Juliette was. I wandered around my apartment in search of my nail polish while reciting an off-the-cuff version of my online personal statement.
    If he noticed, he didn’t say.
    “What are you up to this weekend?” I asked as I decided between taupe nail polish and pale pink, also contemplating an edgier gray.
    “Buying a TV. My old one died.”
    “Ah.”
    Nowhere I could go with that. If he needed help choosing a dutch oven or a cheese grater, I’d have several tips to offer.
    “So if you could play any position in football, what position would you play?”
    I paused applying my nail polish, midswipe. “Pardon?”
    He repeated the question.
    I really had heard right the first time. Amazing. “Receiver, I suppose,” Isaid after a moment’s thought. “In a family full of quarterbacks, it was the sensible thing to do.”
    “Right on,” he said.
    Not that I had any idea what I was ‘right on’ about. “What made you decide to try online dating?”
    “I was seeing this girl for a while, and everything was great. But then she moved to be closer to me—I can’t leave the grove, you know—and she went crazy. Seriously, she went berserk. It was a really big deal. So we broke up—had to—because she went nuts. Decided to try the online thing. Found you, so that was cool.”
    “Cool,” I repeated, wary. In my experience, what men attributed to insanity was really women doing something they didn’t understand or agree with.
    I chose not to share this thought with Martin.
    “Tell me about your spiritual beliefs,” I said, since he had checked the box that indicated a belief in Christianity.
    “Gotcha,” he said. “I would say that my faith in God is strong because my love for God is so strong. I read my Bible every day. I go to church every Sunday. Well, not last Sunday. Or this week, because I’ll be out of town.”
    “It happens.” I paused. “Well, I need to be going.” I waved my freshly manicured hand in the air to encourage it to dry. “It’s been nice getting to know you, Martin.”
    “Let’s do it again soon,” Martin said.
    I made some noncommittal noise before hanging up.

    Unsettled after my phone call with Martin, I retreated to the kitchen. I retrieved the farm-fresh apples I’d bought earlier in the day and