Free Folly Cove by Holly Robinson

dishwasher.
    They ordered their food from a waitress who called them “my little friends” and cheerily said, “I’ll be taking good care of you,” making Gil roll his eyes at Sarah.
    Sarah minded the waitress’s words less than she minded the look the girl gave them. She imagined the waitress, who was all of thirtyyears old, going back to the kitchen and gushing about “that cute old couple at table five.”
    She’d heard her own waitstaff cooing over elderly couples, as if a man and woman keeping company past age sixty-five was something to be either pitied or marveled over. Nobody young could imagine ever reaching this age or picture any sort of passion that might lead people with wrinkled flesh to press their bodies together in a moment of abandonment. Passion and abandonment were for the young. Sarah almost wanted to lean over and kiss Gil just to shock the damn waitress. She wouldn’t think they were so cute then.
    She focused instead on the menu. Sarah settled on grilled scallops on a bed of spinach. Gil ordered the baked stuffed haddock. The waitress gave them another approving look before bustling back to the kitchen with a hiss of panty hose and polyester.
    Fine. The sooner they ate, the sooner Sarah could get back to the inn. The only reason she’d agreed to this second meeting with Gil was out of guilt: their first lunch in the Folly Cove dining room had been cut short when the smell of smoke caused a guest to call the fire department. There was no fire, only an overloaded and smoking surge protector, but the inn had been evacuated for two hours. Sarah had sent Gil on his way while she smoothed the feathers of the few guests checked in for a weeknight stay.
    The view of the Merrimack River was spectacular, the grasses a burnished copper in the late-afternoon sun and the river a vivid blue. The weather was warm enough that there were still some boats in the water.
    â€œI appreciate you taking time out of another of your busy days to see me,” Gil said. He had Rhonda’s careful diction and thick head of curly black hair, though his was dusted white. He was her mother’s younger brother, Rhonda had said, married forty years until his wife died suddenly of pancreatic cancer last year, and had two grown sons.
    â€œYes, well, Rhonda seemed to think you needed a tour guide, since you’re new to the area, and she’s very dear to me,” Sarah said. “I’m happy to fill you in on everything there is to do around here.”
    Gil laughed. “My niece has been worried about me since Marjory—that’s my wife—passed away. I’m getting along just fine, but it’s true that I don’t enjoy going out to lunch alone.”
    â€œI’ve never minded eating alone,” Sarah said truthfully.
    â€œAh. I can see that. You’re probably one of those efficient multitaskers,” Gil teased. “The sort who does the accounts while making toast and pays for advertising online while running on the treadmill. Rhonda says you work around the clock.”
    â€œTreadmill? Please,” Sarah said, eyeing him suspiciously. What else did Rhonda say about her? “I do the tasks at hand in the order that makes sense. My goal is to stay ahead of my responsibilities.”
    â€œSounds exhausting,” Gil said cheerfully, spreading his napkin on his lap as the waitress delivered their plates. He waved a hand. “Me, I like a good sit-down with the morning paper, then a walk before lunch. I spent my whole life pleasing other people. Now it’s time to please myself.” He picked up his knife and fork. “If I want to see a movie in the middle of the day, I go right ahead and take myself off to the cinema.”
    Sarah tried to imagine life with so many empty hours and couldn’t do it. Nor could she see its appeal. But she had the good manners not to say so. She speared a scallop with her fork. “You told me