Just the Right Type

Cupid isn't always who we think.

Patty swung her Volkswagen beetle around the back of Grandma’s Closet. The first thing that raised her suspicions was that her grandmother’s bicycle wasn’t parked under the back window of the antique shop. Her grandmother May had kept the bicycle there for as long as Patty could remember. If she wasn’t feeling well today, then where was her bike? Glancing at her cell phone, she had no time to think about it. It was time to get to work.

Today she would be opening and working the shop by herself. She’d spent countless hours in the shop, as far back as the year she turned five and her grandmother had held a tea party for her and her friends – right smack in the center of the shop. Grandma loved to create milestones in the shop and being her only granddaughter, many times those milestones centered on Patty. This morning she’d gotten a call asking if she would ‘be a lamb’ and take charge. Something about arthritis or bursitis. It was hard to believe. The woman was the most active person Patty knew.

The scent of her grandmother’s gardenia perfume filled the air as Patty opened the door. With the flip of a switch, a golden light flooded the back room where her grandmother sorted through new acquisitions. She flipped on the coffee machine and headed for the front of the shop. The sounds of cuckoo clocks chirped in her ears.

“Yes, I’m cuckoo all right. Cuckoo for falling for this story. Her bike is gone, and I’ll bet you she’s out somewhere, doing who knows what.”

Her grandmother always had her hand in something or someone’s business. What was she up to now? Maybe coming up with a new church committee or telling Shelly how to ‘do it just right’ in her new bake shop. She might be at the Gregg’s family home, showing Mrs. Gregg how to make baby formula from scratch for their newest arrival. She was that grandma. She was everyone’s grandma.

She tapped the cash button on the antiquated cash register and eyed the cash compartments. How many times had she told her grandmother not to leave the cash in the drawer? Yet here was yesterday’s earnings. She could hear her grandmother’s voice in her ears, “Honey bun, who would possibly want to steal anything from me?” Patty had tried to explain how this old register could be broken in to so easily but her grandmother had just shook her head. Not to mention trying to talk her into a computerized register. Patty had been trying to persuade her to create a website for Grandma’s Closet only for her grandmother to answer, ‘Anything someone is interested in is right here for the seeing and touching.’ She had a feeling she’d been wrangled into a day’s work.

This Saturday was the singles luncheon at church. She and her best friend Corey had planned to go. The sweater and skirt she’d laid out the night before sat on the foot of her bed, still on hangers. She couldn’t help but wonder if that new man at church would bother to attend the luncheon. She felt herself flush. Why did she even care? She’d made several attempts at small talk during coffee hour and the man barely said a word. He’d stared at her as if she were an alien and walked away. She had watched him standing off to the side, typing on his phone as he gulped his coffee. He’d tossed the Styrofoam cup and walked out of the hall without a goodbye to anyone.

No, he probably had no interest in meeting someone like her. She had to wonder why he even had hung around the coffee hour after church. He couldn’t even bother to make small talk. Still she found herself fascinated with him. He’d come to church every week since he’d moved into town. He wasn’t interested in small talk but he’d seemed to hang on Pastor Kimble’s every word.

The cuckoos clucked ten o’clock in unison. She flipped the sign on the front door to open. With no to do notes on the counter, Patty knew it was going to be a long day ahead but it was a beautiful spring day and she hoped the weather would bring out antique shoppers. Patty walked over to the display window for what felt like the hundredth time. The only sign of life outside were the purple pansies bobbing gently in the breeze. At three o’clock she was tempted to call her grandmother to ask about closing early. Hearing the tinkle of bells, she dropped her phone back into her pocket.

“Welcome! Is there anything I can help you with today?” She looked up into his eyes. The unfriendly new man from church. His eyes said he recognized her too. Blushing, she took a step back.

“Thank you.” He smiled as his eyes searched behind the counter. “I’m looking for Grandma May?”

Trying to appear calm, she nodded, swiping at the stray hair slipping from her headband.

“That’s my grandmother, May Baxter. She’s not in today. I’m Patty, her granddaughter. Is there something I can help you with?”

“You’re Patty Baxter?” he grinned at her.

He knew her? Her mind went blank. Had she told him her name during coffee hour? Grandma must have brought her up. The thought made her flush from head to toe. May Baxter had a way of bringing people together. And several of those people had landed at the altar at High Hill Community Christian Church. Patty gulped.

“Yes, I am. I’m sorry. I don’t know your name.”

“That’s ok. May had told me to come in today with my typewriter. She said she was pretty sure she had a ribbon for it. I collect old typewriters and they don’t sell these ribbons anymore. I’m Robert Ames.”

He couldn’t be that bad. He was referring to his typewriter as a ‘her’. The sweetness of the notion made her stomach flutter.

“I don’t suppose you might be able to help me with a ribbon, would you?” He looked at her, his cheeks slightly pink too.

“I know it’s old fashioned but I’ve been writing on this old model the last several months. It feels more creative than a computer keyboard.”

“You’re a writer?” She grinned at him. Oh grandma, she thought. This was about more than finding the right ribbon for his old typewriter.

“Yes, I am. I’ve been so busy with my newest book I’ve barely had time to get acquainted with folks in town. I have a bit of a tendency to zone out when I’m deep in a story. The only time I take away from my work is to go to church on Sunday.”

“Oh, I understand. I’m a writer. Well, not a novelist. I write for the local paper. I work on an old typewriter my grandfather passed down to me. He was a sports writer for the same paper.”

Feeling at ease, she lifted the cover from the typewriter. She caught her breath.

“I don’t believe it! This is the exact same model as my grandfather’s typewriter. The typewriter I work on.”

“Well now, what are the chances of that happening?” he smiled at her.

She could only shake her head and smile back. “Yes, what ARE the chances of that happening?”