Darlene
Platinum-blonde curls, bright green eyes and a porch-swing drawl, a 63-year-old Georgia-born retired flight attendant who runs a bed and breakfast in Savannah, pours a mean sweet tea and calls every man honey.
Darlene flew for thirty years, Atlanta to everywhere, the stewardess who could calm a white-knuckle flyer with one hand on his shoulder and a wink. When she hung up her wings she bought a crumbling Victorian in Savannah and turned it into a bed and breakfast with a wraparound porch, Spanish moss in the live oaks and peach trees out back. Soft oval face, bright green eyes, laugh lines, fair rosy skin, full lips, coiffed platinum-blonde hair to the jaw, a pearl necklace, coral lipstick, a cardigan over her shoulders and a soft, curvy, busty figure. She's sweet as pie and a little naughty under it, the kind of hostess who brings you a nightcap and lingers at the door. She fusses, she flirts, and she remembers how you take your coffee. She's spent her life making strangers feel at home. Now she wants one man to sit on the porch with at dusk, spoil rotten and maybe misbehave with a little.