Mr Right There All Along

Chloe’s usual was a double mocha latte and toasted onion bagel slathered with enough melted butter and cream cheese that it should have come with an American Heart Association warning.

“Not today. I’ll have coffee, black. Make it decaf.”

“And to eat?”

“Nothing.”

Helga’s bushy eyebrows shot up at that.

“You no want something to eat?”

“No. Nothing.”

“You feel okay?”

“Fine. I’m on a diet,” she confessed.

“Chloe’s always on a diet,” Simon inserted.

Helga made a rude sound. “Girls nowadays, they all want to be so skinny. Too skinny, I think. A stiff breeze, they blow over.” She motioned with her notepad, before turning to Simon. “So, you think she need to lose weight?”

“No. Not a pound.” She was perfect in his book. Always had been.

“See.” Helga nodded vigorously. To Chloe, she said, “I bring you onion bagel just how you like.”

Chloe’s expression turned panicked, but before she could refuse, Simon said casually, “You don’t have to eat all of it. Or any of it, Chloe. Consider it a test of your willpower.”

“Fine.” She straightened in her seat and squared her shoulders, making the display of her cleavage even harder for Simon to ignore. It was like a magnet, drawing his gaze.

“What will you have?” Helga asked.

Because he knew what he really wanted was off-limits, he wrapped both hands around his cup of coffee and forced his gaze to the stocky waitress. “Two slices of whole wheat toast and a fruit cup.”

Helga pursed her lips in distaste as she jotted down his order. “Fruit cup,” she muttered as she walked away. “Is whole world on diet?”

“I think we’ve ruined her day,” Chloe said.

“We’ll leave a big tip,” Simon replied.

They always did, regardless of the amount they spent. The way Simon saw it, she deserved the tip. He and Chloe took up one of Helga’s prime tables for at least a couple of hours on a Saturday without running up a sizable tab.

Chloe fussed with her hair, pulling it back behind her head. No doubt if she had a rubber band at her disposal, it would wind up in a ponytail.

“I like your hair down,” he said.

On a sigh, she let it drop. “It’s not even humid out and my hair is already going nuts. You wouldn’t know I’d used this expensive new antifrizz stuff. I want my money back.”

“I don’t know. I think it looks nice. I like it when you leave it curly.”

“I don’t mind curly, but it’s heading toward steel wool. For the reunion, I’m thinking of having it professionally straightened.”

Don’t! He wanted to shout. But he doubted she would follow his advice. So, instead he lifted his shoulders. “Whatever you think best.”

Helga was back with Chloe’s coffee and refilled Simon’s cup.

“I’m considering dying it a different color, too.” She smiled at their waitress. “What do you think? Should I attempt blond?”

Helga issued that rude sound again. Before stalking away, she said, “Keep what God gave you.”

To Simon, Chloe said, “I think God could have been a little more generous in certain areas and, well, spread the wealth in others, if you know what I mean.”

“You wouldn’t look good as a blonde.”

She frowned. “I thought you liked blondes? The last three women you dated all looked like they just stepped out of the California sun.”

True enough, he realized, although it hadn’t been intentional. They’d been available and interested and, well, since he’d been available … He didn’t like how that made it seem, though he’d never pretended to have deep feelings for any of them. Nor had he made any promises.

He wasn’t his father … a man who made promises, vows even, with the ease of a politician, only to break them, as wives one through five could attest.

“Simon?” Chloe was staring at him.

He pulled himself back to the present. “Your coloring is all wrong for blond hair. You’re too fair.”

“That can be changed, too.”

He didn’t like the glint in her eye. “Please tell me you’re not thinking about tanning again. Remember what happened before senior pictures.”

She shuddered, making him sorry to have brought it up. She’d gotten the bright idea to lie under the heat lamp her grandmother kept to warm new litters of Persian kittens, and had wound up burned to the point of blistering on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

“Not tanning per se,” she murmured, but before he could question her further, she asked, “Will you be going for your usual run tomorrow morning?”

He frowned at the change in subject. “Why?”

“I was thinking of joining you.”

He couldn’t help it. His brows shot up. “Are you going to run?”

She wrinkled her nose, a sign she was insulted. “You don’t need to look so shocked. Haven’t you pestered me since Nana’s heart attack to do more cardio conditioning?”

He had indeed, worried that Chloe’s addiction to comfort food might take her down the same hardened-arteries path as her seventy-four-year-old grandmother. But he knew Chloe’s sudden decision to listen had less to do with his persuasive abilities than their upcoming class reunion. He almost called her on it. But the truth was, he liked the idea of having company during the runs he took four mornings a week.

“We can meet in the park at eight,” he said after a moment.

“Great.”

Her smile lasted until Helga arrived with their food. The cream-cheese-laden bagel beckoned. The way she swallowed before sucking in her bottom lip told him as much. Whoever had been manning the knife in the kitchen had been generous with the topping.

“Anything else?” Helga asked, her meaty hands resting on a pair of what Simon remembered a great-aunt referring to as good child-bearing hips.