Mr Right There All Along

“The relationship wasn’t going anywhere,” he muttered. “It pretty much had run its course.”

“Regardless, life is too short. It passes you by quickly. Believe me. Before you know it, you’ll be worrying about hip fractures, misplacing your dentures and dozing off during the evening news.” A sigh rattled out. But then Millicent offered a crafty smile. “Besides, you’ll never turn the head of the girl of your dreams if you keep long hours at the office and spend your free time with women who are more interested in your title and looks than what’s behind both.”

Chloe felt her skin prickle.

Simon leaned one of his broad shoulders against the cash register. “You know, if you’d agree to marry me, Millicent, I’d agree to work reasonable hours, not to mention forsake all others.”

“I’d be tempted to take you up on that, but I think all three of us would be disappointed.” Her gaze shifted to Chloe and she smiled. “Don’t you, Chloe?”

Chloe shook her head. No matter how many times they’d tried to tell Millicent that they weren’t anything more than friends, the older woman kept insisting and insinuating they were or someday would become something more.

Silly, Chloe thought.

Surely, if Simon were interested in her as anything more than a pal, he would have made it clear by now. Not that she wanted him to. Or that she was interested back, despite those odd tingles she sometimes got when they were together. No. They were friends. Pals. Buds. BFFs.

She was as surprised as Millicent and Simon when a wistful sigh escaped.

Chloe cleared her throat. “I’m looking for a cookbook.”

“Well, you know where to find them, my dear. The shelf by the window has some vintage ones.”

“She wants one with low-carb, low-calorie recipes,” he said, his bias obvious.

Millicent’s mouth puckered in distaste. “The trendy ones are on the next shelf over.”

Simon went with Chloe and helped her leaf through the limited selection. She settled on one that boasted nutritious meals in thirty-minutes or less. The pictures looked appetizing, the recipes didn’t appear too difficult and the ingredients weren’t something she’d have to hit specialty stores to find. Portion control would be the key, though. She’d learned that with the first batch of low-fat cookies she bought. Low-fat or not, it turned out that when a person ate the entire box in one sitting, the calories still wound up going straight to her hips.

“All set?” he asked.

“Just one more thing.” She started for the back of the store and a section in which she had spent way too much time over the years.

“What are you doing in the self-help aisle?”

“Looking for, well, a way to help myself,” she quipped.

“What book are the talk-show gurus pushing this week?” he asked in a weary tone.

“They aren’t pushing anything.”

One of Simon’s eyebrows rose.

“Okay, so one of the guests on a show I caught last week mentioned a book that sounded sort of interesting.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask, what’s the title?”

She had to clear her throat before the words “The Best You, Ever” made it past her lips. She doubted he would care that the subtitle was “From the Inside Out.” She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard him swear. And his expression made his disdain plain.

“You’re already the best you that you can be, Chloe.”

Her heart did a funny somersault at his assessment, as off base as she knew it to be. She was a far cry from the person she wanted to be, especially physically, which was her main objective now with the reunion fast approaching.

“You’re just saying that because you’re my friend.” Pal. Bud. BFF.

He folded his arms across his chest. “And if I wasn’t your friend? Would you believe me then?”

“Simon,” she began patiently.

But his tone was impatient and surprisingly irritated. “Answer me. What will it take for you to finally accept that you don’t need improvement? If that last loser you dated had said so, would you have believed him?”

Whoa, whoa! Her mouth went slack.

Loser? That was cold. Okay, so she’d called Greg a loser, too, not to mention a couple dozen other choice names in the weeks following their breakup. But Simon hadn’t seen the need to malign Greg’s character then, other than to say the guy wasn’t good enough for her. She’d been well into a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream at the time. Simon had taken away her spoon, made her dress in something other than sweats and had taken her out to a fancy restaurant for dinner.

“This is how you deserve to be treated,” he’d said at the end of the evening.

It dawned on Chloe then. Simon had never maligned the character of any of the guys she’d dated. Never … until just now.

He was joking. He had to be.

She waited for humor to leak into his expression, for the corners of his mouth to quirk in a well-remembered smile. But a full minute ticked past and Simon remained stoic, his countenance as unyielding as that of a tombstone.

“What do you want me to say?” she asked at last.

“I want you to say that you believe me when I tell you that you look fine just as you are.”

“I do believe you,” she assured him.

Well, sort of. Mostly. But he was her friend, her pal, her bud and BFF. People with those titles were known to lie. Which was why on days when Chloe was feeling particularly insecure about her body, she peppered Simon with questions such as, “Do these pants make my butt look big?”

No woman in her right mind asked that question of someone they thought might actually tell them the truth. Besides, the man regularly dated lingerie models.

He squinted sideways at her. “You do?”

She nodded to add emphasis. “Of course, I do.” All the while, she was thinking, he had to be lying.

The rigid set of his shoulders relaxed fractionally. Simon really did have nice shoulders and the cotton pullover he was wearing did them justice. It was just snug enough to show off some of the definition that his regular workouts had created.

“Mmm.”

His brows tugged together. “Chloe?”

Good God! What was she thinking? Bad, bad Chloe.

“Hmm. I said, hmm. You know, it’s a kind of humming sound that can be taken for, um, well, an affirmation.” Or the prelude to an orgasm. Though she was barely managing to tread water, she decided to dive in again. “As in, I believe you when you say that I look fine.”

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