by Susan Hatler
Mrs. Watson chuckled as she watched the receptionist buzz her husband back to find his glasses. “Thank you for being so patient with Gilbert this past week, dear. When he gets it in his head that he’s being taken advantage of, there’s no reasoning with him. And from what I’ve heard, you’ve handled him very professionally. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve made him apologize over the years.”
Her admission made my mouth curve upward, especially since he’d insisted several times that his wife agreed with him. “If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you been married?”
Her forehead crinkled and she tapped each finger against her thumb, counting. “It’ll be fifty-two years this October.”
Clearly my lack of sleep had taken its toll on my professionalism because I blurted out, “What made you decide to marry him?”
Smiling, as if the answer was obvious, she said, “Gilbert? Well, I loved him, of course.”
With five decades of marriage under her belt, this woman had to know the secret to making marriage work. “Yes, but how’d you know that you were compatible? You must’ve had the same life goals so you knew there wouldn’t be conflicts, right?”
Did my tone sound as desperate as I felt?
“Throughout our marriage, I’m guessing our ‘life goals,’ as you put it, have changed at least half a dozen times. As far as conflicts go? That man can drive me crazy as no one else in the world can, I assure you.” She slid the back of her hand across her forehead as if to wipe pretend sweat away. “Still, I couldn’t imagine spending my life with anyone else but Gilbert.”
She had to be kidding me. These were her magic words of wisdom? That she couldn’t imagine living without him? “More than fifty percent of marriages end in divorce, Mrs. Watson. In order to make that lifelong decision, how did you know it would last forever?”
“I guess I didn’t.” She put her hand on my forearm. “But, I wasn’t going to lose him because of statistics. I loved him and I went for it.” She winked at me. “Good thing, too. Wouldn’t you say?”
As if on cue, Gilbert strode into the lobby with his computer case slung over his shoulder and held up his glasses. “Forgot my laptop, too. Isn’t that a hoot?”
“Gilbert.” She nudged his arm. “What am I going to do with you?”
We said polite good-byes, and as I watched Mr. and Mrs. Watson head out of the lobby, holding hands after half a century of marriage, it felt like a blindfold had been lifted. There were no guarantees. If you love someone, you either go for it or you don’t.
Wait. Love? Where had that come from? I hadn’t even known Henry a week and I certainly didn’t believe in love at first sight. What a ridiculous notion for a strong, smart woman. Storybook love doesn’t exist in real life. Yet, when I’d first met Henry and looked into those deep, dark gray eyes . . . And every time I’d talked to him since . . .
It had felt like storybook love.
Okay, forget my pride. I had to find Rachel.
****
Rachel came to the office after lunch and I stormed into her cubicle. “Where have you been?”
“Ran to the mall at lunch and guess what I got?” She smiled, apparently oblivious to my desperation, as she set a double handled silver shopping bag on her desk, pulled out a shiny white shoebox, and handed it to me. “Surprise!”
“No way.” I lifted the top, pushed the tissue aside, and immediately recognized the stunning pair of red stilettos I’d tried on last week but passed on in favor of the more practical black boots. “You went back for these? What for?”
She pulled them out of the box and displayed them in the air as we both stared at them in awe. “After Chester made his little chew toy mistake, you wouldn’t let me buy you new boots so I decided to get you the pair you really wanted.”
I slid my fingers over the smooth, sexy heels. “They’re as gorgeous as I remember. Thanks.” I gave her a quick hug. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s the least I could do after you introduced my sweet baby to Simply Skilled.” She put the heels back in the box and leaned against her desk, wearing an excited expression. “Since yesterday was the last class, Abby Wilson let us choose a special skill for our babies to master and guess what? My smart boy can now do his business in a litter box!”
So much for breaking him of his destructive chew habit. “You trained your dog to use a litter box? Like a cat?”
“Yes.” She nodded, enthusiastically. “In just one class, too. My baby is super smart.”
Yeah, except when he’s Hoovering globs of hair from my brush.
She let out a contented sigh. “Now, I don’t have to go home at lunch to give him a potty break anymore. Isn’t that cool?”
“As long as the other dogs don’t make fun of him for it.” At the joke, I immediately thought of Kenzie. “I’m glad you liked the Simply Skilled class.”
Rach slid into her chair, spinning it to face me. “Loved it. Emily Post couldn’t find a flaw with Abby Wilson’s training.”
“True,” I said, though she wasn’t the person from class I’d been thinking about. “So, did you meet Henry? Did he say anything about me?”
It felt like junior high but, when you’re desperate, why mince words?
“Yes.” Her forehead wrinkled as if she were rethinking the conversation. “He did ask about you, actually.”
Each second that ticked by felt like torture. “And . . . ?”
“Well, at first we introduced ourselves, he wondered where you were, yada yada.” She waved her hand in the air as if to skip to the point. “Then, get this, he asked if I thought your dates with Craig were going anywhere.”
My heart started pounding. That had to be a good sign. “Really?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t worry. I gave him a piece of my mind.”
Oh, no. “W-what do you mean?”
She crossed her arms. “I told him plain and simple that if he liked you—and it kind of seemed like he did with the way he hung on every word I said—then he should’ve asked you out himself. Not go digging for information from your friend.” She peeked up at me with a smug smile. “Then, he asked for your number.”
The pounding in my chest upgraded to galloping. “He did?”
“Don’t worry, I told him he was too late because you were out with that Detailed Dating guy again and how compatible you both were. Then, I may have gone off about why men pretend to be one way and then act another way . . . like Dillon pretending he was interested in me one minute and that I was just a hook-up the next. It’s weak, you know?”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It sounded as if Henry liked me, but Rach had told him off. “What did he say then? And why oh why didn’t you give him my number?”
She gave me a confused look. “Um, because Craig seems way more compatible? Do I need to remind you of the Dillon fiasco?”
Her desk phone rang, but she let it go to voicemail so I went on, “Rach, I had it all wrong. You did the right thing with Dillon. You liked him and you went for it.”
She leaned forward in her chair, then threw her hands up in a cheer. “And look how great that turned out.”
“Here’s the thing.” I moved closer and lowered my voice so nobody else could hear because adjacent cubicles tended to have big ears and at this point the lunch hour was way over. “Fifty percent of marriages end in divorce. And like how many people do we date before we even get married? A lot. Right?”
Her face went slack. “F-Y-I, if this speech is supposed to be uplifting, you need to rewrite it.”
“My point is that despite all my convictions about compatibility, I wasn’t really looking for the love of my life. With all my calculations, I ruled guys out before I’d ever given them a chance. If I’m interested in someone, I can’t cross him out because he prefers hang gliding over strolls on the beach. If I do, I could miss an amazing fifty-two year marriage that’s still going strong.”
She ignored the ringing phone on her desk and shook her h
ead. “You lost me.”
I covered my face with my hands. “I can’t stop thinking about Henry.”
“Henry?” She looked thoroughly confused. “What happened to Craig? I thought you had everything in common.”
I threw my hands out. “We’re compatible in many ways. He’d be a logical, safe choice, but . . . I’m not interested. Isn’t that ironic?”
“Painfully so.”
Tears filled my eyes. “I should’ve gone to Simply Skilled yesterday. It’s where I wanted to be. But it scared me how much I liked Henry so I went for my safety date. And the entire time, I kept wishing I’d been in class with Henry.”
Her eyes widened as if she’d just thought of something, then she fished in her handbag and pulled out a white envelope. “This might not be a good time to do this, but Henry asked me to give this to you. He didn’t say what it was.”
Rachel’s telephone went beep and Ginger announced that Rach had an important call waiting and that the customer had been unable to reach her. She gave me a regretful look and I shooed her to take it since, you know, we were at work and that’s kind of what they paid us to do.
I went back to my cubie, ripped open the envelope, and emptied the contents into the palm of my hand. A silver dog bone-shaped piece of metal shined up at me, attached to a key ring. The silver bone was embossed with cursive lettering that read Ellen and when I flipped it over it said Auntie of the Year. Even as my eyes burned, I laughed, remembering how I kept telling Henry I hoped to win Auntie of the Year from all my dog duty with Chester.
I fingered the tiny gift in my hand, thinking I’d never received a more wonderful present and wanting, more than anything, to call and thank him for it. My throat tightened, knowing I’d blown something special. And Rach had ruined any chance for repair.
Maybe storybook romance did exist, but I was the bonehead princess kicking the prince to the curb before he’d had a chance to ask me to the ball. Or, even better, to a picnic by the dog park.
****
After work, I sat on my couch debating whether or not searching “Henry Holbrook III” online would make me creepy-obsessive. As I weighed the pros and cons of internet stalking, my mom called on her way home to tell me where she’d made dinner reservations before we hit the art show tonight.
I’d tried to keep my voice upbeat to hide my miserable mood, but apparently I’d done a lousy job because as we were wrapping up, my mom said, “Is something wrong? You sound down. Are things not going well with your new man?”
“Who? Oh, Craig.” I’d forgotten about him. I sat on my couch and hugged one of the embroidered pillows to my chest for comfort. “No, I broke that off.”
“Why?” Mom’s voice oozed with sympathy. “He sounded perfect.”
No, apparently just eighty-six percent. “He kept a chart, Mom. To rate how compatible we are.”
Long pause. “How’d you do?”
I bolted upright. “Mother!”
“What?” She used her innocent tone. “I want to know your score. Any man who didn’t think you were a catch is doing the math wrong.”
“You know, it doesn’t even matter.” I dropped back into the cushions and took a big breath. “I’m interested in someone else.”
Not that it mattered at this point.
“The other man from Detailed Dating?” I could hear the humm of her garage door going up and knew she’d arrived home.
“No.” I bit my lip, hoping I’d have her support. “From, uh, doggy class. I took Rachel’s miniature beagle when I was puppy sitting, long story, and that’s where I met Henry. He adopted a stray dog and signed her up for obedience school. Isn’t that sweet?”
Short pause, then I heard a car door slam. “But you don’t like dogs.”
Why did everyone keep saying that? “I do, too.”
“I’ve known you since birth and you’ve never expressed a smidgeon of interest in animals.” Then she laughed. “Remember when you were in high school and Frank brought home his sister’s King Charles Spaniel, Bitsy? You ran around the house with that lint remover permanently attached to your hand until the day she picked her up.”
I rolled my eyes at the mention of Mom’s husband number two. “That was fifteen years ago.”
Not that a lint remover wouldn’t come in handy with a dog around . . .
“All right, honey. He has a dog and you love dogs.” She snickered. “What else do you know about him?”
“He’s sweet. Funny.” I fingered the dog bone keychain in my hand. “Thoughtful.”
“Hmmm.”
My stomach clenched at her disapproving tone. “What?”
She sighed. “Sweet and funny seem nice in the beginning, but they won’t keep the relationship going long-term. What are his goals? What are his interests? I thought we decided Detailed Dating was the way to go. Those men are looking for serious relationships and they lay it all on the line. That’s how I met Robert. Online dating.”
My jaw clenched. “You don’t even know Henry. How can you just rule him out?”
“It sounds like you don’t know him very well either.” She cleared her throat. “I’m not trying to upset you, Ellen. I want you to be smart so you don’t get hurt. Lasting relationships are about compatibility.”
Tears burned my eyes. “How would you know?”
“After two failed marriages, I think—”
“Don’t forget about my dad.” Okay, my voice might’ve sounded a tad sharp.
“Well, I never married him so—”
“He doesn’t count. I’ve heard it before. You know what? That’s your life, not mine, and you don’t have all the answers. Who even knows what will happen with your marriage to Robert? You haven’t even had your first anniversary yet.”
“Ellen!”
“You think you know what’s best for me, but you don’t.” My throat felt raw as I gripped the phone against my ear. “I’m not interested in online dating anymore. The three pet classes with Henry felt like three of the best dates I’ve ever been on. It was different with him. Not a crush, or infatuation, it felt . . . right. It doesn’t make sense, but I can’t explain it any other way.”
Silence.
“I’ve blown it with him anyway and you’re probably glad. But, I can’t date who you think is right for me. I’m thirty-years-old, Mom. I need to live my life my way.” I swiped at my wet cheeks. “I have to go.”
“I will see you tonight.” Her voice was tight and firm.
Grunting in frustration, I turned my phone off and tossed it on the cushion next to me. Oh, man. I’d never talked to my mom like that before. Well, not since my teen years, anyway. Great. Dinner and the art show should be such a blast. Not.
As I rubbed my temples, the white box on my coffee table caught my eye and called to me. So, even though I felt miserable, I tried on my red stilettos. They fit perfectly and I took them for a test loop around my living room. Amazing. Sleek red heels actually made walking more fun. I’d loved these shoes the moment I’d tried them on, but I’d gone for the safety pair instead. Smart and sensible. That’s me.
Or, that had been me. I promised myself that from now on, I was going to start choosing the shoes I really wanted. Ditto on men.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After the horrible phone conversation with my mom, I took a long hot bath, hoping to soak away my troubles. No such luck. Now, wearing nothing but a bathrobe, I opened my front door and stared miserably at Rachel, who looked gorgeous in a jade green dress. “Forget tonight. I’m not going.”
“Turn.” She made a circular motion with her finger, shut the door behind her, then nudged me toward my bedroom. “Change.”
With Rachel’s hand planted firmly on my back, I dragged my feet as I moved forward begrudgingly. “I had an awful fight with my mom.”
“Really?” She headed straight for my closet, flipped through my clothes, and eyed a beige dress up and down before dismissing it. “What about?”
I dropped back on my bed. “Thirty ye
ars of pent up aggression, I think. She’s hounding me to get back to Detailed Dating. I told her I’m only interested in one person and she was less than thrilled with my choice.” I sat up suddenly. “Do you think tracking down Henry on the internet would be going overboard?”
“No need.” She selected a sexy black and red silk camisole from my closet and handed it to me. “I took care of it.”
Every muscle in my body froze. “Y-you what?”
She gave an exaggerated shrug. “I called All Things Furry, spoke to Abby Wilson, and used my powers of persuasion to get Henry’s phone number. Then I called him, admitted I’d jumped to conclusions about you liking that Detailed Dating guy, and told him which art gallery we’d be at tonight if he wanted to meet up with us.”
I squealed. “You did? Seriously?”
“Yes, which is why you need to get dressed.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. “He kinda came across stunned when I mentioned we were going to the art showing so I told him we were quite cultural, thank you very much.”
I threw my arms around her. “I love you, Rach. You’ve taken the term ‘best friend’ to a whole new level.”
“Ooof.” She patted me on the back as I tightened my grip. “It was the least I could do after my negative vibes from my Dillon drama botched your cute flirtation. I can’t believe I lost two days of my life being depressed over that twig.”
“He was so not worth it.” I slipped out of my bathrobe, then into a black skirt and the dressy tank Rach picked out. “How did Henry sound when you called?”
“Surprised.” She held her hands up. “But in a good way.”
“And he said he’d meet us?”
She tapped a crimson painted fingernail against her chin. “Not specifically, but he seemed interested.”
My stomach clenched. “What if he doesn’t come?”
“That wouldn’t be a good sign.” Apparently noticing the disappointed look I felt spread across my face, she waved a hand dismissively. “I’m sure he will, though.”
Checking my watch, I saw we were running late to meet my mom and Robert for dinner. I zipped to the bathroom, did a re-touch on my make-up, ran a brush through my hair, then checked myself in the mirror. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes wide, and I tucked my shoulder-length hair behind my ears. This silky tank and black skirt was a lot sexier than anything Henry had seen me wear to doggy class. Not exactly attire for practical black boots. This ensemble screamed red high heels all the way.
