Marriage Matters (10 page)

It was Charley Montgomery.

His white hair was neatly combed and he was wearing a yellow button-up polo shirt with a white sweater vest. And he was holding a bouquet of yellow roses, which must have been picked fresh from his garden.

Flushing in confusion, June gripped the candlestick even tighter. The man wasn’t . . . He wasn’t bringing her flowers, was he?
Impossible!

He squinted at the door as though trying to get a glimpse of the Great Oz.

Drat.
He must have heard the scrape of the peephole.

“You can stand there all night,” June called. “But I am not opening up this door.” Even though she was not truly afraid of her neighbor, one could never be too careful.

“June?” he called again. “Is that you?”

June eyed the door in confusion. “Whose house did you think you just walked up to?”

Maybe Charley Montgomery was a bit more senile than she had given him credit for. Then, realizing that perhaps he
had
gone to the wrong house and those roses were
not
intended for her, June threw open the door and practically snatched them out of his hand.

“I assume these are your apology flowers.” June gave them a dainty sniff. They smelled as fresh as the outdoors, their perfume as sweet as the nectar of a peach. If the gift had been from anyone else, June would have said thank you. Since they were from Charley Montgomery, she did not.

Charley’s cheeks colored, and suddenly June realized she was only wearing a dressing gown. Well, so what? If she wanted to wear her pajamas on a Friday night, that was her business.

June pulled the white cotton tightly around her thin frame. “Was there something you wanted?”

“I haven’t seen you in the garden,” he said. “I was concerned you were ill.”

Dusk was settling and the lights had slowly started to come on in the houses up and down the block. It was a nice night, which meant it had been a nice day. It was truly a shame that, thanks to this man, June had been trapped inside. She crossed her arms, holding the roses tightly against her chest. “The copper on the top of your gazebo is blinding,” she said. “As I already told you, if that gazebo is there, you will not see me out in my garden again.”

Charley looked disappointed. “June, I’m not taking that gazebo down. To be frank, it’s awfully nice to have a place to sit in the shade.”

“Wonderful! Sit in the shade. Have a drink with a tiny umbrella in it. As long as
you’re
comfortable.” June gripped the edge of the door. “I suppose it doesn’t matter to you in the slightest that I will be forced to stay inside or go blind in my very own backyard?”

“I know, June. It’s a tough one.” Charley’s eyes twinkled, which was rather infuriating. After rubbing a hand over a full head of silver hair, he said, “Well, I came over here to tell you that I’ve decided to get the roof oxidized. That will turn the copper green. I thought that might be a happy compromise.”

“A what?” June whispered. “What did you just say?”

Charley’s face seemed to soften. “I said I know how to compromise.”

“Yes, but . . .” She stared at the collar of his shirt. It was sticking up, just slightly, and she had the oddest urge to smooth it back down. “Won’t that ruin the copper?”

“I have to do something. You’ve made that perfectly clear.” Charley’s forehead wrinkled. “I don’t want you to sneak over there and paint it.”

A smile tugged at the corner of June’s mouth. “Well, that’s a shame, as I am actually quite handy with a brush.” Then, because there was nothing else to say, she said, “Have a nice night.”

He gave a slight nod. “You, too.”

June watched as Charley walked down the steps. The man was in good shape, which June couldn’t help but envy. Maybe she should talk to her son-in-law about a few strength-building exercises. It couldn’t hurt.

At the bottom step, Charley turned. “I have plans this evening,” he said, squinting up at her through the sunlight, “with one of your friends.”

“Whoever would that be?” June asked, as if she couldn’t take a wild guess.

“Rose. Rose Weston,” he said. “She’s planning to bring dessert. A strudel.”

June sighed. She did not have the slightest interest in Rose’s strudel.

“Now that you and I are putting this silly war behind us . . .” Charley watched her closely. “Perhaps you’d like to join us.”

Join
them?

“No, thank you. I would rather . . .” June waited for inspiration. “I would rather eat bugs.”

A cloud passed over Charley’s face. “I see.” He regarded her for a long moment.

June fiddled with the lace on her sleeve, suddenly uncomfortable. Why was he looking at her like that? Did he . . .
want
her to come over?

“Then, I just have one request,” he said. “I would appreciate it if she doesn’t add anything funny to that dessert.”

June blinked in surprise. “Like what?”

“Like poison.”

“Poison?” June was baffled. “Rose’s cooking is just awful but . . .”

“Let me be clear.” Charley narrowed his eyes. “Now that we’ve made our peace, tell your friend that you’ve called off the hit.”

The conversation suddenly clicked. “Charley Montgomery,” June said, shocked. “Do you mean to tell me that you did not bring me flowers to apologize, but because you think I’m sending my friend over to kill you? With a strudel? That is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I read a lot of mysteries, June.” He shook his head. “I hate to say it, but on occasion, you do remind me of some of the more . . . memorable lead characters.”

June flushed. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

The smile that Charley gave her might, in any other circumstance, be considered charming. “I don’t know that I’d put anything past you.”

For once in her life, June did not know what to say.

He gave her a neighborly wave. “I’ll tell Rose you said hi. I’m not particularly interested in sharing a strudel with her, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. I have a feeling your friend is quite persistent.”

June blinked. “Yes. Quite persistent indeed.”

Sixteen

C
hloe dipped her fork into her pasta and swirled it around. “Thank you again for bringing me here,” she told Ben.

They were at her favorite Italian restaurant, the one that June and Kristine took her to on birthdays and special occasions. It was small and intimate, with red leather booths and wood paneling. The din of clinking silverware, murmured conversation and Italian music created a pleasant soundtrack for the night and Chloe felt happier than she had in ages.

“Of course I brought you here,” Ben said. “It’s your favorite.” He dipped a piece of bread into olive oil and pointed it at her. “If a guy likes you, he’ll pay attention to the little things. You should expect him to.”

Chloe thought for a minute. What type of things could Geoff have possibly picked up on? The fact that she liked pop culture? It was hard to imagine him whisking her off to a Britney Spears concert, so she decided to keep her expectations in check.

“Do you want more wine?” Ben asked. Before she could answer, he topped off her Pinot Noir.

“Thanks.” Chloe reached for the glass. Holding the stem, she hesitated. “But should I even . . . ?”

“It’s okay to drink on a date,” he said. “Just don’t get hammered. Obviously.”

Chloe wondered if Geoff even drank. Based on those ascots, he didn’t really seem like the type.

“And be sure to eat,” Ben said. “Men like women to eat. It’s sexy.”

Chloe laughed. She poked her finger into a stray piece of garlic and popped it into her mouth. “If that’s the case, I’m the sexiest thing on the planet.”

“Yeah.” He eyed her with appreciation. “You’re doing alright.”

Chloe hesitated. It was strange. Ben had been dropping compliments here and there, all night. The one in the apartment about her skirt, something he’d said in the cab on the way over about the color of her eyes and now this. On one hand, Chloe knew he was trying to build up her confidence for the date. On the other, it seemed a little unusual. It was almost like he was attracted to her. For real.

Just like any good study, Chloe decided to test her theory. Stabbing her fork into her spaghetti, she wound the noodles around the tongs and brought them up to her mouth. Feeling totally ridiculous, she placed the fork between her lips and slowly drew it out. Sure enough, Ben seemed mesmerized at her efforts.

Gazing at her lips, he said, “What exactly are you trying to do to me?”

“You said I should eat,” she said, embarrassed. “So I’m just . . . eating.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant.” His gaze locked onto hers. “But trust me, it works.” He flashed his most winsome grin—all teeth and sparkle—typically reserved for the Brazilian model-types.

Completely confused, Chloe studied the red-and-white pattern of the tablecloth. Back when they were kids, she and Ben used to play checkers all the time. They’d have tournaments that could last the whole weekend, which he typically won. Suddenly, it struck her that if he
was
actually flirting, it was probably just part of a game. A game where he let her imagine exactly what it felt to be on a date with someone who was interested in her.

Chloe looked up and gave him a rueful smile.

Ben had been about to take a bite of his risotto, but he set the fork back down on the edge of the white porcelain bowl. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing.” Chloe took another sip of wine. “I just figured something out. It’s actually very comforting.”

“Do tell.”

Chloe hesitated. What was she supposed to say?
Hey, Ben. I just figured out that after twenty years of friendship, you only think of me as a friend?
Well, duh. That wouldn’t exactly be a news flash. In fact, it would probably make the rest of their fake date just a little too awkward.

“Nah.” She waved her fork at him. “But since we’re on a date and I am letting you coach me—thank you again—I do have to know. What exactly are your qualifications for all this? Why aren’t
you
in a relationship by now?” Once again, she dug into her pasta, wrapping the long linguini noodles around her fork. But this time, the bite she took was completely, totally and utterly platonic.

“You know why,” he said. “I’m having too much fun.”

“No.” She wiped her mouth with the red cloth napkin. “I don’t buy that. You’re always pulling the rip cord on the girls who come over. That doesn’t sound like fun to me. Why aren’t you looking for a relationship? Something serious?”

Ben laughed. “Okay, dating tip number three: Don’t ask your date why he’s not in a relationship. It’s a red alert that you’re just dying to get married and have babies. He will run out of the room so fast that people will think he’s a streaker.”

“So, you don’t want to get married or have kids?” she pressed.

Ben paused. “Of course I do. If I end up with the right girl.”

“But it doesn’t seem like you’re in the market for all that. Or that you ever will be.”

Ben ran his fingers through his hair and she caught a sudden whiff of his cologne. It was the perfect blend of spice and musk, mixed in with something that was just . . . very Ben. “Do you really think that?” he asked. “About me?”

Actually, Chloe hadn’t given it a lot of thought. Ben had always dated this girl or that but he rarely got serious. There was one stretch where he dated a local artist for something like two years but eventually, he broke it off.

“Yes.” Chloe laughed at the shocked look on his face. “Ben, come on. You’re a playboy. There’s nothing wrong with that. But any girl who tries to take you seriously in the love department is kidding herself. I mean, I never would.”

Ben took a drink of sparkling water and let his eyes scan the restaurant. For some reason, he seemed a little angry.

Chloe was surprised. “Why does that make you mad?”

Setting his glass of water on the table with a
thwunk
, he leaned in close. “Chloe, we’ve known each other for years.” His voice was earnest. “I’m a good guy.”

Chloe was totally confused. Of course Ben was a good guy. “I didn’t say that you weren’t.”

“Yeah, you did.” He shook his head. “You just said—”

“I
said
that I don’t think of you like that,” she said. “I know better.”

“Do you seriously mean to tell me . . .” He leaned across the table. “That in all this time you’ve never once thought of you and me, trying to be more than friends?”

Chloe blushed. Of course she had.

Right after the incident with the cider, she had entered into a massive Ben-crush. Even though she was furious with him for reasons she didn’t quite understand, a secret part of her kept hoping that he’d try the same thing again. But this time, she wanted him to profess his love or, at the very least, ask her to go with him.

Instead, after he’d apologized, Ben started dating Lindsey Walker. A perky blonde cheerleader, Lindsey was all of the things that Chloe could never be. Yes, the whole thing had broken her heart a little but she’d never said a word. What was the point? It was silly junior high stuff.

“You’ve never thought of me like that,” Ben said. “Not once. That just seems so—”

“Okay, fine,” Chloe blurted out. “Yes, I did.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she didn’t know why she’d said them.

Ben brightened. “Really?” He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “When?”

“Once,” she mumbled. “For a little while. In junior high.”

Ben let out a huge breath. “Thank God,” he said, giving his gorgeous grin. “You had me seriously worried there for a second.”

“Sorry. That must have really set you back.”

“Take this as dating lesson number four,” Ben said, once again cheerful. “Never,
ever
tell the guy you’re on a date with that you’ve never thought of him as a romantic prospect. It’s just bad business.” He took another bite of his porcini mushroom risotto. “So. Let’s talk about it. Why did you have a crush on me?”

“I’m not telling you that,” Chloe groaned, already regretting the confession. “I’m not going to build up your gigantic ego even more than it already is.”

Once again, Ben looked hurt. “I don’t have a gigantic ego.”

“Come on,” she scoffed. “Women parade in and out of your apartment like a women’s health clinic. Do you seriously expect me to believe you don’t get off on that?”

“Oh, give me a break,” Ben said. “I was picked on as a kid. That stays with you, you know.”

Chloe nodded. “Textbook psychology. You’re salving your bruised ego by getting all the girls.”

“I don’t
get
all
the girls.” Ben’s blue eyes were bright in the light from the votive candle. “I never got you.”

The restaurant seemed to go quiet around them.

“What . . . What do you mean?” Chloe asked, her heart pounding in her ears.

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Ben demanded. “I had a crush on you for years. You never noticed.”

Chloe’s heart started to beat faster.
He
did?

“Yeah, right.” She forced her voice to sound natural. “I was as skinny as a string bean, wore the same pair of jeans every day and spent all my time at the library. If you liked anything, it was the fact that I did your trig homework for you.”

The mood at the table was too tense. Desperate to bring it back to normal, Chloe reached her fork across the table and stabbed one of the mushrooms in his risotto. She wanted to show him that the conversation was not affecting her, and that they were good friends who could talk about all this without getting weird.

“Hey!” Laughing, Ben seized her hand and guided the fork to his mouth. He ate the mushroom.

“You are such a bully,” she said, sitting back in her chair.

“Oh, you wanted some of this?” Ben scooped up another forkful and waved it in her direction.

Chloe crossed her arms. “I will not fall into a false trap.”

“You know you want it.” Ben danced the bite toward her mouth, pressing it up against her lips. Finally, she opened her mouth and let him slide it inside. The risotto was sharp and delicious on her tongue.

“Yum.” Chloe reached for her fork. As their hands brushed, she felt a strong jolt of attraction for her best friend. Ben must have felt it, too, because he was suddenly looking at her with a serious expression on his face.

“Chloe,” he said.

The waiter swooped in just then, grabbing for the bottle of wine. Efficiently, he topped off both of their glasses and tucked the empty bottle under his arm. “How is everything over here?”

“Great,” Ben said brightly.

“Good,” Chloe said.

The waiter nodded and rushed off. From somewhere across the room, she heard the pop of a champagne bottle. A couple laughed and another group sang “Happy Birthday.”
Absently, Chloe watched a woman in a red dress following the host to a table. It was strange to be reminded that they were in a restaurant full of people.

“Well,” Ben said, leaning back in his chair. “We killed that bottle. This was fun.” From his tone, it sounded like the date was just about over. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“It was.” Chloe’s voice was bright, in spite of the fact that she couldn’t manage to look Ben in the eye. “You got me away from all the work I should be doing, fed me wine, pasta and hopefully dessert. Thank you.” As she said it, she flicked a stray bread crumb off the tablecloth. It landed on the clean floor and instantly she felt guilty. “Should I pick that up?”

“I think they’ve got it.” He pushed his plate aside. “Chloe, listen. I have to ask you something. Do you really like this guy? Geoff with a G?”

“Yes.” She thought about how sexy Geoff had looked, standing up on that stage, speaking to her class. And, of course, in the hallway of his office, wearing just those green sweatpants. “Why?”

“I just . . .” Ben looked down at the table, then back up at her. He made a goofy face, raising his eyebrows and widening his eyes. “I don’t want it to get too serious.”

Chloe was surprised. “You sound like June. Why does everyone think this is going to get serious?”

“I don’t know.” Ben’s forehead wrinkled in concern. “You did catch the bouquet at that wedding. The power of suggestion. Maybe you’re walking around right now thinking,
I’m about to get married. I need to get married.
”

Chloe laughed, swatting at him. “Don’t be stupid. We haven’t even been on a first date yet.”

Ben caught her hand. “I’d just hate for you to get swept up in something before I even had my chance.”

“Your chance to . . . what?”

The waiter swept back up to the table, formal in his black shirt and black pants. He held out dessert menus, and Ben let go of her hand.

“Can I interest you in coffee?” the waiter asked. “Dessert?”

“Tiramisu,” Chloe said slowly. “And espresso.”

“Two,” Ben said.

When the waiter left, Ben opened his mouth to speak again but the busboy started clearing off their dishes. He took his time scraping the crumbs off the tablecloth. Then he set the candle right in the middle of the table like a flammable chaperone. By the time the busboy was finished, the waiter had returned with two thick espressos. A lemon rind decorated the tiny coffee plates. Automatically, Chloe passed her lemon to Ben, who was already running his over the rim of the cup.

Even though the momentary mood seemed to have been swept away with the dirty dishes, Chloe gave Ben a questioning look. “You were saying?”

Ben shrugged. “I was saying that it would be a shame if you ended up married before I even got to go after you. Graphic designers don’t make that much money. To be honest, I’m not going to want to buy you a bunch of gifts.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Chloe said, her voice dry. “Look, if you want to go for me, just do it.” She spread out her hands, as though laying cards down on the table. “Save some money on gifts.”

“Okay.” Ben’s aquamarine eyes locked onto hers. “You look beautiful tonight.”

The light from the candle seemed to flicker and dance between them. Chloe thought about all the years they’d known each other, all of the moments they’d shared. She loved Ben probably more than anyone on the planet, but she also knew him better than anyone on the planet. Tonight, he’d wanted to show her what it was like to go on a real date, to make her feel special. That was it. Falling for his many charms would be a waste of time. She’d been down that road before.