Don't Wait Too Long Read online

  Rounding the aisle on the way to the register, he stops short of literally bumping into someone.

  “Sorry.” Her smile fades when she looks up at him.

  Claire. His skin bristles cold, then hot. “Hey. Hi.” Damn, he’s blowing it already.

  “Hello.” Confusion crosses her face.

  Holy hell, now she’ll think he truly is stalking her. “I was in the movie aisle.” He jerks his thumb toward it.” Picking up some… movies.” Christ. Obviously.

  She tilts her head in a quick move, and her expression registers alarm.

  If he doesn’t put her at ease, she’ll bolt. “I didn’t follow you here.”

  Above arching brows, she blinks wide eyes. The thought apparently hasn’t occurred to her—until he brought it up.

  “I swear…” He stops short of saying her name, hearing in his head “swear” and “Claire.” A rhyme will be inappropriate right now. “I was at home and there was nothing on television and so I came here.” He hears himself rambling but can’t stop. Not until he convinces her. “I actually only come here once in awhile. Usually just a quick in and out.”

  A chuckle burbles on her lips.

  Does she think him funny? Her reaction sobers him. “But I got soaked on the way in so….”

  She bites her lip, a clear attempt to stop smiling. Which isn’t working too well. Her eyes, crinkling at the edges, are a dead giveaway.

  The cold stone in his stomach turns to hot lava, and flames across his skin. “You’re laughing at me.” Terrific. Now he’s a clown on top of being a stalker.

  Another chuckle bursts out. She nods. “I—” She hoots a laugh, and presses her fingers to her mouth.

  He huffs out a breath. Great. His ego needs a good kick. “I get it. I’m going.” He shoves the movies onto the nearest shelf, skirts around her and aims for the exit.

  “Wait.”

  The word brings him to an abrupt stop. He angles toward her uncertainly.

  She glances at the abandoned DVDs. “I have both of those.”

  “Oh.” Why mention it? Should he ask to borrow them? Ask to watch them at her place? Yeah, that won’t be pushing his luck. “Do you recommend them?”

  “They’re good in different ways, but don’t waste your money.”

  “I picked them up from the bargain bin. No biggie.” Who talks like that? Not him. He has no clue how to be himself around her. Until he figures it out, he may as well quit. “I, uh, it was nice to see you again.” Ducking his head, he turns to leave.

  “I meant,” she calls, “I could lend them to you.”

  He stops again and fully faces her. It doesn’t help him get a read on her mood. “What?”

  “So you don’t have to buy them.” Her arched brows further prompt him.

  Why the sudden openness to conversation? Then it hits him. “Do you check your email on weekends?”

  A flinch, then she visibly braces. “Yes.” She says it like a confession.

  A cold lump forms in his stomach. He swallows it back. “I see. So you you’re your messages today.”

  “Yes.”

  And chose not to respond. No need to hit him over the head. The lump in his stomach hardens, then twists into a knot. With a curt nod, he waves in farewell. “I see. Goodbye, then.”

  “But it’s a downpour outside.”

  “Is it?” So kind of her to look out for his welfare, but it’s likely he’ll hardly notice the drenching, given the soaking he’s just taken.

  She steps away from the shelf and into the wide aisle, closer to him. “We could wait out the storm in the coffee shop.”

  Wait. Has she replied to the email, then, after all? Agreed to meet him?

  More softly, she adds, “If you like.”

  The knot in his stomach unwinds. “I would. Very much.” He’ll file the Cyrano de Bergerac idea in the back of his mind. For now.

  Chapter Six

  Twice in one weekend. I can’t guess the odds of running into him again so soon. I’ve no recollection of seeing the man around town before. Unless, perhaps, we’ve passed one another many times and never noticed.

  I certainly can’t help noticing him now. The Kip Baldwin at the singles event had come off as too polished, too smooth, too forward. I much prefer the man who walks beside me, who shows less confidence when he speaks. After such a sweet email, I’d begun typing a response at least half a dozen times, but deleted each one, uncertain whether I’m ready for such a step.

  Ready or not, the step is confronting me in the flesh. I have to admit, the way he babbled his excuses, so concerned I’d think he followed me to the store—I find him adorable. And his frustration lifted the weight of having to make that decision, because the longer he’d talked, the lighter I’d grown. Giddy with lightness. He isn’t married after all, but a widow like me, except sweeter—he still wears his wedding ring. And he isn’t a guy who regularly hits on women for sport, but as awkward about dating as me. My relief had escaped as laughter. Laughing felt really good. I didn’t want to stop.

  That doesn’t mean I’m ready for any of this. I need more time by myself, to remember who I am—or who I used to be, before I married Doug. It’s important I find out before I start any new relationship so I don’t end up trying to be someone else to make some man happy.

  Still, Kip is an unexpected signal of hope, after I’d given up on searching for something real with someone new. After all I’d been through…

  Maybe the time has come to face that risk head on, and take that first step. I don’t need to let things progress any faster or further than I want them to.

  We reach the coffee shop counter. I order a chai latte, he a regular coffee. He insists on paying for both. No one else is in the café, so we take a table beside the window. Rain falls in sheets, the wind blows it in shimmering waves beneath the street light.

  No sooner does he ease onto the bench across from me than he blurts, “I know I already said this in my message, but I’m out of practice as far as dating.”

  My grip on the cardboard cup tightens. Dating? Is that what this is? Despite being startled, I won’t argue. “I’m glad.”

  “You are?” At my nod, he asks with a wan grin, “Because it means I’m not a psycho stalker?”

  Definitely a relief. “That, and because it levels the playing field. So to speak.”

  He gives a slight shrug. “Right. I’m not much for sports, but I get the analogy.”

  Interesting he volunteers the admission so readily. “Good. Because I can’t remember my last actual date with a man. Not for the lack of trying on my friend Trish’s part.” Something I hadn’t intended to share.

  “Or on my daughters’. They talked me into going to the Sunny Valley deal.”

  “Oh. You don’t work there, then.” What an idiot I am. At his bewildered look, I grow more flustered. “I assumed—wrongly—that you might be the facility’s social director. How foolish of me.”

  “Why would you think that?” He sounds genuinely curious, not a bit snide.

  Which doesn’t make it any easier for me to say, “You’re too young to attend events for seniors.”

  He rocks in a silent chuckle. “Tell that to my daughters. But honestly, I thought the same about you.”

  So he won’t think I’m out trolling for available men, I quickly add, “Trish blackmailed me into attending.”

  His eyes crinkle with humor. “You’re kidding. How? Did she threaten to reveal your deep, dark secrets?”

  My laugh is half-hearted. Trish knows better than to make such threats. “Actually, I only agreed because it seemed like a great opportunity to force her to abandon the Marry Off Claire Crusade once and for all. I’ve gotten used to doing things by myself. I don’t mind being alone.”

  His pleasant expression develops a hardened edge, and he focuses too intently on his cup. “Good for you. Wish I could say the same.”

  Not hard to guess the reason. “You still miss your wife.” It’s obvious. And a good sign. He m
ust have loved her very much, and they’d shared a healthy relationship. I’m ashamed I can’t say the same. He’ll think me a freak if he learns the truth.

  “I thought it would get easier, but I think about her every day. The littlest things will trigger a fond memory, you know?” He’s turned dreamy, eyes glazed, hinting he’d become lost in a scene from a shared past. He glances up, and snaps out of the haze. “Don’t you miss your husband? It’s only been a year for you.”

  How does he know how long ago Doug passed away? But I’m a teacher, after all, and my personal life is public knowledge. The only aspect of the job I care little for.

  I turn the cup in my hands. “My husband and I had a complicated relationship.” I tiptoe around the words.

  He only nods, doesn’t press for more.

  Score another one for Kip, recognizing it’s too soon to share deeply personal details. A sudden seriousness takes hold of me, though, and he seems to deduce that ‘complicated’ is synonymous with unhappy. Yet he still doesn’t pry.

  And I don’t want the past to ruin the present. I look out the window. No more curtain of rain, only an occasional drip from the window frame and a glossy sheen across the blacktop.

  “The rain’s let up.” As soon as I say it, I wish that I hadn’t. He’ll think I’m hinting for him to leave.

  He heaves a breath. “Yes. Thanks for waiting it out with me.”

  “You, too.” I flash what I hope is a warm smile, but it does nothing to ease the awkwardness that creeps between us.

  He barely grins. “Well. Should we….”

  “Yes.” There’s my cue. I scoot from the seat.

  He rises, and gestures me forward.

  We stroll out of the coffee shop, around the condiments setup and through the automatic doors. The air outside is damp but a little warmer than before the rain. Damp soil scents the air with the promise of spring. New life.

  Reluctant to let him leave without smoothing things over, I slow my pace. Why doesn’t he say something? Is he waiting for me to make the first move?

  So, move. “Do you have to rush home?” I try to hide the unexpected rush of urgency with a casual expression.

  “Me? No.” He sounds uncertain, and watches me with an expectant look.

  My heartbeat quickens. What the hell am I doing? “There’s a coffee house on Birch Street.”

  “The Golden Bean.” He nods. “Love their coffee. Nice little place.”

  “Yes.” My nod feels awkward. Sure, now he decides not to push me. Just when I wish he was a little assertive, at least. Just ask. Before the rush of my pulse whooshes away my breath, and my capacity to speak along with it. “Would you like to go for a little while?”

  He brightens. “Sounds nice.”

  “Good.” Except for the sudden jangle of nerves wreaking havoc on my coordination. But this is what I want, right? To take control of my life? Not to blindly follow, but to lead. Cold wetness fills my shoe, and I look down to see a puddle engulfing my foot. “Oh damn.”

  He steers me to a dry part of the sidewalk. His unexpected grip on my arms causes me to stiffen.

  “It’s a little drier over here.” He releases me.

  I can’t seem to find my breath. Or my mind. “Yes.” Used to a cold fish of a partner, I’ll have to adjust to Kip’s hands-on approach.

  He scratches his head. “I could carry you.”

  “What?” Another laugh bursts out.

  “Piggy back.” He spins and crouches, an unspoken offering for me to climb aboard.

  Imagining myself riding piggy-back, I can’t help smiling. With my lack of coordination, I’d probably fall off into a storm drain. Or, I might cling too tightly, and choke the poor man. “Um, no. Thanks anyway. I’m good.”

  He straightens to his full height. “Just trying to be chivalrous.”

  Each time I laugh, more tension dissipates. Which is exactly what I need. I have enough tension built up that it could require years of laughter. “Disproving the theory that chivalry’s dead?”

  He shrugs. “Someone has to.”

  I chuckle. “Let me know how that works out for you.”

  “I will.” He holds out his hand. “Shall we?”

  The gesture comes so easily for him. Not so naturally for me, but I jerk out my hand and clasp his. The warmth of his palm, his gentle but firm grip, sends conflicting signals careening through me. It’s been a long time—too many years—since a man has touched me. The ‘just like riding a bike’ saying doesn’t apply, not for me. I have trouble remembering how it felt to be a couple, if I ever really knew.

  He stills, watching my reaction. And how long since any man has paid such close attention to me? At least we have walked beyond the stark light of the store entrance, and he can’t see the heat coloring my face.

  I send him a reassuring smile, maybe as much to convince myself as him that everything is fine. “We shall.”

  We keep a brisk pace for the three blocks we walk to the Golden Bean. Once inside and seated at a table with yet another order of chai latte and coffee, insecurity grips me like a vise. I have no trouble speaking all day to six-year-olds, but grown men present a complication.

  Especially this man. I want to impress him but have no idea how.

  I also want to know more about him. “You never told me what you do for a living.”

  “I teach at the community college.”

  “No kidding.” Something occurs to me. “I bet we’ve taught the same kids. Well, twelve years or so apart, of course.”

  “You’re right, we must have.” He appears pleased.

  “What subject?”

  “I taught English lit for years, then took the additional position of ESL instructor a few years ago.”

  “Three years ago? That’s kind of funny. That position sounded appealing when the college advertised. I would have liked to apply.”

  “Did you? So we might have met then instead of now.” He sips.

  “No, I didn’t. Oh… life. You know. Stuff.” Another unwanted memory pushes to the forefront. I don’t want to go into how Doug’s condition had taken a downturn, and I’d played Florence Nightingale, isolating myself from the world. No one would ever mistake me for a martyr, and I can’t stand praise for what I’d done. At the time, I resented my husband, just a little, for making me put my own life on hold after too many years of waiting for him to wake up and see me for myself. He had, but not until the very end. Too late.

  And now those acidic memories taint my mood. Terrific. I stare at the cup cradled in my hands, all too aware of the man across from me.

  When I glance up, Kip looks thoughtful, but again, doesn’t press me for details. I almost wish he would. But no, what am I thinking? It’s much too soon for such heavy discussions.

  A young man strides to the corner of the café, where a keyboard stood on an X platform in front of a stool. The track lights overhead spotlight him as he sits and taps the microphone. “Hey everyone. I’m Marcus.”

  Conspiratorial, Kip leans closer. “Do you recognize him?”

  “He doesn’t look familiar.” But then, my students change so much by the time they reach middle school, and if other siblings don’t follow, or if I don’t know the family well, I sometimes lose track of them.

  “To me, either,” he says, “but he looks close to Liz’s age.”

  The performer launches into a bluesy tune with a toe-tapping rhythm. With the volume too high for conversation, I drink my tea in silence, and clap when he finishes. “He’s very good,” I say to Kip, who agrees.

  The next song follows immediately after, ending any chance for more talk without shouting. Once that tune ends, Kip asks, “Want to go?”

  “I feel bad leaving. We’re half the audience.” Two men have exited, and though another couple enters the shop, they order their drinks to go and depart. “Unless you want to?”

  “No, just checking.” To Marcus, he calls, “Do you take requests?”

  Taken aback, the performer shrugs
. “Why not? What would you like?”

  With no hesitation, Kip says, “Clapton’s ‘Wonderful Tonight’.”

  “You got it.” Marcus reaches behind him and fits an acoustic guitar across his lap. He expertly finger-picks the song’s opening.

  Kip turns to me with a mischievous smile, then gestures to the aisle. “Shall we?”

  Does he mean dance? I glance around. “Really?”

  His glasses magnify the intensity of his dark eyes searching mine. “The place is almost empty. Like the boy said, why not?”

  “I…” Have no real argument.

  Kip stands and holds out his hand. “Dance with me, Claire.”

  I release a deep breath when he grabs my hand and tugs me to my feet. Another glance at the elderly couple, who smile at us, and I resist the urge to apologize. I can’t hold back a laugh. “Okay then.”

  Easily as if he’s done it a thousand times before, Kip draws me against him. “Finally I get to dance with you.”

  I ease back to look at him. “What do you mean, finally?”

  His warm, brown eyes sparkle behind his glasses. “I asked you the night we met. Have you forgotten already?”

  “Oh, the night you coached me on how to say no,” I tease.

  “Mm hm. Yes is much better than no, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Especially with his arms around me. Pressing my cheek to his shoulder, I float in his embrace.

  The last note of the song comes too soon, and Kip steps back. I feel almost weightless, and steady myself against the table to join him in applauding, then I slip back onto the chair.

  Three tunes later, the performer thanks us for listening and then with a wave, exits.

  Kip checks his watch. “Nearly eleven. The shop’s closing soon.”

  “Eleven? Really?” I flick on my cell. “Ten till.” Where has the time gone?

  “Ready to go?”

  I yearn to say no, I want to stay awhile longer. But he’s already slipped on his jacket. Besides, as he points out, the shop is about to close.

  “Yes.” After putting on my rain jacket, I carry my dishes to the cashier’s counter.

  Kip does the same, and we stroll the few blocks back to the department store parking lot, now nearly empty.