his manner of living for the past three decades was going to be glaringly apparent. She would see lines in his face that had been etched by vices, hard living, and a total disregard for his health.
Too late to worry about it, though. The damage had been done, and he was here.
Mabel's Tearoom had lacy curtains in the windows and pink geraniums in white wood planters on either side of the entrance. He wondered which of the three cars parked in front was Caroline's.
He was glad he'd taken time at the airport to get his shoes shined. Maybe he should have got a haircut, too, and a professional shave, but then he wouldn't have made it here by two-thirty.
He'd love another cigarette. Just one puff might sustain him through the next few seconds. But...
He pushed open the door and walked in. Announcing his arrival, a little bell above the door jangled, sounding to him as loud and portentous as Big Ben. The place was a single room. Three of the little tables were occupied. One by Caroline.
When he spotted her, his turncoat heart stuttered and stalled. Jesus, she was beautiful. Absolutely, positively, breathtakingly as beautiful to him as the last time he'd seen her.
Being the only person in the place with testicles, he felt about as agile and inconspicuous as a woolly mammoth as he walked toward her. She stood as he approached and stuck out her right hand.
Well, that was one question answered: There would be no hug. Not even a long time, no see one.
"Dodge, thank you for coming."
Even though he hadn't immediately recognized her voice on the telephone last night, probably because it would have been the last one he expected to hear, the years hadn't altered it. Though now it had a flutter, like maybe she was just as nervous to see him again as he was to see her.
"I was afraid you wouldn't," she said.
"I started not to."
She released his hand immediately after giving it one firm shake, then resumed her seat. He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. Then for a time they just looked at each other.
Her hair was lighter than he remembered. Maybe she was using blond to cover up strands of gray. Whatever, he liked it. It was still that rich cinnamon color that he'd never seen on anyone before or since.
Sherry-colored eyes. Once, when he'd waxed poetic--poetic for him, anyway--about her coloring, she'd laughed.
Cinnamon and sherry? I think you read that in a recipe book.
And he'd replied,
Maybe so, because you look good enough to eat.
He'd bet he could still encircle her waist with his hands. A strong wind could blow her away. Upon closer inspection, he saw a few fine lines at the corners of her eyes, and there was a slight softening of the skin along her jaw, but her complexion was flawless and appeared as soft as ever, and looking at her made him ache all over.
He sensed that this lengthy perusal was as painful for her as it was for him. Painful for him because he couldn't gobble up the sight of her fast enough, and painful for her because she was seeing in his face the corrosive effects of the life he'd lived since she'd last seen him.
She cleared her throat. "How was your drive?"
"Fine."
"Traffic?"
"Not too bad."
"No problem with my directions?"
"I got here." He tried to smile, but his lips felt stiff.
"Welcome to Mabel's. What can I get y'all?"
Dodge hadn't realized the waitress had approached. Feeling helpless, he looked across at Caroline for guidance. She said, "I'll have Darjeeling, please."
He had no idea in hell what that was. Forcing his lips to move, he asked if they had regular Coke, and when the lady said yes, he ordered one.
"Anything to eat? Our apricot scones are worth the calories."
"Nothing for me," Caroline said.
"Me neither, thanks."
She left to get their drinks. Dodge didn't know then, or remember later, what the server looked like, if she was young, old, tall, short, skinny, plump, if she was disappointed that they hadn't tried the apricot scones or if she didn't give a flip and
Too late to worry about it, though. The damage had been done, and he was here.
Mabel's Tearoom had lacy curtains in the windows and pink geraniums in white wood planters on either side of the entrance. He wondered which of the three cars parked in front was Caroline's.
He was glad he'd taken time at the airport to get his shoes shined. Maybe he should have got a haircut, too, and a professional shave, but then he wouldn't have made it here by two-thirty.
He'd love another cigarette. Just one puff might sustain him through the next few seconds. But...
He pushed open the door and walked in. Announcing his arrival, a little bell above the door jangled, sounding to him as loud and portentous as Big Ben. The place was a single room. Three of the little tables were occupied. One by Caroline.
When he spotted her, his turncoat heart stuttered and stalled. Jesus, she was beautiful. Absolutely, positively, breathtakingly as beautiful to him as the last time he'd seen her.
Being the only person in the place with testicles, he felt about as agile and inconspicuous as a woolly mammoth as he walked toward her. She stood as he approached and stuck out her right hand.
Well, that was one question answered: There would be no hug. Not even a long time, no see one.
"Dodge, thank you for coming."
Even though he hadn't immediately recognized her voice on the telephone last night, probably because it would have been the last one he expected to hear, the years hadn't altered it. Though now it had a flutter, like maybe she was just as nervous to see him again as he was to see her.
"I was afraid you wouldn't," she said.
"I started not to."
She released his hand immediately after giving it one firm shake, then resumed her seat. He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. Then for a time they just looked at each other.
Her hair was lighter than he remembered. Maybe she was using blond to cover up strands of gray. Whatever, he liked it. It was still that rich cinnamon color that he'd never seen on anyone before or since.
Sherry-colored eyes. Once, when he'd waxed poetic--poetic for him, anyway--about her coloring, she'd laughed.
Cinnamon and sherry? I think you read that in a recipe book.
And he'd replied,
Maybe so, because you look good enough to eat.
He'd bet he could still encircle her waist with his hands. A strong wind could blow her away. Upon closer inspection, he saw a few fine lines at the corners of her eyes, and there was a slight softening of the skin along her jaw, but her complexion was flawless and appeared as soft as ever, and looking at her made him ache all over.
He sensed that this lengthy perusal was as painful for her as it was for him. Painful for him because he couldn't gobble up the sight of her fast enough, and painful for her because she was seeing in his face the corrosive effects of the life he'd lived since she'd last seen him.
She cleared her throat. "How was your drive?"
"Fine."
"Traffic?"
"Not too bad."
"No problem with my directions?"
"I got here." He tried to smile, but his lips felt stiff.
"Welcome to Mabel's. What can I get y'all?"
Dodge hadn't realized the waitress had approached. Feeling helpless, he looked across at Caroline for guidance. She said, "I'll have Darjeeling, please."
He had no idea in hell what that was. Forcing his lips to move, he asked if they had regular Coke, and when the lady said yes, he ordered one.
"Anything to eat? Our apricot scones are worth the calories."
"Nothing for me," Caroline said.
"Me neither, thanks."
She left to get their drinks. Dodge didn't know then, or remember later, what the server looked like, if she was young, old, tall, short, skinny, plump, if she was disappointed that they hadn't tried the apricot scones or if she didn't give a flip and
Similar Books
Around: Wrapped Around You
Evelyn Adams
Dire Threads
Janet Bolin
Deeply, Desperately
Heather Webber
The Haunting Hour
R.L. Stine
Not Bad for an Amateur (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)
Lynn Ray Lewis
Radiant
Christina Daley
Rising
Kassanna
See How They Run
James Patterson
That Boy From Trash Town
Billie Green