mac and cheese, and poured him a glass of wine. After handing it to him, she stood behind his chair and began kneading the knotted muscles in his neck and shoulders.
His moan of pleasure nearly made her stop. Instead, she kept at it and asked, “So, how does Sara feel about the long hours you’re keeping?”
“Not happy,” he admitted. His tone was rueful when he said, “We were supposed to go to a Broadway show tonight.”
“You stood her up?” That wasn’t like him. Simon was the kindest, most considerate man Chloe knew. even if he had really lousy taste in women.
“Ouch!”
Apparently, she’d massaged a little too vigorously.
“Sorry.”
“Actually, when I called to tell her I was running late and we’d have to skip dinner beforehand, she told me to go. Never mind.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The relationship wasn’t heading anywhere anyway.”
Jubilation.
Before Chloe could help it, the feeling bubbled up inside her with all of the effervescence of champagne. Maybe this day didn’t totally stink after all.
However, because she knew a friend wasn’t supposed to feel happy upon hearing such news, she kept her expression sympathetic when she slid into the chair opposite his.
“Ooh. Dumped. Sorry.”
“It was mutual,” he muttered, reaching for his wine. “Sara just said it first.”
“Okaaaay.”
“My heart’s not broken, Chloe. Hell, it’s not even dented or mildly scratched.” He sipped his wine and sighed heavily before squinting at her. “That’s not right, is it? I should feel … a little sad, shouldn’t I?”
“You don’t?”
Jubilation made another appearance, but she carefully tucked it behind a bland expression.
“Not one bit.” He studied his wine a moment before his gaze lifted to hers. “I guess we weren’t suited.”
No kidding. It had taken him nearly a year to figure that out? Chloe had concluded as much within mere minutes of meeting Sara for the first time.
“But that’s neither here nor there,” Simon was saying. He rallied with a smile. “We were going to talk about your day.”
Her day. Ick!
Chloe rose and went to the stove to plate his dinner. She opened the fridge and got out a sprig of fresh parsley to add to the mac and cheese before bringing it to the table. Simon’s eyebrows rose.
“Appearances are everything,” she said, setting the plate before him with a flourish.
He picked up his fork and pointed the tines in her direction. “That’s exactly your problem, Chloe.”
It was an old observation. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t have bothered her. Tonight, however, she snapped in exasperation, “Do you want to analyze me or do you want me to tell you about my day?”
“Actually, I want you to tell me about that.” Again, he used the tines of his fork to point, this time toward the class reunion invitation that, somewhere between belting out “My Heart Will Go On” and hearing about Simon’s newly single status, Chloe had forgotten all about.
She shrugged, striving for nonchalance. “It seems our ten-year reunion is right around the corner.”
“I know. My invitation arrived in the mail last week.”
“Last week? Are you kidding? We live in the same city, practically in the same zip code. I bet the unholy trio had something to do with that,” she alleged.
So much for nonchalance.
“Chloe, really. It’s been ten years.” Simon said it in that patient way of his that usually served to talk her down from whatever ledge she was on.
Not on this day. Nope. She was poised to jump, ushered to the edge of reason by the wine and some very unhappy memories.
“Seems like yesterday to me,” she muttered.
Damn the cabernet for her loose lips. Even so, she reached for her glass now and took a liberal sip while she waited for Simon’s well-reasoned rebuttal.
It didn’t come.
“So, are you going?” he asked.
“Am I going?” she repeated incredulously. She returned her wineglass to the table with a smart click. “You’re kidding, right?” The question was rhetorical and they both knew it, so she plowed ahead. “You couldn’t pay me enough to make so much as a token appearance at that thing. I’d rather give up ice cream for … for … forever than to step foot in the …” She craned her neck to read the invitation. The outrage whooshed out of her and she snorted. “The Tillman High gymnasium? Gee, that’s classy. They couldn’t spring for a banquet hall or something?”
“I don’t know. I rather like the idea of seeing the old school again, even if I never spent much time in the gym.”
Simon laughed then. He’d been a geek, not a jock. Chess club, computer club, debate team—those sorts of interests had been his thing. And Chloe’s, too. His geek status had never bothered him as much as hers had bothered her.
Her gaze narrowed. “Wait a minute. Do you mean you’re going to the reunion?”
Simon regarded her over his wineglass. Actually, he hadn’t planned to attend until just that moment. Chloe needed to go. He’d never met anyone so haunted by high school. The invitation’s crumpled appearance was a testament to that, as was her mac-and-cheese binge and wine indulgence.
She’d grown into a lovely, bright, funny and creative young woman. But then, he’d always found her lovely and funny, bright and creative. She, however, still entertained a ridiculously warped view of herself. It was time she exorcised her demons. To do that, she had to face the past. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t, send her into the lion’s den alone.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I?” he asked.
“Did we or did we not attend the same high school?” Purple-hued lips turned down in a frown. He had to be crazy, but he still found those lips incredibly sexy.
And that was his problem. And the reason why women like Sara never lasted for very long. They simply couldn’t measure up to Chloe.
“Those days are over,” he told her, taking her hand in one of his. “Those girls have nothing on you, Chloe. They never did.”
“They made my life hell!”
“They were cruel,” he agreed in a tone more moderated than hers. “But they can’t make your life hell now, unless you let them. Go back, face them and show them how far you’ve come since high school. You’ve got a lot to be proud of.”
“Yeah,
