natural waves. No. She’d left it down in a riot of curls that framed her face and fell past her shoulders.
It was wrong of him, Simon knew, but he almost wished she’d shown up in baggy sweats and a T-shirt, no makeup and that dreadful, all-purpose ponytail. Then, at least, he wouldn’t feel so damned interested and, well, needy.
He chanced a glance around and regretted it. Sure enough, several of the other male patrons were checking her out. He didn’t like their interested expressions. Not one damn bit. Before he could stop himself, he pushed to his feet. The legs of his chair scraped noisily over the tiled floor. They seemed to scream, “Back off! She’s mine.”
The attention was on him now. All of the attention, including Chloe’s. Her face lit up when she spied him and a pair of full lips pulled into a smile that was sexy without trying to be. How was it possible, he wondered for the millionth time, that a woman as naturally lovely as she was had self-esteem issues?
He shot a smug look at each of the guys who’d been ogling her, and took his time kissing her cheek when she reached the table.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said as she slid onto the chair opposite his.
Simon shrugged. “It was worth the wait. Look at you. The hair, the makeup, the cleav … clean clothes,” he amended hastily, forcing his gaze back up to her face.
She grinned. “So, you like?”
“Of course I do. So do half the guys in here, judging from the way they were watching you.”
“Yeah?” Her face brightened and she glanced around. “Which ones?”
He unclenched his teeth and forced out a laugh. “Forget it. I’m not going to stroke your ego any more than I already have.”
“Spoilsport,” she replied.
Her expression said she didn’t believe him. He considered relenting. He should throw her a bone—or a whole roomful of them. But their waitress arrived then. She was a heavyset woman named Helga with a thick accent of Eastern European origin. The woman had been waiting on them for half a decade. Even so, she eyed Chloe curiously before asking, “Your usual today?”
Chloe’s usual was a double mocha latte and toasted onion bagel slathered with enough melted butter and cream cheese that it should have come with an American Heart Association warning.
“Not today. I’ll have coffee, black. Make it decaf.”
“And to eat?”
“Nothing.”
Helga’s bushy eyebrows shot up at that.
“You no want something to eat?”
“No. Nothing.”
“You feel okay?”
“Fine. I’m on a diet,” she confessed.
“Chloe’s always on a diet,” Simon inserted.
Helga made a rude sound. “Girls nowadays, they all want to be so skinny. Too skinny, I think. A stiff breeze, they blow over.” She motioned with her notepad, before turning to Simon. “So, you think she need to lose weight?”
“No. Not a pound.” She was perfect in his book. Always had been.
“See.” Helga nodded vigorously. To Chloe, she said, “I bring you onion bagel just how you like.”
Chloe’s expression turned panicked, but before she could refuse, Simon said casually, “You don’t have to eat all of it. Or any of it, Chloe. Consider it a test of your willpower.”
“Fine.” She straightened in her seat and squared her shoulders, making the display of her cleavage even harder for Simon to ignore. It was like a magnet, drawing his gaze.
“What will you have?” Helga asked.
Because he knew what he really wanted was off-limits, he wrapped both hands around his cup of coffee and forced his gaze to the stocky waitress. “Two slices of whole wheat toast and a fruit cup.”
Helga pursed her lips in distaste as she jotted down his order. “Fruit cup,” she muttered as she walked away. “Is whole world on diet?”
“I think we’ve ruined her day,” Chloe said.
“We’ll leave a big tip,” Simon replied.
They always did, regardless of the amount they spent. The way Simon saw it, she deserved the tip. He and Chloe took up one of Helga’s prime tables for at least a couple of hours on a Saturday without running up a sizable tab.
Chloe fussed with her hair, pulling it back behind her head. No doubt if she had a rubber band at her disposal, it would wind up in a ponytail.
“I like your hair down,” he said.
On a sigh, she let it drop. “It’s not even humid out and my hair is already going nuts. You wouldn’t know I’d used this expensive new antifrizz stuff. I want my money back.”
“I don’t know. I think it looks nice. I like it when you leave it curly.”
“I don’t mind curly, but it’s heading toward steel wool. For the reunion, I’m thinking of having it professionally straightened.”
Don’t! He wanted to shout. But he doubted she would follow his advice. So, instead he lifted his shoulders. “Whatever you think best.”
Helga was back with Chloe’s coffee and refilled Simon’s cup.
“I’m considering dying it a different color, too.” She smiled at their waitress. “What do you think? Should I attempt blond?”
Helga issued that rude sound again. Before stalking away, she said, “Keep what God gave you.”
To Simon, Chloe said, “I think God could have been a little more generous in certain areas and, well, spread the wealth in others, if you know what I mean.”
“You wouldn’t look good as a blonde.”
She frowned. “I thought you liked blondes? The last three women you dated all looked like they just stepped out of the California sun.”
True enough, he realized, although it hadn’t been intentional. They’d been available and interested and, well, since he’d been available … He didn’t like how that made it seem, though he’d never pretended to have deep feelings for any of them. Nor had he made any promises.
He wasn’t his father … a man who made promises, vows even, with the ease of a politician, only to break them, as wives one through five could attest.
“Simon?” Chloe was staring at him.
He pulled himself back to the present. “Your coloring is all wrong for blond hair. You’re too fair.”
“That can be changed, too.”
He didn’t like the glint in her eye. “Please
