as many stories to tell as she had obscure books to sell. Between her eclectic title selection, which included some rare editions that appealed to collectors, and a colorful past that allegedly included a turn as CIA mole, visiting her shop was always an adventure.
The older woman greeted them with a shaky wave when they entered to the jangle of cowbells.
“I haven’t seen either of you in here in a while.”
“Worried about us?” Simon asked on a smile.
“Not in the least.” She cackled at his fallen expression, before admitting, “Okay, maybe a little. You get to be my age and your social calendar tends to include a lot of funerals. It’s easy to think the worst when you haven’t heard from someone in a while.”
Chloe forced a smile. Millicent didn’t seem to notice.
“So, what have you kids been doing to keep yourselves busy?” the older woman asked.
“The usual,” Simon replied on a shrug.
“That means he’s working too many hours,” Chloe clarified.
“And you?” Millicent asked.
“Not enough.”
“Still part-time, hmm?”
Chloe nodded. She’d been part-time at the graphic-design company where she’d been working for the past three years, which meant she had to supplement her income by doing freelance work. It was far from ideal, but her boss kept assuring her she would become full-time soon.
“What about your love lives?” Millicent asked shamelessly. “Anything of interest to report in that area? And be generous with the details. I’m an old woman who spends all of her evenings alone. Vicarious living is the only thing I’m capable of at this point in my life.”
“Sorry.” Chloe shrugged. “I’m still dateless.”
“Still? Heavens, it’s been months,” Millicent remarked, sounding horrified.
The older woman’s tone, so similar to that of Chloe’s mother’s and the happily married Frannie, had her blurting out, “Well, Simon got dumped yesterday.”
“I didn’t get dumped.” To Millicent, he said, “My girlfriend and I reached a mutual decision not to continue our relationship.”
The older woman waved one thin, blue-veined hand in his direction. “It’s the same thing, my dear.”
When Chloe giggled, Simon shot her a black look.
Millicent was saying, “Workaholics make lousy mates, Simon. I found that out the hard way with husbands one through four.”
He blinked in surprise. “You were married four times?”
“Five. Only the first four were workaholics. Unfortunately, I was a slow learner.” She winked from behind a pair of thick bifocal lenses. “What can I say? I was a sucker for a pair of broad shoulders and a firm behind.”
Chloe was past the point of being shocked by Millicent’s unexpected bluntness. So was Simon.
“I’m not a workaholic,” he protested.
Chloe disagreed silently. He spent too many hours at the office. It wasn’t all the fault of the upcoming acquisition. He’d come far enough that he could give others in his employ more of the responsibility.
She couldn’t help noticing that he also had a pair of broad shoulders and a rather fine backside.
He was saying, “As the head of the company I have a lot of responsibility, especially right now. There’s a lot going on that requires my attention.”
“Delegate, young man. Delegate.”
Exactly, Chloe wanted to shout.
“The relationship wasn’t going anywhere,” he muttered. “It pretty much had run its course.”
“Regardless, life is too short. It passes you by quickly. Believe me. Before you know it, you’ll be worrying about hip fractures, misplacing your dentures and dozing off during the evening news.” A sigh rattled out. But then Millicent offered a crafty smile. “Besides, you’ll never turn the head of the girl of your dreams if you keep long hours at the office and spend your free time with women who are more interested in your title and looks than what’s behind both.”
Chloe felt her skin prickle.
Simon leaned one of his broad shoulders against the cash register. “You know, if you’d agree to marry me, Millicent, I’d agree to work reasonable hours, not to mention forsake all others.”
“I’d be tempted to take you up on that, but I think all three of us would be disappointed.” Her gaze shifted to Chloe and she smiled. “Don’t you, Chloe?”
Chloe shook her head. No matter how many times they’d tried to tell Millicent that they weren’t anything more than friends, the older woman kept insisting and insinuating they were or someday would become something more.
Silly, Chloe thought.
Surely, if Simon were interested in her as anything more than a pal, he would have made it clear by now. Not that she wanted him to. Or that she was interested back, despite those odd tingles she sometimes got when they were together. No. They were friends. Pals. Buds. BFFs.
She was as surprised as Millicent and Simon when a wistful sigh escaped.
Chloe cleared her throat. “I’m looking for a cookbook.”
“Well, you know where to find them, my dear. The shelf by the window has some vintage ones.”
“She wants one with low-carb, low-calorie recipes,” he said, his bias obvious.
Millicent’s mouth puckered in distaste. “The trendy ones are on the next shelf over.”
Simon went with Chloe and helped her leaf through the limited selection. She settled on one that boasted nutritious meals in thirty-minutes or less. The pictures looked appetizing, the recipes didn’t appear too difficult and the ingredients weren’t something she’d have to hit specialty stores to find. Portion control would be the key, though. She’d learned that with the first batch of low-fat cookies she bought. Low-fat or not, it turned out that when a person ate the entire box in one sitting, the calories still wound up going straight to her hips.
“All set?” he asked.
“Just one more thing.” She started for the back of the store and a section in which she had spent way too much time over the years.
“What are you doing in the self-help aisle?”
“Looking for, well, a way to help myself,” she quipped.
“What book are the talk-show gurus pushing this week?” he asked in a weary tone.
“They aren’t pushing anything.”
One of Simon’s eyebrows rose.
“Okay, so one of the guests on a show I caught last week mentioned a book that sounded sort of interesting.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask, what’s the title?”
She had to clear her throat before the words “The Best You, Ever” made it past her lips. She doubted he would care that the subtitle was “From the Inside Out.” She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard him swear. And his expression made his disdain plain.
“You’re already the best you that you can be, Chloe.”
Her heart did a funny somersault at his assessment, as off base as she knew it to be. She was a far cry from the person she wanted to be, especially physically, which was her main objective now with the reunion fast approaching.
“You’re just saying that because you’re my friend.” Pal. Bud. BFF.
He