Through a Stranger's Eyes

by Steven S Walsky

  Chapter Ten

  Like most mornings on the way to the office I stopped at one of the coffee shops in the building complex. I am balancing one-handed the large take-out coffee cup on the narrow ledge in front of the glass food case with the container of Half & Half as I pour the creamer. This is not a good idea; as I demonstrated to the other patrons when I proceeded to liberally soak my right trouser leg, shoe and floor with coffee. At least I caught the coffee cup before it hit the floor. ‘SAVE THE CUP!’ my brain screamed as the contents streamed out; like keeping the cup from hitting the floor was important. OK, now I am standing there, three people staring at the mess, but I have the cup; the cup did not hit the floor.

  I pour another cup of coffee, pay, apologize for the puddle of brown - that now has taken on the size and shape of Lake Michigan - and head for the office. The elevator arrives - mindlessly I get on – only to descend to the parking garage. Then, with the elevator making its ascent, I forget to press my floor and miss it; I have to go up twelve extra floors before I can descend again. In the men’s room I use paper towels to clean my shoe; the trouser leg has already absorbed the coffee. To add insult to injury, when I push down on the soap dispenser to wash my hands, I forget it ‘spurts erratic’ and my tie takes the hit. Yes, the day was off to an entertaining start; just who was being entertained.

  I call Billy to say ‘long time no hear and guess what I have been doing;’ but Billy is not in. So I leave a voice mail, “you missed the news, ‘Miss Wonderful’ is back in my life and yes, Breen is still disgusted with my choice of friends from the old days…but out of compassion for me she says hello.”

  Breen actually liked Billy and my close friends, who did not number anyone from the Pub. Of course she had no idea that Billy refereed to her as Miss Wonderful.

  I call Donna. “Dave, so magnificent to hear your voice, you elope yet?”

  “No, but some woman called and asked if I would vouch for your integrity; seems her little boy has gone gaga over some woman who claims to be a State’s Attorney.”

  “Like I would tell Fredrick’s mom about you…there may still be an outstanding warrant with your name on it. What’s up?”

  “I just had one of those mornings I want to share with someone and everyone around here is morninged out, and since I do not want to scare Breen away by exposing my sarcastic side…”

  “You mean the pointless stories and odd ideas?”

  “Yeah, Regular Show cartoons, dissertations on sarcasm being lost on adults, and all the other things you possibly like about me.”

  “Glad you said possibly and, as much as I like you Dave, I pity this woman who knows not what she is getting into.”

  “Nice. I did call you for something, but now I am not sure if I want to tell you.” Knowing that would get to her.

  “Dave, from the sound of your voice I sense something has happened for the better, tell me!”

  And I tell her about being an ‘item.’

  The following Saturday started out as what was now an average ‘item-day.’ Breen and I had no special plans, just breakfast at the International House of Pancakes; strawberry pancakes.

  “Tell me about Donna.”

  “I thought we did that?”

  “No, you said she was a friend, your alter ego, but how did you meet her?”

  “At a wedding after which we...went our separate ways. Donna was an out-of-town, distant cousin of the bride, Nancy, who married Rich.”

  “Did I meet them?”

  “No. Rich lived in an apartment near me, but they moved into a house after they got engaged. And remember you were only in town for a few days.”

  “You didn’t want to tell me about them, did you?”

  “No. Anyway, I met Donna at the wedding. She was there only because one of Nancy’s older uncles from New York could not drive. She and Nancy really did not know each other; you know, visits to family when little kids, but no contact after a while. Something about Donna clicked. We knew we would be friends, nothing more. Not much to the story, we had intermittent letter and phone contact, ‘how are you doing,’ ‘how’s the weather in New York.’ But, about a year or so later I had to go to New York. I called her and we had dinner, went to a show. She was so different to be around. She disagreed with everything I said, and I her; but we liked it. It was after she graduated from law school and she took a job down here, and we have been good friends ever since.”

  “When will I meet her?”

  “I guess we have been moving so fast I just haven’t done it; she’s been asking the same question for weeks.”

  “Let’s see her today, call her.”

  “BRE-EN it’s seven-thirty in the morning.”

  “Why are you hesitating, DA-VIID?”

  So I take out the cell phone and call Donna, “Guess who, no not him, in your dreams, I’m at I-HOP…yes strawberry pancakes, Donna, will you let me finish…”

  “Give me the phone, men. Hi Donna this is Breen, would you like some company? Sure and he’ll bring you some chocolate chip pancakes. Hold on a sec. How long will it take to get there?”

  “About fifteen minutes, but the pancakes could take twenty.”

  “No problem, say 45 minutes. See ya,” handing me the phone, “so how hard was that. Finish your breakfast Romeo; she said she’ll have the coffee ready when we arrive.”

  When I finished my pancakes, and doubting Breen would let me have any of hers, “So what do you want to do while we wait for the takeout?”

  “I’m finishing my pancakes, Mr. Stuff Mouth.”

  “You eat like a woman, I eat like a man.”

  “You eat like there is a fire and you are afraid the food will burn up!”

  “And you...”

  “What, can’t think fast this early in the morning?”

  “I was being nice asking what you would like to do while we waited.”

  “Ok, draw a picture for me while I eat.”

  “You want me to ask the waitress for one of their kid packs of crayons and pictures?”

  “Dave, be creative, use the left over whipped cream on your plate,” and giving me that sly grin of hers, “better then licking the plate clean in public.”

  I use the whipped cream to draw a happy face, “there!”

  “What is it?”

  “Are you being funny? It’s a happy face. And a damn good one if you ask me.”

  “Dave I asked you, because I had no idea what it was. No, wait...it looks more like a pre-Columbian sex god.”

  “I suppose you can do better?”

  “Here,” adding more whipped cream to my plate, “I’ll show you.”

  I start to put the fork down, but Breen takes my hand and guides it, first to flatten the whipped cream, then guides the fork in my hand to form an object on the plate.

  Now it was my turn to ask, “what is that?"

  “It’s a dog!”

  “It’s a blob, and I saw the movie; that’s the Blob!” in mock terror.

  “Dave,” leaning over and lightly caressing my neck with her right hand, she whispers in my ear, “Picasso honey, this is a blob.” Breen uses her left hand to scoop up two fingers full of whipped cream from her plate and smears the glob on the back of my right hand that was still holding the fork.

  She kisses my cheek and sits back in her chair - quickly cleans her fingers off with her lips – and while looking at me with her sassy grin, she waits for me to say something. It’s too late to volunteer to lick the whipped cream from her fingers, so I start to offer her my hand, but unfortunately the waitress materializes, “(If you two are finished playing with your food,) your take out.”

  As we walk to the car Breen informs me that she gets the point for creativity in the category of whipped cream drawing. I suggested we practice later that night. To which Breen responds, “You tried the Ready Whip routine Dave, remember. As I recall, you shot yourself in the foot, literally.” Breen makes a second imaginary chalk ma
rk as she gets into the car.

  Donna and Breen hit it off right away. As soon as a cup of coffee and the newspaper were placed in my hands, I was banished to the living room while the two females held court in the kitchen. It was not the moments of hushed silence, but the bouts of loud laughter that were scary.

  I tried not to listen, but eventually I heard Donna say, “There are some things I don’t have the foggiest idea about. Even with our closeness, we have our private lives. It’s not as if we keep secrets from each other, it’s...like just after his divorce was final he disappeared for a week. I still have no idea where he went. Just knew he needed to be alone, to clear his head,” playfully, “if Dave could ever clear the junk from his head.”

  Breen laughed, “He does have a lot of excess ideas roaming around in there.”

  “I knew he had been thinking about going on a cruise to escape everyone for a few days, and he also had said something about going to Switzerland to do something with black swans.”

  “Swans?”

  “Yeah, swans.”

  Donna had replied in an amused voice that Breen instantly picked up on, “I hope it wasn’t for sex!”

  This time the laughter emanating from the kitchen was really loud.

  Their chatter continued and I had just about fallen asleep when I heard my name being called. Did you ever have to sit outside the principal’s office while the old geezer explained to your parents why you should be in military school and not in a public educational facility; then you’re summoned into the office. The office of Breen, “Dave, how come you never mentioned the uncle who never made it back from the bachelor party and sixty-five dollars' worth of champagne glasses that bit the dust?”

  “Great Donna, leave anything out…don’t answer.”

  “Look Dave, it’s your own fault,” Donna looking so coy.

  All I could say was, “Well apparently the two of you have something in common, sarcasm at my expense.”

  They high-fived.

  Then Breen announced that she and Donna were going shopping and I had the day to myself until four, when I was to meet them for dinner and, of course, pay the check. The only thing I could do was accept the change of plans with my best impersonation of a sad hound dog, then once out of their line of sight I almost high-five myself, because I had secretly wanted to go new truck shopping.

  We met at Hagger’s, a Chinese place. I had asked the manager why the name and he told me it was the name of the former restaurant and the owner thought why change the name since everyone referrers to the place as Hagger’s. Made sense at the time.

  Over dinner Breen and Donna continued their discussion of my past and my ‘personality quirk’ as Donna likes to refer to my failure to see the humor in her witticisms at my expense. Donna told Breen about the time I did this, and the time I did that; Donna was full of ‘Dave times.’ Breen had her own stories of Dave. But I really cannot complain, they acted like old friends and from the ‘oh my gosh’ ‘no way’ looks I would get from time to time, I’d say I was a lucky guy.

  My luck seemed to be holding as I drove Breen back to her apartment, she spoke of Donna as a good thing for me, and I sensed that Breen would never feel threatened by Donna’s presence. That’s important in a relationship; you have to feel comfortable and non-threatened around your partner’s friends. As I pulled into the parking lot my last thought suddenly jumped out and grabbed my attention, ‘partner.’ I had used the term partner, as in couple, which is way past 'item'. At least I had not said it out loud.

  “It’s early, you want to come up and watch TV for a while?” The invitation was simply that and left no room for reading between the lines.

  So we settled in on the couch; me at one end and Breen at the other. Absurd yes, prudent yes, I thought so. The thought of ‘partner’ was still fresh in my mind, and so were more descriptive things that go along with partner...frustration. Breen’s closeness, the kisses, the hugs, the wonderful feel of her hair against my cheek, the softness of her voice, a thousand little things that draws a man to a woman, both the mental and physical, the seen and the felt, what makes you hunger to kiss the nape of her neck, to trace your fingers across the soft skin of her stomach, all these thoughts were wrapped up in a single word, partner.

  Breen looks over at me, “Any reason you are sitting almost in the other room?”

  “No.”

  “Get your bod over here Dave, or do something nonchalant like slapping your hand on the cushion next to you and say ‘yo, Breen, like ya wanna scoot over a little!’”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re not going to be excused, either you want me next to you or you don’t. I’ll let you know if you’re pressing you’re luck.”

  “Why is it you can smile and melt my brain cells?”

  “Practice in front of a mirror. I practice every morning and maybe once or twice a week at night.”

  “Yo, Breen…forget it, Breen slide your cute little ass over here!”

  “I said don’t press your luck; but do you think my rear looks good in these jeans?”

  “This is going to be trying isn’t it?”

  Sliding over, so she’s now practically on my lap, “Yep.”

  Trying was an understatement. My goal of our becoming best friends first, then best lovers was trying. How much longer could her presence be kept at bay?

  We watched TV and made small talk. Breen seemed content to lean against me, my arm around her shoulders, OK in this situation, and her right hand was at the ready should I try to get frisky, the term she used to warn me off as if reading my mind.

  She snuggled for a while then, softly, “Donna told me about Mandy…and…sex…Dave, did you miss me...do you remember...that way?” Which was probably the most personal about herself question Breen had asked me since we had reunited.

  “Yes, I missed you that way. Regardless of what we think about the whole story of Dave and Breen, I missed you. I still miss you. I cannot forget you and don’t ever want to.”

  “I know; I just needed to ask. I’m sorry that I’m not ready for that.”

  “Please don’t be sorry.”

  “Dave, you…just hold me.”

  We watched TV. Me holding her and she fell asleep in my arms. I hated to wake her when it was time to head home.

  Nothing physical took place between us. I am not complaining, because a lot transpired mentally. This was not a case of overcoming frustration from abstinence, or trying to win an award for self-control. Her tenderness got to me. I guess the years of desire had, surprisingly, given me the ability to hear with my heart after all. The bottom line is I had the opportunity to destroy everything good that had transpired between us since we had met in one moment of ‘dream come true.’ Had Breen not opened her heart to me, the night would have no doubt ended far differently. So, it’s morning and I am looking at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I like what I see; I felt the mirror may finally be talking to me, and it was telling me I had done the right thing.

  When I arrived home from church I found a voice mail message left by Breen an hour before, knowing I would not be there to answer her call, “I liked sleeping in your arms…I felt safe.” The mirror does talk after all. Later we spoke on the phone, but the subject of sleeping in my arms was not voluntarily raised by Breen, and I left it at that. Breen wanted us to visit one of her friends after work the next day, so plans were made.

  When I picked Breen up she was in a great mood. Still dressed from work, her choice of clothes spoke of Chanel. Breen is Chanel, timeless, quiet elegance. I saw Chanel in Breen the very first moment. When Donna met Breen she remarked, “Breen wears style with subtleness; she brings softness, class.” Donna also has class, but as she describes it, “I wear style classy.” Bull, Donna could wear a hospital gown and make it look stylish. As for me, Breen had looked at my life - t-shirts and jeans, fad shirts and fad pants – and could not understand the contradiction: he appreciates Chanel
and dresses like a slob. It now seems funny, as I was wearing a well cut suit when I picked her up. But it was not the business suit that she commented on the day we met in the coffee shop where I work; of course the suit was soaked from having just experienced a storm first hand. No, it was my watch. When we had finally realized how long we had sat at the table talking, I looked at my watch, and Breen noticed I was wearing a Tiffany Mark mechanical; yellow gold, brown leather band. She smiled. I asked her if she liked it. “Yes it speaks a thousand words quietly.” Just like Breen.

  Answering my question about who her friend was, “She is an accountant and works on the same floor. I’ve known her since I moved here and we have gotten along great. Dave, I don’t have many close friends. To be honest, I envy you and Donna. I...I don’t know why I have always found it hard to...it’s not that. Sorry, I babbled didn’t I?”

  I smiled and shook my head from side to side, “It’s nice to have you ‘babble.’ You’re happy to introduce me to Ve aren’t you?”

  “Yeah. You’ll like her. We belong to a small circle of girlfriends and it’s nice.

  So I get to meet Ve. She turns out to be a few years younger than Breen, very attractive. I did not want to admit it, but I got the impression that maybe Breen had something in mind picking Ve as the first friend she planned to introduce me to. Years of practice being skeptical. Ve was pleasant, nice, and seemed glad to meet me; but there was still a slight air of protectionist when she took stock of me.

  “Breen said that you have traveled a lot.”

  “Europe mostly, thanks to work, military. You travel much?”

  “Went to Mexico once, if that counts. Foreign travel that is. I’ve spent a good deal of time seeing the sights in the U.S.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  Small talk. Elicitation talk. Size him up talk. She told me a wonderful story of how she, Breen, and their friend Kate had gone to Annapolis, Maryland and got lost looking for the Rams Head Tavern. Breen jumped in, “Well, no one said that Main Street becomes West Street, Ve!”

  “She was driving us around for twenty minutes looking for West Street.”

  “Did she ever find the Rams Head?”

  “Thankfully in time for the show.”

  Breen responded, “Okay, how about I tell Dave about you almost missing the boat in Mexico.”

  Breen, Ve, and two other women took a cruse to Mexico, and after a day’s shopping they dragged themselves back to the boat and collapsed on the beds. But Ve decided to go back to a shop a few blocks from the boat, got so distracted that she forgot what time it was. If it were not for the boat whistle, she would have missed the sailing. “We probably would not have missed her because she spent most of her time at the buffets.”

  “Breen, I’m not the one who ate nothing but desserts for six days!”

  "They were good, really good!”

  Ah, spoken like a true woman of my dreams.

  By ten my capacity for small talk had run its course. All in all I felt I had done great…I had met Ve, I was personable, likable, well mannered, I did not drop or spill anything, and I even refrained from telling them the story of the two Mexican prostitutes who would not leave me and a buddy alone. We say goodnight, and Breen takes my arm and gives me a couple of little bumps with her hip to let me know she was pleased with the evening.

  “Do you think Ve approved of me?”

  “Yes. She was skeptical at first when I told her about you. But you did alright tonight and she likes you.”

  “How much? She is a nice looking woman.”

  “Don’t press your luck!”

  At least we have a motto for our relationship. With that, Breen takes a CD out of her bag and pops it in the changer. It’s Diana Krall and I could not help but look over at Breen, “A little romantic for being alone, late at night in a car with me?”

  “Oh contraire, I thought you needed something classier than Country for the ride back, and I meant it to be romantic.” She grins that sassy grin that she would never do in front of others.

  At her apartment I park the car and walk her to the door. Expecting nothing more than a kiss good night in the doorway of her apartment, I was surprised when Breen placed herself between me and the door and pushed the door closed with her foot. “Can you stay a few minutes?”

  Looking at the closed door, “Guess escape is not an option?”

  She laughed and pushed me towards the sofa, “Sit!”

  Making as if I was looking for someone else, and taping my finger against my chest for emphasis, “Me?”

  “That’s right, you, sit on the couch.”

  Okay, where is this leading to? I am now seated on the ‘couch’ and Breen has gone into the kitchen. “Close your eyes!”

  “I’m not sure it’s safe to close my eyes in a strange apartment.”

  “Don’t be an idiot Dave, real scary is, and I know from experience, seeing you naked with the lights on.”

  "Oh.” So I close my eyes and wait.

  I hear Breen come back in and she tells me to open my eyes. Breen is holding a birthday cake with one lit candle. “Happy birthday!”

  “It’s not my birthday?”

  “I know. This is for a bet we made a long time ago.”

  Suddenly the whole thing came clear in my mind. We had a bet and if she lost she would bake me a cake for my birthday. But that was before...Breen cuts off the thought. She places the cake on the end table and sits down next to me.

  Breen reaches out for my hand, “Dave, I know this may seem silly, but it’s important to me to do this for you."

  “I love the cake, the idea, and you.”

  “Oooops I forgot to bring a knife, forks and plates. No problem.” Breen lifts the cake and uses her fingers to scoop out a piece, which she offers to my lips. I let her feed it to me and she let me lick the icing off her fingers. Breen put her arms around my neck and kissed me; a long, sweet kiss. She hesitated ending the kiss, “Will you hold me a while?”

  And we sat there, Breen nestled in my arms, like the last time.

  Also like last time, I had to break the spell, “Time to go,” and it was hard to believe we had sat there for so long.

  The next day Breen called about eleven, asking about my lunch plans, “Don’t have any, you buying?”

  “Okay, but on one condition, you have to go wherever I want.”

  “No problem as long as I can be back in an hour.”

  “Deal.”

  “Were we going?”

  “Meet me at the Starbucks at 11:30.”

  “Breen, there’s a Starbucks on just about every corner and one in almost every large store.”

  “Right, the one on Seventh, next to the State Credit Union; eleven thirty, so get moving!”

  Thankfully I can get away quickly today. Two emails later I am heading out the door for the short walk to Seventh and Lake Avenue.

  She is standing by the Starbucks window and looking so damn nice. “Hey you,” she greets me, arms around my waist, quick kiss hello, “hungry?”

  “I could survive on your kisses alone.”

  “Interesting thought, but not very nourishing. We’re going across the street,” gesturing with her head and letting go of my waist, “hope you like quiche.”

  “Quiche?”

  “Yep; Donna told me about your food prejudices.”

  “Is this a test?”

  “That’s right, but don’t worry we’re going to have a neutral quiche, nothing exotic.”

  “You’ll have to order because I have a problem pronouncing the word.”

  “You’re so cute,” reaching up and grabbing my cheek for a twist.

  We ate quiche; OK the quiche was not bad, but I would never let Breen know, nor Donna; cannot afford to lose the image.

  This is how the week went. She would call during the day, or me her; the same each night. We would meet for lunch and by Friday it was obvious our lunches would now be togeth
er unless a hurricane, tornado, earthquake, or work kept us apart. No complaints. Nights were spent together going to different places; shopping, the coffee bar at the bookstore near Breen’s, bowling, the movies.

  Thursday night bowling was interesting because it was league night (when isn’t it) and we were squeezed in-between teams of men bowlers. One of the men could not take his eyes off of Breen. I think he was drooling so hard that his little orange bowling towel was soaked from wiping his face. ‘Eat your heart out, bucko.’ Breen was self-conscious about his stares and asked if I had any suggestions, “besides throwing a ball at him.”

  “I think peer pressure is the answer.”

  “Go on Dave, but whose peer pressure are we talking about?”

  “His, Breen. Here’s what I suggest. You get up and make sure he’s watching, just stand there adjusting your feet, adjusting your body, adjusting your hair, you know lots of body language. Then, when his tongue is hanging out, you decide to change balls, walking slowly over to the ball rack, slowly bend over, taking your time with the selection from the lower rack, a little movement, a sway this way, a sway that way, and if he hasn’t dropped his ball on his foot by this time, I’m sure he has bitten his tongue. Which will render him useless for the rest of the night. His team will be mad at him for weeks.”

  “You are not serious. Dave if I did that I would render you useless for the rest of the week. This body movement thing has nothing to do with the jerk, does it Dave...jerk. But since we need to take care of the situation...”

  Breen stands up and goes to the lane, changes her mind and walks back to where I am sitting, she looks at the guy, leans over, drops her ball with a resounding thud on the seat next to me, proceeds to gives me a kiss that left no room for interpretation, picks up her ball, and continues to bowl as if the guy did not exist. Breen gets a strike...she is elated, she’s euphoric, she is on top of the world...Breen runs back, she has already thrown her arms around my neck before I have completely risen...as I spin her around she kisses me, “kissing you is good luck!”

  Breen is proud of the strike, proud of handling the jerk, “you did great on both counts, lady!”

  Unfortunately, I wish I could say there were only mountain highs and no valley lows. While shopping for a birthday gift for Breen’s niece, Breen asked my opinion of a blouse. I said I did not like the color; nor the color of the next one; nor the next. I realized too late it was more than what I had said, it was the way I had said it. Breen picked up a fourth blouse, “Don’t say anything...obviously you won’t like the color!” I knew immediately that not only was she mad at me, but I was lost as to what to do. Silence ensued as Breen paid for the blouse. As we started to walk away from the Teen Department I felt the silence begin to chill the air. It was not the blouse comments that angered her, but rather my attitude. I had slipped back into being deaf to Breen’s words. I slipped, fell, and could not figure how to regain my balance.

  We were almost outside the store when I asked, “Please Breen, hold up a moment.” I asked a salesperson for a piece of paper and a pen, while Breen looked at me with obvious mixed emotions.

  “What are you doing,” the tone bespoke of impatience, not a real question.

  “I just wrote on this paper that I was an ass and you have a right to be angry with me.” As I put the paper in my mouth, “I’m sending the note to my brain, so my deaf brain will hear your feelings;” and I started to chew on it.

  Breen looked at me with that ‘he’s a nut look,’ but when I swallowed the paper she gave me a mock sneer, then a smile, “you’re a fruitcake, do you know that?”

  “All I know, is I never want us to become silent. I don’t want us to allow anything to grow into silence. I’m sorry I acted the way I did tonight. Forgive me?”

  “I’ll think about it...you may have to develop an appetite for paper.”

  Thankfully the rest of the evening was more pleasant, but Breen still retained a slight coolness about her.

  The next day at lunch Breen presented me with a red chocolate rose, “This is tastier than paper.”

  “Thank you; I will display this in a prominent place to remind me that you have feelings!”

  “No, you’ll share it with me during lunch, because we both have feelings. Besides, that’s too good a chocolate rose to waste by just looking at it.”

  Her habit of jumping to conclusions was trying, but eventually she recognized this. We had been walking along a bike path, not saying much, just walking and enjoying the day. Another couple passed in the opposite direction. The woman was wearing a blouse that was too tight and too open. I almost said something sarcastic like ‘she should close the blinds before she gets a hell of a sun burn,’ But Breen caught my eyes following the woman and preempted me, “Dave if you want to see the Grand Canyon, take a tour.”

  “I’m not interested in women who have to display the wears.”

  “Sure Dave and I guess your eyes just forgot?”

  “Breen what if I was looking at her, and I was not looking at her the way you just implied, but what if I had looked that way. Am I supposed to stop noticing women dressed to be noticed?”

  Breen was about to say something, then looked at the back of couple as they walked down the path. She looked at me and asked, “Have I been possessive since we started seeing each other? Not, wanting to be in control, that I know I have been. Possessive, as in ‘I own you.’ Not jokingly, but for real?”

  “No.”

  The difference was my willingness to overlook her faults, to push ahead regardless. I feared losing her again. I was totally, overwhelmingly in love with her and I recognized, regardless of what I said to the contrary, I tended to lose all objectivity when Breen smiled at me. “I’m sorry for accusing you of looking at her. I mean, I am sorry for jumping on you like that.”

  I extended my arms to her, offering my hands. And when she took them in her own, I said, “You have a jealous side don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Me too.”

  We hugged and I was going to break away without kissing her; just, for some reason I did not think it was appropriate. But as soon as I let go of her she grabbed me again and kissed me, “That’s for being here with me.”

  We had a good lunch and a good night at the movies. Our relationship was growing stronger and deeper. The trust that was forming peaked the night at the bowling alley. After Breen had regained her composure, having made the strike and dealt with the ogling man, she thanked me for letting her take care of the problem and not acting like a jealous fool, “Kissing you is not just good luck, it’s what I want to do and not with anyone else.”

  —////—