Fit for Love

When the music stopped, I wiped my face on my sleeve and wished I were anywhere else but on a gym floor in Ellie Mae's Health Club with twenty-nine other sweaty bodies—male and female—doing aerobics. Everyone looked reasonably fit and well-toned. Except me.

Catching my breath, I stumbled over to a metal folding chair on the sidelines where I'd left my towel. The others strolled around the gym, either cooling down or checking their pulse. I grabbed the towel and collapsed on the chair. All I could think of was getting out of here, hurrying home, and tumbling into a hot bubble bath.

"Your first time in an aerobics class?" a masculine voice asked.

I yanked my towel away from my face, opened my eyes, and realized that the instructor had pulled up a chair and was sitting beside me. A sweat-soaked tank top and gray sweatpants sheathed his lean but muscular frame. Before he started today's session, he told us he was substituting for Ellie May, who was on a well-deserved vacation for the next month. He was her nephew. His real job was teaching P.E. and coaching football at Roosevelt High School. He looked to be about my age. Late twenties.

"Very first time," I mumbled, and gazed into the most startling blue eyes I'd ever seen. "I think I'd rather shovel coal."

He smiled, and I couldn't help but notice the delightful way his smile brightened his blue eyes. "I saw you struggling," he said. "You might like to sit the next set out. Then join us for the last one."

I felt totally embarrassed. Did he think I was that out of shape? I was sure that the baggy sweats I'd chosen to wear hid the ten pounds I was trying to lose. "Seriously," I said, "I think I'm headed for home."

"Look, no need to kill yourself the first time out. Start at a slow pace. Your own pace. Keep at it. Don't get discourage. Gradually you'll see great improvement in respiration and pulse rate, blood pressure—all those vital signs."

"I don't know," I said, and shrugged.

"Trust me..." he said, looking at me quizzically, probably wanting to attach a name to me.

"Tracy," I said. "My name's Tracy Sullivan."

"You can do it, Tracy. Believe in yourself."

Danny Carter was his name. Something about this man invited confidence—his ready smile, his easy manner. I stayed that night for the final session and discovered he was right. I worked at my own pace, and after three more sessions, though I still wasn't dancing smoothly like my classmates—I probably never would—I felt I was improving. After one of the sessions Danny ambled over to me and said, "You're looking good, Tracy."

I felt myself blush. "Thanks."

"Notice any difference in yourself?"

"A lot more energy." I didn't know if I should admit this or not, but I did: "Clothes fit a bit looser."

He smiled—I loved that smile. "Keep up the good work," he said.

Listening to the gossip among the other women, I knew he was single. Never married. I wondered, Could he be...? But I shook my head before I finished the thought. Why would he be interested in me when he could pick from so many shapely, leotard-clad women dancing in front of him, many of them probably single like me?

 After another session he asked what had brought me to Ellie May's. I told him about the stress of working part-time and finishing graduate school, then struggle of finding a job in an accounting firm close to home so I could be near my elderly folks. "I needed release from the strain," I said. Then I smiled, feeling a little sheepish, and added, "I also need to drop a few pounds."

"No boyfriend?"

"Not much time for one."

Saturday morning, after my fourth week of aerobics, feeling good about myself—I'd dropped four pounds—I sat in my chair on the sidelines, taking my pulse. The second session had just ended. Danny pulled up a folding chair and sat next to me. His nearness ignited a sudden rush of quivery excitement in the pit of my stomach. "Vital signs improving?" he asked.

I nodded. "Just like you said they would."

"This is my last week," he said, "and I need to congratulate you. By far, you've shown the most improvement of anyone else here."

I felt myself blushing again, but I smiled. "That's because I was so far behind the others. Thanks. I owe everything to you. I was ready to flat-out quit that first night."

"I know. But you hung tough. Showed determination. Grit. I love those qualities—it's the football coach in me." Suddenly he looked unsure of himself, his brow wrinkling. "Would you have time for dinner and a movie Saturday night—I hope you're not busy."

I nearly fell off my chair. I gulped. I'd come here to relieve stress. Lose weight. Compared to the other women, I was clumsy at best. I danced like a clunky marionette, half of my strings attached. I never in my wildest dream thought...

"I'd be honored," he said.

"I'll make time," I said, and knew my vital signs had suddenly spiked off the chart.

The End
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The Sunshine Man

         I had desk duty at the library when I first saw him strolling toward me. His face broke into a cautious smile. He was good-looking—lanky with deep brown eyes and a head full of short brown curls. But I didn't recognize him.

"Julie?" he said, stopping in front of the counter. "Julie Hayes?"

I nodded, puzzled. His face blossomed into a brightest smile imaginable. "Dennis," he said.

"Dennis Wright from the track team. "

My hand flew to my mouth. "Oh, Dennis, I'm so sorry, " I said. "Wow—but you look totally different. I mean, you look great," I added, and he laughed before my face turned completely red. "Where are your glasses?"

"Contacts. And I gained a few pounds. Cut my hair."

I couldn't believe the sight of him. In high school he was tall and gangly with unruly curls that fell to his ears and forehead like a mop. But he was the state's best hurdler. "Have you come back to Fairfield?" I asked.

"I'm going to be your local weatherman. Channel Six. "

"When?" I felt my face brighten.

"Starting next week," he said. "Noon, six, and ten o'clock news." He shrugged. "Got tired of drifting around. "

"Unbelievable."

"And I've come for a library card," he said. "The way I devour books, I can't afford to buy everything I want to read."

"You're at the right place." From below the counter I produced an application for him and handed him a ballpoint.

As he filled out the application, my mind drifted back seven years to our seasons on the track team at Fairfield High and the thrill of competing. At that the time, Dennis wore thick glasses and read thick books between his events. Nick, my boyfriend, later my fiancé, pole vaulted and long jumped. I ran sprints.

After Dennis finished filling out the application and I made out his card, he smiled up at me and asked, "You and Nick, married? Kids?"

"It didn't work out, Dennis."

His smile dissolved. "Because of the accident?"

"You could say that."

A mom with three toddlers in tow came up behind Dennis. They obviously needed my help. So I told Dennis I had an hour for lunch at noon, and I'd meet him at the LeClaire Park. He said he'd get something for us to eat; he'd meet me back here at the library, and we'd walked down to the park together.

      At the park, we sat at a picnic table near the band shelter. The day was warm but overcast, a breeze stirring the treetops. I fed the tuna fish salad sandwich I'd brought from home to the ducks. Dennis and I devoured tenderloin sandwiches and ice cream bars he'd bought from a street vendor. At one point, in what I supposed was typical weatherman fashion, Dennis cocked an eye toward the sky and said, "Front coming in from the North. Might get a good April rain later."

"Looks like it."

Then we talked about high school, the fun we had running track. I told him I'd been at the library since graduating from State. "I'm the chief assistant now."

"Congratulations!" Then he added with a shy grin, "You look in good shape. Just like high school."

I felt myself blushing.

"You still run?" he asked.

"Nearly every day. Usually in the evening. Three or four miles."

"Me, too. Whenever I find the time." Turning somber, his brown eyes crisscrossed my face. "Are you going to tell me about Nick?"

"Sure."

"I mean, I know about the pole vaulting accident in college—his pole snapped when he was eighteen feet in the air. Broke his back, but he recovered, didn't he?"

I looked out across the grassy park. "He recovered perfectly," I said. "I can't imagine anyone braver or more determined than Nick."

I explained that he was in intensive care for twenty-two days, teetering between life and death. Nick went from wearing a halo in a hospital bed to a wheelchair, no halo; and after five months in the hospital, he went home. With lots of therapy, he slowly began walking again. He graduated from college a year after his fall, ambling across the stage, fully recovered.

"A miracle," Dennis said.

"You would've been proud of him—I was. He fought so hard."

"You were still engaged?"

I shook my head.

"Look, Julie, you don't have to tell me, it's none of my business, anyway."

"No, it's all right," I said and smiled, eager to prove what I was about to say was true. "I've been over him for a long while." I brushed a strand of hair off my cheek. "Nick fell in love with his physical therapist. They were married after he graduated. They moved out West to where she was from. Oregon, I think."

Dennis frowned in disbelief.

I reached across the table and patted his shoulder. "It's all right," I said. "I'm okay. Honest."

"What about now?" Dennis asked. "You haven't found someone else?"

I shrugged. "I'd gone through high school and college not thinking about other guys, other possibilities. I still haven't, I guess. "

"But you should..."

"And I've been busy."

"...you're beautiful."

My face heated up again with a blush. "Thank you." The last person to tell me that had been Nick. "But what's with you?" I said. "Wife? Kids? A weatherman who brings nothing but sunny skies?"

He laughed. "Like today?"

"Seriously," I said.

"Well, I've worked all over—St. Louis, Omaha, Sioux City. But no wife and kids. I never had a chance to settle down. I'm looking forward to finally staying put."

Finished with lunch, we started walking up Main Street to the library, side-by-side, chatting about how little the town had changed. We passed the jewelry store where Nick had bought our engagement ring. What a totally dark, stormy day in my life it had been when I gave the ring back.

When we stopped in front of the library, Dennis said, "Where do you run? When?"

"Duck Creek Bike Path. Usually about seven."

I loved the soft smile that curved his lip. "Would you care if I joined you?" he asked.

I blinked. Was he serious? "I'd be delighted."

"Seven." He said, and squeezed my hand, a tingle shooting through me.

I watched him cross the street, headed for his car. Then he turned and yelled, "Don't forget! Seven!" He tilted his head toward the sky. "Even if it's raining!"

But I didn't care if it rained or not. Dennis had brought a sudden glimpse of sunshine back into my life.

The End
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You'll Like My Mom

 I stood motionless in the aisle of the otherwise empty high school auditorium, listening to the woman playing Irish songs on the piano, which was off stage in the orchestra pit.

I eased down the aisle, closer to her. She was totally focused on her music, which now slowed to a haunting melody everyone recognized, "An Irish Lullaby."

She must have sensed my presence. She stopped playing and suddenly spun around on the piano bench to face me. "Oh! I'm sorry." She jumped up in surprise.

"It's all right," I said. "That was beautiful."

"I shouldn't have—"

"It's all right," I assured her again. "I'm the assistant principal here—Charlie Wainwright. And you're—? I should know your name."

"Maggie—Margaret Sullivan. My daughter, Kathy, has the lead in the musical. I was waiting for her after practice. But she must've ducked out, and I couldn't resist the piano—" Maggie shrugged helplessly. "I really must leave."

Probably my age, middle forties, with hair still black and the figure of a cheerleader, she scooted by me for the exit. She was a local celebrity. She reviewed movies for our newspaper and often appeared live on local TV with a review. Her husband, a National Guard pilot, had died a hero in combat some time ago.

Before I'd become assistant principal, I'd had her daughter in tenth grade PE. We'd become great friends. The next day, Kathy came up to sit across from me in the cafeteria at lunchtime. Eying me, she said, "Mr. Wainwright, you're a bachelor, right?"

"That I am," I said.

"You should check out my mom. She's the hottest mom in town."

I felt my eyebrows arch.

"She has two complimentary tickets to the play," Kathy said, "but she's not going with anyone."

I smiled. "Maybe your mom wouldn't like this, you trying to fix her up."

"Don't be silly. Sit next to her. Talk to her. You'll like my mom. I mean, really."

I spotted Maggie Friday night at the first performance of the play. Hundreds of kids and parents milling about, she stood by herself in the hallway during intermission, studying the program, and I approached her.

"Mr. Wainwright," she said, her blue eyes wide. "Nice to see you again."

"Charlie," I said. "Beautiful performance. Kathy's marvelous. "

"Thank you." Then sheepishly she said, "I should apologize about the other day. I hadn't played in so long. We don't have a piano at home any longer. I couldn't resist the urge."

 "No need to apologize." I cleared my throat. "Is there a vacant seat next to you?"

"I had an extra ticket, but I gave it away. I have to run."

She whirled and bolted away into the crowd, avoiding me again. My shoulders sagged. I felt like a schoolboy who'd lost his last chance to win the girl.

The play closed Saturday night to thunderous standing ovations. Later, parents sponsored a pizza party in the cafeteria for the cast and crew. I found Maggie along with other parents opening the cardboard pizza boxes and separating slices with a pizza cutter. I elbowed in next to her. "Need help?"

She gave me a crooked smile. "Mr. Wainwright, you're everywhere."

"Charlie," I said. "Being everywhere is part of my job—where ever students gather."

Kathy swung by, snatched up a paper plate and a piece of pizza, and gave us a gigantic smile. "See you two have finally met. Be home early, Mom." And with a wink she swept away.

My eyes locked on Maggie's.

"Do you know what that's all about?" she asked.

"Um, I'm not sure. Maybe."

"We better settle this."

Maggie dragged me off to an empty table in the corner of the cafeteria, where we sat across from each other. "This is embarrassing," she said, her face flushing. "Kathy will be graduating this spring, then going off to college, maybe finding a career on stage. She thinks—well, she thinks..."

"You'll be left alone."

"Exactly. She's been planning for me to meet you, and then when we met by accident, I nearly—well, 'freaked,' is what Kathy would say."

I smiled. "She thought we would sit together at the play opening night."

Now it was Maggie's turn to smile—full, red lips curving. "She said a tall handsome stud would be sitting next to me. But I gave my ticket away to an elderly neighbor lady whose granddaughter is in the chorus."

I couldn't resist telling Maggie this: "Your daughter told me you're the hottest mom in town."

Maggie rolled her eyes. "Oh, Lord. What is my seventeen-year-old thinking?"

"You're hot, I'm a stud."

Maggie leaned back in her chair. "Mr. Wainwright—"

"Charlie. Please."

"Charlie, I'm not hot. I'm a widow who has is quite happy with her life."

"I understand," I said. "I often feel the same way—happy with my life. But sometimes I think there's more. Maybe I'm missing out."

Maggie slid her chair back and stood. "I try to dodge those feelings."

We went back to helping with pizza.

After the cast, musicians, and stagehands devoured all the food and drink in sight and started leaving, I grabbed fifty-gallon trash bags from the storage closet in the kitchen and began dumping the pizza boxes into the bags. Maggie said, "Looks like you need help this time."

"Thanks," I said, and started filling the bag Maggie held open. "What are you doing with the rest of your evening?"

We shuffled along to another table littered with empty pizza boxes. She glanced at her watch. "It's all ready ten o'clock."

"I know where we can get a drink. Or coffee."

I dumped more cartons into her trash bag.

"Where would that be?"

"The Shamrock Lounge," I said. "There's an old piano in a corner. Saturday night, the place will be crowded, but you'll be able play till closing time. Maybe beyond. Think of what you're missing."

"You're very persistent, Mr. Charlie Wainwright."

"If we don't connect, Kathy will be disappointed. A stud and the hottest mom in town—striking out."

"Did Kathy really say that about me—the hottest mom in town?"

"Indeed, she did."

No answer from Maggie.

The trash bags full, I tied the tops in a knot and shoved the bags against the wall. When I turned to Maggie, I saw that she was talking to Kathy, who was apparently getting ready to leave with her friends. Hugging her mom, Kathy shot me a knowing smile over her mom's shoulder.

A moment later Maggie stepped up to me and said, "I told Kathy to take my car. Are we finished here?"

"The custodians will do the rest and lock up. We have a date?"

Her smile was warm, her blue Irish eyes sparkling. "You seem to be one of those feelings I can't dodge, Charlie."

Kathy was right. I liked her mom. I mean, really.

The End
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Honesty

          The crowd of noontime customers had left; my small but popular café, the Lunch Box, was finally quiet. Good. I needed to think. "Kitchen's clean," Rita said. "I'm out of here. I'll lock the door."

"See you!" I called, wiping another table until it shined.

I serve breakfast and lunch at the café close about two, clean things up—Rita helps—and then I stay to prepare tomorrow's special.

She headed for the door.

"Uh-oh! I think you have a customer."

"Too late."

"It's Tom. How'd you snag such a hunk?" she asked with a laugh.

The door closed. Rita was gone. Tom—the reason I needed to think—dressed in jeans and a white polo shirt, stood inside, looking sheepish. And very, very handsome. "Hey, want some help? I can mop floors."

He smiled at me, and my blood heated up. Get a grip, Kathy! "Rita already did that."

He stepped aside; I locked the door. Then I closed the blinds over the big front windows, casting the café with its tables, chairs and booths into dimness. "Smells great in here," he said.

"Today's roast beef special."

He ambled over and sat at the table I'd just wiped. "I'm sorry about last night," he said, his eyes locked on mine.

"I'm the one who should apologize," I said softly.

"I should've said something before I..." His voice faltered.

"Before you kissed me like that?"

"Right. Before I kissed you like that."

"I shouldn't have bolted into the house."

I pulled out a chair and sat across from Tom. Ours has been a curious relationship. We grew up neighbors. We paled around. Never dated. We knew each other too well. He went off to college and came home a lawyer. While away, though he didn't talk about it much, he suffered through a painful breakup.

I went to culinary school and then took over the café from Mom and Dad, who retired. Like Tom, I'd stumbled through my own relationship disaster.

He toyed with the saltshaker on the table. "I never intended to ambush you—that's what it must've seemed like last night."

"I was surprised." I could have added, But thrilled. But I didn't.

The truth is, in high school I'd developed feelings for Tom. Whenever he came home from college, the feelings intensified, but I always hid my fondness for him and made excuses: He's two years older than you, Linda; you'll make a fool of yourself; he doesn't feel the same way about you; he has someone else. My biggest fear—I'd lose a friend.

"Maybe we need to talk," he said, batting the shaker from one hand to the other.

"I agree."

"We're not teens," he added. "We're almost thirty. Not a time to play games."

What complicated our friendship is that about two months ago Tom and I started seeing each other as companions to several social events. I'm the one to blame: I asked him if he'd go with me to my cousin's wedding. Two weeks later, he asked me to a banquet honoring a fellow lawyer. Last night, we attended the must-see concert of a group that was popular when we were in high school.

During the first two occasions, we smiled at each other and laughed a lot. Last night, though, we held hands; and after the concert, as we stood on my front porch in the moonlight, Tom suddenly gripped my arms and then kissed me—a toe-curling kiss that melted my heart and set off an alarm in my brain. Danger!  Hardly able to breathe, I darted into the house.

Tom tilted the shaker now, sprinkled a bit of salt into his right palm, and tossed the salt over his shoulder. "What was that for?" I asked.

"Good luck. I have a confession to make."

I sat straight. I couldn't imagine—

His Adam's apple bobbed. "I've wanted to kiss you for a long time, Kathy. And well...last night"—he shrugged, sheepish again—"seemed like the right time. I couldn't resist any longer. How long have we known each other?"

I bit my bottom lip and then said, "Um...twenty years probably."

"Time for me to be honest, don't you think?"

I gulped. "I've thought about kissing you, too," I said, and decided to give him a real dose of honesty. "Like a million times."

A warm smile lit his handsome face, "Really?"

"Really. What happens now?"

He reached across the table and gripped my hands. "I think we can make this work, you and me."

"It's scary."

"I know," he said. "We don't want to wreck a friendship."

"Maybe we'll end up...broken hearted. It happens."

He squeezed my hands. "No way. Not if we stay honest."

While my heart thundered, he stood and leaned across the table. His soft brown eyes locked with mine again. We kissed for a second time, a kiss that sizzled. When he sat down again, I blew out a long breath. Wow!  "Honesty," I said, "is a lovely way to go."

The End

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A Valentine's Day Kiss

            

          “Oh, look at this!” The brunette standing next to me in front of the rack of Valentine cards handed me one. “Perfect for your girlfriend.”

The card promised love forever. “Nice,” I said, and handed the card back. She gave me a curious look, and my heart rate spiked. 

She was beautiful—soft blue eyes, heart-shaped lips, and a dazzling smile.  And then I noticed the nametag on her blouse: Casey. "You work here?" I said.

 “Manager." She tucked her long black hair behind her ears. "People keep putting the cards back in the wrong slots, so I’m rematching the cards with the envelopes."

“Good idea."

“Not very often I see a guy looking for a Valentine two weeks ahead of time.”

I shrugged and explained I was an electrician, part of the local construction crew building the addition to this super mall. It was lunchtime. I’d eaten a sandwich on the job and had ditched my coveralls to come inside, wander around, and ended up in her Gifts Forever shop.

 “How about a Valentine for your man?” I showed her one I thought a bit romantic—one I would’ve like to have gotten from Meredith.

“Very nice." Then she said, "Sorry," and skittered away to help a clerk working the register.

I left and meandered about the mall only to spot her later at a table in the food court, eating by herself.  I couldn't walk by—I felt totally attracted to her.  I wandered up to her table. “I’m Andy Parker,” I said. “Hi.”

“Casey McFarland. You didn’t buy a card, did you?”

“Still lots of time. ” I cleared my throat. “You work at the gift shop everyday?”

“From ten till five, weekdays.  Nearly all day Sunday.”

I glanced at my watch. “Got to get back to work. Um...look, maybe I’ll see you around again.”

“Maybe.”

The next week, I ate lunch twice with her at the food court.  I learned that we were both single and that she was taking an all-day Saturday college course, working on a BA in business. She told me she’d once been engaged to a charming chameleon.  “Sometimes,” she said, “he’d speak fondly of our marriage plans, kids, a future, but when he thought we were getting too serious, he’d withdraw. We split up. It’s been eighteen months."

I blinked. I couldn’t believe how similar her experience was to mine.

I told her my story about Meredith.  We were engaged to be married on Valentine’s Day last year. But two weeks before the wedding she told me she didn’t think her love for me was strong enough for marriage. The relationship died. The wedding was canceled.

“I’d bought her a wedding-day Valentine card,” I said. “It said something about making her my bride on Valentine’s Day—how special that was. But I ended up tearing it into a million pieces.”

“Can’t blame you.”

“Actually, I was in your store, curious to see if I could find one like it. Just to read it again, I guess. A way to finally put Meredith behind me.”

That night Casey and I went to a movie, a chick flick that was pretty funny. We enjoyed pizza and Coke after. 

When we said good night at her front door, my heart triple-timed. I wanted to cradle her face in my hands, kiss her lightly on those beautiful lips. Maybe she wanted me to, I don’t know. I was waiting for her to raise her head, her lips. Maybe she was waiting for me to bend my head, offer my lips.

Neither one of us did anything. The truth is I was afraid—I didn't want to get hurt again. Or to hurt her. Maybe she was afraid, too. Finally, I swallowed and told her I'd call. We went out twice after that: a hockey game and a concert. We held hands and laughed a lot, but I was still afraid to take the next step—a kiss.

The night of Valentine’s Day, I picked up her up to go to dinner. When she let me into her apartment and closed the door behind us, I dug a red envelope out of my topcoat pocket and handed her a Valentine card, hoping my face wasn’t as red as the envelope.

“For you,” I said hoarsely, my blood racing. “Something to let you know I think you’re...great.  And I'm...”

"Sort of wary," she finished for me.

I nodded, happy she understood what was going on with me.

"Me, too," she said. "A bit wary." She picked up a red envelope from the coffee table that looked exactly like mine.Before she handed it to me, she said, “Won’t you be my Valentine?"

Her soft brown eyes were the warmest I'd ever seen. I felt my cheeks flush.  "Yes...yes, of course," I said. "As long as you'll be mine." I cradled her face in my palms. And kissed her on the lips the first time. Soundly.

The End
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