Not Quite Perfect
Page 15

Mary made it to her office, which was a rented space in a professional building that held a single sitting area, a comfortable chair for her, and a desk against a wall surrounded by glass.
Thirty minutes after she arrived to her office, her first client showed up. Four hours after that, she was locking the door.
A deli around the corner from her office was her go-to choice for a late lunch. They had a counter that wrapped around the kitchen and offered her a view of the cooks as they moved like squirrels scrambling to store food away for the winter.
She greeted the hostess by name and moved past the line of people waiting for booths. She set her notebook on the counter and tucked her purse under her feet. “Hey, Carla.” The waitress smiled as she passed.
“Hi, Mary. The usual?”
“Creature of habit.”
Carla waved and kept walking.
Mary opened her notebook and scribbled a few things about her first client. She wrote down her observations and her predictions. So far, the single mother of two was making classic post-divorce decisions that were less than healthy for her fragile state of mind. The woman was a man pleaser, a typical middle child who felt the need to make everything great for everyone, often neglecting her own needs in the process. Now, two years after her divorce, she was entering into a relationship identical to the one she’d just left. As much as Mary could see that each week when they spoke, telling the client that her new guy was just like the old one wasn’t seeping in. Mary spun things around this week, asking about her client’s past more than her current life and comparing the two. Her client left the office in a state of confusion.
The woman was thinking . . . and that was what Mary wanted.
“Is anyone sitting here?” a male voice asked to her right.
Mary glanced up with a smile and nudged her notebook away from the other dining space. “Looks like you are.”
The man wore a suit. Probably walked from one of the many professional buildings in the area. He lifted a menu and blew out a breath. “That’s a lot of choices,” he said.
He was obviously speaking to her.
She took him in from the corner of her eye. Handsome enough . . . a little younger than she preferred, but a nice smile and kind eyes. “I haven’t had a sandwich here I didn’t like.”
Carla set an iced tea by her place mat and joined the conversation. “You’ve only eaten one sandwich on the whole menu.”
Mary felt her cheeks warm. “And I liked it.”
The stranger next to her laughed. “And which sandwich is that?”
“The Reuben,” both Mary and Carla said at the same time.
He placed the menu down and offered a nod. “Then that’s what I’ll have.”
Carla waved her pen in the air.
Mary placed her focus back on her notes to find herself being pulled out of them once again.
“Is it always this busy in here?”
“Weekdays. The breakfast crowd on Saturday and Sunday keeps it open on the weekends.”
“It sounds like you come here a lot.”
The stranger had settled into his seat, twisting his body just enough for her to know that he wasn’t going to let her ignore him. So instead of being rude, she went ahead and put her pen down and closed her notebook.
“At least once a week. Are you new to the area?”
“I started my new job at Owen, Peters, and Masons last week.”
She recognized the name of the firm. Their offices sat behind the building she was in. “So you’re an attorney?”
He shook his head. “An accountant.”
She pushed her unruly hair over her shoulder.
“I know, boring, huh?”
“Numbers are important,” she told him.
“They do a lot of forensic accounting over there. Something I specialize in.”
“Congratulations on your new position then.”
He lifted up his glass of water and she followed his lead. “And to new friends.”
Mary went ahead and lowered her glass and extended her hand. “Mary Kildare.”
“Kent Duvall.” He held her hand a fraction too long.
Instead of it upsetting her, she looked a little closer and saw the lift in his eyes. The one that said he liked what he saw.
How had that happened? She hadn’t been so much as glanced toward in months, now she had a date with Glen before the week ran out and Mr. Duvall was giving her the eye.
Carla arrived with two Reubens, giving them both something to do other than talk.
“That is one thick sandwich.”
It took both hands to pick it up, and still pickled cabbage managed to drip onto her plate. “Enjoy.”
It was salty, fatty, and sinful, but oh so good. Mary enjoyed her first bite and watched Kent as he took his. He smiled as the flavors hit his tongue.
“That’s amazing,” he said once he swallowed.
Mary acknowledged with a hum and went in for bite number two.
Kent quizzed her on other places close by to catch lunch and asked where happy hour took place when the mood struck.
She offered lunch suggestions but explained that she didn’t do happy hour close by and he’d have to ask his office staff for that connection.
By the time she’d made it through half of her sandwich, Carla had already dropped off a small box for the other half along with the bill. As often as she tried, getting through the whole meal proved impossible. Besides, lunch the next day or dinner that night was instant.
Her phone buzzed in her purse as she finished boxing her lunch.