The Corner Table at Mickey's Pt. 04

"I'm good."

"No, all the way back. Keep walking so you don't tighten up."

For the next few minutes, the two walked silently along the trees surrounding the empty playground. Jim felt his heart rate return to normal and the ache in his side fade. His legs still felt like rubber, but aside from that and the fact that his clothes were sodden with sweat, he felt okay. He wondered if maybe there was something to that whole endorphin thing. "Okay, I've got my breath back."

"Good ... on account of you're gonna need it." With that, she slid up against him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She wrinkled her nose but kept smiling. "You stink." He leaned in for a congratulatory smooch, but a little kiss wasn't what she had in mind.

Her hand tightened in his hair as she pulled him tighter against her body until he could feel the curve of her breasts even through the sports bra she wore. Her lips parted and her tongue slid into his mouth. Her pelvis rocked forward until it was pressing directly against his, and she gave a slight grind to her hips that sent a thrill through him as she ravaged his mouth. Finally, she pulled back and took a deep breath herself. "That," she said with satisfaction, "was to let you know that I'm proud of you."

He made some deprecating sound.

She stepped back and held up her phone with the stopwatch app showing. It read 17:21. "Some months ago we went on a walk together, and it took us twenty-one minutes to go one mile, and at the end, you were sweating a bit and not holding up your end of the conversation. You just went two miles. You went from twenty-one minutes a mile to well under nine minutes. If you're not proud of that then, well, I'll just be proud for you."

"Pfft! You didn't even think I could do it."

"Of course I did," she said dismissively.

Now it was Jim's turn for a mocking expression.

She smiled. "I did! Honest. But sometimes pride's a bigger incentive than encouragement, and I was willing to use all the weapons at my disposal to keep you going. After all ..." She gave him a too-innocent look. "I never said I didn't think you could do it. You must have misinterpreted something."

He laughed, "I see. Well, payback's a bitch." He looked at her for a moment and then said with an innocence of his own, "Speaking of incentives ..."

"Yes?"

"I do believe there was something along the lines of an extra-special treat tonight." He waved his hands about his head to imply vague memory. "Help me out here?"

"Why, yes, Jim," she said with mock gravity, "there was indeed such an incentive set up. Thank you for reminding me." They both started to smile. "Since you did so well, I'll let you choose: Café Souer or Migliano's."

The smile faded from Jim's face. "What?"

"You've been so good with watching what you ate these last months that I thought I'd treat you to a reprieve for one night. Dessert, wine, you name it. So, which would you rather have, French or Italian?"

His face was a postcard for disappointment. "Either's fine."

She cocked her head quizzically. "What's wrong? Were you expecting something else?"

"No." He didn't quite meet her eyes. "That sounds great. Anyway, let me go shower this stink off."

"Hold on a minute!" Her face cleared as she realized something. "You were! You thought you were going to get lucky if you made the time, didn't you?" She looked slightly irritated.

"No--" He stopped when she just raised an eyebrow. "Okay, honestly? Yes, I did think that. Okay?"

If anything, her expression got darker.

He was suddenly irritated by her irritation. His voice sharpened. "Or maybe that's just what you wanted me to think. 'All the weapons,' you said. Hint at sex and I'll go a little harder, huh?" Damn right she had implied it!

Her forehead tightened. "Oh, so now I'm a tease."

"Forget it! Whatever. I don't want to fight--" He stopped as she started giggling.

"Oh, I'm just messing with you. But you look so serious I can't keep a straight face. I'm sorry. I was just playing."

"Oh." He didn't know what else to say; he was still irritated and unsure of his ground.

She stopped laughing when she read his expression. "I've always intended to take you out to dinner as a reward when you got to this point." She saw some sadness move into his eyes and felt guilty. Teasing was one thing; making someone feel pushed away was another.

"And," she said, reaching up to touch his cheek, "after dinner we're going to go to your place, and I'm going to crawl into your bed and not crawl out until tomorrow morning. And then it will only be after a repeat of what we're going to do tonight."

She waited for it to sink in, then continued, "That was going to happen tonight no matter whether it took you eighteen minutes or forty this morning. Your goal this morning was a time. Mine was simply to make you feel supported and encouraged."

Jim's face showed confusion now.

"Our first time isn't going to be as some kind of a reward. It's going to be because I love you. The truth is, if you had asked me any time in the last few weeks, I'd probably have said yes. I didn't know if you would--I suspected what you thought--but if you hadn't had to do inventory the morning after the charity gala, you'd have come in for more than a drink."

There was no trace of the sadness, disappointment, or confusion on Jim's face now. His eyes were crinkled in happiness as he leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips. "Love me, huh?"

"Yes, I do. And, right now, I also lust you quite a bit!"

"Lust you? What kind of English is that?"

"The kind that says you better take a nap this afternoon to recover your strength." She was grinning at her own humor and looking at him expectantly.

"What?" he asked after a few seconds of silence.

"I told you I loved you."

He was a smart guy and quick on the uptake. "And I love you too, Mallory Alexis Coleman, more than I've ever loved any woman."

The kiss was a definite promissory note on the night to come and all the days thereafter.

Even though he'd only seen her two brief times, Tom recognized Jim's ex-wife when she slid onto the barstool in front of him one Friday evening. He kept the knowledge off his face. "What can I get you, ma'am?"

"A Manhattan?" As he started mixing the drink, she asked, "Does Jim Watson still come in here?" At his inquiring look, she explained. "I know him. I haven't seen him in a while and wondered how he's doing. I was dropping a friend down the street and ... I don't know. I just remembered he liked to come here and was curious."

"Occasionally he does. He might be in later."

Ten minutes later, he moved back to her thinking she wanted his attention. Her gaze, however, was fixed over his shoulder. "He looks different from the last time I saw him."

Tom turned to see Jim and Mallory coming through the door. Considering Lori's comment, he tried to look at Jim with fresh eyes, ones that weren't blinded by the gradualness of the changes. The chinos were at least two sizes smaller, maybe more. The polo shirt revealed arms that were, well, not shredded, but more defined than they had been. The haircut was a little less "barbershop business clip" and a little more "my girl likes it this way."

At that thought, Tom's eyes moved to Mallory. The nice skirt and flowery blouse set off the tan she'd picked up while they were in St. John. The hair was pulled back in the way Jim loved, and the deep red of her lipstick emphasized one of her best features. She looked damn good.

He grinned inside, remembering Jim's I'm-laughing-but-don't-think-I'm-kidding comment when Mallory suggested he might look nice with slightly longer hair. "If I have to put up with a fifty-dollar haircut when a fifteen-dollar one would do, then I think my girl should be in something other than a tracksuit or yoga pants when she meets me for dinner."

They had all chuckled, and Mallory had grumbled good-naturedly about "coming straight from the gym." However, the next week there'd been a group text from her early in the day ...

≪ Let's make it 6:45 from now on instead of 6:30

... and she never again showed up in anything other than date clothes for their regular Friday dinners.

He'd teased her about it that first time. He'd expected her to flush and tell him to mind his own business. Instead, completely unembarrassed, she'd said, "If seeing me this way makes him feel good, it's just another little way to say, 'I love you.' And that smile right there"--a nod of her chin in Jim's direction--"makes me feel good. So, win–win." She'd winked and walked over to the table, leaving him to rethink the sweats and old T-shirts he tended to wear around Shannon ... and liking the result when he did.

Now, he watched the couple head over to the table with the Reserved sign, tossing cheerful hellos to other regulars, stopping for a second at one booth where Mallory put out her left hand for the woman's inspection. Turning back to Lori, he gave in to the tiny impulse for mischief.

"Yeah. Mallory knew he wanted to look better, so she decided to help him. A little guidance, a ton of encouragement, a bit of sweating alongside him, and--voilà!--her man's lookin' good. So what if he needed a little help?" He shrugged. "Doesn't everybody? It's what a partner does."

He watched the barb fly home and the shadow of deep regret cross her face.

"Anything else?" He turned to close her out when she shook her head. As he handed over her change, the bell on the door jangled again. Robin and DH laughed their way into the room.

"You good?" he said to his relief at the other end of the bar, getting a thumbs up.

"Shannon," he called through the swinging door, "the others are already here. Frankie knows how to cook without you hovering. Move that pretty little ass of yours." He laughed as a kitchen towel caught him in the face and again at the smack on his butt as she slipped past him into the room, scooting fast enough that his return swing caught only air.

I hope you enjoyed the two of them finding a second chance.

Thanks to those who gave it a read to find the mistakes after my seventh, "absolute final" proofread.

Drop me an email if you're so inclined, even if it's to point out something I got wrong. I enjoy the personal connection.

--C