The Oldest Virgin In Oakdale. Wendy Warren
sounded almost offhand as he replied, “So was I.”
For a moment Eleanor didn’t move, could barely think. “You were?”
“Yeah.” Hands clasped behind his head, he leaned back in his chair. His eyes narrowed, and a smile appeared. “What kinds of flowers do girls like, Teach?”
“Flowers?”
As if it had grown hummingbird wings, Eleanor’s heart fluttered against her rib cage. It was happening! Not the way she’d planned—in the library courtyard, underneath the elm tree—but it was happening!
“Gardenias,” she said, anticipation singing in her veins. She would pay the balance on her beloved dress that afternoon.
“Gardenias,” Cole murmured. “Hmm. They’re white, aren’t they?”
“Yes.” She nodded happily. “With waxy petals. They’re subtropical of the genus Gardenia…”
Ohh! Eleanor cringed the moment the words left her lips. This was not the time for a botany lesson! “They smell nice,” she concluded, frowning when a new thought occurred. “Gardenias may be expensive, though. Carnations would be just as nice.”
“No problem.” Cole shrugged. Raising his arms, he stretched, pulling his T-shirt taut across his chest. “I’ve been saving money lately. You’ve fed me so many Oreos, I haven’t had to buy lunch for weeks.”
Eleanor blushed. She packed the icing-filled cookies in her lunch bag and brought them to the library on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays not because she liked them—chocolate gave her a headache—but because she knew Cole had a particular fondness for them. Lifting her shoulders, she murmured, “You like Oreos.”
“Yeah, I do. So,” he gazed up at the ceiling, “gardenias, hmm? Okay.”
Lowering his arms and leaning forward, he leaned over his textbook. “I hope you’re right, Teach. Because Sue Ann Corning strikes me as the type of girl who needs a lot of color.”
Eleanor’s smile froze. “Sue Ann Corning?” Her lips barely moved.
Cole nodded. “I asked her yesterday.” Glancing up, he grinned. “She said yes right away.”
Eleanor felt the sudden urge to guzzle air.
Sue Ann Corning? Sue Ann, who filed her nails in U.S. History class?Sue Ann? The same girl who’d flunked algebra two years running because she forgot what time the class started?
“You’re going to the prom with Sue Ann Corning.” It was a dazed statement, rather than a question. Sue Ann had earned quite a reputation in four years at Oakdale, but not for studying.
“Last week you said you thought we worked too hard, that we needed more fun. Remember?” Cole’s grin broadened. “I can’t think of anything more fun than a date with Sue Ann.”
Eleanor felt the rest of her congeal right along with her smile.
One moment—that’s all it took for her dream to thud to earth like a hunted duck. Cole enjoyed her company, sure…when passing midterms was the goal. When he wanted a date, he didn’t give her a second thought.
Frustration burned in her belly. For the first time since the start of their friendship, Eleanor felt as invisible in Cole’s eyes as she did with the other boys in their class. Except this was worse.
Well, the next time Cole Sullivan wanted to impress a scholarship committee, he could ask Sue Ann Corning to explain the difference between molecular and population genetics!
Hot with unshed tears, Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. For once in her life she didn’t stop to think. Picking up her copy of Neutrons in Motion, she flung the slim volume at him. Fortunately his reflexes were sharp, and the book glanced off his chin.
“Hey!” Putting a hand to his jaw, he stared at Eleanor in disbelief. “For crying out loud, Teach! What are you trying to do, kill me or something?”
“Sorry, I must have slipped. I was aiming at your thick skull!”
Quickly Eleanor gathered her belongings and fled to the door. Through glasses fogged with tears, she gave him a last look. “And don’t call me ‘Teach’!”
With the vehement command ringing in the air, she ran from the library.
Seated on a bar stool in her kitchen, Eleanor crossed her arms on the counter and buried her face in them. “I can’t believe I said that!” She raised her head slightly to peer at her cat. “You may find this hard to believe, Gus, but Mama was a little awkward in high school.”
Gus may have missed the irony in that revelation, but Eleanor couldn’t. Twelve years later she still felt like a blithering ninny around attractive men. Sighing, she sat up, rummaged in the bag from Yee’s and pulled out an egg roll, submerging it morosely in a container of plum sauce.
Her relationship with Cole never had regained its footing after that day. She’d commanded herself to forget about him, to view the experience as an opportunity for learning. And she supposed she had learned a few things—like never to confuse fantasy with reality. Or respect with romance.
If she was truly smart, she would stay home tomorrow night. She could swing by the bookstore on her way home from work, pick up a copy of Ten Stupid Things Women Do To Mess Up Their Lives, eat leftover Chinese food and go to bed early.
“That’s what I ought to do.”
She squeezed her eyes shut tight.
It wasn’t what she was going to do.
She’d acted like such a fool in her office today, stuttering and dropping things…
“I can’t let that be his last impression of me,” she muttered, crumbling the egg roll between her tense fingers. “The man probably thinks I still have a crush on him.”
She glanced at Gus, who gazed back critically.
“Don’t look at me like that. I just want to close the door once and for all on an up note. I’m entitled to some dignity.”
Bending, she scooped Gus into her arms. “This may be hard to grasp from your perspective, but at some point, Gus, a person has to decide whether she’s going to spend her whole life clucking like a chicken or roaring like a lion.”
Gus meowed. Like a cat.
“Very funny.”
Eleanor decided to roar. Like a woman.
Unfortunately, by 6:00 p.m. the following evening, there was a whole lot of clucking going on.
In half an hour Cole would arrive at the clinic to pick up Sadie and to take Eleanor out to dinner, and Eleanor knew she couldn’t face it.
So by 6:05 p.m. she’d talked herself out of the decision she’d made last night and into a new one. “I’m not going.”
Ten minutes later, having completed her rounds in the kennel, she gathered her things and walked to the reception area.
“I’m leaving, Chloe,” she told her assistant, striving for nonchalance while her heart beat hurry, hurry, hurry. “Mr. Sullivan will be here in—” unnecessarily, she checked her watch “—about fifteen minutes or so to pick up Sadie. I’d like you to bring her out to him and give him the postsurgical spiel.” Eleanor dug through her purse for her keys, avoiding eye contact with her perceptive receptionist. Palming her duties off on others was not her habit. “Sadie’s doing well, so she’ll just need to rest tonight, et cetera. Well, you know the routine, so I won’t worry about it. Okay. Goodbye.”
Pitching a bland smile in Chloe’s general direction, she headed for the door. “Oh! Also,” she added in a poorly feigned afterthought, “would you tell Mr. Sullivan I’m very sorry, but I can’t make it tonight, after all? Something came up. Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
“Hold it!” Chloe bounded around the front