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Martha and Mona had arrived. The M&M girls, they called themselves. They made their way to me.
Martha arrived first. “Good morning, Jennie. Thought we’d come early today to see if you had any luck yet with—”
“Shh,” Mona said, interrupting her and cocking her head in Mr. Immaculate’s direction.
Martha looked over and put her hand to her mouth as she sat.
Mona took a seat as well. “Thank you for saving our table for us.”
“My pleasure,” I said. Each time they joined me, I couldn’t bring myself to refuse.
Martha leaned over the table to whisper, “Did you approach him yet?”
“Not yet,” I whispered back.
Mona adjusted her chair to see him better. “I don’t see what the big deal is. I’ll go talk to him, if you won’t.”
I reached out to touch Mona’s hand. “Please don’t. It’s something I need to do myself.”
“I agree,” Martha interjected. “We’re too old to be playing matchmaker.”
“Speak for yourself,” Mona shot back. “I’m not old; I’m mature.”
“You’re a year older than me,” Martha corrected her.
These two could go at it for an hour, each jabbing at the other in a light-hearted way.
Martha stood. “Do you want your regular?” she asked Mona.
“Yes, please, but less cinnamon this time,” Mona replied.
After Martha left for the counter, Mona leaned my way. “You should let me wave him over, and you could introduce yourself.”
I had to keep nixing her suggestions, because I couldn’t tell them my true intentions. “Thank you, but no. I need to do this my way.”
She let out a loud breath. “At this rate, you’ll be my age before you meet a man.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your age,” I assured her.
That earned a smile. “You’re a dear.”
I glanced toward Mr. Immaculate. He’d put his cup down. His eyes got wider as he turned to the remainder of the article on page three.
I smiled as his jaw clenched.
The story corroded the confident exterior of the man, and wild anger grew in his eyes. His hands balled into fists as he probably planned his revenge against the writer—something along the lines of a meeting in a dark alley where he could pulverize him. Or would he choose the anonymity of a bullet from long range? Right now he was the rhino you didn’t want to be in front of.
Mona giggled. “I saw that.”
“What?”
“You like what you see when you look at him.”
She couldn’t possibly comprehend what made me smile this morning.
Mr. Immaculate stood to leave. He folded up his paper, tossed his cup, and headed for the door. His countenance showed the combination of anger and frustration I’d hoped for. The door closed behind him.
Martha returned with their coffees, and I excused myself shortly after that.
