Forget Me Not

One

Lingering over his after-dinner coffee, Richard Webb people watched. His gaze drifted back to her again. Nothing unusual in that, it almost always did. Ever since that Friday evening, weeks ago, when he had first wandered into the Prince Edward restaurant in the Meridian hotel.

It was because she was so easy on the eyes, he had decided. Her hair, long and dark -- about the color of fresh-brewed coffee -- fell in loose, shining waves around her shoulders. She had a slight widow's peak, and beneath it her eyes were a light color he'd never been close enough to make out. Her nose was straight and sharp without any cute little upturn at the end. Her look, when their eyes met, was, surprisingly, not cool and unfriendly. But there was a wary look in her eyes that spelled an unhappy time, a look he wished hadn't been there.

Finishing her coffee, she patted her lips dry with her napkin. Oh yes, her lips -- pleasantly full, not voluptuous. He drew a deep breath.

What would it be like to kiss her

It wasn't the first time that thought had troubled him.

The young girl with her was maybe nine or ten. About the same age Timmy would have been. A real charmer, the daughter had the same endearing lopsided grin as her mother. A grin which told him that whatever had put the wariness in mother's face had not been allowed to trouble the child. And they seemed to like each other. He thought that was a good sign.

His eyes moved back to mother. He liked the look of her. Always had. Okay, maybe her face was a little thin, but on her it looked good. He had checked for rings weeks ago. Actually, almost the first thing he had done. She wore none. So she wasn't married. Nor a widow, he speculated idly, or she would probably still be wearing her ring. Divorced Yes, that was it. That would account for the tense look around the eyes. Make her hard to approach too. Once burnt, twice shy, he'd heard.

Richard straightened abruptly as he realized what he had been fantasizing. Approach What was he thinking Her Why her She wasn't bright and glamorous. In fact, she seemed a little quiet.

But he'd never been able to get her out of his mind. There was something -- he searched his mind. Elegance. That's what it was, an air about her: quiet, refined. Elegant. He could take her anywhere, hell, he would take her everywhere. And no matter where they went, her hand on his arm, she would shine like a jewel. He knew it.

Another deep breath. There were other, more carnal considerations. He recalled his casual examinations of her figure over the weeks. Well, perhaps they'd been more than casual. Her shape was okay. No, he had to be fair... more than okay. Nice, actually. Tall. Trim. She was, perhaps, the merest trifle hippy. But then, trying to be fair again, he reasoned that because her waist was so little it just made her look that way. Otherwise, nothing about her was out of proportion, nothing really spectacular. Except... he'd had to force himself not to stare at her legs. Long and exquisitely shapely -- he looked down at his coffee cup, shifting his position and tugging at his trousers to ease his discomfort.