My Dream Man by Marie Solka Page A

kitchen chair.
    Maybe it was just a matter of mentally letting go. Or maybe this was my reward for not giving in and calling him. All I knew is I’d pulled a Mrs. Myszkowski, and it felt pretty cool.

Chapter 15
    Friday night was all I could think about for the rest of the week. I picked out a great outfit, planned how I’d style my hair, settled on a nail polish color. I wondered if I should buy a new bra and panty set, then dismissed the idea. Then I exercised my woman’s prerogative and changed my mind. It couldn’t hurt to be prepared, just in case.
    I poked around Victoria’s Secret but didn’t see anything that appealed to me. I ended up checking Nordstrom, and it was there that I struck gold. There were so many choices it made me dizzy. Granted, some of the stuff was pricey, but I could afford it. Besides, I wanted to look my best for my dream man.
    After browsing I bought a couple different sets and went home. I felt bad Tabby wasn’t along since I knew how much she loved shopping, but this wasn’t the type of thing you did with your little sister. I mean, we’d jumped rope together. I’d helped her with homework. It didn’t feel right to ask her which lingerie made me look sexiest.
    On the drive home, I remembered something my mom had said about the last time she’d ordered lingerie from a catalog. She was so disappointed when it arrived. I had asked her if it was bad quality, and she said no. She had liked how it looked on the model, but on her, well, it just wasn’t the same.
    My mom looked great for her age. Not many forty-seven-year-olds were as slim as she was. But I knew exactly what she meant when she said aging was a bitch. I saw that firsthand with my patients.
    On Tuesday I saw Mr. Varo again. And once again I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to look nice in case Greg was home, but when I got there he was still at work.
    “How are you feeling this week Michael?” He didn’t seem to be in great spirits.
    “Oh. You know. My blood sugar is a little higher than it should be, and I’m having some issues with my foot.”
    I took off his sock and noticed a wound. “I’ll clean that and apply a medicated bandage to help it heal.”
    Mr. Varo nodded. He was unusually quiet as I went about my business. Once I got him fixed up I asked, “You’re sticking to the diet, right?”
    He looked sheepish all of a sudden. “Mostly.”
    I frowned. “You know I can’t help much unless you’re committed to doing your part. You want to live to see your grandkids someday, right? To be able to play with them?”
    He brightened at the mention of offspring. “Of course. Any chance you’re gonna take care of that for me?”
    I grinned. “How about Greg and I go on a date first? See if he even likes me.”
    “Oh, he likes you,” Mr. Varo said.
    I raised an eyebrow.
    “He asked me for your number,” he stated, like that meant we were going to ride off into the sunset together.
    “He could’ve just been being nice since I helped out when he was sick.”
    Mr. Varo shook his head. “I know my son Sam. He usually walks around here with his head in the clouds, muttering to himself like a madman about data and robots. But he’s been different lately. He’s been bringing you up all the time. He’ll mention something you said or did when you were here. He’s always talking about you.”
    I sat up straight and beamed. “He talks about me?”
    “Yep.”
    “And here I thought he was just taking me out to be polite.”
    Mr. Varo laughed. “My son would never do that.”
    “Why not?”
    He shook his head and smiled. “Because he would think that’s a waste of time. Greg places more value on gaining knowledge than being polite. He’d rather study than watch TV or socialize. And getting him to do either is almost unheard of. So when he asked for your number, I knew he really liked you.”
    So it wasn’t a mercy dinner. I was glad I bought expensive lingerie.
    Thursday night I did some last minute