One True Theory of Love (10 page)

Perhaps best, he was clearly happy to see her. He walked toward her with intention, his eyes focused on hers with a captive intensity. Even the receptionist noticed and turned to study Meg with a new appreciation.

When Ahmed was a few feet from her, he stopped. He was close enough that Meg could have kissed him if she wanted to. And yes, she wanted to—she could hardly stop herself, actually. This was
crazy,
this whatever-it-was between them.

With a roguish grin, Ahmed extended his hand, and after he had his hand in hers, he was disinclined to let hers go. “Thanks for coming,” he said. “I haven’t seen you without Henry before.”

“He’s more or less an appendage,” Meg said, glad Henry wasn’t there. He’d steal all of Ahmed’s attention, and Meg was quite enjoying it. The way he looked at her made her feel beautiful.

“Come on back.” They walked side by side down the corridor, which was narrow enough that it was harder for them not to touch than it would have been for her to take his elbow or for him to put a hand on the small of her back,
sizzle sizzle
. Meg simply wasn’t brave enough, and she supposed Ahmed was being gentlemanly, damn him.

Ahmed’s office was of a generous size but otherwise unrevealing. He had only stock framed Tucson prints, a few standard plaques, and fake plants.

“No pictures of family,” Meg said.

His eyes were pleased she’d noticed. “My father’s a bit of a disapproving sort of fellow, and I don’t exactly want his face staring at me all day. Glaring at me, I should say. And my grandparents—well, I have a picture of them at home.”

“Are they still alive?”

“No.”

“Ah,” Meg said. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.”

Meg walked to his large picture window. He had a perfect view of A Mountain, which was marred only by the unavoidable view of I-10 that went along with it. “Do you watch the fireworks from here on the Fourth?”

“I have.” He stood a few feet from her, studying her. “I like that dress.”

I’d like you out of that dress,
was what Meg heard. She swallowed hard and her heart pound-pound-
pounded.
“You said you have something for me?”

“I do.” When he leaned past her to get to his desk, Meg honestly and ridiculously worried she might pass out. From lust! Was such a thing possible? His neck, his jawbone, his
cheekbones
, for God’s sake, taunted her, dared her to engage. She sighed helplessly. Regardless of what happened with Ahmed, it was time to rethink her vow of celibacy.

Ahmed picked up a sealed envelope from his desk and handed it to her. Stapled to the envelope was the business card of Samuel McFarland, private investigator. “It’s not very romantic,” he said, “but I’m really hoping you’ll reconsider your policy about not dating. I know you’re a single mom and you’ve got Henry to worry about and I tried to put myself in your shoes to see what . . . well . . .” He swallowed and cleared his throat. “I imagine you’ve got a lot to consider before you’d say yes to even a simple dinner date, so I thought maybe you might find this helpful as you think about it. Because I’m officially throwing it out there. Consider the request-for-a-date gauntlet thrown down, Meg Clark. You can let me know your answer at your convenience. On your own timetable. Say, by Friday.”

Meg laughed and felt the flush of delight in her face. “That was quite the . . . quite the
something
.” She waved the envelope. “What is it? Should I open it now?”

“I had a private investigator do a background check on me.” Meg tilted her head at him, curious, and he shrugged sheepishly. “Kind of weird, I know, but this buddy of mine, this guy I run with in the mornings, his daughter got massively taken to the cleaners by her boyfriend, and when my buddy got hold of his credit report and his criminal record, there were red flags all over it. So I just . . . I don’t know. A background check might not tell you who I am, but at least it should give you a good indication of who I’m not.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not a bad guy, Meg. At least, I don’t think I am—I haven’t actually read the report! If I’m a bad guy, I don’t know it. But you can call him and talk to him if you want. His card’s right there.”

Trying to steady her breathing, Meg stared at Ahmed, dumbfounded. He
got
her—even though he barely knew her, he understood her essence. He recognized the scared yet hopeful heart inside her that wanted love and yet wanted even worse not to mess up.

Ahmed might think it unromantic to hand her an envelope that laid bare the official facts and figures of which he was composed, but he was beyond wrong.

Hands down, it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her.

“I think it’s kind of creepy,” Amy said when Meg called to tell her about the background check. “It’s like he’s trying too hard.”

Meg had just left city hall. She’d made her way to the grass behind the library, found a shady spot, sat down and opened the envelope. The report was blessedly innocuous, with nothing to cause alarm. Beyond a reasonable mortgage balance, Ahmed had no debt. No arrests. Two speeding tickets. No lawsuits of any kind filed against him. But the fickle happiness she’d allowed herself crumbled at Amy’s words. It seemed to Meg that he’d been trying exactly the right amount. But then again, she wasn’t the best judge of men, as history had proven.

Glumly, she stared at the short Guatemalan-looking man who carried an armful of rose bouquets and was systematically approaching everyone. No one was buying. Meg hated being solicited, especially when Henry was with her, which was nearly always, and she dreaded the man’s needy sales pitch. Besides, roses made her sneeze.

“Creepy?” she said. “Trying too hard? You really think so?”

“Background checks are meaningless,” Amy said. “Most child molesters are never caught.”

“But the vast majority of people aren’t child molesters,” Meg said, even as she knew Amy was right. “And I just don’t think he is one.”

“What makes you say that?” Amy said. “To an outside observer, he seems to be doing everything possible to get into Henry’s world. Running into you at the coffee shop—”

“We ran into him,” Meg said. “He was there first. I already told you that.”

The Guatemalan rose seller was working his way toward Meg. She pressed her hand against her purse and shifted her direction away from him.

“Playing chess with Henry,” Amy continued. “Drawing out personal information from him like where he plays soccer and that you’re single . . .”

“Henry’s the one to blame for all that,” Meg said. “In fact, Ahmed seemed uncomfortable with how much Henry was telling him. He sort of pulled back and didn’t engage with him until I said it was okay.”

“And yet then he showed up at Henry’s soccer game, using that same information.” Amy was making everything sound so nefarious that Meg felt compelled to play devil’s advocate, even while her insides felt hacked up by the possibility that Amy might be right.

“You sound like Mom,” Meg said. “Like a nicer version of Mom. Does there have to be something wrong with him?”

“If you want me to sit here and say he sounds like the greatest guy in the world, fine,” Amy snapped. “Just tell me that’s what you want. I was under the impression you wanted my honest opinion.”

“And I was under the impression you thought I should date him,” Meg said. “In fact, I clearly remember you telling me that in your kitchen a few days back. You wanted me to date him for you, because your own love life was so . . .”

“Pathetic,” Amy said miserably. “I know. Don’t listen to me. I swear I’m not myself these days. I walk around feeling
mad
all the time, and then I feel bad for feeling mad.”

“I’m telling you, hire a housecleaner,” Meg said. “I know I would if I could afford it, even though we’ve got only eight hundred square feet.” Amy’s poking had rekindled the fear Meg had been trying to smother. Now she wondered about Ahmed’s agenda. Maybe he
was
a master manipulator. But why? To what end?

“I should,” Amy said. “But it feels wrong. I’m a stay-at-home mom! It’s my job to keep the house clean! I already get the impression that David thinks I sit around eating bonbons all day. Although, what is a bonbon, anyway? Have you ever actually eaten one?”

“It’s your job to raise your daughters,” Meg said. “To read them stories and lie on the floor and play games with them, right? To linger with them. To live on their little-kid time. That’s what you don’t want to hire out for. The house? Let it go. Let someone else worry about it. Your house should be your refuge, your sanctuary. Not something you resent. I think bonbons are those fluffy things.”

“Chocolates?”

“I really don’t know,” Meg said. “I don’t even know if people make them anymore, actually. Maybe they were just a fifties thing.”

“I’m doing it,” Amy said resolutely. “I’m going to find a housecleaner before the week’s out. Someone who does laundry, too. I can at least have someone come in every other week—
that
I can justify. I’m
sure
that someone still makes bonbons.”

“You don’t have to justify anything,” Meg said.

“Neither do you,” Amy said. “If your gut’s telling you that Ahmed’s a good guy, then he is.”

Meg stared at the background report. Ahmed wouldn’t have given it to her if he hadn’t known it would be clean. And sealing the envelope had been overkill. He
was
trying too hard. She folded up the report and shoved it back in its envelope.

Meg sneezed. Without turning to see whether the rose-wielding man was near, she leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and put her head down. Hopefully, the guy could take a hint. Although probably not. Men seldom did.

“Men are idiots,” she said. “They’re either criminals or idiots.”

Amy groaned. “No, no! Don’t regress because of me! Just because I’m always mad at David these days doesn’t mean Ahmed’s not a great guy. You’ve been on such a nice upswing lately. I’m sure Ahmed’s on the up-and-up, and I’m sure the two of you will fall madly in love and go on to have oodles and oodles of happy babies like you always wanted. Oops, hey. I’ve got to run. Kelly just woke up from her nap and she’s calling. I don’t want Maggie to wake up if at all possible.”

Startled, Meg straightened, cotton-brained all of a sudden. “Did I really?”

“Really what?”

“Want more kids.”

“Oh my God, you don’t remember?” Amy said. “You had their names all picked out when you were, like, ten years old, and all the girls had flower names. Iris and Heather and Rose and that sort of thing. You couldn’t decide if you wanted four kids or six, but you for sure wanted an even number.”

“So everyone would have someone and no one would be left out.” Meg remembered now. “How on earth did I forget that?”

“I don’t know, babe,” Amy said. “Maybe reality set in when you had Henry and saw how much work one kid was. Plus, you know . . . no husband, no babies, unless you’re turning all Angelina Jolie on me.”

Meg laughed. As much as she wished she could be a fearless collector of kids à la Angelina Jolie, the truth was she was a conservative girl at heart—a single, unmarried mom by circumstance, not by choice.

As soon as Meg clicked off her cell phone, the Guatemalan man was in front of her.

“Flowers, pretty lady?” His teeth were remarkably crooked, but very white. And his smile was so hopeful that it almost broke Meg’s heart.

“No, thank you.” She sneezed.

“Bless you.” The man was just a few inches taller than Henry and had one of those thick-skinned, ageless faces. “Do you know why people say
bless you
when somebody sneezes?”