Mr. Wonderful Read Online Free

glad of that. She said she wanted to meet someone with other interests than picking up women. That seemed kind of funny to me, since her main interest was picking up men.
    I don’t know why I let her give me so much advice. She was actually five years younger than me. But at twenty-two, she’d been married and divorced, so that gave her some seniority over me--at least that was her excuse. Even though I was twenty-seven, I’d never been married, not even engaged. But I did have a good job as a kindergarten teacher. That was another thing that drove Sophie wild.
    “How can you ever meet anyone being a kindergarten teacher?” she often asked me. “It’s got to be the worst possible place in the world.”
    “I’m not a teacher in order to meet anybody,” I’d reply. I shouldn’t have to explain it. I loved teaching. I especially loved kindergarten. Every fall when those little kids got off the bus on the first morning of school, so full of curiosity and innocence, I knew I was in the right field. I’d explained that to Sophie over and over, but it just went in one ear and out the other.
    Still, we were the best of friends. It always amazed our parents, because growing up we had no use for each other at all. She was a spoiled little kid, as far as I was concerned, and by the time she was a teenager, I had gone away to college. But I was in her wedding when she married Jake, and I was her shoulder to cry on during the divorce. It was painful for me too. It hurt me to see her suffer. I should be grateful she’d bounced back and was in full form husband-hunting. Not just for me, but for herself as well.
    Fortunately for Sophie, she was able to put it all behind her, and now she seemed to lead the charmed life of a swinging single.
    “Look at this place.” She threw up her hands dramatically, and looked around the cottage I rented in the suburbs. It was convenient to my school, but as she reminded me, not to much else.
    “What’s wrong with it?” I asked. We stood in the middle of my living room. A chintz sofa was along one wall, with my cat Ginger curled up on it. Braid rugs lay on the wide planked floor, a leather reclining chair was by the fireplace, and my antique oak roll-top desk stood in the corner.
    “It’s like you,” she stated, “old fashioned, even frumpy.”
    I guess I could have taken offence at her assessment of my taste. But I figure one person’s frumpy is another person’s cozy. Sisters are the only ones who can get away with saying things like that. I liked the room the way it was. If it was old fashioned and frumpy, it was comfortable and it suited me. But I did let Sophie talk me into getting some new clothes for school that fall, and that very day we headed for the shopping center.
    We had a great time shopping. Sophie would flip through the racks of clothes like an expert and pull out skirts and pants, tops and dresses. While I stayed in the dressing room, she’d shuttle back and forth with the same dress in two sizes just to be sure one would fit. We got hysterical with laughter as I tried on a red linen suit that hung on me like a tablecloth.
    “Perfect for the holidays,” she hooted. “Especially with a garnish of mashed potatoes around the edges.” The saleswoman did not appreciate her attempt at humor and glared at her purposefully. I admitted I could probably stop traffic in that suit, but did I really want to? We found some nice things too, like a pale peach dress with a long jacket in a soft knit fabric. The outfit seemed to bring a glow to my face.
    Something to wear to Open House , I thought. That was the first event of the school year when I’d meet the parents of my little cherubs.
    We stopped at the chocolate-chip cookie counter in the mall, and I was trying to decide between milk chocolate and semisweet, when I felt a tug at my denim skirt. I looked down and the face of one of my former kindergartners looked up at me shyly.
    “Hi, Shauna,” I said, stooping down to