by Amy Rose
I smile at the machine. “You’re out of luck. No money went to you for that baby. It’s been handed down for generations. It was my great-grandmother’s.”
The sewing machine in question is one that holds so many wonderful memories. Those days when I would sit beside my grandma, back when I was only a little girl, talking to her about the latest toy that I loved, all the while she would be hard at work sewing me a one-of-a-kind outfit, a dress or a skirt. I miss that woman, every day. I feel a tear spring to my eye. Elliot must have noticed it as he moves forward and raises his finger to my cheek, brushing it away. “Are you okay, Angela, recalling a special memory perhaps?”
I just look at him and nod. I allow myself to push my cheek into his hand a little, and I’m surprised and relieved that he doesn’t pull away. I don’t trust myself to speak just yet as I would more than likely have a cracked voice. I just need him to give me a minute, just one minute and I’ll be okay.
“Are you hungry? I wasn’t sure what you ate so I ordered a few things.” He drops his hand from my cheek and takes a hold of my hand, gently pulling me around to the bar stool sitting at the breakfast bar. He pulls it out and signals for me to sit down. This is my house and he is going to get everything ready? I think not.
“Thank you, but I won’t be sitting. I’m the one who knows where everything is located in the kitchen. Would you like a bowl or a plate? Maybe we will need both?”
He puts his forefinger to his lips for a second, seeming to pretend to consider his answer. “Definitely both.” He smiles as he starts to unpack the containers. These aren’t your everyday, usual plastic containers, the ones you usually get from the takeout shops around here. No, these were crockery plates and bowls with lids that clipped around the edges. I had no idea that Vinnie’s served their takeout this way, especially since we used to dine in when we felt like some delicious Italian. Maybe they do, for the right customer.
“Okay, so for the main course we have a margherita pizza, fettuccine carbonara, spaghetti marinara, Italian steak and fries, and a chicken parmigiana. Then if you’re still hungry, I grabbed some dessert that consists of a vanilla and raspberry panna cotta and vanilla cream cannoli.” Elliot went all out on this meal. So many different options, there is absolutely no chance that we are going to get through all of this tonight.
I will have to contribute some funds towards this banquet of sorts. My mouth starts to water, “Well we most definitely have a selection. Remind me to give you some money for this before you leave.” I collect the various containers and carry them to the dining table, along with placemats, plates, bowls and cutlery, placing the meals in the midpoint of the table and then setting our places, before returning to the kitchen to place the desserts in the fridge.
I return to the table and take the seat opposite Elliot. “I am guessing that you must be hungry?”
Looking up at me he smiles. “I had an early lunch. Ladies first,” he offers. I tip my head and smile. Reaching out, I select a piece of pizza to begin with, I notice that Elliot does the same. “So what do you think of my business?”
I chewed and swallowed a mouthful of delicious pizza that I was enjoying and answered with the first thing that popped into my head “In my opinion, it sounds like you’re following your dream. That’s a wonderful thing to do. Not many people get that opportunity in life. What’s that quote I’m thinking of? Do what you love and it never feels like work? That’s not quite it but you get the gist of what I mean.”
I take another mouthful to give me a moment and hope that he would speak again. Luckily for me he doesn’t disappoint, “I know what you mean. I do love what I do.” He reaches out and picks up the plate with the steak and fries. He cuts the steak in half and places one half on his plate along with a small number of fries and holds the plate out offering the other remaining amount to me,
“Yes please,” I answer to his wordless offer.
“So, what is your dream job? Or are you also living your dream of being a real estate agent?” His voice is laced with curiosity. How would I answer this without sounding like a sycophant?
“Although I do enjoy my career as a real estate agent, a great deal, actually, it’s not my dream job. I guess the closest career I could think of for my dream job would be very similar to your path,” I answer.
Elliot places his cutlery down beside his plate and clasps his hands together. The way he is holding his hands causes his shirt sleeves to pull up his arms slightly which give a view of his wrists, my eyes are drawn to his left wrist where I can see that he is wearing a simple gold antique watch with a leather band. This makes me smile.
Knowing that he is expecting more of an explanation I decide to give myself a moment to think, knowing that this would be beneficial. I lift my glass and take a small sip of wine, once I have placed it back on the table, I prepare to continue. “Let me explain,” I offer.
~ Chapter Twelve ~
“Please do, Angela.” He, too, was smiling. His tone completely absent of condescension. He reaches for his glass of wine and finishes the last few drops of the delicious wine. He excuses himself from the table and retrieves the remaining wine from the kitchen counter. Returning, his eyes lock with mine. “Would you like some more wine?” I nod, I’m going to need it to get through this explanation. What was I thinking telling him his job was my dream job? He will be expecting a full explanation now, I can’t very well say ‘never mind.’ Elliot fills first my glass, then his own. Once his task is completed, he returns to his recently vacated seat.
“Okay, so now to explain myself properly, I am not a sycophant, Elliot, I can promise you that. My dream job is discovering older homes, homes that come with a history all of their own, homes that have been abandoned or just been run down, not taken care of, so to speak. Once I have found a home that meets the criteria, I would then restore it, slowly, making sure it’s completed with period correct fixtures and features, with a couple of exceptions of course. I would ensure that certain important items including electrical and plumbing are updated to meet today’s building codes and regulations.”
I notice Elliot is nodding in agreement while he is listening to what I am saying and he is ever so slightly leaning forward, as though he is hanging on my every word. “Once they are completely up to date, I would then set out to find the same period correct furniture to complete the home, that way if you were to walk into the home when it was completely restored, you would feel as though you have gone back in time, so to speak.” I could feel from my cheeks that I was smiling my most happy and content smile. I was talking about something I loved, so I didn’t surprise me that my face was full of emotion. “So in a roundabout way, Mr. Sands, your job is my dream job. You are able to purchase these homes and complete the restorations, you then sell for a profit. Which of course is the dream for us all. I haven’t completed one as yet, one day, though, I can guarantee you that one day I will have completed one myself.”
I am taken aback and surprised when he puts his hands together in a small round of applause. My emotions quickly swivel from being excited to feeling slightly embarrassed. I absolutely hate being the center of attention and I can’t help but feel as though, in some way, he is making fun of me. I try to push it away by wrapping an arm around my waist and giving an awkward, small bow, the best I could do while seated at a dining table. Hoping my display will be enough to finish the topic, and move on.
At first, he just looks at me, not saying a word, a minute or maybe even two passes before he breaks his silence, “You are a very intriguing person, Angela. Do you know that?” Elliot asks me, before I can even consider what to say to answer his question he speaks again. “When my assistant told me about you, she mentioned that you were suggestive, including ideas as to be sympathetic to the building, to keep its charm, but also knowing that the renovations she was speaking about are necessary in today’s times. I also noticed that you were not afraid or shy about giving me your opinions while you showed me the property either.” H
e pauses, what on earth do I say to that? ‘No, sorry, I have an opinion.’ It was obvious he wanted to say more but he stops dead in his tracks and instead takes another sip of wine. I wait for him to say more, but it seems as though he will be remaining silent for now, that he has finished his piece.
Just as I am about to change the subject, speaking about how delicious this food we are enjoying is, he begins talking again. “It’s rare, Angela. To find someone your age, interested in preserving the past, for the future. I admire that and find that we are in some ways, how should I put it? Kindred spirits, perhaps.” he raises his wine glass toward me. “A toast to preserving the past.”
I lift my glass so he won’t be toasting alone “To preserving the past.” I take a rather large sip of wine this time, needing it to calm my now ever-present nerves.
I don’t know what to think right now. This man admired me, he had just said those words, not even a few moments ago. He reasons we are ‘kindred spirits.’ How does one respond to that kind of compliment? I feel that it is only fair to pay him one back in kind, to tell him the truth, that I admired him too. But how to word it? “I admire you too, Elliot, especially your dedication to your work. To be so young and so successful takes drive and you certainly have that. Hopefully I come across another older home in the future, one that I can possibly show you. With your ideals, I have no doubt you would do a fantastic job of the renovation, keeping it authentic. So many people believe that they can do a good job, but the older homes can occasionally become money pits, and forgive me for saying so, but you obviously have deep pockets, enough so to afford a costly restoration. Would you consider when it comes time to selling the property, asking me to sell it for you? I would be privileged.”
He pauses a moment to think about that. No wonder, I have all but asked for another commission check, “Of course I would ask you to relist it if I decide to go that way and let it go. Who knows, Angela, when I sell, it might be you who purchases it from me.”
Was he kidding? Was he being a smart ass? He must know damn well that I could never afford to purchase a house like that, not on my $65,000 a year including commissions anyway. Could he possibly know that my family has money? That I too, have money? I live in a completely different state and White is such a common last name, he couldn’t have connected the dots with my family back in New York, could he?
Maybe he had visited with my father while back home, crossing paths on another project, he has a large framed photograph of the family at their place in the Hamptons on his wall. That would be too darn coincidental wouldn’t it? Surely he doesn’t know who I am.
Play it cool, Angela, he doesn’t know anything, he couldn’t possibly, there is no way. I’ve been so careful not to mention New York, even once, and I didn’t see him look at the family photo on the wall. I offer him a tiny smile in response. I don’t trust myself to reply with words. Then I thought of a way to get out of this conversation, I decided to quote him from our last meal together. “Would you like some dessert, Mr. Sands?”
At that same moment, before he even had time to answer my question his cell phone rings. He looks down at his phone at the number displayed, then back up to me. “Please excuse me for a quick moment, Miss White, I do need to take this.”
Back to Miss White are we? I must have said something. I smile sweetly. “Go right ahead, I’ll just start cleaning up. I have a balcony if you would like some privacy.” I point to my sliding glass doors out to my balcony. It was small but he could close the doors if need be.
He mouthed the words ‘Thank You’ while answering his phone call “Elliot Sands”
I have to control myself and try not to giggle. He answers his phone with his full name. I had answered his phone call no more than three hours ago, exactly the same way, another thing we have in common, although a lot of professionals answer their phone the same way. I wonder if he thought the same thing when I answered his call with my full name? Most likely not, men don’t give any thought to those things. Looking back, I notice that he has not made his way to my balcony, instead taking up a spot on my couch, sitting comfortably, with his left leg crossed over his right, talking to whoever was on the phone.
I collect the dirty crockery and take them over to the sink. Turning on the faucet, I insert the plug to contain the falling hot water, along with squirting a small amount of berry scented dishwashing liquid, I wait for the sink to be three quarters full then shut it off. While I am washing the dishes, I hear snippets of his conversation.
‘‘I’ll be in Nashville until Sunday’’, that confused me as I thought we were going to New York on Friday? ‘‘All is sorted, Kat has cleared my schedule for the rest of the week and I’m handling business from this end’’ I wonder who this Kat is that he is speaking about, was it his pretty assistant I met on Saturday? Or maybe a girlfriend? Would he be enjoying a dinner here with me if he did have a girlfriend? “If that’s all, I am going to end this call now, I am being incredibly rude to my host” he wanted to end his phone call to hang out with me?
Maybe he knew I was eavesdropping and didn’t want me to listen to anymore of the conversation? I decided to take a risk and look up to mouth the words “it’s okay”, before I get the chance he smiles at me and gives me the thumbs up.
“You too. See you Monday. Goodbye” why would he be saying you too? Love you too? Miss you too? Why should I care, Elliot and I are associates, work associates. I have no right to feel jealous, interfere or ask any questions about that phone call, none at all. Then why do I want to know so damn badly?
I continue washing up, pretending I didn’t overhear him end his phone call. I pick up one of the wine glasses and start to wash it with the cloth, just like the other day in the kitchen of his newly purchased home, he spoke from only a few steps behind me, “where do you keep your tea towels? I’ll dry for you.”
It was such a surprise to hear his voice from such a close proximity that I jump back onto his foot and drop the wine glass. Luckily it only fell a short way back into the sink and therefore didn’t break. His hand reaches out and catches the side of my shoulder, I step forward to take pressure off his foot.
“You’re like a ninja I swear. I’m so sorry about your foot”.
“I’m sorry that I scared you. Guess I should let you know when I’m coming up behind you, that’s twice you’ve almost clocked me now.” I could tell he was holding back laughter.
I’m not at all sure what made me do it, but I dipped my hands into the water and collected some suds in my palms, turned around, and shook them in his face. His expression was unreadable for a few seconds, completely blank and I instantly regretted my actions. He slowly lifts his hand as though he was going to wipe the suds from his face but he hesitates and his eyes darken, almost to smolder, and before I know what is happening, quick as lightning, he bends down and wipes his face on the front of my shirt, just brushing the tops of my breasts. I feel my nipples harden instantly.
“Fair is fair,” he whispers. When he raises his head to look at me, our eyes lock. His own appear to be blazing, just like my core is. I haven’t been touched in so long. I had forgotten that I could have that reaction, “You made me wet. It was only fair I made you wet too.” I could feel a warmth settle between my legs. He was talking dirty, there was no doubt and that solidified the connection between us. A type of electrical current bouncing back and forth, the type you see in those old fashioned Edison bulbs.
I could ruin everything right here and now by reaching out, grabbing his collar and pulling him into me for a kiss, a kiss I want so badly. I know that I shouldn’t do it, but why the hell not? What do I do, yes or no? Should I? It has been so long since I have kissed someone I probably would probably make a fool out of myself, after all it has been just shy of four years. While I am still contemplating my options he takes me by surprise and does exactly what I am thinking. He places his hands on either side of my face and presses his lips to mine, gently, a soft kiss. He moves his lips slowly, encouraging m
ine to react, to open up to him. My body follows his lead, giving in way too quickly and I start to kiss him back. I reach up and slip my arms around his neck to pull him closer to me, feeling bold, I run my tongue timidly along his bottom lip, rewarding my efforts I hear him moan in the back of his throat. This meant one of two things were going to happen next:
1. he was either going to continue to kiss me
or
2. he was about to break free and how I hoped he would select option one.
Instead, he chose the second mentioned option, he broke free, however not immediately. He closes his lips together and gives me two more presses of his lips before pulling away. He leaves his hands cradling my face, pressing his forehead against mine “Well, Miss White, it appears I got sidetracked. Where would I find a tea towel?” he asks.
Tea towel, what tea towel, huh? I just stand there looking at him, blinking twice, oh right, the washing up. I clear my throat, slightly breathless I speak softly “right, the tea towel, of course, wait here and I’ll grab you one.” I duck out of his presence and into the hallway, opening the first door on the left and entered the small walk-in linen closet. I locate a tea towel immediately and turn on my heels ready to take it back out to him. I freeze on the spot. What the hell just happened? Where do we possibly go from here? What happens now? He kissed me. He definitely kissed me. We’re about to spend the entire weekend together and I will now technically commence working for him come tomorrow. Oh Angela, what on earth have you done?
Even though I am shocked, I can feel my heart was beating quicker than usual and not because of panic. It’s what Elliot does to me, my pulse quickens when he is near. I feel light-headed and when we touch, that spark between us isn’t imagined.
I haven’t been kissed in so long, and that was incredible. The feel of his soft lips, the chemistry between us, I can’t be the only one to feel it, can I? After all, he was the one who kissed me. I try to calm my runaway heart by taking long deep breaths, just as I am preparing to leave the linen closet I hear him outside. I take a step forward and walk right in to him, dropping the tea towel. “Oh Elliot, I’m sorry. I can be such a klutz sometimes.” I bend down to pick it up, standing back up quickly.