“No.”
“I could—”
“No!”
Mona acquiesced and stepped back.
Once he felt secure in his stance, Anson lifted the crutch and pushed the front door open even wider. “You have ten seconds to step out of my house or you will be arrested for trespassing, Miss Ballinger.”
“Listen, Mr. Tyler,” she said, pushing her shades up atop her messy topknot. “I live five minutes from here and I am the one who hit you—”
“Accidentally,” they said in unison, hers with emphasis and his with sarcasm.
“Let me help you. Please,” she finished, looking up at him with bright eyes filled with pleading.
He stiffened when she blinked her long lashes like a Disney cartoon. Anson pushed aside his thought that she looked adorable. So did puppies and they had to be trained how to behave as well.
“Do you want to go to jail?” Anson asked.
The complacent look on her narrow face disappeared and her docile eyes lit with fire. “It only works if you call the police, and you won’t call because you need my help. So shut up and show me where your kitchen is,” she said, picking up the basket and turning to look around his home before walking away from him.
“Miss Ballinger,” he called behind her.
“This is gorgeous, Mr. Tyler,” she said over her shoulder before disappearing into the dining room on the left.
Anson bit his bottom lip, hung his head back, and closed his eyes as he released the heaviest of breaths.
“You don’t see houses like this in Holtsville,” he heard her say, her voice echoing.
He had never felt so frustrated in his life. Ever. Not in foster care. Not in his struggle to get his brother out of the system. Not while working and attending college full time. Not setting up his business. Not even in the final minutes before a deadline while he was still feeling inspired and wanting to make changes to his plans. Nothing. Ever. Never.
Closing the door with his crutch, Anson tottered behind her into the dining room, but she was no longer there. At the sound of noises from the kitchen, he came around the long length of the ebony wood table and pushed through the swinging doors connecting the dining room to the kitchen.
She was unloading the items from her basket onto the top of the stone island. She looked up at him and smiled, revealing twin dimples deep enough to lose the tip of a finger. “This kitchen is straight off HGTV or something,” Mona said, shaking her head in wonder. “Was it like this when Chloe Bolton had it or did you change it?”
Anson felt throbbing in his foot and moved over to sit down on one of the linen-covered high chairs surrounding the island. Propping the crutch against the chair behind him, he grunted as he elevated his foot onto the chair in front of him. “Do you know my social security number and bank info too?” he asked around a grimace.
Mona came around the island to help raise his leg and gently set it on the chair. She patted his knee comfortingly before moving back to her basket of goodies. “Do you want me to get your pain pills?” she asked.
Anson sniffed the air at the faint scent of something light and fruity. It smelled good and he knew it had to be her scent. It was just the fragrance a man wanted to find at a woman’s pulse points. Her neck. Her wrists. The valley of her breasts and the meeting of her thighs . . .
“Here you go,” she said, setting a plate beside his elbow.
Anson cleared his throat guiltily and pushed away his thoughts as he looked down at the thick and meaty club sandwich with a Styrofoam cup of broccoli and cheese soup on the side. He recognized both from Donnie’s Diner, the local restaurant in Holtsville. He liked that it was takeout and not something she concocted. He was hungry and his stomach grumbled in protest.
“May I?” Mona asked.
Anson looked over his shoulder to find her with her hand paused by the handle of one of the double doors to his oil-bronzed refrigerator. “Now you ask permission?” he said before taking a huge bite of the sandwich.
She waited, poised like a robot, as she looked at him.
“Go ahead,” he said finally, surprised that he felt like chuckling.
Mona nodded her thanks and opened the door. She pulled out a pitcher filled with red liquid. “Let me guess. Cherry Kool-Aid,” she said.
“Tropical Punch.”
“Same difference.”
Anson lifted the cup of soup and sipped some of it with the plastic spoon she’d provided as he watched her pause by the glass front cabinets and look over her shoulder at him for permission. He nodded.
She pulled two highball glasses down and filled both with the drink. “Mighty fancy house to have Kool-Aid in the fridge,” she said, coming over to sit a glass beside his paper plate.
“You seemed to spot it like you were familiar with it,” he said.
“Growing up in New Orleans with three kids who stayed thirsty, my mama kept plenty of Kool-Aid. There was always a pack or two in the pantry, and who didn’t have sugar?” she said, before taking a deep sip. “Much cheaper than cases of soda or juice.”
Anson thought back to how there were times when his parents didn’t waste the money to make sure a staple like sugar was in the house. Most times they drank water, and sweetened Kool-Aid was a rare treat. But he didn’t share that with her. Plus those days were long gone and he hated that his thoughts still dwelt on his tough past.
“You okay?”
Anson looked over his shoulder again and was surprised to see her sitting on the edge of the island with her feet in the chair and her plate in her lap. His brows dipped at her buttocks pressed against the top of the island. “Are you against sitting in chairs?” he asked.
Mona shrugged one shoulder. “I like following my gut and my gut said hop up on this island. So I did. Life is more fun being spontaneous,” she said.
“And was it spontaneity that led you to my house last night?” he asked, his annoyance with her rising again and brimming along the edge of his voice.
She opened and then closed her mouth. “Umm. Uh. See . . . what had happened was . . .”
Anson leaned back in his chair and eyed her as she struggled to find the words.
“I was going to apologize and then I changed my mind because I hadn’t really paid attention to what time it was,” she said as if off the cuff, and then smiled like she approved of what she came up with.
The look he gave her was filled with disbelief.
“What other reason would I have to go to your house?” she scoffed.
Anson held up his hands and shrugged.
Mona looked offended. “Listen, Anson Tyler, I am the modern day cupid and true love is my commodity. The last thing I need is to stalk down and obsess over a guy who bullied me on first sight. The size of your ego is amazing. I don’t know where you find the strength to carry that mofo around.”
She was annoyed and he liked it. “I’m just saying first you end my relationship and then I catch you sitting outside my house. . . .”
“I didn’t end your relationship—your fiancée did,” she reminded him. “I didn’t know who you were. And if you had stayed in your own life without colliding it with mine—”
Anson sat up straighter. “I collided with your life?” he asked.
“Bad choice of words, but you know what I mean.”
Her eyes were brighter than diamonds as her anger surfaced.
Anson kept his face straight. “I’ve had women do crazy things to get near me. That’s all I’m saying. Don’t feel bad you’re not the first woman to want to see what Anson Tyler is all about.”
“Negro . . . please,” she snapped.
He just held up his hands, enjoying egging her on. She deserves it for all the hell she put me through.
“And you were in your pajamas?” he asked, sipping the rest of his soup directly from the cup.
“You’re not my type, Mr. Tyler,” Mona said, focusing on her sandwich.
“Good-looking, educated, employed black man,” he said. �
�Then what is your type?”
“Light-skinned, good-looking, educated, employed black men,” she countered with a “so there” look.
Anson waved his hand at her dismissively. “Yeah, right. Shemar Moore or Blair Underwood?”
Mona climbed down off the island and began cleaning up.
“The dude off The Game or the dude off House of Payne?” he asked as she leaned in to pick up his plate.
“Pooch Hall?” she asked.
“Nah, the other one,” he said, shifting in his seat to eye her. “The one who was married to the white girl.”
“Coby Bell,” she said, searching and finding the garbage pail to dump their used paper products.
“That’s the one.”
Mona checked the sink and picked up a sponge from the dish rack. She put it under the faucet and the water flowed automatically. She jumped back a bit in surprise. “Ooh, that’s fancy,” she said.
“Any light-skinned man and Idris Elba?” Anson called over to her with another challenge.
“Sounds like you really sat around and marinated on this before,” she said, giving him a mean side-eye.
“Don’t throw shade to detract from the fact you know the automatic allure of the light-skinned brothers is played out,” he said.
“Touchy much?” she asked, moving over to stand beside him, with one hand braced on the back of his high chair.
Her face was just a foot away from him and his eyes took her all in. She really was remarkable with her high cheekbones and pouty lips on her slender face. She was just as alluring with her hair up and in overalls as she was striking in a bright red business suit with her hair down around her shoulders like a wild mane.
His heart literally skipped a beat.
No, no, no, no.
“Getting whacked by a car and hopped up off pain pills usually makes me touchy and grouchy,” he said, looking away from her.
“Honestly I came here to set things straight, and I’m sorry again for hurting you,” she said with sincerity.
He forced himself to not look at her again.
In truth, he had occasionally thought of her since the day they argued at her office. Previously his thought had snidely been that she probably used her good looks to help lure foolish men into her business who were seeking a relationship with a woman who looked like her. He hadn’t felt any desire for her though . . . until now.
Shit.
“Okay,” he said, his tone with her back to cold.
That sweet scent of her filled his nostrils and he hated that his male instinct was to inhale and let the aroma burst in his chest.
She hit you with a car. She hit you with a car. She hit you with a car.
“You know you really should let me hook you up with someone—other than me,” she said, platonically rubbing his broad shoulders before she moved away to wipe down the top of the island with the damp sponge she left sitting there.
“You could find a woman for an ugly dude like me?” he said slyly, reaching for his crutch.
“You’re not—”
He chuckled as she caught herself and swallowed back the rest of her words. He glanced over at her and she looked like she wanted to chuck the sponge at his head. Using his crutch, he maneuvered to his feet. “Dark and fine like good aged wine and it will only get better with time,” he boasted.
“Oh no you didn’t,” she said with a wince.
“Oh yes I did,” Anson countered.
Mona just shook her head.
“Listen, I’m still not a hundred percent sure why you came to my home last night, or why you even know where it’s located when we never met before I came to your office,” he began.
Mona opened her mouth to speak.
Anson politely held up his hand. “But I accept your apology and I decline your offer to help even though you brought me lunch today,” he said. “Let’s consider the matter squared away.”
“Oh,” she said, looking disappointed.
He was surprised by an urge to put a smile back on her face.
She convinced Carina to leave me.
Anson looked on as she slid her basket onto her arm and glanced around the kitchen as if to make sure everything was back in its place.
Carina left a long time ago, before she even ended the engagement. Before she even sought this woman out to match her with a new mate.
“I really would like to help, so I’ll leave my number just in case, and please feel free to call me,” she said, moving over to the pantry door where a chalkboard hung for recipes.
Anson smiled, not at all surprised that her handwriting contained plenty of curls and spirals and a happy face in place of the zeros. The daisy was a surprise but not shocking.
She hit you with a car. She hit you with a car. She hit you with a car.
“I can’t promise I won’t be back,” Mona said.
“And I can’t promise I won’t call the police this time,” he said, following her out of the kitchen and into the hall.
“I got you figured out, Anson Tyler, and you’re all bark with no bite. So save it,” she said dryly, looking up and around at the interior of the house. “You really need to let me find you a good woman to fill this house with love for you. Someone who sees past the bullshit too.”
Anson frowned. “It’s called being no-nonsense, not being a bullshitter.”
“It’s all walls to shield something so . . . tomato—tomatah.”
Anson stiffened as Carina’s words came back to him.
“You’re cold. Distant. Unreachable.”
He had admitted that he didn’t love her. Never really did, but still the thought of the tears that filled her eyes that day made his gut clench.
“There is a part of you that is closed off to me emotionally and I can feel it. There is a shield around your heart. And it made me feel less than. Lacking.”
“Were you able to help her?” he asked as they neared the front door.
Mona stopped, her brows dimpled with confusion for a moment, but then her eyes lit with understanding that he spoke of Carina. She shook her head and looked away from him, but then softly said, “Yes, she’s been on a few dates.”
Anson nodded. “Good,” he said with genuineness.
Mona looked surprised. “I’m the modern day cu-pid,” she sang slightly off key, before doing a little tap dance and giving him jazz hands with a big toothy smile.
Anson chuckled.
“My number. More apologies. I may be back,” she warned.
“I’m fine,” he assured her.
With one last soft wave Mona left the house and walked down the stairs to climb into her car. Anson stood there until her car disappeared down the drive and her logo on the trunk was no longer visible.
Shaking his head at the turn of events, he stepped back and pressed his crutch to the door to ease it closed. “I’m the modern day cu-pid,” he sang lightly just as it shut.
Chapter 5
Mona glanced at the time on her computer before looking back at one of her new clients, Ulysses Davies, with a smile that was meant to put him at ease. It was nearing four o’clock and that was hours since she’d taken Anson lunch. The thought of him hobbling around the kitchen trying to fix dinner concerned her, and she was hardly able to focus on her work even though she had enough tasks to fill the rest of the day.
“Miss Ballinger.”
Mona drew her eyes away from her cell phone and gave the middle-aged gentleman another of her soft, engaging smiles. “Yes, Ulysses. I was just saying that based on this meeting, I have a good idea of just the type to match you with. I actually think someone with slightly different interests would be better for you because in the past you’ve always dated like-minded women. You need a yin to your yang and I have a few women in mind,” she said, reaching over to clasp his hand reassuringly.
She closed her eyes for a few seconds and an image played of him walking along the Savannah boardwalk with a middle-aged beauty whose body defied her silver hair.
> I wish I could be the direct connection to his love. But I don’t have her in my database.
She gave him a smile that he probably didn’t see was slightly sad, and then she leaned in a little to him. “Mr. Davies, my wish for any man or woman who comes through that door is to match them up with their soul mate—the one person that perfectly fits them like a puzzle piece. Their one true love. During my years of business I have had some success with that, but I have to be honest and say I cannot promise that for you,” Mona admitted. Even as she fully disclosed the limits to her ability, she knew that he truly had no clue how true her words were. “What I can promise you is finding a woman who will offer you companionship, friendship, someone to spend time with and someone to get to know better and maybe even love. Someone who, like you, wants to meet a good person and enjoy spending time with them.”
She paused and widened her smile. She had this gift that she loved, cherished, and respected, but she could not in good faith take his or any other client’s money knowing through that gift that the person she matched them with was not their true soul mate.
“I understand,” he said, congenially, seeming to want to comfort her.
“I believe everything in life serves as a step toward the next goal, and although I may serve as a bridge to the next phase or phases in your life that will eventually lead you to find ‘the one,’ I doubt that a direction to her, whoever she may be, will be made through my services.”
Ulysses patted her hand. “My wife, Louise, passed away five years ago and I have sat nearly every day still missing and wanting and loving her. I believe she was my one and only soul mate. What I’m looking for now is companionship. Someone to laugh with. Someone to fish with.”
Mona sat up a bit straighter. “I bet you’re carrying a picture of her, aren’t you?” she asked, her curiosity about her vision rising.
“Sure am,” he said, reaching in the back pocket of his slacks for his wallet.
She took the well-worn photo he handed to her with pride.
And there she is.
The silver-haired beauty Mona envisioned was indeed his wife.
Her heart fluttered and her hand trembled a bit. Just amazing. That’s why she believed in her gift and the idea of true love.
Want, Need, Love Page 5