by S. E. Law
Alvina’s mouth drops open.
“Are you serious? You go, girl! I had no idea you were like that. But honestly, Whit, that’s really powerful and it sounds like you have a connection with him. I don’t want to tell you not to go, but I do want you to stay safe. Promise me if you decide to go you’ll be careful.”
I take a deep breath.
“Peter said I could give you his address, just so someone would know where I am. Can I give that address to you?”
Alvina nods so vigorously that it looks like her head might fall off.
“Yes, of course. You know I got your back.”
I thank her, and then hang up. Then, I send Peter a message through LiveFans with my phone number telling him I’ve made a decision and that he should text me to find out what it is.
He must have been by his computer because I get a text almost immediately.
Peter: Are you going to make me soar in the clouds or send me crashing to the rocks?
Me: That’s a lot of pressure on a girl
Peter: You should have seen the pressure I had to release after our chat ended
Me: Were you making tea in a tea kettle?
Peter: I’ve never described it that way, but I guess you could say my tea kettle whistled
Peter: I’m impatient. Tell me. Will you meet me in person?
Me: Only if I can send my best friend your address and a selfie of us together. That way, if you cut me up into pieces and use me in meat pies, Allie can go to the police with a picture of who I was last seen with
Peter: Deal. And I am not Sweeney Todd, although I am a Johnny Depp fan so I sort of appreciate the reference
Me: I’m impressed you got the reference
Peter: I intend to impress you in so many ways
Me: Are you trying to get me to come see you now?
Peter: Is that an option?
Me: I took a cold shower. I’ll survive the night
Peter: Tomorrow then? Do you need a ride?
Me: Tomorrow. No ride. Thanks though!
His address pops up on my screen, and I google it to see how far away he is. An image of his building appears on Google Maps, and I gasp. Holy shit, he lives in a fancy high-rise in TriBeCa, which is one of the most expensive neighborhoods in New York. Meanwhile, I’m living in a dilapidated apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. What have I gotten myself into?
8
Whitney
I’ve agreed to meet Peter at his apartment at 5:00 for dinner. My cab pulls up in front of a towering building made of glass and steel overlooking the Hudson River. Peter later texted that he’s in the penthouse, so I crane my neck to see that far up in the sky. The building is so tall that its spire seems to disappear in the clouds.
Unlike my unattended building, Peter’s building has a 24-hour doorman, complete with a natty cap and uniform. I smile hesitantly, and desperately feel like I don’t belong. I sent Allie the address and she too, was surprised at the fancy zip code. She says she feels like she should know who Peter is. She’s going to think on it, and she’ll text me when it comes to her.
Going into the building, I pass a woman carrying a little bulgy-eyed dog in her purse. She doesn’t hide the sneer as she looks me up and down. I think I’m dressed okay. Peter said to dress casual since we can’t leave and go anywhere, anyways, so I put on a pair of black pants and a new white blouse that laces up the front. The lacing reminds me of how sexy he made me feel when I wore that gypsy outfit.
I topped the look off with cute black, suede, open-toed wedges and a black satin ribbon in my hair. I thought black and white would be classy yet casual. Clearly, puppy purse lady disagrees. I approach the concierge with some hesitation.
“Hi, I’m Whitney Porter for Peter Coleman?”
He nods his head politely.
“Yes, welcome Miss Porter. Mr. Coleman told me to expect you. The penthouse elevator is that way,” he says.
I stop, confused.
“It’s not with the other elevators?”
The concierge shakes his head.
“No Miss. The penthouse has its own elevator. This way please.”
Oh wow. A private elevator? I never expected this. I make my way to the left of the lobby where a pair of brass doors await. Then, the doors slide open and I step into a luxurious elevator with a velvet bench. Classic Rock is piped through the speakers. My palms are sweating and my heart is racing. I quickly text Alvina that his name is Peter Coleman, and that I’m in the building.
I drop my phone in my purse as the door to this palace in the sky opens. Surprisingly, it doesn’t open into a hallway. Instead, it opens directly into Peter’s apartment, and the handsome man is standing there, looking ungodly gorgeous. His black t-shirt is fitted and gives him a lean muscular line that reminds me of a panther. He looks like he could be dangerous until he smiles a wide grin that reaches all the way to his ocean blue eyes.
“Hi sweetheart,” he says, leaning forward to press a kiss to my cheek. “Did you have trouble finding the place?”
I shake my head, stammering a bit.
“No, it was easy to find. Thank you for having me.”
He steps back smiling, although oddly, his hands are stuffed tight in the pockets of his black jeans.
“Well, welcome to my home,” he says. “Come on, I’ll show you around,” he motions with his head towards a huge living room.
We step into a space with twenty foot ceilings and floor to ceiling windows overlooking the river.
“It’s breathtaking,” I finally manage to say.
“I was thinking the same thing.”
I turn and notice he is staring at me when he says that. Immediately I go warm. Does he mean me, or the view? But then, Peter takes his hands out of his pockets long enough to open massive French doors that lead to an expansive patio. He immediately shoves his hands, wrist deep, back into his jeans pockets. This is a little odd but I don’t want to ask; maybe he just has eczema or something.
There’s a sleek patio set on the terrace. It doesn’t look too comfortable but the view is spectacular.
“Do you have coffee out here every morning?” I ask.
“No, not as often as I should,” he says.
I nod with understanding.
“I have to be at the bakery five days a week at 4:00 a.m. so I miss most sunrises. But those two days I get off, I’d sleep in until sunrise and sit out here to watch the oranges, pinks, and purples peek up over the river.”
“So sunrise is sleeping in for you?” he asks with a chuckle.
“When your bakery opens at 6 a.m., you want to have bagels, scones, croissants and muffins ready, so I have to be there early. I have a part-timer that opens for me on Mondays and Tuesdays, but I still need to be there because she can’t do it alone. Sometimes I can actually take a whole Monday off, but I still usually end up doing paperwork or trying out new recipes.”
He nods.
“I understand how that goes. Entrepreneurship is tough, but you seem to be handling it okay. Should we walk and talk so I can show you the rest of the place? I think you’ll like the kitchen.”
“Like” the kitchen is an understatement. The cabinets are a little dark for my taste as they’re sleek black lacquer, but the appliances are top of the line. There’s a six burner gas stove, full size double ovens, a pizza oven, a walk-in, climate controlled wine closet, and a massive refrigerator.
“Do you do a lot of entertaining? This kitchen is perfect for catering parties.”
He shakes his head ruefully.
“Not really. I’ve had a few parties and it’s true, the caterers do love to use this space. But I love to play around in here. Maybe you can bake me something in here sometime?”
“Are you inviting me back already?” I ask with an arch look.
His eyes gleam.
“Maybe I don’t intend to let you leave.”
I laugh.
“You wouldn’t let my cat starve.”
“No, I’d have someone go gat
her him up.”
“Speaking of cats, where is the goddess of the harvest?”
He chuckles.
“Probably either in my bedroom or the library. Those are her favorite places. Can I get you a glass of wine? I’m having dinner delivered at 6:30, if that’s ok with you? I just ordered from one of my restaurants.”
I smile.
“I’d love a glass of wine. And I promise not to trip over any picnic baskets.”
Peter’s laugh is completely warm and genuine. He makes quick work of opening a bottle of Italian Merlot. My fingers brush against his as I take the glass from him and his hand shoots back into his pocket. He seems genuinely glad to have me here, but also seems like he’s trying not to touch me. Maybe he’s afraid of catching coronavirus from me.
We continue the tour. There’s a formal dining room, and then another sitting room which seems to be less formal than the first living room that we passed through. There’s a bar in one corner, a gigantic big screen TV, and the furniture is overstuffed and comfy looking. There’s a private gym behind a set of closed doors that he throws open, and finally a mini-theater that Peter calls the screening room down the hall.
“Why do you have a huge TV in your entertainment room, and then this movie screening room too?”
He chuckles.
“Well, that TV is more for sports, or news, or cooking shows. The screening room is for movies: scary ones that need to be watched in the dark or action movies whose sound and special effects deserve the respect of a theater. I’m a movie buff.”
We’ve come around full circle back to the formal living room and I haven’t seen the library or any bedrooms.
“I thought you had a library?” I ask.
“Right this way. It’s on the second floor.”
“There’s a second floor?” I gasp in awe.
Peter just smiles and leads me up the stairs. We pass a closed door he says is his office. We briefly stroll by two immaculate bedrooms, both of which appear larger than my entire studio apartment.
When we finally reach the library, I gasp because books go from floor to ceiling. There’s a sliding ladder to reach the volumes on the top shelves, and the books all look like antiques with their red and green leather covers.
“I feel like Belle in Beauty and the Beast. She was always my favorite princess. She was smart, loved to read, and she looked beyond someone’s appearance to fall in love with her hero,” I remark.
“Fairy tales and other fantasy would be on that wall,” Peter tells me pointing to his left. “Classics are there and non-fiction there.”
I pull a copy of The Great Gatsby off the classics shelf and sit on a cognac-colored leather couch with the book and my glass of wine.
“That’s one of my favorite books,” he says a little wistfully. “I feel a little like Jay Gatsby sometimes because it’s hard to believe this wealth is all mine. I know it’s weird to say, but I still feel like a fraud on occasion.”
Peter looks vulnerable right now and I feel that connection between us again.
“I’m sure that’s not true. Come sit with me here,” I invite.
He grins.
“I need to get you some more wine,” he says before disappearing into the hallway again.
He comes back, bottle in hand, and fills my glass only to retreat to the other side of the room. Maybe he’s changed his mind about inviting me here. I’m beginning to feel like a leper.
“Pete, should I go?”
He looks at me with surprise.
“No! Why would you say that?”
I shoot him a look.
“It’s just that your hands have been shoved in your pockets since I got here, and you’ve been keeping your distance.”
A dark flush graces his cheekbones.
“My hands are in my pockets because I don’t trust myself. I want to take those pouty pink lips and crush them to mine. I want to tangle my hands in those corkscrew curls and see if you taste as good as you smell. The scent of you, when you’re standing so close to me drives me mad, so I step away.”
I’m overwhelmed with his desire but my own is crashing into it and I need to tell him.
“I don’t want you to exercise restraint. You smell like the forest after it rains, and dressed in black with those taut muscles you look like a panther ready to pounce.”
I stand up now, trembling a bit.
“You make me feel so desired and sexy, Peter, I’m not sure who I’m looking at in the mirror any more but I know I like her.”
He’s still for a moment, but then he becomes a blur. Peter crosses the room in two strides, and big, strong hands tangle in my curls and he pulls my mouth to his, taking me with the ferocity of a man taking his first drink of water after days in the desert. Heat rises in my core as I slide my hands up under his shirt to feel the corded muscles in his back. Hot kisses trail from my lips, down my jaw line, to my ear. Peter gently pulls my head back to expose my neck and places gentler kisses on my racing pulse.
“Hellooo, Pete? Yoo-hoo!”
We’re both ripped from our passion-induced haze by a voice from downstairs. Pete takes a deep, steadying breath and closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against mine.
“Dinner’s here,” he says in a raspy voice. Then he turns to the door and calls, “We’ll be right down, John. I’m giving Whitney a tour.”
He smiles at me.
“I need a minute before I go see one of my employees,” Pete tells me glancing down at the very prominent bulge in under his zipper.
“I’ll go introduce myself,” I offer and give him a chaste kiss on the cheek while unsuccessfully suppressing a giggle.
“Laugh it up,” he teases, “but I’m going to go look at this book about torture techniques of the Spanish Inquisition.
“I don’t even want to know why you have that title.”
He grins.
“I bought a lot of antique books at an auction. John’s a college kid who’s worked for me since he was sixteen; a friend of the family. Try not to bewitch him with your feminine wiles before I get down there.”
I find my way back to the stairs and Demeter finds me. The adorable little ball of fur accompanies me to the kitchen.
“Hi John, I’m Whitney,” I say to the man standing there. He’s tall and gangly, with a kind face.
“Hi Whitney, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Wow, who is all this food for? There are only two of us here.”
John shrugs cheerily.
“Pete said to bring one of everything on the menu because he didn’t know what you would like. Hot food is in these two insulated containers and shakes are in that cooler.”
I’m impressed.
“Thanks for coming out here with all this.”
Peter has emerged from the library and hands John a one hundred dollar bill.
“How’s delivery been today?”
“Good. It’s one of the warmer days we’ve had so far this season, so lots of shakes.”
“What’s with all the talk about milkshakes?” I ask a little confused.
John looks at me weird.
Pete shakes his head at John. “She doesn’t know.”
“Lady, you’ve never heard of Shake Place?” John demands.
I look back at him.
“Of course I have. I love their burger with barbecue sauce and onion straws and they have the most amazing seasoned fries.”
John opens one of the insulated bags and hands me fries and the barbecue burger, and then it dawns on me.
“You own The Shake Place? All of them?” I ask Peter accusingly.
“Pete, I gotta go, Brenda called out sick because of the pandemic, so Mick’s all alone at the bar.”
“Okay, thanks again John, and tell your dad to give me a call when this is all over and we’ll go sailing.”
John nods his head in agreement and Peter turns back to me.
“Eat your burger before it gets cold,” my obnoxiously rich date orders with a smile.
>
I’m speechless, but I really do love these burgers, so I just go with it. As I take a bite, the flavorful patty almost melts on my tongue. I chew silently while staring at my date with wonder again. Who is PeterC? And where do we go from here?
9
Whitney
We have so much leftover that Pete calls the front desk attendant to offer them the extras. He really is kind and generous. We take our wine back up to the library and this time, Pete sits beside me on the leather couch.
“How did you make The Shake Place so successful? Please be my mentor,” I beg playfully.
Peter chuckles, “I’ll help you in any way I can with SugarTime. I’ve heard good things about your cookies.”
“I didn’t tell you the name of my bakery. How do you know I own SugarTime?”
He’s silent for a moment, looking down.
“It wasn’t hard to figure out when you told me you did a vlog and I know what you look like. I just Googled NYC bakery vlog, and there were only a handful of hits.”
I stare at him.
“Is there anything else you found out about me on the internet?”
He grins.
“Sweetheart, everything I know about you I found on the internet. That’s where we met, remember?”
“Good point. Does this seem weird to you? I mean the way we met?”
He thinks for a moment.
“Unconventional, maybe, but not weird. Arranged marriages are weird. Having sister-wives is weird. Marrying your cousin is downright wrong. So I guess meeting on-line is just a product of our times. We have a lot in common, so maybe we were supposed to meet a different way, but the coronavirus threw a speed bump in fate’s path,” he says.
Peter has a way of making me feel okay about things that would generally give me anxiety.
“Do you believe in fate, Pete? I find it difficult to buy that we may have met a different way. We don’t exactly run in the same social circles. You own Shake Place, and I have a little bakery that may not survive the pandemic.”