by Tawna Fenske
“I’m game if you are,” he said. “I enjoyed your company, even before we took our clothes off, and I think you felt the same.”
“I did. I do.”
He reached up and brushed her hair off her face, his hand large and gentle. “Look, I’m not suggesting we start addressing our wedding invitations over brunch, but I’d like to see you again.”
Jenna gasped.
“Brunch!” She threw the covers back, shooting out of bed so fast she sent him sprawling across the mattress. She scrambled around the floor, snatching clothes and shoes from piles that looked like the remnants of a yard sale.
“Wow,” he said, his eyes following her around the room. “I’ve never seen a woman so enthusiastic about mimosas and eggs Benedict.”
Jenna yanked on her panties and searched for her bra, wondering if she should shower before doing the walk of shame back home. “No, it’s brunch. I’m meeting my best friend and my aunt to look at wedding photos and baby clothes.”
His brow furrowed as Jenna grabbed one of her shoes off a high-backed chair. “Which one of you is getting married and having a baby?”
“Not me, I promise. Have you seen my bra?”
“Over there on the lampshade. Is this the aunt who gave you the note about embracing your inner sex goddess?”
Jenna felt the heat creep into her cheeks as she wriggled into her bra. “I can’t believe I showed you that. Yes, of course.”
“Mission accomplished. Consider her embraced and ravished.”
She smiled and ordered herself not to blush again. “I’ll ask for a gold star as soon as I get home.”
“So can I see you again?”
“I’m not sure.” She found her earrings on the nightstand, along with a glass of lukewarm water she gulped down in two quick swallows. “You’re not married, right?”
“Definitely not.” Something in his tone made her look up, and she caught a glint of steel in his green eyes.
“Spoken like a man who either has a body in his trunk or an ex-wife in his past.”
He smiled, and the steel softened a little. “No on the body, though I can’t say it never crossed my mind. The divorce was messy.”
“Kids?”
“No. No prison record, either, though I did get a speeding ticket when I was twenty-one.” He picked up her dress off the chair by the bed and handed it to her. “So can I see you again?”
She accepted the dress and yanked it over her head, stumbling into her shoes. “I had a really nice time with you,” she admitted. “A really nice time. Not just the sex.”
“Likewise.”
“All the articles say it’s impossible to have any sort of relationship with someone after you’ve slept together on a first date.”
“Technically, we haven’t had any dates.”
“Good point.”
“We gigolos are known for our persuasive skills and solid reasoning.”
She gave up her urge to play it cool and let the smile spread unhindered across her face. “What is it you really do for a living?”
“I’m a counselor.”
“As in attorney, or as in shrink?”
“Yes.”
She wasn’t sure she understood the joke, or even if it was a joke, but there was one way to find out.
“Okay. We should have a real date.”
“How about dinner?”
“I like dinner.”
“Then it’s settled. Now turn around.”
She did as he said, and before she could ask why, he was zipping up the back of her dress. His fingers felt warm on her skin, and she shivered remembering all the things he’d done with those fingers.
She turned back around, not feeling any less naked now that she was fully clothed. “Thank you. For everything, I mean.”
“Don’t mention it.”
She glanced down at the nightstand and noticed a notepad beside the condom wrapper. Wrappers. She reached for the pad and a pen beside it. “Here’s my number. I’ve got a jam-packed weekend and I’m pretty tight at work this week, but maybe next Friday?”
He took the paper from her and squeezed her hand. “Next Friday. Following your busy work week spying for the Russians and giving aromatherapy to fashion models.”
She nodded, wondering if she should volunteer her real occupation or ask to know something about him besides the fact that he had a killer body and a keen ability to make her laugh and come her brains out in a span of ten minutes.
But his lips found hers, and she forgot all about her questions.
“Until next Friday,” he said, kissing her again, “I’ll be thinking about you.”
Jenna floated all the way home, feeling like a giddy preteen with a secret training bra smuggled under her T-shirt. She hesitated for an instant at the front door, breathing in the fragrance of bacon and homemade potpourri and the heady, comforting scents of home.
It hadn’t always felt like that. Not before Aunt Gertie’s broken hip and Jenna’s broken engagement. Somehow, all the broken pieces had fit themselves together, mended into something that felt more like home than the little bungalow had ever been in the six years Jenna had lived here. As an added bonus, it was only two blocks from Belmont Health System.
Jenna smoothed the front of her dress, then opened the door to a warm cloud of German apple pancakes. She took two steps into the room and tripped over something. Glancing down, she saw a box filled with neat stacks of bookmarks, each one adorned with half-clad bodies and the words Panty Dropper.
She grimaced and nudged the box aside with her toe, tucking it discreetly under the bench by the door. Then she looked up to see two pairs of eyes staring at her.
So much for sneaking in undetected.
“Woohoo!” Mia called, her mouth full of pancake. Her friend tossed her long red hair over one shoulder and grinned. “Look who’s doing the walk of shame.”
Aunt Gertie beamed and set a crystal bowl of powdered sugar on the table. “Congratulations, dear. I’m so proud of you.”
Jenna set her purse down and joined them in the breakfast nook, her cheeks faintly warm with embarrassment. “Jeez, you guys—you’d think I’d earned a promotion at work instead of a notch on my bedpost.”
“You get work promotions all the time,” Mia said, waving a dismissive hand. “An all-nighter with a strange man, on the other hand—that’s a much bigger deal.”
“I appreciated your text message last night, dear,” Gertie said, patting her hand. “I was glad to know you were safe.”
Jenna picked a piece of apple from the edge of Mia’s pancake. “My man friend seemed confused that I needed to text my aunt before sleeping with him,” she admitted. “Once I explained it was your idea, he was a little more understanding.”
“‘My aunt told me to bone you,’” Mia said, resting a hand on her baby bump. “That’s what every man wants to hear.”
Gertie gave a satisfied smile as she peered into the oven. “Glad to be helpful.”
“So come on,” Mia said, bouncing a little in her seat. “Give it up—not that you didn’t already. I want details!”
Jenna sighed and nibbled another piece of apple plucked from the corner of her best friend’s pancake. “Can I have ten minutes to shower and change?”
“Okay, but don’t wash off that beard burn. It’s very becoming.”
“Try the cold cream on the counter, dear,” Gertie said. “Very soothing for beard burn.”
Jenna padded toward the bathroom, trying not to think about her aunt’s familiarity with beard burn as she closed the door behind her. She stretched her arms overhead, savoring the pleasant ache of muscles she’d worked overtime the night before. God, had she really done that? It was so unlike her, so rash and impulsive and passionate.
Sean always wished I was more passionate, she thought as she la
thered up her hair. A fling with a stranger probably wasn’t what he had in mind.
Fifteen minutes later, Jenna was scrubbed and dressed in a pair of clean yoga pants with her hair in a ponytail. An apple-flecked pancake sat in front of her and two pairs of eyes drilled her from either side.
“Okay now, spill it,” Mia said, forking a piece of pancake into her mouth. “I want details.”
“There’s not that much to tell,” Jenna answered, accepting the lace-edged napkin Gertie offered. “We were both at Corkscrew last night, we both got stood up by the people we were meeting, we both liked Sangiovese—”
“You both like Marc Cohn ballads, long walks on the beach, and kinky sex with strangers?” Mia grinned and grabbed the syrup.
“I didn’t say anything about kink,” Jenna protested, her brain flickering over the memory of chocolate sauce from the ice cream sundae that room service had brought them sometime around midnight. She cleared her throat and reached for the coffee pot. “It was just a good, old-fashioned fling.”
“I’m not sure old-fashioned and fling belong in the same sentence, dear,” Gertie said as she set a fresh German apple pancake in front of her niece. “In my day, women had to feel guilty all the time. It’s so nice that things have changed. Now they’re free to have casual sex and multiple orgasms and bookshelves full of erotic novels.”
Gert’s voice had taken on a reverence most women her age reserved for their grandchildren or church services, and Jenna smiled in spite of herself as she picked up a pair of silver tongs and plucked a lemon slice from the plate Gertie offered. She squeezed it over the pancake and set the rind aside before drenching the pancake in syrup. “If it’s okay with the two of you, I’d rather be a little old-fashioned and not dish too much detail.”
“Seriously?” Mia gaped.
“Seriously. I kinda want to keep things private. I know that’s lame, but that’s how I feel.”
Gertie smiled and patted her hand. “You’ve always been like that, ever since you were a little girl. Never one to kiss and tell, not even with your friends in high school.”
“You’ve never been one to kiss, period,” Mia said. “I’ve known you almost two years and this is the first time you’ve even dated.”
“It wasn’t exactly a date,” Jenna pointed out, cutting into her pancake with a knife and fork. “But we’re going to have one. Friday, maybe. No sex. Just getting to know each other.”
Mia smirked and picked up a piece of bacon. “Sounds like you already got to know each other pretty intimately. At least tell me if he was good.”
“He was good.” Jenna felt her cheeks grow warm, and she bit into her first piece of pancake. “Okay, better than good. Incredible.”
“Come on, was he one of those slow, romantic types, or more of a sexy alpha male?”
“Mia—”
“You can share with us, dear,” Gertie said. “Indulge a little old lady.”
Jenna tried to muster up a bit of indignation, but all she felt was warm and tingly at the memory of her night with him. “Fine, if you must know. He was definitely an alpha guy. Very dominant and in control.”
“No kidding? I never pegged you as the submissive sort,” Mia mused. “Not that I fault you one bit. That’s always been the sexiest thing about Mark. The whole master-and-commander thing is ridiculously hot.”
“Agreed,” Gertie said.
“Especially after six years of marriage to a guy who used to bicker with me about whose turn it was to be on top,” Mia said, poking at the edge of her pancake. “Suffice it to say, my ex didn’t want to be. Too much work.” She glanced at Gertie and winced. “Sorry. Overkill with the sex talk?”
“Not at all, dear. Sex talk is my favorite. More bacon?”
Jenna accepted a piece and tried to think of a way to change the subject. Thankfully, Mia obliged.
“I almost forgot,” Mia said, dropping her fork and grabbing for her purse. She rifled through it, her mouth still full of bacon as she rummaged through the contents of her oversized tote. “I had some extra wedding photos printed for you, Aunt Gertie. Jenna said you wanted to see them.”
“Oh! Just let me wash up. This is so exciting!” Gertie bustled over to the kitchen sink and returned moments later wiping her hands on her apron. She took the envelope from Mia and sat down. She slid the pictures out and began to flip through them, clucking the whole time.
“You two look so in love—oh, would you look at this one? These lavender rosebuds look gorgeous with that red hair of yours!”
“Thanks, they’re called sterling silver roses,” Mia said. “My mother had them in her wedding bouquet. That’s her veil, too.”
Gertie beamed and flipped to the next image. “This must be your mom here?”
Mia nodded, and Jenna blinked back an unexpected wash of tears. Her own mother had died in a car accident two months after Jenna’s sixteenth birthday, leaving Aunt Gertie to tend to Jenna for her remaining high school years. It was one of many reasons Jenna had been eager to repay the favor by taking Gert in last fall.
As though sensing a shift in Jenna’s mood, Gertie met her eyes. Gert’s expression didn’t change, but she reached beneath the table and touched Jenna’s knee. Jenna swallowed and placed her hand on Gertie’s. Gert smiled, then turned back to Mia.
“Here’s another great one of you and Mark,” she said. “This neckline is so flattering on you.”
Mia laughed. “Gotta show off the pregnancy boobs while I’ve got ’em.”
“You look beautiful,” Jenna said, squelching an unwelcome twist of envy for her friend. She was thrilled for Mia, delighted to see her moving on with her life after a rocky divorce and the loss of a pregnancy just a month after moving to Portland two years ago. It was how the two of them had bonded, as the only unmarried people in a support group for women who’d suffered recent miscarriages.
She reached for Mia’s hand and gave it a squeeze, releasing any jealous feelings she might’ve had.
Gertie gasped. “This photo—this must be the first time he’s seeing you in the dress?”
“I know, isn’t that amazing?” Mia said. “I’ve never had anyone look at me that way before. Not ever.”
“I wish I could have seen it in person,” Gertie sighed.
“You were there in spirit,” Mia said, giving the older woman a quick hug. “It was important to Mark and me to keep things small and intimate—just the two of us and immediate family. I’m sure you understand.”
“Big weddings are too expensive,” Jenna agreed, trying not to think of her own broken engagement, of the two hundred cream-colored invitations buried somewhere in the back of her closet.
Mia nodded in agreement and slid a hand over her impressively large baby bump. “Exactly. It didn’t seem right to spend any money on a wedding. Not while I’m still digging myself out of the financial pit of divorce.”
Gertie continued flipping through the photos. “I know what you mean. I met with an attorney last week about—well, about a new project I’m working on,” she said, glancing at Jenna. “Lawyers are so expensive!”
“Particularly when you’re divorcing one,” Mia muttered. “Not that I blame him for being bitter. I’m the one who had the affair. I’m the one who screwed up.”
Jenna patted her friend’s hand and looked over Gertie’s shoulder at a picture of Mia and Mark feeding each other cake. They looked so happy, so in love.
“You did not screw up,” Jenna said, surprising herself with the force of her own insistence. She swallowed back an unexpected memory and focused on Mia. “You have an amazing new husband who adores you and a baby on the way. I know we didn’t know each other during your first marriage or when you and Mark began your—” she swallowed back the word affair, searching for a term that wouldn’t send Mia down a path of self-flagellation and guilt. “—your relationship. But I know you had to
be terribly unhappy.”
“Unhappiness leads to desperation,” Gertie agreed, holding up a photo of Mia glowing and voluptuous in her maternity wedding gown. “But you’re happy now. That’s what matters.”
“That is what matters,” Jenna echoed and nabbed her best friend’s bacon.
“As you’ll see in just a few minutes, things have gotten very contentious between the nurses’ union and hospital administration,” explained Kendall Freemont—the real Kendall Freemont—as she pushed a pile of paperwork to Adam from across her desk Monday morning.
“I understand,” Adam said, glancing down at the contract. “Organizations don’t usually bring me in when everyone’s sitting around the conference table holding hands and singing ‘Kumbaya.’”
“Right,” Kendall said. “I’m sure you see this sort of thing all the time. This is actually my first time dealing with contract negotiations that have taken such a contentious turn.”
“Are you new to Belmont Health System?”
Kendall nodded and folded her hands on the desk. “Not new to human resources, but I’ve only been with Belmont for two weeks. Before this, I worked in HR for a medical center over in Ashland. We had the occasional employee discipline issues and a layoff here and there, but nothing like this.”
Adam nodded and continued flipping through the forms, studying the legal language as carefully as possible for a first pass. “I hear you. Union negotiations can be especially tricky. You’re very smart to bring in outside assistance. Sometimes professional mediation can really turn things around. Once people are armed with Compassionate Communication techniques and new skills for conflict resolution, I often find it can turn a bad situation into a workable one.”
“Yes, of course,” Kendall said, fidgeting with a gold pen on the corner of her desk. “The touchy-feely approach is something we haven’t tried yet. I look forward to seeing you work your magic.”
Adam laughed and flipped another page. “I wouldn’t call it magic, exactly. I’m just giving people the tools they need to communicate in a respectful, constructive fashion.”
“As opposed to shouting obscenities at each other and hurling paperclips across the conference table?”