Always Means Forever

by Deborah Fletcher Mello

  As Darwin’s thoughts lingered over each dip and curve he could remember, he was reminded of his impotence, the yearning in his mind not even igniting a flicker of warmth through his groin. Reaching for the radio a second time he found a station blasting Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama.” As the music vibrated out of the speakers, flooding the closed vehicle with a heavy bass, he thought about what a sweet home could possibly entail. Darwin suddenly found himself imagining the possibilities.

  Bridget wasn’t at all prepared when her doorbell rang. Darwin Tolliver had called her out of the blue the day before, asking for her assistance with some business contracts he didn’t understand. She’d been surprised by his call, the sound of his voice reviving the more sensual thoughts she’d been having about him earlier that week, and the moment had unnerved her. There was something to be said for his timing, she mused, wondering if things really did happen for a reason.

  She took one last glance in the foyer mirror to check her reflection, then reached for the door handle. As she pulled it open to find him standing confidently on the other side, she suddenly felt as if her knees would never stop quivering, threatening to send her straight to the floor. She was grateful for the linen slacks that shielded her shaking limbs from view.

  Darwin Tolliver was one good-looking black man. Tall, like his brother Mecan, with the same blue-black complexion, brilliant white smile and dimpled cheeks, Darwin had a majestic presence. What woman could resist a man who carried himself like the emperor of his own private kingdom?

  His Royal Highness greeted her warmly. “Bridget, I can’t tell you how much this means to me,” he said as he stepped over the threshold. He wrapped his arms around her torso and hugged her tightly as he kissed her cheek. “Are you sure it’s not a problem?”

  Bridget could feel herself melting beneath his touch. “It’s not a problem at all,” she answered. “And it’s good to see you again.”

  Darwin nodded. “When was the last time we saw each other? Christmas?”

  She shook her head. “Thanksgiving, I think. At Mac and Jeneva’s. If I remember correctly, you were in Louisiana for Christmas.”

  “That’s right. My sister did Christmas dinner.” He screwed up his face as though the memory had brought back a bad taste.

  Bridget chuckled. “Was it that awful?”

  He laughed. “No, not really. But cooking isn’t one of Paris’s stronger attributes and she wouldn’t let me help. We have to be nice, though, when she tries or Mama gets mad at us.”

  “How is Mama Frances?” Bridget asked, inquiring about his mother.

  “She’s doing very well. Still trying to keep Uncle Jake on the straight and narrow.”

  It suddenly dawned on Bridget that they were still standing in the foyer of her home. She shook her head. “How rude of me. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable.”

  “Thank you.” Darwin smiled as she gestured toward the living room sofa. He took a seat, settling his large body against the cushioned perch. An awkward silence suddenly filled the space between them as Bridget dropped down against the wing chair across from him. Darwin stared down to the hardwood floor, searching his thoughts for something clever to say but words were fleeting. He suddenly felt silly, the moment reminiscent of grade school and after-school antics between the boys and the girls.

  The rising uneasiness felt thick and heavy and both of them suddenly felt self-conscious. Bridget brushed her palms against her thighs, wiping at the dampness that had risen to her palms. This was the first time she and Darwin had ever been in a room alone together. She’d fantasized about this moment more times than she was willing to admit, but never had her dreams been as embarrassing and as uncomfortable as she was now feeling.

  “So…” she started, her gaze skipping around the room as if she were afraid to rest her eyes on him.

  Darwin smiled. “So…how have you been?”

  Bridget smiled again, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. “As well as can be expected, I guess.”

  Quiet filled the space for a second time. Bridget was suddenly aware of his breathing, the slow inhale and exhale of his breath blending with the louder click of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the CD player that was playing softly in the other room. He sat with a large manila envelope between his palms, spinning the package over and over in his hands. She watched him as he looked around the room, slowly noting each detail of her decor. His gaze lingered ever so briefly on the large acrylic painting that hung just above her baby grand piano. His lips pulled up into the slightest smile and the gesture sent a shiver through the pit of her stomach and up her spine.

  “That’s beautiful,” he said, his head bobbing up and down. “Is it an original or a reproduction?”

  “An original. It was done by an artist named Joseph Holston.”

  “Very nice.”

  Bridget stared where he stared, reflecting on the abstract painting’s cubist style. The image was of a couple embracing, and it had been one of her favorites from the moment she’d first laid eyes on it. She turned to stare back at him.

  “Are those your contracts?” she asked, gesturing with her head to the mailer in his hands.

  “Oh…yeah. These are them.” He extended the envelope toward her. “I really appreciate this, Bridget. In the past I’ve used my agent’s attorney, but these needed to be reviewed in a hurry and I really wanted someone I trust to look them over for me. But if it’s a bother or if I’m keeping you from anything, I’ll understand.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not a problem, really. I was just going to throw a chicken breast under the broiler and call it a night.”

  “You haven’t eaten yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  Darwin beamed, shifting forward in his seat. “I’ll tell you what. Let me loose in your kitchen and I’ll cook your dinner while you look at my contracts.”

  “That’s not necessary—” she started.

  “Really,” he said, rising to his feet and heading boldly toward the back of her home. “I want to.”

  Bridget followed behind him. “Well, only if you promise to stay and eat with me.”

  The man smiled, winking an eye as he glanced back over his shoulder. “It’s a deal.”

  “Now, I really don’t have a whole lot to work with,” she said. “I usually eat out.”

  Darwin chuckled as he took in the expanse of her immaculate kitchen. “It doesn’t take much to eat well.”

  Taking a seat at the dining table, Bridget watched as he took command of her kitchen. Pulling open her cupboards, he gathered a row of spices onto the counter, then moved to lean into her refrigerator. The view of his backside and the tight pair of Levi’s jeans he wore caused her body to heat with sudden wanting. Shaking the emotion, Bridget laid the documents onto the tabletop and began to read.

  Darwin was grateful for the distraction. He’d not anticipated feeling this unnerved in Bridget’s presence. He’d forgotten just how exquisite she was. Bridget bore a striking resemblance to the songstress Lauryn Hill. They shared the same rich, deep-chocolate complexion; charismatic smile framed by full, luscious lips and dark ebony eyes that shimmered with a hint of vulnerability. Her demeanor was controlled and confident and Darwin was willing to bet that Bridget didn’t have a clue just how intimidating she could be to a man.

  Bridget could bring a man to his knees with just the hint of a smile. And when she opened her mouth to speak, those around her were usually bowled over by her intellect, her beguiling sense of humor. And her laugh could make a whole room feel comfortable to be around her.

  And damn, he thought as he laid four strips of chicken breast against a plastic cutting board, she smelled sweet, like a delicate concoction of vanilla and honey. As he’d wrapped his arms around her in greeting, it had taken every ounce of his control not to trail his tongue in the crevice of her neck to see if she tasted just as tantalizing. He heaved a deep sigh and Bridget looked up from her reading to meet his gaze with her ow
n.

  She smiled and his stomach did a quick flip. He smiled back, praying in the back of his mind that he didn’t ruin this meal, his attention focused on everything but what he was cooking.

  “You do that quite well,” Bridget said, breaking the silence.

  “Excuse me?”

  She gestured in his direction. “Cooking. You are good at it. I’ve been watching how easily you’ve been moving around in my kitchen. It’s almost like a ballet the way you’ve been dancing behind that counter. And whatever is in that pan smells incredible.”

  Darwin chuckled. “Girl, I don’t do ballet. I’m more of a tap-dance, hip-hop kind of guy.”

  Bridget laughed with him. “Excuse me! Either way, you do your thing very well. You’ve got good moves.”

  “Well, it’s easy when you’ve got a great kitchen to work in,” he responded. “Are you sure you don’t cook? Your kitchen is stocked way better than my own.”

  She shook her head. “Thank you, but no, it’s more for show than anything else. I could probably burn water without any effort.”

  He nodded. “I guess I’ll have to stop by more often and take advantage of this.”

  Bridget’s eyes widened as he grinned in her direction. “Any…any time,” she stammered, the prospect of Darwin returning for any reason raising her temperature.

  The duo laughed, then almost simultaneously returned to what they were doing. Bridget grinned into the manila folder that lay open on the tabletop. Her body was on overdrive. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. Darwin was covering the chicken strips in flour, an egg wash, and then seasoned breadcrumbs before laying them into a pan of sizzling olive oil. The aromas wafting through the room had her insides bubbling with hunger, and the man himself had stirred a low flame through the rest of her.

  A girl could get used to this, she thought as he moved effortlessly from one saucepan to another. She closed her eyes and then pinched herself, grasping just a bit of the flesh at her wrist between the thumb and forefinger of her other hand. If this wasn’t real, she needed to wake up before it went any further. When she opened her eyes again, Darwin was still there, still moving as though he’d always belonged right there in her kitchen and her life. As he pulled a tablespoon of simmering sauce to his lips, blowing lightly over the hot substance, Bridget closed her eyes for a second time, imagining what it might be like to have those lips blowing warm breath against her skin.

  Darwin’s deep voice suddenly shook her from her reverie as he stepped in behind her, a large hand pressed easily against the center of her back. The tips of his fingers burned hot against the flesh beneath her silk blouse.

  “I’m sorry. What did you say?” she asked, nervous energy quivering in her voice.

  “No. I apologize,” Darwin responded, smiling down at her. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I just thought you might want to set the table. The food’s almost ready.”

  Bridget stood up quickly, shifting away from the rise of heat that was spreading like a raging itch through her body. As if sensing her reaction, Darwin clenched his fingers into a tight fist and crossed both arms behind his back, staring sheepishly in her direction. The earlier awkwardness between them suddenly resurfaced with a vengeance.

  Chapter 4

  Roshawn and Jeneva were giggling hysterically into their telephone receivers. Bridget didn’t find a thing funny about her situation and she said so.

  “You two get right on my nerves. I called for some advice and instead you’re making fun of me. I hate you both.”

  “Don’t say hate. That’s not nice,” Jeneva responded.

  “And it’s very funny,” Roshawn quipped. “You and Darwin have actually gone from making goo-goo eyes at each other to playing pocket pool. I personally think you’re making great progress. Not!”

  Jeneva laughed.

  “Pocket pool?” Bridget questioned. “What’s pocket pool?”

  “You know how you play pool? That game with the long stick and the balls that you sink into the little holes?”

  “Those of us with a little refinement call that billiards.”

  “Yeah, well, whatever you want to call the game, you two are playing it with both of your hands in your pockets instead of on each other. Unfortunately, that makes it kind of hard to sink his—”

  “Don’t even say it!” Bridget shook her head, fighting to suppress the smile pulling at her lips. “Roshawn, you are too nasty!”

  “But she has a point,” Jeneva interjected. “You like him and he likes you and for the life of me I can’t figure out what’s keeping you two from hooking up. It’s been almost six years and the only kiss you’ve gotten has been on your cheek.”

  “And it wasn’t the right cheek, either.” Roshawn laughed. “I keep telling you he can’t get there if you keep your clothes on.”

  “I’m convinced it’s just not meant to be. He doesn’t see me any differently from how he sees you, Jeneva.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Darwin is usually a lot smoother around women. Him being so nervous tells me he sees you quite differently.”

  “And he cooked for you. That has to count for something,” Roshawn added. “So what else happened? Finish your story.”

  Bridget sighed. “Well, you would have thought I’d never set a dinner table before. I couldn’t remember where my good silverware was. I knocked the water glasses over twice, dropped the wine bottle and forgot to light the candles.”

  “But was the food any good?” Jeneva asked.

  “To die for. That man can cook his behind off. And he made dessert, too! It was the cutest little dish of wafer cookies, ice cream and sautéed peaches. He served it in a champagne glass.”

  “That’s all well and good. But I want to know who had to wash all the dishes he dirtied?” Roshawn asked.

  “We both did. He washed and I dried. Then he went home so I could finish reviewing his contracts.”

  “Did he kiss you good-night at least?” Roshawn inquired.

  “No. In fact, he rushed out of here so fast I think I may have scared him.”

  The women laughed and Bridget could feel her face warming from embarrassment as she remembered how quickly Darwin had raced out of her home.

  “But you get to see him again, right? To give him back his papers?”

  Bridget nodded into the receiver. “Tomorrow. I’m taking them over to his studio in the morning.”

  “Well, wear something low-cut,” Roshawn chimed. “Sounds like you need to step it up a notch.”

  Bridget heaved a deep sigh. Stepping it up a notch didn’t begin to address what she needed to do, she thought. What she had never shared with Jeneva or Roshawn was that she’d resigned herself to never marrying, never having a man to spend the rest of her life with. Sure, she’d held out hope that her few flirtations would have netted her a companion, but Bridget had never been one to let wishful thinking take precedence over her common sense. Bridget was acutely aware of the many statistics that prophesied a black woman’s chances of finding a mate, and they weren’t favorable. The nearness of Darwin Tolliver suddenly had her rethinking her prior convictions and wondering whether or not love was actually a possibility for her. She shook the thought from her mind.

  “I’m not wearing anything I wouldn’t wear any other day of the week. If I can accept Darwin not being interested in me, then you two need to, as well.”

  Jeneva chuckled. “Who is she trying to convince?” she asked, her voice brimming with amusement. “Us or herself?”

  Roshawn laughed with her. “Well, I know I haven’t fallen for it. Sounds just like another excuse to me.”

  Bridget sucked in her breath. “I need new friends.”

  “New friends, a man and a job. Girlfriend, your need list is growing longer and longer,” Roshawn said. “I need me a few things, too, so when you get yours let me know where you went shopping.”

  “Okay, we need to stop, Roshawn. Bridget didn’t call us for a hard time.”

  “You go
t that right,” Bridget said. “So stop being a cow and tell me what to do, heifer!”

  “Oh, I got your heifer, heifer!”

  Almost an hour later the three women were still talking nonsense over the telephone. And as Roshawn regaled them with a story about her life in Arizona, Bridget couldn’t help but wonder what Darwin might have been doing right then.

  A nondescript noise woke him from a sound sleep. For only a quick moment he was dazed and disoriented, his vision still blurred from the deep slumber he’d been wrapped in. Then he remembered that he’d been dreaming, floating blissfully on clouds of visual pleasure.

  He’d been dreaming about Bridget. The two of them had been cooking up more than chicken and vegetables in her kitchen. In fact, Bridget had been dessert, the icing on his cake, and he’d been licking every square inch of her spoon. Unfortunately, just when he’d needed his own utensil to function, it didn’t and he’d woken up thoroughly frustrated.

  As he lay sprawled across the surface of his king-size bed, he imagined he could still feel her body pressed warmly against his. He even thought he could still smell the delicate scent of her perfume teasing his senses. He inhaled deeply, savoring the moment as he reached a hand down to cup the limp bulge of flesh between his legs. Even in the throes of sleep his body was failing him, not even a quiver or a twitch to boost his manhood.