He high-fived the dashboard. There was always something he wanted or needed at the hardware store.
He pulled into the turn lane for the second entrance and swung into the lot. She parked. He grabbed a space two rows away, facing Hope’s car, but partially blocked from view by a PT Cruiser. With an unobstructed view of Hope’s perfect heart of an ass, he dialed home and left a last minute deal message.
She got out of her car, walked across the lot, passed the main entrance, and headed for the greenhouse on the side of the building. The second she disappeared through the sliding doors, he popped a mint, hopped out of his Acura, and dragged a flat cart across the lot.
The doors slid open and he stepped into the humid loamy garden department.
Before he’d cleared the registers, or began to navigate the maze of potting soil and fertilizer, he spotted her. Like a jeans-clad Aphrodite, she stood against a backdrop of terra-cotta planters, patio furniture, and cascading backyard fountains amid a rainbow of multicolored blooms.
He rolled his cart next to a table of flowering cacti.
“We meet again,” he said, keeping his eyes on her face, more specifically her lips. Full and gloss-shiny, they could only look more sensual if they were, say, wrapped around his cock.
“Tim.” Her smile ranged somewhere between perfunctory and neighborly, but she remembered his name. “With a new house, I guess I should expect to run into you here.”
“And the grocery store, the drug store, the cleaners,” he said, in case she were inclined to have a chance encounter elsewhere. “Theresa needs to take it easy for the next little while, so I’ve stepped in as the family gofer.”
“That’s sweet of you.”
With the word sweet, any sour thoughts he may have harbored about his upcoming months of post-, and now prebirth, indentured servitude vanished in the floral mist. The dutiful father routine, played right, could possibly kill two birdies, Theresa and Hope, with one stone. “We’re all pitching in, but really, Theresa’s doing the hard part of this deal.”
Hope’s smile warmed.
Score.
“And running to the hardware store isn’t exactly a hardship for me.”
She eyed a table of fledgling bushes with a reverence that gave him the seeds of a possibly perfect idea. “Did I hear something about you doing landscaping?”
“Mostly I do interiors.” She ran her fingers along the branches of a potted fir. “But Frank Griffin asked me to consult on the final landscaping for the new playgrounds.”
The man was clearly no dummy, hiring her instead of some leathery, grizzled landscaper.
“Perfect.” He turned to examine a table covered in flats of purple blooms. “Because I came in thinking I might surprise Theresa by planting the flower beds.”
“I’m sure she’ll love that.”
He shoots. He scores again.
“Problem is, I don’t know the first thing about what to get.” He did his best befuddled look at the never-ending racks of flowers. “I’ve heard something about not planting before Memorial Day but…”
“Depends on what you’re looking for. The hearty annuals should be okay, and the common varieties are on the covenant-approved list. It’s the perennials where things get sticky.”
The word sticky hung in the loamy air between them.
“Annuals, perennials—I wouldn’t know the difference.” He smiled. “I just need the flowers to be pink.”
“All pink?”
“We’re having girls, so I thought that might be a fun touch for Theresa.”
Her eyes, blue and glassy, misted over.
Hat trick.
“I noticed some healthy looking lobelia on the way in,” she said wistfully. “Pansies are always nice. And petunias…”
“Petunias,” he said. “I know she likes petunias.”
“Right behind us.” Hope turned toward a tiered rack overflowing with flowers.
He smiled as he grabbed a few grow packs filled with pink and white striped blooms. “What’s your favorite flower?”
“I love lilies, but I wouldn’t recommend them if you’re not much of a gardener.” She handed him two flats filled with some sort of scarlet blooms. Her flushed cheeks matched the flowers in her hand. “When are you planning to plant?”
“As soon as possible.”
“You’ll need to.” She stuck a finger into an eight-pack of pink and white flowers. “The soil and roots are dry.”
Resisting a comment as to how dry his root really was, he said, “Theresa’s going out tomorrow morning for a couple hours, so I was thinking I’d sneak home and get it done.”
Hope glanced into his cart, which was quickly filling with a variety of pink blooms. “Where are you going to keep them in the meantime?”
“I thought I might stow them along the north side of the house.”
“Can’t she see them from the family room window?”
“If she looks.”
“If she does, the surprise will be ruined.”
“True,” he said. “I guess I could keep them in my car.”
“They’ll never make it.”
“Or—”
“Or, you’re welcome to hide your flowers in my yard.”
Tim bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. “That would be amazing.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Section 3.2. Nuisance: The owner of any Lot shall not suffer or permit any noxious or offensive activity to be conducted, carried on, or practiced in any residence or for any purpose.
Will gave Laney Estridge an air kiss to avoid a crimson smudge of her party hostess war paint and stepped into her front hall. The short leather skirt, stilettos, and tight top she wore, a far cry from her usual business casual sweater set and pearl ensemble, boded an interesting morning, whatever Mother’s Helpers turned out to be.
“We’ll get started, soon.” Laney flashed a flirty smile, handed him a pink-stemmed champagne flute, and disappeared behind the French doors into the vestigial living room cum staging area for ever-sharp knives, allergenic vacuum cleaners, or whatever it was she was trying to hawk.
He never expected to stomach, much less appreciate, multilevel marketing in the context of a social get-together, but there was no denying the convenience in picking up reasonably priced jewelry, clothing, and culinary gadgets at a neighbor’s house instead of having to brave the mall.
Will took a sip of a mimosa, savored the warm kick in his throat, and sniffed the air for a hint of Pampered Chef or something with taste testing. In his hurry to get everyone off and the house straightened, he’d forgotten to grab breakfast. Other than the cinnamon and vanilla from pillar candles, there was no distinctive aroma intermingling with the perfumed air.
Probably a home décor deal.
If so, he’d stick around for whatever Costco munchies were to be had, pick up a few aromatherapy candles or whatever, and say his good-byes. With any luck, he’d have time to squeeze in a quick workout before he was due in the twins’ class to help make stone soup.
He headed for the great room.
Laney’s obtuse invitation seemed to have sparked the curiosity of just about everyone. The usual suspects were clustered together on the sectional, but the rest of the room was nearly packed. The aerobics class regulars were there in force. A group of younger mothers were seated on the ledge along the double-sided gas log fireplace. Maryellen Griffin was in the front row. Even Roseanne Goldberg, who never came to these things, was seated on a recliner facing the doorway. Luckily, she was too engrossed in conversation with the pregnant woman next to her to acknowledge him or the swamped-with-family-demands-let’s-chat-soon e-mail he’d sent her.
Everyone seemed to be there.
He scanned the accent furniture and bar stools.
Except for Hope Jordan.
He glanced at his watch. The party didn’t officially start for another ten minutes.
“I’m going to pick up something and get out of here,” a woman he didn�
�t know whispered to her friend as he walked by. “I need to get to the grocery store before preschool pickup.”
“Know what we’re buying?”
“Laney’s been hush-hush,” the grocery shopper’s friend said. “But I thought I heard something about spices.”
“I heard toys,” Samantha Torgenson said from a nearby recliner.
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” Will spotted an open seat that didn’t face the window overlooking the playground construction. “What’s to munch on?”
“So far, we’ve only been offered mimosas.”
Peeking into the open pass-through, he spotted assorted platters covered in plastic wrap and aluminum foil on the breakfast table. “I think I’ll check out the food before things get rolling.”
“Let us know if there’s anything interesting.”
“For sure.” Will tossed his sweatshirt across two empty chairs. If Hope showed up, there probably wouldn’t be an open spot for her otherwise.
He slid through the kitchen door.
One glance through the pink, purple, and blue Saran Wrap and his rumbling stomach fell silent. A coffee cake, baked in the shape of a penis, complete with iced testicles and scrotum, sat next to a plate of muffins, iced pink and topped with raspberries. Other platters held unpeeled bananas in neat rows between facedown kiwi halves, cocktail weenies skewered to pearl onions, and grape-accented peach slices. Circles of goat cheese lay on round crackers, topped with Craisins.
Sarah Fowler, wearing a leather skirt, black top, and crimson lipstick identical to Laney’s, appeared in the kitchen via the dining room. She put a hand on his shoulder and guided him back toward the swinging door. Before she pushed him back into the great room, she handed him an anatomically correct piece of white chocolate, complete with milk chocolate shavings groomed into the shape of a pubic hair heart. “Vagina to tide you over?”
***
Hope slid her patio door open and ambled out to her deck at 10:05, exactly as planned. What Tim didn’t plan on was her sheer pink blouse, or the view of her legs in wedge heels and an above-the-knee jean skirt. The inherent pleasure was bittersweet. Since yesterday’s chance meeting at Home Depot, he’d done little else but fantasize about her, dressed in a tight tank top and loose overalls, eager to spend an hour planting with him.
He crossed his yard toward their shared fence. “You look nice and ready for spring.”
“I wish. Try a home shopping party at Laney Estridge’s.”
“I didn’t realize you’d be going.” It hadn’t occurred to him that she’d have anything to do with a Mother’s Helpers party. “I mean, you didn’t mention it yesterday.”
“I generally try to avoid home shopping.” She shook her head, but seemed otherwise nonplussed by his presumptive gaffe. “But it seemed like the thing to do at the time.”
“I know Theresa was looking forward to the party.”
“She’s all but on bed rest, right?”
He nodded.
“Pretty much explains her enthusiasm.” Hope shook her head. “Have you ever been to a party full of housewives clucking over housewares?”
“Can’t say I have.” He tried to cull the disappointment of losing already stolen time from his voice. “But I should probably grab my plants so I don’t keep you. I dropped Theresa off over there almost fifteen minutes ago.”
“Honestly, there’s nothing I’d like more than an excuse to show up late.”
“In that case,” his pulse quickened with a revived sense of chase, “join me to dig around in the dirt?”
She smiled. “Wish I could, but I can delay the inevitable a little by helping you get the flowers into your place.”
“You’re not exactly dressed for gardening.” He allowed himself a lingering glance that included her legs. “I’ll just come around and—”
“Laney’s family room window faces my house. There’s a good chance someone from the party will see you in my yard.”
Maybe she wasn’t dressed for spending a stolen hour together, but her willingness to show up late, coupled with her attention to secrecy, was encouraging. “That would kind of defeat the purpose.”
“Which is why I already loaded your flowers into my trunk.”
His gardening fantasy was taking a potentially more interesting turn.
She dangled her car keys. “I’ll just drive around the block to your house and you can unload them right from my car.”
“Wow. Thanks.” He didn’t even try to moderate his shit-eating grin. “I’ll be waiting with open garage.”
***
Before Will could figure how to exit the now standing-room-only crowd, the living room doors flew open and disco music filled the room. In a scene eerily reminiscent of Frank’s diorama unveiling, a middle-aged brunette, stuffed into an outfit matching Laney and Sarah’s, pushed a drape-covered cart into the room.
She whisked off the cloth covering the rolling table, picked up a fur-tipped riding crop, and waved it over a table filled with every sexual aid imaginable. “I’m Kitty and I’d like to welcome you to Mother’s Helpers!”
Hoots and hollers filled the room.
“I knew this was going to be a Fuckerware party,” Roseanne Goldberg shouted.
“The politically correct term is Interpersonal Intimacy Enhancement gathering,” Kitty said.
Will took a bite of the melting chocolate vagina he clutched in his sweaty palm. “Definitely not Pampered Chef, is it?”
“Concept’s basically the same,” said Stephanie from weights class, who’d commandeered the chair he’d saved for Hope. “Lots of gadgets you think you have to have and then don’t really use.”
Will eyed an ethnically diverse assortment of dildos on the table. They all eclipsed him in either length or girth, and mostly both. “Hope you’re right.”
Thank God Hope hadn’t shown up.
He looked past a group of giggling women seated near Kitty’s table and scanned the room for someone heading toward the door, or at least looking as uncomfortable as he felt. Maryellen Griffin had slunk into her front row seat, clutching her purse. That she made no move to leave was undoubtedly the result of shock, but if she wasn’t leaving, he couldn’t either.
Not without looking like some kind of total prude, anyway.
Stephanie patted his knee. “Relax and go with the flow.”
As her hand lingered on his thigh, he had to admit the idea, and her newly bleach blond pixie cut, did have a certain appeal.
“Edible undies!” Lisa Simon, who was seated to his right, squealed. “I’ve been wanting those forever.”
A cute brunette who was seated beside the side goodies table examined a set of Ben-Wa balls.
Fact was, if he weren’t the only man in the room, he’d be enjoying not only a beer instead of champagne, but the delighted squeals of the women all around him.
As Kitty explained the one-on-one, ultra-private ordering and delivery process, Will settled into a calm, up-for-a-good-time expression. How often did a man get a socially acceptable opportunity to watch a room full of horny housewives giggle like schoolgirls over X-rated toys and products?
“Ready to talk birds and bees?” Over catcalls that would embarrass a construction dude, Kitty picked up a decorative tin from the table behind her. “Our first product is Honey Bunny.” She reached for the hand of a woman seated closest to the front table and dusted the length of her forearm. “And it’s the best body powder you’ve ever tasted.”
“You’re supposed to eat it?” Maryellen Griffin asked.
“What goes on between two people in the privacy of their bedroom is always better when it’s 100 percent organic.” Kitty dipped a feather duster into the powder. “Give me your hand.”
Maryellen’s face had to be as flushed as her neck. “Mine?”
“Don’t worry,” Kitty said. “It won’t sting.”
“She looks like she wants to die,” Lisa mumbled.
“Or she’s imagining her evening festivities
,” Stephanie said. “I hear the Rev. Frank’s a big time dirty talker.”
Will couldn’t help but laugh at a rumor implying Frank had a not at all surprising predilection for hearing himself talk. “Ugh.”
“Apparently he’s a growler, too.”
“Total TMI,” Will managed.
Kitty ran the duster along Maryellen’s forearm. “Taste it.”
All eyes fell on poor Maryellen as she took a hesitant lick of her wrist.
“Best of all, it’s calorie free!”
Maryellen ran her tongue toward her elbow. “Mmmm.”
Sarah appeared in front of him and dusted his arm with powder.
Laney whisked Stephanie and Lisa.
“Honey Bunny is $11.95 and available in both Wildflower and Cherry Blossom,” Kitty announced.
“The cherry’s kind of tart,” Lisa whispered. “Did you get the wildflower?”
Before he could lift his hand to his mouth for a taste test, she leaned over, smiled seductively, and licked his forearm. “It’s yummy. Try it.”
“Your wish is my command.” He licked his wrist.
Wild honey flavor began to dance on his tongue.
“Don’t fill up.” Kitty reached into a bin marked Mummy’s Yummys, pulled out a tube of red gel, and squirted a blob on her finger. “There’s much more to come.”
***
Beautiful in an old school, Grace Kelly way, Hope didn’t seem the affair type. While angelic looks and unexpected sexual predilections were anything but mutually exclusive, the chance of a less-than-gorgeous-but-more-than-eager neighbor charming a woman like her into bed by impressing her with flower planting for his pregnant wife was less than zero.
The challenge alone practically made Tim hard.
He snuck a glance at Hope before setting a flat of flowers along the wall of his garage and headed back to her car for another armload. “Thank you again for making this so easy.”
“Glad to help.” She handed him a bag of plant food.
She wanted him.
“I have to admit I’m still in awe over what an incredible gesture this is for your wife.”
Even if she didn’t realize it yet.
His aw shucks look wasn’t quite sincere, but Hope’s admiration, combined with what he knew would come in the way of appreciation from Theresa, was enough to make anyone grin like a total fool. “I’m just lucky my business allows me flexibility to do stuff like this.”
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