His Little Black Book

by Thea Devine

  They were happy, while she, the instigator and cheerleader, was burdened with a confused conscience and an unrequited love.

  MJ was not in love; MJ was in happy bondage. And Delia was not in love. Delia was deep in “like” with a mischievous, overgrown boy whom she could take care of.

  Will I ever find someone who’s perfect for me?

  She took a temp job just as spring was blooming—mindless work that involved filing, sorting, and delivering airline tickets. Penance for her cupidity. Time to ruminate on her stupidity.

  Spring was the perfect time of year to begin over, with everything flowering, the crisp fresh air, bright blue skies, couples strolling in the park…Well, seeing all the couples in love wasn’t so great.

  Now she yearned for love the way she’d formerly yearned for control. Love had nothing to do with control.

  She’d thought she knew all the answers—she knew nothing.

  I’m not ready for someone like Nick yet. I have to grow up. I have to learn what being in love really means.

  So when she walked out of her office late one afternoon, the last person she expected to see was him.

  Her heart stopped; she felt a heady joy with a hundred darts of pleasure zinging through her; she went weak and nearly dropped her bag; she wondered how she looked, she didn’t care…She wasn’t aware she had come to a full stop until people jostling her propelled her forward again.

  And then she couldn’t speak. God, I am such a baby. This is not mature, worldly woman behavior.

  All she could say was, “Hi.”

  He was looking at her oddly with that steely gaze. “Hi, yourself. Before you ask, Delia told me where you work and verbally chewed my ass for not calling sooner.”

  Brooke gave him a skittery smile. It seemed inadequate to say, good to see you, but, God, it was good to see him.

  “So I thought, maybe you could take off your hair shirt now.”

  Instantly she prickled up. “What about yours?” she threw back.

  “Mine comes with being the one who’s supposed to be the adult in the situation. Except things keep getting in the way.”

  “Yeah? What things?”

  “Stupid male things. Let’s walk.”

  They turned uptown on Fifth. It was a perfect spring day, the sky blue, the breeze gentle, the air sweetly scented, and Brooke couldn’t find a thing to say. They headed up toward the park, their silence oddly companionable.

  As they passed the Plaza and the horse-drawn carriages lined up on Fifty-ninth Street, Brooke asked, “Are you planning a carriage ride?”

  “God, no. I don’t do carriage rides. I’m too old.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  “Well, I am too old. And you’re too young—but more than that, you’re experienced way out of my league, and it stinks. I don’t like it, I don’t want it, but I’m tired of fighting it anymore.” He glanced down at her stunned expression.

  “I love you,” she whispered, not cowed for a moment by that faintly off-putting speech.

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Yeah, I thought the same thing.” She was on firm ground now. He was a romantic, he’d waited till spring, and he’d come for her in spite of every reservation. “Love’s a bitch. So why are you here?”

  “To tell you it’s not going to work. That we’re two different worlds, two different generations, and we have nothing in common. And you know nothing about the hellish toll my job and my hours take on a relationship—”

  “Blah blah blah,” she murmured under the litany of nots, but deep beneath that, she caught the fleeting glimpse of the battle he’d had with himself to even come to her. If he wasn’t in love with her, he was very close to it, in spite of everything that had happened, and he’d needed this time and distance to come to grips with the rest.

  And so had she.

  He stopped and looked down at her, and that look was there again—the one she’d lived on for months, the one where she’d first recognized the profound way he knew her, saw her, and wanted her, the look that erased the past and gave them a future.

  He said, “And I came to tell you that I want to try.”

  He took her hand, and his grip was so warm and firm that something moved deep inside her, because his taking her hand like that was the commitment.

  “Where are we going?” she asked breathlessly.

  “We’re not going to dive into bed.”

  “No.” That wasn’t what this moment was about, despite the heat crackling between them.

  “Yet. And no kissing.”

  “Yes, kissing,” she said.

  “Nope, kissing leads to bed.”

  “No, there needs to be kissing,” Brooke said emphatically.

  He stopped again to look at her. “Maybe.” He bent his head, touched her lips, a soft, tender kiss.

  “Kisses will do,” he murmured. “And dating. I’m old-fashioned that way: We’ll get to know each other before we fall into bed.”

  “I know everything I need to know.”

  He smiled faintly. “Not everything, Brooke. And there is something to be said for a little restraint and anticipation.”

  “I can’t imagine what,” Brooke murmured.

  He took her hand again and they started walking across Fifty-ninth Street to the park entrance. “There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere and I’m not in any hurry.”

  Brooke made a faint sound.

  He stopped and kissed her again, a real kiss this time, a kiss that made her knees weak and everything inside her reach for him.

  “We need to talk,” he murmured. “And later, after we talk, I’ll show you the value of all that restraint and anticipation.”