A Better Reason to Fall in Love

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  Tabby was too frightened to argue—or to even think coherently. She pulled the leather jacket more snuggly over her shoulders and chest, knowing there would have been no way she could have driven herself home. Her phobia was freaking her out, even with Jagger driving, and she was certain he was capable. She could never have driven herself—not that she would have tried. She wondered for a moment why she’d allowed him to talk her into letting him drive her home. Yet as she glanced over to him—as she felt warmed not only by his jacket but by the fact that she was actually sitting in a car with Jagger Brodie—she knew there wasn’t a woman in the world that would have been able to deny herself the opportunity to be driven home by him.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “Put your head back and close your eyes. Try to relax a little. We’ll be there before you know it.”

  Tabby did as she was told—rested her head against the headrest of the passenger seat and closed her eyes. In a moment or two, she did feel her body relax a little. Her feet were toasty warm where the heater was blowing on them. And even though she wore her own coat, Jagger’s leather jacket was heavy and added a sense of security. It smelled good too, and she inhaled several long, deep breaths, enjoying the comforting scents of leather and vanilla.

  Tabby tried to think of nothing but the feel and smell of Jagger’s jacket—tried to focus on Diana Krall’s soft voice singing “The Look of Love.” She knew Jagger Brodie was a capable man. He’d get her home or keep her safe and warm until he did. At the thought of Jagger keeping her warm, Tabby opened her eyes and looked over at him. He seemed as calm and cool as if he were simply out for a leisurely drive on a summer Sunday afternoon.

  He glanced over at her, and she felt herself smile.

  “What?” he asked, returning her smile.

  “You like Diana Krall,” she answered.

  “Yeah? Don’t you?”

  “Well, yes. But…but you’re a rock star,” she teased. “I thought you’d be subwoofing your way home every day.”

  He chuckled. “Well, I do subwoof my way home some days,” he told her. He glanced over to her, grinning. “But not today.”

  “I’m out of your way, aren’t I?” Tabby asked. Her nerves had settled down a bit, and now that she was thinking more clearly, she remembered having seen Jagger Brodie’s address on some mail someone had dropped near her desk one day. Jagger’s zip code was on the northeast side of the city, and she lived on the west side.

  “Not at all,” he lied.

  “Where do you live then?” she asked.

  He grinned again. “In a house.”

  Tabby giggled. “I mean, what part of the city do you live in?”

  “In a subdivision.”

  “Which side of the city is the subdivision you live on?”

  For a moment, Tabby almost wished they would slide off the road—gently, of course—so she could see how Jagger would keep them warm until a tow truck arrived. She was so affected by just being tucked snuggly under his leather jacket, she could just imagine how wonderful it would be to be tucked snuggly in the warm protection of his strong arms.

  “So maybe this is the roundabout way to my house,” he said. He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Maybe I needed to pick up some hamster food at that pet store on the west side. Maybe your house is on the way to the pet store.”

  “A hamster?” Tabby giggled. “You’re not a very good liar.”

  “Then we’re even, Miss I-just-have-a-couple-of-things-to-finish-up-at-the-office,” he teased.

  “Okay, so neither one of us is a good liar,” Tabby said. “We have something in common.”

  “And we both like Diana Krall,” he added, nodding with approval.

  “And obviously, we both like the blues,” Tabby pointed out.

  “And we work at the same place,” he said in turn.

  “And we both know Armando, the cliff-diving restaurant owner,” Tabby giggled.

  “True,” he chuckled. “I understand he’s completely crushing out over your friend Jocelyn, by the way.”

  “Well, she’s completely crushing over him, that’s for sure!”

  “Hmm…Diana Krall fans, bad liars, the blues…and friends that are crushing. We’re practically twins,” he said.

  “Oh yeah, practically twins,” Tabby laughed. “Except for the driving in snow part. I can’t believe I let myself inconvenience you like this.”

  “I told you I needed hamster food,” he said. “What? Do you want me to just let little Rutherford starve?”

  “Rutherford?” Tabby asked. The name was so random that for a moment she almost believed he had a hamster.

  “Yeah. That was my hamster when I was in sixth grade. He was awesome,” Jagger said. He exhaled a dramatic sigh. “Of course, he’s dead now. He’s buried in my mom’s flower bed in a checkbook box.”

  “So there isn’t a current Rutherford then?” she asked.

  “Naw,” he admitted. “I made the pet store thing up.”

  “No kidding?” She shook her head, delighted at his teasing.

  “No kidding. And now, we’re at Sycamore,” he said.

  For the first time in a long time, Tabby glanced out the front window.

  “Oh my heck!” she exclaimed upon seeing that the visibility was near zero. She hadn’t noticed how bad the blizzard had become. With Diana Krall’s soothing voice and his lighthearted chitchat, Jagger had managed to distract her thoroughly.

  “Oh my heck! How can you even see where you’re going?” she breathed as her fear returned. “I can’t see the road!”

  “I can see fine,” he said. “And we’re two blocks from Vine.”

  Tabby inhaled a deep breath and closed her eyes, her knuckles going white as she gripped each side of her seat.

  “What’s your house number?” Jagger asked.

  “Seven forty-two Vine,” she managed. “But I don’t know why you’re asking. You’ll never find it.”

  “Sure I will,” he assured her.

  “How? We can’t see a thing.”

  “But this cop can,” he casually explained.

  “What?” Tabby exclaimed, opening her eyes in time to see a police SUV vehicle parked in front of them, lights flashing.

  Jagger rolled his window down a bit as a police officer tapped on it.

  “Officer,” Jagger greeted.

  The policeman shined a flashlight into the car.

  “You’ll have to get off the road, sir,” the policeman said. “Visibility is zero.”

  “Zack!” Tabby exclaimed. Zack Hadlock was her neighbor.

  “Tabby?” Zack asked, shining the flashlight at her. “Where’s your car?”

  “At the office,” she explained.

  “Well, whoever this guy is…you’re stuck with him for the night,” Zack said.

  “What?” Tabby exclaimed. “You can’t trap him here, Zack. He only brought me home as a favor.”

  Zack shrugged. “Sorry, Tabby. You’ll have to put him up for the night…at least.”

  “No way around it, huh?” Jagger asked.

  “Sorry, man,” Zack said. He smiled at Jagger, however, and added, “Or maybe you’ll be thanking me in the morning.”

  “But, Zack—” Tabby began.

  “Sorry, Tabby,” Zack interrupted. “Just take him home, and you two wait this out.”

  “Thank you,” Jagger said.

  Zack nodded. “Second driveway on the left…if you can see it.”

  “Thanks.”

  As Jagger rolled up the window, brushing the snow out of his hair with one hand, Tabby thought she might actually burst into tears.

  “See what happens when you try to be nice to snow-phobics?” she said. “You’re trapped.”

  Jagger shrugged. “I’d rather spend the night at your house than at the office.” He glanced to her, offered a reassuring grin, and added, “Or off the road in a snowbank somewhere. Right?”

  “I am so sorry,” Tabby said as Jagger pulled into her driveway. “I can’t believe this. I
should’ve just—”

  “Hey,” he interrupted. “It is what it is. Don’t worry about it. You have a couch, right?”

  Tabby looked to him as she suddenly realized he’d be with her all night—that he was asking if he could sleep on her couch. Hurriedly, she tried to remember if she’d left any underwear lying around in the bathroom that morning. With Chloe still out of town and the fact that she was so preoccupied with the possibility of a storm while she was getting ready for work, she couldn’t remember if she’d just stripped down before her shower and left everything lying on the floor.

  “I do have a couch,” she said, finally getting a little handle on her thought process. “But…but my sister is out of town, so you don’t have to sleep on the couch. You can have a bed.” Suddenly, profoundly aware of the gravity of the situation—at least for appearance’s purposes—she added, “A bed of your own, of course.”

  He chuckled and put the car in park.

  “You can pull into the garage,” she said. “I’ll just run in and open it for you.”

  “I’ll come with you,” he said, opening his door. Tabby watched as the wind hit him—as he was blasted by heavy blowing snow. Tossing Jagger’s leather jacket into the backseat, she quickly opened her own door. The wind was freezing, and she felt like she was being pelted with icicles! She wished she’d worn something besides heels. She’d never make it to the front door without breaking her neck. Yet in the next instant, she realized she wouldn’t be walking to the front door. Jagger appeared beside her, closed the car door behind her, and then swooped her up in his arms.

  “Hang on,” he shouted over the roar of the wind.

  Instinctively, Tabby wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him as he made his way to her front door.

  He let her feet drop to the ground, shivering as he asked, “Do you have your keys?”

  Frantically, Tabby began to dig in her purse. Jagger was patting his own arms, and it was only then she realized he wasn’t wearing a coat—only his suit jacket.

  She found her keys. She took hold of the house key to separate it from the rest of the bundle on her key chain and, for some reason, held them out to him.

  “Thanks,” he said, accepting the key and shoving it into the doorknob.

  “I’ll open the garage for you so you can pull in,” she said as he opened the door for her and she stepped over the threshold.

  “Okay,” he said, his teeth chattering.

  Tabby didn’t wait. Kicking off her pumps, she hurried across the front room and to the door off the kitchen leading to the garage.

  She didn’t even pause to turn on the garage light—just reached to the wall inside the door and pushed the big white button. The garage door opened. She breathed a tiny sigh of relief as she watched the black Volvo roll into her garage. Once Jagger had turned off the engine, she pushed the button again and watched as the garage door closed behind Jagger’s car. He really was trapped now.

  Jagger got out of his car, walked around to the back of it—visibly shivering all the way—and retrieved a black duffle bag from his trunk.

  “I was supposed to head over to the restaurant tonight to help the kitchen,” he said. “I guess I better call and let them know I won’t be there.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Tabby said as he stepped into the house, still shivering.

  “Don’t be,” he told her. “And besides…I’m sure they’ll close. It looks like this storm is shutting the city down.”

  Jagger stomped his feet on the mat lying just inside the door in the kitchen.

  “Can I take my shoes off?” he asked.

  “Oh! Of course,” Tabby said. “Here…let me take that for you.” Reaching out, she took the duffle bag from him, enabling him to remove his shoes.

  She watched as he lined his shoes up on the floor mat. He shivered again and smiled down at her.

  “Hey,” he said, studying her from head to toe. “You got shorter.”

  “Heels.” She shrugged. “Let me take your jacket,” she said, placing the duffle bag on the floor.

  Jagger loosened his tie, removed his suit coat, and handed it to Tabby, who hung the coat on the back of a nearby chair.

  “Would you mind if I change clothes?” he asked. “I have stuff in my bag…since I was supposed to be washing dishes tonight.”

  “I’m glad you won’t have to wear your suit all night,” she said. She watched him pull on his tie again. The knot unwound, and he pulled the length of silk from around his collar and then began unbuttoning his shirt. “Oh!” she exclaimed, blushing. “The bathroom is right through there.” She pointed across the kitchen and living room to the bathroom just beyond.

  “Well then, excuse me while I slip into something more comfortable.” He smiled and winked.

  Tabby smiled and blushed to the tips of her toes.

  “Wait a minute,” he said, as he picked up his duffle bag. “Isn’t that supposed to be your line?”

  Tabby giggled, relieved that Jagger didn’t seem to be angry about being trapped—delighted with his flirting.

  “Oh, I’m definitely going to change out of this skirt,” she said.

  “Okay. I’ll be back in minute.”

  He started toward the bathroom but paused and turned to look at her once more.

  “Can I get you something?” she asked.

  “Nope,” he said. “I was just thinking…I bet it’s been, like, sixteen years since I was at a campout.”

  “You mean a sleepover,” Tabby giggled.

  Jagger shook his head, frowning. “Guys don’t have sleepovers, Tabby. Guys have campouts…even if it’s indoors.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said, smiling.

  He swaggered toward the bathroom then, black duffle bag in hand. Tabby stifled a giggle of delighted disbelief as she watched him go. He disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

  “Driven home by the Derrière-inator,” she softly whispered to herself. “Driven home, carried to the door, and all alone during a blizzard…with His Royal Hineyness.” She sighed and headed toward her room. “Unbelievable,” she mumbled to herself.

  ❦

  “Seriously, I should open my own restaurant,” Jagger said as he placed a plate of food on the table in front of Tabby. “See? I told you I could cook.”

  Tabby smiled as she studied the enormous mound of corn chips, chili, and cheese heaped on her plate.

  “What’s it called?” she asked.

  “Jagger’s Famous Frito Pie, of course,” Jagger said, setting a plate down on the table next to her. “Oh, wait,” he said, snapping his fingers as if he’d forgotten something. “We need milk with this. Where are your glasses?”

  “In the cupboard to the right of the sink,” she answered. The smile on her face as she watched him fumble around the kitchen was so broad it was beginning to hurt. She watched as Jagger opened the cupboard and took out two glasses. Opening the fridge, he pulled out a gallon jug of milk and filled the glasses.

  He returned the milk to the fridge, picked up the two glasses, and headed back to the small table.

  “There,” he said. The milk in the glasses sloshed as he seated himself in a chair and set the glasses on the table. “Well? Dig in,” he said.

  Giggling, Tabby plunged her fork into the heap of food. The corn chips beneath the microwave-warmed chili were beginning to soften, and the cheese on top was melting. Tabby awkwardly shoveled a bit of the concoction into her mouth, feeling her eyebrows arch in astonishment at how delicious it was.

  “It’s good!” she mumbled with her mouth still full.

  Jagger smiled and nodded. “You doubted it at first. I could tell. But I knew you’d like it.”

  Jagger had volunteered to make dinner—having had Fritos, canned chili, and grated cheese in his duffle bag. He’d explained that he didn’t like to eat the restaurant food when he was working there; the delicious New Orleans cuisine didn’t taste as good after a body had been washing dishes in the kitchen. So he’
d packed his supper that morning, in his duffle bag with his change of clothes. He had assured Tabby that he needed to use the cheese—so why not let him fix dinner?

  Tabby had agreed easily enough. And now—now she sat eating Jagger Brodie’s Frito pie, entirely delighted by his total bachelor-ness.

  “Perfect, huh?” Jagger said as he took a bite. “I mean, can you think of anything better we could eat on a night like this?”

  “Absolutely not,” Tabby giggled. She took another bite of the warm, satisfying mixture.

  They ate in silence for a minute or two. Tabby’s silence was borne more of the astonishment in her—that she was lingering in isolation with Jagger Brodie—than in being awestruck by his culinary skills.

  “So,” he began after a moment, “what kind of stuff does one do on a sleepover?”

  Tabby smiled as she shrugged. “You know, makeup makeovers, braiding each other’s hair, talking about boys, dancing around in pajamas, singing along to boy bands.”