by Isabel Jolie
“Alexa, play a dinner playlist.”
Music filled the downstairs. After a careful inspection of the limited contents of my wine refrigerator, I pulled out a solid Cabernet option that would go well with the filet and a Chardonnay that could also suffice. If she preferred white, as I knew some women did, I had it covered.
Thirty minutes later, the potatoes were on the stove boiling, my Brussels sprouts were in the oven roasting, and the table was set. I’d even found a small round candle in a clear glass jar. I swept the floor and wiped the counters. I circled the open downstairs and then double-checked everything in my room was neat. Not that I expected we’d make it into my room, but I had time to spare.
Did I ever put this much effort into a date with Bethany? Of course, we’d lived in Chicago. Getting a reservation at an excellent restaurant, having the foresight to request a good table, those were the ways to exhibit dating game in the city. And I hadn’t even had to expend any effort on that front. Bethany made the reservations at the restaurants she chose.
A low, barely audible knock sounded against the door. The sharp chime of my front doorbell followed. I wiped my palms against my slacks, double-checked my breath against my palm, and swung the door open.
“Hi.” Cali held up a bottle of Quilt Cabernet in a nervous offering, the exact wine I’d selected for us to drink.
“Hi. You didn’t need to bring anything.”
She shrugged and lifted her nose higher into the air. “Wow. Something smells good.”
“Roasting Brussels sprouts. You’re smelling the garlic. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Sure. I’ll have whatever you’re drinking.”
“Here. I’ll open this. Which happens to be the same bottle I picked out for us tonight.”
“Oh, really? That’s funny. I guess it goes to show there’s a limited selection of wine at the market, huh?”
“It’s not that limited. You picked one of my favorites.” The market on the island left a lot of room for growth, but the wine section could compete with most of the grocery stores I’d frequented back in Chicago. I liked to think the odds were small we’d select the same bottle, and therefore it was a good omen. I offered her a glass and paused, at a loss for a toast. She saved me.
“To good things.” Our gaze met over the rim of her glass. She wore loose black silk slacks that highlighted a narrow waist and the curve of a well-defined derriere. The fabric draped her legs like a skirt. A single gold necklace with a white quartz pendant hovered above the V of her white silk tank, leading the eye to the soft slope of her breasts. Her silky black hair hung loose and glimmered in the overhead lights. Cali struck me as both natural and elegant and probably a notch out of my league.
I pulled out a stool for her that would allow her to watch while I finished preparing our meal. “Sit.”
“What are you making?”
“Well, for you, I’m pulling out all the stops.” I gave her the brief rundown.
“I’m impressed you cook.”
“I enjoy cooking. But I have a limited repertoire. And I’m making you my best tonight, so, fair warning for the future.”
The corner of her front tooth pressed into her lower lip as she grinned. She ran her fingers through her glossy strands, lifting them higher, only to fall gracefully back in place the moment she removed her fingers. I wanted to reach out and touch those silky strands, but I busied myself with our dinner.
“I really like your kitchen. Did you design it?”
“They already had the plans when I bought it. I approved some recommended finishes. Baird, the builder, does a good job.”
“Yeah, I’ve been into some of his open houses on spec homes he’s built. He does beautiful work.”
She lived in a beautiful home on the beach, but I didn’t want to ask about her house. “So, you never really said before. What lured you here from Seattle?”
“I just wanted… something different. I found it online. What about you?”
I swirled my wine, buying time to derive an answer. “The same.”
I busied myself completing dinner. This beautiful, reclusive woman moved across the country, all by herself. She taught one student. She probably answered me as truthfully as I answered her.
“You said you’re a language translator. What languages?”
She fidgeted with the stem on her glass. “Mostly Arabic.”
“Really?”
“You expected an Asian language, right? Chinese? Korean?”
“Are you Asian?” In my mind, no matter what ethnicity she claimed, she was beautiful. Stunning. I might have guessed Hawaiian.
“My grandfather’s family is from Macau. You probably haven’t heard of it. It’s near Taiwan. My grandmother’s family is from Brazil, but she was raised in Macau. They moved to the US before my father was born. My dad married an American. My mother and her side of the family are from all over. They’ve never really done the genealogy thing. Or, as my grandfather would have said, they are mutts.”
I chuckled. “That’s one way of looking at it.”
“Anyway, in a roundabout way, that’s why I took Arabic. My grandfather’s family encouraged Cantonese. And I studied it. We went to a foreign language magnet school. But when I reached high school and needed to select my focus, I chose Arabic. It might have been the most rebellious thing I ever did. No, scratch that. Moving out of the house as an unmarried adult. My grandfather was mortified.”
“Didn’t go over well?”
“It’s amazing I wasn’t disowned. I mean, my mother’s family couldn’t have cared less. Actually, they expected I’d move out on my own because that’s normal for them, you know? On your own after college. My grandfather didn’t see things that way. He’d prefer we remained with our parents until marriage. But Dad took the brunt of it. He always had to work to balance his family and my mom’s side. Are you close to your family?”
“My chosen family, yes. I went to West Point out of high school, then Special Forces. Some men I met from those years, they’re my family. My mom passed away years ago. Heart attack.”
“I’m sorry. And your father?”
“Don’t really know him.” I stood and cleared our plates. “Can I interest you in dessert?”
“What do you have?” She smiled in a way that could be interpreted as suggestive. I paused, then decided I most definitely read that wrong.
“Apple pie. From the market.”
She rested her palm on her flat stomach. “Would it be rude if I passed? I’m actually quite full. You’re an excellent cook.”
“Well, meat and potatoes. If there’s a grill involved, I can pull it off.”
“Don’t let me stop you from dessert.”
As much as I might wish otherwise, she didn’t mean herself. “I’m full, too. So, you mentioned a brother.”
“I did?”
I dropped open the dishwasher. I thought she’d mentioned him, but maybe it was Poppy. She said something about her brother gave her the dog.
“Where does he live?”
“He lives abroad.”
“Oh, do you get to see him much?”
“No. Do you go back to Chicago often?”
“There’s no need. My buddies live all over, but none in Chicago.” Besides, that was part of my divorce agreement…that I stay away. Not that I needed to share that on a first date. She picked up her pocketbook and took out her phone.
“Work stuff?” I asked.
“Thought I heard something. Here, let me help.”
I tried to tell her to sit, but she insisted. Her lithe frame glided around the kitchen with a dancer’s poise. The wine loosened me up, relaxed me, and I let my gaze follow the curve of her ass. She stood at the sink, rinsing dishes, as I wiped down the counter, stealing glances at her profile. The long lines of her neck, the way the silk blouse hugged the slight curves. The smooth quartz falling above the V, to those tempting, well-formed breasts.
She brushed against me, and my body r
eacted, instantly hardening. I wanted to hold her against the counter and trace kisses down her neck, hold her breast in my hand, brush my thumb across her nipple. I imagined what she’d look like naked, standing before me—
“I think that’s it.”
I blinked, and my back hit the refrigerator.
“I should probably get going home. I need to take Nym out for a walk.”
“I meant to tell you to bring him.”
“To your house?” She found the idea preposterous, as indicated by her wide, teasing smile.
“Why not?”
“You don’t have a pet. You wouldn’t want someone else’s dog in your home, would you? Your home is so clean. It’s pristine. Nym sheds everywhere.”
“My place is clean because no one’s here. I love dogs.”
I followed her out the front door. “I’ll walk you home. You walked, right?”
“Yeah, I did.”
Our steps fell in line easily. Our arms bumped. I considered reaching for her hand, sliding my fingers through hers, but she slipped her hands into pockets.
“Is this your first date since your divorce?” She stared straight ahead, and I studied her, unsure she’d really asked. Her dark brown eyes held the question.
“Yes. Well, last night, if you count last night. What about for you?”
Several steps followed before she answered, “Yes.”
“I enjoyed tonight.”
“Me too. For what it’s worth, I think your ex-wife made a huge mistake letting you go. A man who can cook—”
“Meat and potatoes.” She grinned. “I don’t want to oversell myself.”
“A man who can cook and walks a girl home…”
“What about your ex? He must have been insane.”
She flinched. Lots of people didn’t like to talk about their exes. But something felt off. She stared off to her right, toward the ocean. Between the oceanfront homes, the dark waters glinted in the moonlight.
“That’s a gorgeous waning moon,” she said.
“It is.” A woman who knew the verbiage for the phases of the moon. I liked that about her and, well, quite a bit more. So what if we were technically both each other’s rebound? “Have you got plans for Labor Day?”
“No. You?”
“I’ll be working. But I’ll be here. Any plans to go visit your family soon?”
“I’m working on it. I miss my parents.”
She stopped at the juncture of the road and her driveway. Her chin lifted. I moved closer, inches away. Her chest rose and fell. Those dark eyes met mine. The air between us intensified. My lips fell to hers. The entire date had been foreplay leading up to this. My lips against hers. Her silky strands between my fingers. Her body tantalizingly close. Our tongues dancing a slow, provocative dance.
Perfect. A perfect date, but without a long-term future. Nothing long term happened with your first date after a divorce, or so they said. Still, I wanted to treat her right. And for that reason, I ended the kiss when we were both slightly short of breath and with a promise for a second date.
Chapter 11
Cali
* * *
I smiled all the way home. Thank you.
I don’t want to come on too strong. But at my age, games hold no appeal. I like how you make me feel. And I hope to see you again soon.
I lay in bed, holding my personal phone, reading the back-to-back text messages over and over again. Smiling. A comfortable warmth settled within me, an infusion of… hard to believe it…happiness.
My BlackBerry vibrated on the bedside table, and an unknown number flashed. I reached over, picked it up, and declined the call. The phone vibrated again, and I lifted a pillow and placed it over my cell to smother the sound. Within seconds, the landline rang. No one ever called the landline. I lifted my middle finger and held my arm out, high and proud. The ringing stopped.
Wait. I’m in my bedroom. Did he see that?
In the kitchen, I fixed myself coffee. I had no proof he saw me. Would he really put a camera in my bedroom? No. He wouldn’t. The seas rolled in calmly, with only an occasional whitecap all the way out to the horizon. The sun glimmered over the ocean, a big orange ball rising against a clear blue backdrop. The forecast called for clear skies, but they expected the temps to soar to the high nineties.
Nym lay sprawled at my feet, patiently waiting for his morning walk. I scratched below his ear and contemplated my translation workload. The landline rang, and the grating sound echoed throughout the living room. I slipped on shoes and exited the sliding door.
“Hola!” Poppy, from three decks down, shouted, waving her arm.
“Morning!” I shouted back. Nym’s leash tightened. “You want to get out there, huh, boy?” Nym’s tail wagged. Poppy matched my pace along her parallel boardwalk. When we reached the sand, I kicked off my flip-flops and greeted my blonde, bubbly neighbor.
“Gorgeous day, right?” she asked. “It’s gonna be a scorcher.”
I dug my toes into the still-cool sand. The lunch run would be a challenge. “I love the lights you’ve hung up beneath the branches of the trees on your patio. It gives it a magical feel.” Poppy’s restaurant was near my little office’s location. Not that she knew that. I kept an eye on her restaurant’s development. She had to be nearing her grand opening.
“Thanks. I like it, too. But my guess is the rooftop with the ocean view will be everyone’s favorite.”
“Maybe in summer, but not once it gets cold.”
“Yeah, no doubt. Our outdoor heaters will be far more effective down in the cover of the trees. But I didn’t hustle out here to talk about my patio.”
“No?”
“No, ma’am! I heard ya’ll had a date. And look at that smile. You have a glow. Yep. A glow.” She reached out and pushed my shoulder. “Logan told Gabe he finally got up the nerve to ask you out.”
“I doubt he said—”
“Who knows exactly what he said? Gabe is a piss-poor translator. But we’ve known since Howl at the Moon he wanted to ask you out. And he finally did. How was it? Does he open up and talk when it’s the two of you? He’s nice enough around me, but he pretty much just talks to the guys. He’s hot… like, smoking.” She exaggerated fanning herself. I grinned, silently agreeing with her assessment.
“It was good. We had a good time. But it was one date. Just one.” Amusing as she may be, the girl needed to chill.
“Does that mean you don’t see it going anywhere? Are you not that into him? That’s okay if that’s the case. There’s another guy I know. A bartender at Jules.”
“Isn’t he in the middle of his divorce?”
She waved her hand, either dismissing me or waving at a fly. “Yeah, but it’s behind him, pretty much. Another option. Did you really not like Logan?”
“Oh my god!” I screeched, and she laughed. “I liked him. We had a good time. And yes, we’ll probably go out again. But it’s, you know…”
“Hey, I get it. Take it easy. Take it slow. There’s no rush.” I side-eyed her. “It’s okay. I get it, girl. I can see how dating again could be tough. I mean, after, you know…I bet you’ve got all these emotions. You can unload any time. I’m like a vault. I am not one of those girls who tells her fiancé everything.”
“It’s not about the divorce.” It might be my cover, but I refused to play that card over and over. Somewhere out there were women battling real issues post-divorce. Hell, I suspected Logan was a person battling genuine issues. I wouldn’t pretend to be torn up about a divorce that didn’t exist. “I just…I’m not sure what my future holds. Or where I’ll be. And I’m not in a rush.”
“I love that about you. Aren’t you, what? Over thirty, right? And not in a rush. I love that.”
I side-eyed her once again. Jesus. As if thirty is old. She reminded me of my mother. “I’m thirty-two. How old are you?”
“Twenty-six. And I’m not in a rush either.” I couldn’t help but notice the sunlight reflecting on the enormous rock on
her finger. “We’ve already agreed. No kids for years. I’m thinking around thirty-five. What about you?”
“Kids?” Is she crazy?
“Yeah.”
“Poppy…”
“Yeah?”
“One. Date.” The talking windstorm beside me blew my mind.
“Oh, I didn’t mean that. Well, I guess maybe I did. At any rate, I like you aren’t rushing things. But you had a good time?”
I laughed. “Yes. We had a good first date.”
After the morning walk on the beach, I sat down to my translation assignment. Unlike so many of my corporate business assignments, this was a one-off project to translate an English romance novel to Arabic. Hours flew by as I pored over the text. Deep in thought, my personal iPhone rang, and on instinct, I answered.
“What the hell are you thinking?” Erik’s angry tone riled up my defenses.
“Last I checked, I’m a grown woman. And you said I could go out with him.”
“Then NSA visited the island. And now he’s talking about going out with you again.” Wait…what? “Cali, there’s so many reasons it’s not a good idea…in case you forgot, you are over there for your safety. People in the US government might not kidnap you, but if you show up in a database, others will find you. If someone found you, they could kidnap you to force our hand.”
“Our hand, Erik? Our? Come off it. You’re the one who’s made the most wanted list. You’re the one who’s afraid they’ll interrogate me and risk your being thrown in jail. This isn’t about my safety, is it?” The surge of anger forced me into a standing position, and I paced the floor.
“Wrong. We’ve been over this. You’re my twin. You could be collateral. And we’re not just talking about the US. Remember? The Chinese would love to get hold of you, and trust me when I say you don’t want them to. They’d either kill you or use you as a backdoor bargaining chip. Same for the Russians. As for the Americans…I don’t like you spending time with him.”