by Casey Dawes
He gestured for her to lead the way to the Pacific Avenue exit. Unlike with Mark, there was no proprietary hand at her back. She was surprised to find she was disappointed.
The weather was warmer than the East Coast had been and the sidewalks hummed with people emerging from the rain-soaked winter. Twinkling lights in the sycamore and cherry street trees provided a stage background for a violinist bowing “Nessun dorma” from Turandot. It was good to be home.
They quickly reached Jade Alley and the bistro that bore its name. The two-story façade was covered in floral murals, trompe l’oeil windows and a small, gated area that held tables and chairs for warm night dining. California may not have Revolutionary history, but it had style.
“In or out?” John asked.
“In, I think.” At John’s nod, Annie started up the stairs, feeling his gaze on her back as he followed her. She hated having anyone follow her up stairs exposing the most vulnerable part of her anatomy. I hope my butt looks okay in these slacks.
She waited for John at the top of the stairs, gazing at the small crowded restaurant. While the tables were the same dark pine as the restaurant Mark had taken her to, the atmosphere wasn’t as pretentious. Light streamed in from the windows, reflecting off the mirrored glass behind the bar. The unique smell of roasted garlic, pungent vegetables, and the seared meat of a California grill wafted from the kitchen area at the back of the restaurant.
The maitre d’ sat them at one of the back tables and presented them with bound menus and a wine list. He was followed by a waiter who took their drink orders — a chardonnay for her and a Pinot noir for him, both locally made. Once the bustle stopped, Annie leaned back and opened her menu, gazing up at the man sitting across from her. He was staring at her. She quickly looked back at the menu, feeling the slow heat of embarrassment creep up her neck.
After the waiter brought their wine, she was forced to abandon the safety of the menu. Unlike Mark, who had kept up a steady monologue, John allowed silence to weave into the threads of conversation. When the small talk ran out, he was quiet. He simply smiled.
“What are you smiling at?” she asked.
“You.”
“Why?”
“You’re really pretty. Fresh and wholesome, not like those skinny girls in dark clothes with the hardware in their faces who come into the store.”
“Yep, Midwest corn-fed. Skinny was never part of my life.”
“C’mon Annie, don’t put yourself down. I didn’t mean it that way. I thought women liked to be told they’re attractive.”
The last guy who told me I was attractive attacked me.
“Thanks.” Should she tell him? It would probably put an end to the evening. He’d think she was the same as that woman in Montana who dumped him. The evening would be ruined.
But that wasn’t being honest. Bad news to start a relationship without honesty.
“What is it?” John asked.
“Nothing.”
“Hmmm.”
She had to be honest. “When I was in New Jersey I went out with a guy. I didn’t mean to go out with him. All of a sudden it happened.” Was that really true? She couldn’t seem to stop talking. “Maybe I did mean to go out with him. I dunno. I’m moving there. I guess I thought, why not.”
She looked at him. His face was closed and the smile was gone.
“Anyway, I couldn’t wait to get away from him,” she continued. What was it her mother always said? In for a penny, in for a pound. “Mark, his name was Mark, was obnoxious. And then he tried to kiss me when we were walking back to the hotel.”
There. She’d told him. So much for a nice evening out. Maybe she should end it now, before they got dinner. He wasn’t going to want to be with her after this and she didn’t want to sit through another bad dinner date.
“What did you do?”
“I pushed him away.” Pushed sounded much more ladylike than the actual shove she’d given Mark.
“Oh.”
The silence lengthened, interrupted by the waiter who came to take their orders. Annie asked for the perfect spring meal — asparagus, new potatoes, and lamb chops — although she wasn’t sure she’d be able to eat if John continued to glare at her. The waiter left after taking John’s order of pepper steak and twice-cooked potatoes. Annie shifted uncomfortably in the lengthening silence.
“That was fast,” John finally said.
“What?”
“Getting involved with someone in New Jersey.”
I knew it. I shouldn’t have said anything. “Look. I’m not involved. I never want to see the creep again. It was dinner — not a relationship.”
“And I suppose this is just dinner, too,” John said.
“Yes.” Annie saw the hurt flicker across his face, before the mask settled back over his features. “Oh, God. That didn’t come out the way I meant it.”
“But you did say it.”
“John, I really didn’t mean it the way it came out. Perhaps I should leave now before I say anything else stupid. The dinner in New Jersey didn’t mean a thing, but I don’t see why you should believe me. I thought we could be friends, but I guess not. I don’t want to have a miserable dinner. I’m sure it’s not too late to cancel the dinner order.” She picked up her purse and stood.
“Sit down.”
Surprised by his commanding tone, she sat.
“I don’t want you to leave,” he said. “I overstepped my bounds. Forgive me?”
“Uh, sure.”
He looked at his hands. “I guess I was jealous. Not a particularly attractive trait. Jessica used to complain about it all the time. I really do mean the apology.”
“Are you still in love with her?” she asked, feeling the lump in her throat.
“In a way, yes. I’m in love with the memory of her and our life together. But my heart is big, Annie. There’s room for someone else.”
Someone like me? Annie shook the thought from her head.
“What about Fred?” John asked. “Do you still love him?”
“No,” she said sharply.
John raised his eyebrows. “That’s pretty emphatic. What haven’t you told me? Did he hit you?”
Annie looked down at her wine glass, feeling shame creep into her heart. May as well get it all into the open now. That way, they could start fresh.
Almost all of it. There were some things she wouldn’t tell anyone.
“Only once,” she whispered. She could see his hand tighten on the stem of his wine glass.
“Is that when you left?”
She shook her head, her memories deepening her shame.
“Fred made promises. He said he’d never hit me again and he didn’t. Whenever we started to fight after that, he’d leave, no matter how drunk he was.”
“So nothing ever got resolved. What made you finally leave?”
Annie took a deep breath. “He came home drunk one too many times. I was already in bed when he fell in, gave me a boozy kiss, rolled over, and began to snore. I lay there for a while, wondering why I was still there. I finally understood I was waiting for a change that wasn’t going to happen. I’d moved on and he’d climbed further into the bottle. While he was asleep, I packed up David, left him a note, and moved to Elizabeth’s.”
The waiter brought their meals and Annie changed the subject, telling John about the musician she’d seen in Princeton. He must have sensed her need for a break because he picked up her thread, telling her about musicians he’d seen. They discovered that they were both avid collectors of CDs by obscure singer-songwriters. Annie had picked up her collection while traveling, John when performers came to Missoula.
“I really like music with roots and stories behind the music,” she said. “Some of the songs have been growing and changing for years. And some of
it is pretty close to what the original American settlers heard.”
“The diversity is fascinating,” he added. “It seems to me that different parts of the country play slightly different folk music. The Rocky Mountain music has a stronger pull from blue-grass while the Boston area musicians tend to be more political, always singing about issues of the day, protesting one thing or another.”
“I hadn’t looked at it that way, but I suppose you’re right.”
The easy conversation continued over coffee and a velvety flourless chocolate torte that they shared. Some of the tension that Annie had felt since returning from the East Coast began to leave her; she could feel the balled up muscles between her shoulder blades begin to release.
They were finishing up the last bit of dessert when John asked, “Do you think you’ll go?”
“I wish I had an answer. Two days ago, I was sure I was going; now it’s not so clear.” It seemed natural to talk to John about the confusion in her mind, uncertainty that had been churning since her conversation with Carol.
“I’ve been working since I was sixteen,” she said. “Sometimes I was working three jobs at once. It got me out of the house and didn’t allow me a chance to think. I’ve always used work that way. I’d go until I was exhausted, sleep, and do it again the next day. Once I had David, I could add his activities to my list of things to do.” She gave him a half-smile. “Not a good way to live, but it’s provided for David and me and I’ve managed to get him to all his activities — mostly on time. I’m not sure what I’d do if I wasn’t busy all the time. And there’s the money and health insurance. I need it if David gets sick.” She nodded to herself, convinced once more of the wisdom of staying with JCN. “I need to keep my job.”
“What about another company?”
Annie shook her head. “Companies in the valley are keeping the young engineer types and letting managers, planners like me, and older, more expensive workers go. They’ll keep a few key senior engineers of course, but the rest is management by accountant. It’s frustrating. Things roll along smoothly with everyone in place and then the economy dips or the stock price falls and they go into secret meetings to figure out how many people they need to lay off to satisfy Wall Street. People are let go, morale dips, and everyone left behind works like a dog to make up for the talent they’ve laid off in the name of profit.”
She took a sip of her decaf coffee before she continued. “Eventually, everything starts falling apart. So they start hiring former workers as contractors, paying them more than they did when they were on salary. They still save money because they don’t need to pay benefits anymore. When some economic guru says the downturn’s over, hiring begins. Everything’s good until the next time Wall Street earnings fall.”
John grinned at her. “Quite a soapbox you’ve got there.”
Annie laughed. “Yep.”
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “How about a walk around the block?”
She looked at her watch. She had about a half hour before she needed to be home for David. “Sounds good.”
After they left the restaurant, he reached for her hand, his eyes steadily on her face as he asked silent permission. She slipped her hand in his in answer.
Chapter 12
John’s thoughts were spinning as he and Annie walked toward the bookstore. The murmurs of other strollers and chirps of returning spring birds provided the background score. Flowering trees gave the air the vague scent of perfume that smelled like something his mother might have worn.
John wrestled with his feelings. He wanted to make love to Annie. He’d known it the moment she’d slipped her hand in his, her skin soft against his roughened palm. Her touch had sent a charge up his arm, infusing his body with white heat. What would her lips taste like? How would it be to trail his mouth down her neck, nibbling his way to her breast?
But now wasn’t the time. Would it ever be? His mind turned over the story of her “date” in New Jersey. He’d smoothed the moment over, but it was still churning in his gut. He needed to stop thinking about it.
“How’s David’s shoplifting charge going?” he asked. “His court date is next week, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Annie said. She stepped over the bump in the sidewalk where a tree root was winning the battle against man’s need to pave everything over. “The attorney said he’ll probably get probation. I asked him about taking him to New Jersey with me, and he said there’d be paperwork, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“That must be a relief.”
They were silent as they came around the corner by a large Greek Orthodox church. John could see the glow of streetlights from Pacific Avenue and hear the thrum of a Friday night in downtown Santa Cruz. The pulsing urban beat brought back the urge to kiss her and taste the sweetness of her mouth.
He stopped near an alley, a dim spot the streetlights didn’t quite reach, looked down at Annie and saw the same desire he felt in her eyes. Lowering his mouth, he tasted her lips, the sweet acidity of chardonnay still lingering on them.
Annie’s mouth softened against his. He pressed his lips more firmly, pulling her closer, feeling the lines of her body against his. She slid her arms around his waist, drawing closer to him, her breasts against his chest. The heat built in his groin and a moan escaped his throat as he explored her lips with the tip of his tongue, requesting entry. Annie parted her lips in surrender, but he was the one captured by her sweet aroma. He was lost in her, the heartbeat of desire throbbing in his ears.
He let himself delve further into her mouth, the night sounds of the California coastal town receding. His concentration was only on the woman in his arms and the feel of her body against his. He could feel his arousal pressed against her as he pulled her close, but for the moment all he wanted to do was sate himself with her mouth. He wanted to explore every inch of her with his tongue, slowly take her when she was ready and not a moment sooner. Annie was a woman who needed tenderness, a gentle awakening to what love could really be, not what her ex had passed out in its name. Nothing like what that bastard in New Jersey had tried to take.
John lifted his mouth from the sweet depths. His movement startled a morning dove from the sidewalk, its frenetic flapping carrying it to the safety of a nearby telephone wire.
He looked intently at the woman in his arms. She could make him whole again — he knew it. “Annie, stay here. Give us a chance. All I want is some time. I haven’t felt this way since Jessica died — I never thought I’d feel like this again. I don’t think anyone’s ever treated you right, certainly not Fred. Let me show you what you’ve missed.”
Her eyes looked up into his with longing, but then they clouded over with uncertainty. What was stopping her? Was there more to the story in New Jersey than she was letting on? He had to know. He stepped back from their embrace. “What really happened with you and that guy in New Jersey?”
“I told you. Nothing happened with the guy in New Jersey.” Her words were sharp and defensive.
Should he believe her? A whisper of jealously seeped into his mind. He needed the truth. “Why did you go out with him? Couldn’t you wait until you actually moved before you went out with someone?” His voice sounded bitter, even to his own ears.
“I told you. He asked and I automatically said yes.” She paused, as if she’d heard something in her words she’d never heard before. She shrugged. “He seemed like a nice enough guy and a perfect gentleman, maybe a little self-centered, but he had impeccable manners. That is, right up until the point he pushed me against the wall and tried to kiss me.”
“What did you do?”
“Like I said,” she was beginning to sound impatient with him, “I pushed him away. Well, actually, I shoved him and ran to my hotel. He followed me in, but the hotel clerk made him leave.” She took a deep breath. “It was pretty scary, actually.”
He
immediately felt ashamed. It had been pretty horrible situation and he was making it worse. He held out his hand. “I’m sorry. Men can be idiots.”
She stared at his hand suspiciously. Then her lips twitched with a smile and she took his hand. “True,” she said.
He guided her back into his arms, meeting her resistance with caresses. “I’ll try not to be an idiot too often,” he whispered into her silken hair.
Her reply was muffled because her face was against his shirt. She leaned into him, as if she couldn’t get close enough. The scent of lavender and mint drifted up from her golden mane.
He reached under her chin, tilted her face up, and lowered his lips to hers. She returned the kiss with passion and pressed further against him with desire. His hands roamed her back, caressing her curves. He wanted to slip his hands under the sweater she wore and feel her skin. She moaned and reached her arms around his waist again.
The soft murmur of voices entered his consciousness. Glancing up, he saw movement on the next block. For a moment, he thought it was only the glare of the streetlight against the plate glass window, but then he saw the group of kids walking toward them. Reluctantly, he pulled away.
“People?” she asked.
“Yes. They probably wouldn’t recognize us in the dark, but I’ve got your reputation to think about.”
“It’s your reputation you should worry about. For a big city, Santa Cruz is a very small town. You don’t want every woman thinking you’re easy.”
John laughed. “I don’t want every woman. I want you. Stay here, Annie. Stay and take a chance on us. We can make it work.”
For a moment, he thought she’d agree. Her eyes were shiny with hope and desire. “I’ll get the job done quickly,” she said. “I’ll come back once a month until I can come back for good. Can you take a chance on me?”
Her earnest face looked up at him. She was different from Deborah … but things happened. He didn’t want a repeat of the pain he’d had with Deborah when she’d taken up with the professor in Bozeman. He couldn’t take that chance. Reluctantly, he shook his head. “I don’t think it will work for me. Maybe I’m not grown up enough or maybe there’s too much water under that particular bridge. I’m afraid I’d make your life miserable with my jealousy and fear. You don’t deserve that.”