Long Time Coming

by Rochelle Alers

  Rosalind, having regained her composure, slipped off the stool and closed the distance between them. She touched his swollen face. “Did you see a doctor?”

  He repeated what he’d told Tessa. “I can’t go back to work until I get medical clearance, so I’m going to hang out here for a week.” He pressed a kiss to Rosalind’s forehead. “I’m going upstairs to take a shower, then I’m going to pop another pill and go to bed.” The numbing effects of the painkiller had begun to wear off and the pain had returned with a vengeance.

  Rosalind hugged him, then kissed his uninjured jaw. “Have you eaten?”

  Micah shook his head, then thought better of it. “No, Mom.”

  “I know it’s going to be a few days before you’ll be able to chew anything. What if I make you a smoothie?”

  “I’d like that, Mom.” He kissed her again. “I’ll see you later.”

  * * *

  Rosalind knocked on the bedroom door, waited, then walked in. Micah hadn’t turned off the lamp on a side table. He lay in bed on his back, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in a deep, even rhythm. She neared the bed, setting the glass filled with a fruity liquid and a straw on the nightstand. Without warning, he opened his eyes and stared at up her leaning over him. Sitting on the side of the mattress as she’d done countless times whenever her children were sick, she placed a hand on his forehead. Thankfully it was cool.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Micah affected a lopsided grin. “Good.”

  She removed her hand. “Are you in pain?”

  He let out a lingering sigh and closed his eyes again. “No.”

  Rosalind noticed a sheet of paper on the nightstand next to a pile of loose change. The doctor who’d treated her son had completed an incident report. With wide eyes she noted the time of the attack and the time that Micah had received medical treatment. Where, she wondered, had he been for the past eight hours?

  “Mom.”

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Please give me the phone. I have to make a call.” Rosalind retrieved a cordless phone from the hallway table and handed it to him. Pushing up on his elbows, Micah pressed his back to the headboard. His dark eyes watched his mother as she waited for him to make and complete his call. Under another set of circumstances he would’ve asked that she leave because he didn’t want her to overhear his conversation. However, the controlled substance he’d taken clouded his thoughts to where he felt as if his head were detached from his body. Squinting, he punched in the number to Tessa’s cell phone.

  “Hi,” he whispered when hearing her greeting.

  “Where are you, Micah?”

  Why, he thought, did her voice sound as if she were in tunnel? “I’m home.”

  “You left my place more than two and a half hours ago, and I’ve been worried sick about you. And I don’t have to remind you that it doesn’t take that long to go from Brooklyn to Staten Island, even with traffic delays. I—I thought something had…” Her voice trailed off, then complete silence.

  “Tessa, are you there?”

  “Yes—yes I’m still here.”

  Her soft sobs came through the earpiece and his heart did a flip-flop; he felt her vulnerability. “Baby, are you crying?”

  “No.”

  “Liar.”

  “You’re not worth my tears.”

  He managed a smile that felt more like a grimace. “You’re not a very good liar, Tessa Whitfield.”

  “Now that I know you’re still alive I’m going to hang up.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow. I promise.”

  “Now who’s a liar, Micah Sanborn? Weren’t you the one who said you don’t make promises?”

  “This is one promise I’ll keep. Are we still on for Lincoln Center Friday?”

  “We don’t have to go if you’re not up to it.”

  “I’ll be up to it.”

  “We’ll see. Now hang up, because you sound as if you’re under the influence.”

  “As a matter of fact, I am. We’ll talk again tomorrow.” Depressing a button, he ended the call, handing the receiver to his mother. “Thank you.”

  Leaning over, Rosalind kissed his forehead. “Drink your smoothie, Micah.”

  She left the bedroom, closing the door behind her. What she’d suspected the first time Tessa Whitfield had come to her home had just been verified. It was quite obvious her son was taken with the very beautiful and very talented wedding planner.

  CHAPTER 19

  Tessa reread the e-mail before sending it. It was only five weeks before the Sanborn-Cohen nuptials, and she wanted to remind Bridget and Seth to schedule a time for their rehearsal and rehearsal dinner, write their wedding vows and, more importantly, obtain a marriage license. Pressing a key, she sent the e-mail.

  Glancing at her planner, she noted December seventeenth for Bridget and her maid of honor’s final fitting with shoes, accessories and lingerie. She couldn’t ignore the slight flutters in her belly. She’d lost count of the number of weddings she’d coordinated, yet as the day grew closer to the time when a Signature bride was to exchange vows her anticipation shifted into high gear.

  She consciously hadn’t thought of herself as a bride because she would be faced with several dilemmas. Would she plan her own wedding or let someone else assume that responsibility? Would she make her gown or select one of Lucinda Whitfield’s LCW designs? Did she want a small, intimate affair with close friends and family or a formal extravaganza with a five-course sit-down dinner?

  A wry smile twisted her mouth as she slumped in her chair. Her fantasies would remain just that because Micah had been forthcoming when he’d admitted that he wasn’t the marrying kind.

  Incredibly she’d struck out not once but twice with the last two men with whom she’d become involved. Bryce was a married man and Micah a confirmed bachelor. She was batting a big fat zero. When, she mused, had Theresa Anais Whitfield become a masochist, a glutton for punishment?

  She’d agreed to a relationship with Micah based on friendship with the added bonus of sharing a bed. Sleeping with him wasn’t an issue because, as consenting adults, it was what they both wanted. However, she wanted more, and the man she loved was unable to offer more.

  Straightening, Tessa reached for the telephone. She still had a number of calls to make before picking up Faith. They’d decided to go to Mount Vernon before the Thanksgiving holiday to help with the cooking and return to the city Friday afternoon.

  Micah had kept his promise, calling her twice each day; she laughed when he complained about Rosalind serving him copious amounts of food with the edict he finish everything on his plate. However, he admitted that convalescing at his childhood home wasn’t all that bad because it permitted him to spend more time with his parents.

  She called Juan Cruz to see if he’d completed the order for Bridget and Seth’s personalized thank-you cards and touched base with several suppliers to get a final price for their services.

  * * *

  Simone walked into the kitchen filled with mouthwatering smells and bustling with activity, cradling a large crystal bowl filled with colorful flowers in autumnal colors to her chest. Her mother stood at the cooking island watching Malcolm Whitfield lift a large turkey from a pan, while her uncle Henry expertly removed corks from bottles of wine. Tessa tossed the contents of a bowl filled with salad greens at the same time Faith and her mother placed pies on trivets to cool.

  “Happy Thanksgiving!”

  Lucinda’s expression brightened when she saw her eldest daughter. “You’re just in time. We were just sitting down to eat.” It was a rare occasion when Simone made it to traditional family holiday get-togethers in time to eat with the Whitfields. Easter, Mother’s Day, Thanksgiving and Christmas were the busiest times of the year for the flower business. She turned to her husband. “Mal, please take the flowers into the dining room.”

  Simone gave her father the floral centerpiece, then rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Hi, Daddy.”
r />   He kissed her forehead, winking. “Hi, yourself.”

  “Hey, Tessa, I got a confirmation just before I left that the Sanborns received their floral centerpiece and your boyfriend his get-well bouquet.” Everyone stopped and stared at Tessa with Simone’s announcement.

  “What boyfriend?” Lucinda asked.

  “Theresa, dear, you didn’t tell us that you were seeing anyone.” It was Edith Whitfield’s turn to question her niece.

  Tessa smiled at her aunt. Edith and Lucinda were the only ones, aside from her teachers in school, who called her Theresa. “He’s not a boyfriend in the traditional sense of the word.”

  Edith’s dark eyes impaled her. “Are the two of you dating?”

  “Mother, stop with the interrogation,” Faith whispered in protest.

  “I just asked her a simple question, Faith. It’s not as if I’m asking for intimate details.”

  Henry Whitfield moved over to his wife, brushing a kiss over her mouth. “Edie, leave the young folks to their business,” he said softly.

  Tessa wanted to throw her arms around her uncle’s neck and kiss him for smoothly defusing what would’ve become a very uncomfortable situation for her. Edith had earned the reputation as a certified busybody. Whenever she lowered her voice to a crooning tone it signaled that she was going in for the kill. Her “darling” and “sweetheart” was a prelude for breaking down one’s defenses to figuratively spill their guts to the charismatic woman. And with her still-incredible beauty it was hard to resist the former model’s charm.

  Edith smiled at her husband. “I just wanted to know whether I had to prepare for a family wedding, that’s all.”

  “I’m certain when it’s time for Theresa to get married she’ll let us know. Won’t you?” Lucinda asked.

  Tessa flashed a brittle smile. “Of course I will.”

  “I don’t know about the rest of you,” Simone said, waving her hand, “but I’m ready to eat.” She’d worked nonstop for the past three days filling orders for select clients, stopping only long enough to eat takeout from her favorite Chinese restaurant and drink gallons to keep her alert.

  “Amen to that,” Faith intoned, for once agreeing with her first cousin. She knew her mother was in rare form when Edith began her inquisition as soon as she arrived the night before with Tessa. Edith wanted to know if she was dating anyone and, if she was, then when was the last time they’d gone out. She knew she’d annoyed her mother because she’d refused to answer her questions. And instead of spending the night with her parents, she’d called Tessa and asked her to come and pick her up so she could spend the night with her aunt and uncle.

  * * *

  “Lucy, baby, can you please cut me another piece of pumpkin cake?” Malcolm Whitfield’s wife had baked his favorite pumpkin roll cake filled with toffee cream, served with a caramel sauce.

  Lucinda Whitfield shook her head. “No, Mal. You’ve already had two slices.”

  Malcolm glanced at his daughters, seeking their assistance. “You see how she treats me?”

  “Mama’s right,” Tessa and Simone chorused.

  Malcolm’s hazel eyes darkened as he glared at Tessa then Simone. “The only time you two agree on something is when your mother decides what’s good for Malcolm’s stomach.”

  Lucinda rolled her eyes at her husband of nearly four decades. “That’s because your daughters know much you complain whenever your belly starts acting up.”

  Simone narrowed her gaze at her father. “Mama’s right. The last time you had an upset stomach you sounded like a wounded buffalo. It was something awful.”

  Henry, the consummate peacemaker and four minutes older than his twin, gestured to his dessert plate with a generous slice of pumpkin cake. “If y’all keep snapping on my brother, I’m going to give him my piece.” There was a chorus of gasps followed by complete silence from those sitting around the formally set dining room table.

  Malcolm’s smile was as bright as the rising sun. “Thanks, brother.”

  Henry winked at him. “No problem, brother.”

  “I know they’re not trying to gang up on me,” Lucinda whispered under her breath.

  Tessa patted her mother’s arm. “Let it go, Mama. You can take care of Daddy when you get him alone.”

  Lucinda’s scowl vanished as she leaned closer to Tessa. “When did you get so smart?”

  “I learned it from my mama,” she crooned as if they were coconspirators.

  * * *

  Hours later Simone and Faith crawled into Tessa’s bed with her as they’d done when they were much younger. Faith lay on a pillow next to Tessa, while Simone supported her back on a pillow at the footboard of the queen-size sleigh bed.

  “What happened, Tessa, that you sent your manly Micah flowers?” Faith asked with a wide grin.

  Tessa repeated what Micah had eventually revealed to her about the courtroom brawl. He’d decided to tell her everything before she heard from another source, because the news had spread throughout the judicial grapevine like wildfire. A judge who’d attended law school with Edgar Sanborn had called to tell him that his son was a hero because he’d coldcocked a defendant who’d attacked him because he’d been remanded to serve out his sentence.

  “He said he got in a good punch before the court officers subdued and cuffed the man.”

  Simone sat, slapping her thigh covered by a pair of flannel pajama pants. “I told you he was a manly man!”

  “Hot damn, Tessa!” Faith whispered. “You found a lawyer who moonlights as a pugilist.”

  “He wasn’t always a lawyer.”

  “What was he?” Simone asked.

  Tessa stared at her sister, then her cousin. She’d neglected to tell them about Micah’s prior law-enforcement career. “He was a cop.”

  Faith’s eyes widened. “Does he carry a gun?”

  “No,” Tessa laughed.

  “Is he licensed to carry one?” her cousin asked.

  “Yes.” When Tessa had questioned Micah about carrying a firearm he’d admitted to having two, but they were locked in a safe in his apartment.

  “That’s what I’m talking about, Simi,” Faith said, calling Simone by her childhood nickname. “Tessa’s found a prince with brains and brawn.”

  “You deserve someone good, sis. I’m glad you have Micah.”

  Tessa forced a smile through her expression of uncertainty. Her cousin and her sister were happy for her when she wasn’t that happy for herself. She’d been the one to set the rules for her relationship with Micah, and along the way it had come back to bite her.

  * * *

  Tessa walked down her block after she’d parked her SUV in the garage, her steps slowing when she noticed the tall figure of a man leaning against the door to a gray sports car. She came closer, a smile parting her lips. Micah was waiting for her. For once, he’d found a legal parking space in front of her home. He straightened as she approached him. He hadn’t shaved, but she could discern some puffiness along his jaw, and a darkening bruise was visible below his left eye.

  He extended his arms, and seconds later her face was pressed against the softness of a bulky sweater. “How long were you waiting?”

  Micah buried his face in the fragrant flyaway curls tickling his nose. “I got here about an hour ago.”

  Pulling back, she stared up at him. Simone had called him a manly man, and that he was, and the hair on his face served to validate her sister’s claim. “Come inside. We don’t need to give my busybody neighbor anymore to gossip about.”

  Lowering his head, Micah brushed a kiss over her soft mouth. “I could really give her something to talk about, but you have to live among these people.”

  “Come inside,” she said, repeating her command.

  “Let me get my bag.”

  She nodded. He was prepared to spend the night. Waiting until Micah retrieved a dark brown satchel with his initials branded into the supple leather and a garment bag, she made her way up the steps. Tessa unlocked the door an
d deactivated the alarm. She didn’t have time to catch her breath when she found herself lifted off her feet and her mouth smothered in a burning kiss that stole the remaining breath from her lungs.

  Cradling Micah’s bearded face between her hands, she kissed his forehead, eyebrows, lashes and the bridge of his nose, then found his mouth again. He carried her up the staircase and into her bedroom.

  It was as if the whole world held its breath when he undressed her, then himself. Holding out her arms, she welcomed the man she loved into her arms, between her legs and inside her.

  Their reuniting and joining was frantic, as if both feared it was a dream and would be over whenever they woke from the erotic coupling. They climaxed simultaneously, hearts pumping against their ribs as they returned from their shared flight of free fall.

  There was only the sound of breathing as Tessa snuggled against Micah’s damp body. She closed her eyes and fell asleep in his embrace. However, sleep didn’t come as easily as Micah wanted. He’d come back to New York earlier than he’d planned because talking to Tessa only served to enhance his dependence on her.

  He’d retreated to New Jersey because he feared emotionally he was in over his head with Tessa. But time and distance did little to quell his craving for a woman who claimed she only wanted friendship with fringe benefits.

  The truth was he liked Tessa Whitfield, and the liking had nothing to do with friendship or fringe benefits.

  CHAPTER 20

  Micah shielded Tessa’s body from the crush of well-dressed couples filing out of the Metropolitan Opera House. He hadn’t known what to expect yet had thoroughly enjoyed the spectacular production of Mozart’s Magic Flute.

  It was his first time inside the magnificent building with five great arched windows offering views of the opulent foyer and two murals by Marc Chagall. Tessa revealed that the exquisite starburst crystal chandeliers were raised to the ceiling just before each performance.

  She also told him that one of her clients, a patron of the arts who sat on the board of the Met and several museums, held seasons tickets to the Metropolitan Opera and the American Ballet Theater and each year she mailed her two tickets as a Christmas gift. Once she revealed this Micah wondered who Tessa had taken the year before.