Summer Magic

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Summer Magic Page 9

by Rochelle Alers


  He recalled his excitement when he’d first revealed the idea to Nina and her reaction. She did what she always did whenever he told her of his visions—she listened intently. And not once had she ever given him any feedback other than, “That sounds wonderful.”

  And he thought she had been wonderful. He’d told himself that she would make a wonderful wife and a wonderful mother. His mouth tightened. How wrong he’d been.

  The distinctive sound of a telephone interrupted his tortured thoughts. It rang three times before he attempted to go into the house to answer it. He made it to the kitchen and picked up the receiver on the fifth ring.

  “Hello.”

  There was a noticeable pause before a strong, masculine voice came through the wire. “May I please speak to Caryn Edwards.”

  Logan hesitated. “Hold on and I’ll get her.” His tone was polite, but he was feeling anything but polite. It had taken only two days for the men to begin their pursuit of his beautiful housemate. The family room was dark, so he knew Caryn had to be upstairs.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, he walked down the hallway and knocked on her door. “Caryn. You have a phone call.” He waited, then knocked again. His hand was poised to knock a third time when the door swung open.

  Caryn stood in front of him, her damp hair falling over her shoulders. His penetrating gaze moved slowly and seductively from her face to her chest. It was apparent that she’d hastily thrown on a silky, peach-colored kimono to conceal her nakedness.

  “You have a telephone call,” he repeated as she secured a matching belt around her narrow waist.

  The smoldering flame she saw in his bold stare startled Caryn. She couldn’t move. It was as if he’d hypnotized her, rendering her motionless. She forced herself to take a step, but he blocked her means of egress.

  She heard the runaway beating of her heart outside of her body, and she was certain he also heard it. “Logan.” His name was a whispery breathless sigh.

  He was motionless, rooted to the spot. Nothing moved, not even his eyes. “Yes.” The single word came out like a long, drawn-out shudder.

  The sound of his voice broke the spell as Caryn took another step, bringing her only inches from the man who had invaded her space, her existence. “I have to answer the phone.”

  Turning to his right, the motion so fluid and quick she thought she’d imagined it, he stepped out of the doorway. His gaze followed her as she brushed past him and made her way down the hallway to the room the Crawfords used for their library.

  Closing his eyes, he luxuriated in the haunting fragrance of her perfume-scented flesh. Even with his eyes closed, he still could recall the vision of her damp black hair curling over her forehead, the sun-browned darkness of her fragile face, the brilliance of her large gold-green eyes, and the softly rounded curves of her very feminine body.

  It was difficult, and becoming even more difficult with each passing hour to dismiss Miss Caryn Edwards. Unknowingly he had run away from one woman to find another who enchanted him as no other had before.

  He’d tried not succumbing to the bewitching aura surrounding Caryn and had failed miserably. And it was only now he realized his attraction to his housemate had nothing to do with a physical temptation. Opening his eyes, he stared down the hall, a slight smile softening his mouth. It was about Caryn—the woman. Sharing his afternoon with her had been totally relaxing and comfortable. An invisible bond had surrounded him when he strolled up and down the wide aisles of the supermarket when they shopped for groceries. He’d felt a warm glow after the older woman had referred to them as a “lovely young couple.”

  And he wanted to be a couple. At thirty-five he wanted to settle down, marry, and father children. He’d become a successful architect and urban planner, but his personal life was not as tidy and orderly as his career. However, he had believed he would achieve the elusive personal success the moment he’d proposed sharing his life with Nina Smith.

  Inhaling and letting out his breath slowly, he walked down the hallway and returned to the lower level. Entering the kitchen, he replaced the receiver of the wall telephone on its cradle, and in the few seconds it took to complete the motion he heard the soft laughter of Caryn’s voice mingling with that of the man who’d called her.

  “What are you hiding from me, baby sister?”

  Caryn settled herself on a rattan rocker and raised her bare feet to a matching cushioned ottoman. “I’m not hiding anything, Kyle.” There was just a hint of laughter in her voice.

  “You tell me that I won’t see you this summer because you need to spend some time alone to find yourself. Does finding yourself include living with a man?”

  “Don’t be such a stuffed shirt, Kyle Edwards,” she admonished her brother. “I’m not living with a man. I’m sharing the house with him.” There was a noticeable pause. “And you’d better not start in on me. Even if I were living with a man, there’s nothing wrong with—”

  “Hold up, Caryn,” Kyle interrupted. “I’m not judging you. You should know me better than that. If you are living with a man, then I applaud it. You have to know all of us were worried about you when you broke up with Thomas.”

  She winced. “Please don’t ever mention his name again.”

  Kyle chuckled. “You have my word on that. What I’m trying to say is you managed to convince me that you were pretty much turned off of men.”

  “I’m not turned off of men. I just don’t want to go out with your partner.”

  “You know Larry still asks about you.”

  “That’s nice, but I still won’t date him.” Lawrence Mackie was her brother’s business associate. The two men had formed a partnership and had established the largest Black-owned foreign car dealership in Philadelphia. And what Kyle failed to realize was what she recognized immediately in Larry’s personality was something she failed to realize in Tom’s until it was too late. Both men unconsciously regarded females as inferiors and therefore felt the need to control, dominate, and subjugate a woman. It had happened once, and she would never permit it to happen again. Not with any man.

  “The kids have been asking for you,” Kyle continued. “They miss you.”

  “Tell them I’ll come up in the fall.”

  “You’ll hardly recognize them by then. Both are growing like weeds.”

  Her nine-year-old niece and seven-year-old nephew had inherited their father’s rawboned lankiness.

  “We don’t get to see you enough, Caryn.”

  “The past few years haven’t been the best,” she admitted.

  “That’s why you need your family.”

  “What I need is to get my head together. And for that I need time alone.”

  She and Kyle talked for another ten minutes, laughing at the latest escapades his children had managed to get into. She ended the conversation confirming her visit to Philadelphia in the fall, then hung up.

  Hearing her brother’s voice elicited a feeling of loneliness and detachment. Kyle missed her and she missed him. She missed his wife, their children, and her parents, but she would endure the sacrifice in order to put her life in order.

  She returned to her bedroom, closed the door, slipped out of her robe, and got into bed. Picking up the paperback novel on a stack of a half dozen, she opened to the first page of Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man. She had promised herself she would try to reread as many of her favorite novels as she could over the next two months.

  She managed to finish thirty pages before reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Closing her eyes, she slept without any dreams to disturb her restful slumber.

  * * *

  Caryn awoke early, an hour before sunrise, refreshed, and to the sound of rain tapping softly against the windows. Rain always made her want to remain in bed and snuggle under the blankets, but she decided to forego the luxury when she remembered she had to put up several batches of dough. Her donation to the Fourth of July celebration would be a cheese and chive braided
loaf, several dozen leek and bacon garlic knots, and a watermelon boat filled with fresh melon balls and berries.

  Slipping out of bed, she reached for her bathrobe, shivering slightly against the dampness seeping into the room from the open window. How quickly the weather had changed from sunny and hot to cloudy and wet.

  Within half an hour she’d made her bed, showered, and was dressed in a pair of faded jeans with an equally faded college sweatshirt, and a pair of thick white socks. She brushed and braided her hair in a single plait, securing the curling end with an elastic band.

  Staring at her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door, she realized she looked no older than some of her students with her face free of makeup and her hair pulled back in the braid. However, she did notice the slight puffiness under her eyes that had been a constant reminder of her stress was no longer visible. Going to bed early the past two nights and sleeping undisturbed throughout the night had taken care of most of her physical fatigue.

  She walked out of her bedroom and noted the door to Logan’s was closed. It wasn’t quite five o’clock, and it was apparent that he was still asleep. The house was dark, quiet, and she turned on several table lamps, hoping to dispel the gloominess.

  Logan walked into the kitchen at exactly six o’clock and found it filled with the enticing smell of brewing coffee and the sight of Caryn kneading dough on a floured countertop. The overhead light shone down on her jet-black shiny hair and highlighted the rich burnished gold undertones in her bronzed face.

  He found himself studying her, trying to discover what it was that drew him to her. It couldn’t have been the way she looked physically because he’d always found himself attracted to taller, darker women. And although there was a seven-year difference in their ages, he usually dated women who were no more than a year or two younger than he was, but there were times when he did date those who were older. He had made it a practice to stay away from the ones who’d elected to act like girls, because he detested playing head games or public histrionics. Several had accused him of being too serious, but he was quite comfortable with who he had become. He smiled. Caryn Edwards was different. She may look young, but she was no girl.

  “Good morning.”

  Caryn’s head came up quickly, and she smiled at Logan leaning against the entrance to the kitchen, muscular arms crossed over his navy-blue T-shirt. Like herself, he also wore a pair of jeans.

  “Good morning,” she returned, giving him the sensual smile he’d come to look for. “Coffee’s on if you’d like a cup.”

  He returned her smile. “As soon as I let Domino out, I’ll take you up on your offer.”

  “I’m also offering breakfast this morning.”

  Logan stared, complete surprise on his face. Nina had never offered to prepare breakfast or any meal for him, even though he had made it a practice to cook for her whenever she spent time at his place.

  “Why, thank you.”

  Caryn nodded, then turned her attention back to the dough. Giving Logan breakfast was the least she could do. After all, he had paid for all of the groceries.

  She turned a large ball of dough mixed with shredded cheddar cheese, fresh chives, and green onions into an oiled bowl and covered it with a clean towel. She then repeated the process with a dough mixture of sauteed leeks and crisp broiled crumbled bacon. Both would double in bulk before she rolled them out into ropes for a large braided bread loaf and dozens of smaller leek and bacon knots.

  She chopped green and red peppers and added it to a reserve of finely chopped sauteed leeks and a small portion of shredded cheese. Working quickly and efficiently, she then rolled out biscuits with a hint of cinnamon and brown sugar.

  Logan returned, sans his wet running shoes, drying his hands before he wiped a sheen of moisture from his hair and face with a towel.

  “How is it outside?” she asked at the same time as she leaned over and placed the pan of biscuits in the heated oven.

  “Damp. It looks as if it’s going to rain all day.”

  Straightening, she stared at him. Suddenly the space seemed smaller with his presence, and she found it difficult to draw a normal breath with him standing less than five feet away. Her gaze was fixed on the breadth of his wide shoulders and powerfully developed upper body. She recalled the sight of his half-naked body when he’d left to go jogging the day before, and the heat in her face had nothing to do with the increasing warmth from the oven.

  Tilting his head at an angle, he regarded her with silent expectation. “Do you need any help?”

  She nodded quickly. She needed him to do something, anything, except stand around and stare at her. “You can set the table.”

  He returned the towel to the half-bath off the kitchen, then busied himself taking down plates, cups, and saucers from the overhead cabinets.

  “Do you want to eat in the dining room or in the kitchen?”

  “The kitchen,” Caryn replied. And she always preferred eating breakfast in the kitchen with the lingering smells of brewing coffee, broiling bacon, and baking breads. Dining rooms were better suited for lunch or dinner.

  Logan set the round oaken table situated where they would have a view of the outside porch with serviceable tableware and cutlery before Caryn directed him to remove a bowl of fresh fruit from the refrigerator. She broiled strips of bacon on the stovetop griddle, then added beaten eggs filled with the pepper, leek, and cheddar mixture.

  The rising wind swirled the falling rain in a slanting pattern, and Logan quickly checked all of the windows to make certain they were shut. He returned to the kitchen and to the enticing sight of the table filled with platters of hot biscuits, fluffy omelets, and cups of fragrant coffee and a fresh fruit medley.

  “Don’t be shy. Sit down and eat, Logan.”

  He circled the table and pulled out a chair for her. She sat down and he lingered over her head, the cloying fragrance of his hauntingly sensual aftershave wafting in her nostrils.

  She smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

  Leaning over, he kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m thanking you in advance for breakfast,” he explained, as she gave him a puzzled look.

  He flipped on the radio and turned the dial until he found a station that featured soft jazz, then rejoined Caryn at the table. Picking up a fork, he speared a portion of blackberries and cantaloupe. “Where did you learn to cook like this?” he questioned after biting into a fluffy biscuit.

  “My dad taught me. He’s a retired chef.”

  “And your mother?”

  “She’s a retired interior designer.”

  Logan swallowed a piece of crisp bacon, staring across the table at his dining partner. Caryn was only twenty-eight, and he wondered how old her parents could be. “I assume they retired young?”

  She nodded. “They retired two years ago. Daddy was fifty-eight and Mama was fifty-five.”

  “That’s young.”

  “They worked steadily for thirty years without taking a vacation.”

  Logan’s coffee cup was poised in midair. “What did they do?”

  “They owned a string of bed-and-breakfasts along the East Coast. They started out with one in western Pennsylvania, then managed to add one every three years. They usually bought a large house that was in foreclosure and renovated it. Mama decorated all of the rooms while Daddy hired the staff. He made it a practice to recruit the best students from culinary schools all over the country, offering them starting salaries they couldn’t refuse. Each B&B was set up with the same menu with one exception.”

  “What was that?”

  “Each chef was allowed to create one special dish. And the dish always bore their name.”

  “Who runs them now?”

  “A consortium of restauranteurs.”

  “Why didn’t your brother take over?”

  “Kyle is a salesman, not a chef. My very smooth, silver-tongued brother can convince someone to buy a Lamborghini or a Ferrari in less than two hours, yet he
can’t boil an egg.”

  A bright smile crossed Logan’s face. “A Lamborghini. Now, that’s a beautiful machine.”

  Caryn put down her fork. “Don’t tell me you’re also into outrageously overpriced vehicles?”

  “I happen to like Ferraris.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “You men and your toys.”

  “Either it’s cars or women. And I much prefer to collect cars.”

  “Why must men always collect something?”

  Leaning back on his chair, Logan gave her a penetrating stare. “And you women don’t?”

  “Not like men.”

  “How about material things?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “I’ve known women who make it a practice to collect engagement rings. Others collect husbands, while some lovers.”

  “And some men find it necessary to keep a count of their conquests,” she shot back.

  “I’m not one of those who do,” he admitted softly.

  Caryn noticed Logan watching her intently. It was as if he were waiting—for what she didn’t know.

  “What do you collect, Caryn Edwards? First-edition books? Or perhaps love letters?”

  She dropped her gaze, staring at his well-formed hands. “I collect journals.”

  “Medical journals?”

  She shook her head. “Personal journals.” Tilting her chin, she met his unwavering midnight gaze. “My mother gave me a beautiful tapestry-covered journal for my sixteenth birthday. She told me to write down my dreams and aspirations, and then one day read the entries to find out whether any of them had come true.”

  Reaching across the table, Logan caught her hand, his fingers tightening as she attempted to free herself. “Have any of them come true?”

  Biting down on her lower lip, she closed her eyes. “Some of them.”

  He saw the quivering muscle in her delicate jaw. “You wanted to marry and you did,” he said perceptively. She nodded, not opening her eyes. “And you wanted children?” Again she nodded. “It can happen, Caryn. Just because it didn’t work out the first time, that doesn’t mean you can’t try again.”

 

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