by Joy Avery
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Too many memories, I guess. I still have it packed away somewhere.”
“Maybe one day you’ll use it to brew me a cup.”
“You don’t touch the stuff, remember?”
“For you, I’d make the sacrifice.”
Vivian placed her glass on the table. “I bet you had a huge shindig and got a brand-spanking-new car for your sixteenth birthday.”
“No and no. I didn’t get a new car until I was around twenty-six. And I’ve never had a birthday party.”
A look of shock spread across Vivian’s face. “You’ve never had a birthday party? Not even as a child?”
He shook his head. “I almost had one when I was eight.”
Her brows furrowed. “Almost? How do you almost have a birthday party?”
Alonso eyed her long and hard, debating whether or not to share one of the most painful days of his life with her. To be honest, he couldn’t believe he was even considering it at all. What is it about you, Vivian Moore?
He slid his gaze away and studied the flame of the candle. “My mother went to the store to get stuff for my party that was supposed to have been the next weekend. I was so excited. My very first birthday party.”
Alonso silently recalled how he hadn’t been able to sleep just thinking about the impending event. “One hour passed. Two hours passed. No mom. Three days later I called my grandfather to come and get me. There was no more food left in the house, and the gas had just been shut off. It was February, so it was freezing.”
“You were alone for three days? At eight years old?”
“I was used to taking care of myself.”
“What happened to your mom? Was she okay?”
Alonso’s stare fixed on the flickering candle. Why had he thought talking about this would be a good idea? “It was like she dropped off the face of the earth. Of course, I thought she had to be dead for her not to come for me. A few weeks later, I’m in the corner store and she walks in. I’d been so pissed at her, but that anger faded the second I saw her. Her clothes were tattered. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. She smelled like the gutter. Still, she was the most beautiful woman in the world to me.”
When Vivian swallowed hard, he could tell she was fighting back her own emotions.
“I rushed to her, ‘Mom, Mom,’ and draped my arms around her thin frame.” He lowered his head. “This woman... The woman I’d loved unconditionally for my entire life shoved me away, looked me dead in my eyes and said, ‘Who the hell are you?’ It. Crushed. Me.”
“Oh, my God.”
All of the pain he’d felt that day came rushing back like water from a flushing fire hydrant. “It was the last time I ever saw her.” Alive. He’d attended her funeral six months later.
When he faced Vivian, tears streamed down her face. “Shit. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” She flinched when he touched her silky skin, but didn’t pull away as he glided the pad of his thumb across her cheek.
Vivian swiped her hand across her opposite cheek. “I’m a big softy sometimes.” The lights flashed on and she jerked, placing her hand over her heart. “Jesus. That scared me. I’ll toss your clothes in the dryer for a few minutes.”
Vivian appeared refreshed when she returned a few minutes later. Obviously she’d used the dryer as an excuse to get herself together. Pushing to his feet, Alonso said, “It’s late. I better get out of here. You probably need your rest for work tomorrow.”
“Actually, I’m on vacation for the next twelve days.”
Was that her way of asking him to stay longer? Could it mean she wanted to spend more time with him? Any more time with this woman would get him in real trouble. Ignoring the possible implications, he said, “Twelve days, huh? Big plans?”
“Sleep.”
He nodded. Being a nurse had to be exhausting. Plus she seemed to give so much of herself to her patients. Why couldn’t he stop staring at her? Even without her face plastered with makeup—which he appreciated because she didn’t need it—she was a thing of pure beauty.
Silence fell between them. It was obvious they were both reaching for something to say. Their gazes held, snatching him deeper into her world with each breath. He wasn’t sure what—if anything—his gaze did to her, but the longer their connection held the more anxious she appeared.
Finally, Vivian interrupted the harmony of their unspoken thoughts. Pointing over her shoulder, she said, “You remember how to get to the laundry room, right?”
He chuckled. “My memory is not that bad yet.”
By the time he’d made his way to the laundry room, re-dressed in his own clothes and returned to the living room, Vivian had cleared the table, packed the food and placed it back in the bags.
“This will make great leftovers,” she said, offering Alonso the bounty.
He flashed his palm. “No, you keep them. I’m not much for leftovers. This will just sit in the fridge until it turns green and fuzzy.”
“Eww.”
“The life of a bachelor.”
She did that head-tilt thing, folded her arms across her chest and studied him. “That’s hard to believe.”
“What, that I don’t do leftovers?”
“That you’re single. What’s wrong with you?”
Her brazen manner excited him. “What’s wrong with me? Why does something have to be wrong with me?”
Before she could answer, the lights flicked off again.
Vivian groaned. “Come on, not again.”
Obviously, the universe felt sympathy for her because, a second later, they flashed on again.
Intentionally skating around her earlier question, he said, “I better get out of here.” There was something wrong with him—betrayal had hardened him. But he’d given her too much of a glimpse inside of him already to offer her more.
Vivian nodded. “Okay. I...had a good time tonight, Alonso.”
“Did you doubt you would?”
She shrugged. “Could have gone either way, I guess.” A sly smile curled her lips.
“Good night, Vivian Moore.”
“Good night, Alonso Wright.”
When he turned to leave, Vivian gasped, then yanked at the hem of his shirt. He pivoted. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head with urgency. “Nothing.”
He noted her guilt-ridden expression and hand behind her back. “What are you hiding?”
She held up her free hand. “Nothing.”
Nothing had become her theme. “Let me see your other hand.”
Vivian placed the free hand she’d shown him behind her back again and flashed him the opposite one. Alonso barked a laugh. What was this woman up to? In a bold move, he hooked his arm around her waist, pulled her to him and attempted to retrieve whatever she was hiding.
Her laughter filled the room. The sweet, joyful sound swelled his chest. Hearing her laughter was far better than seeing her in tears. After a moment or two of tussling, the tightening inside his boxers gave him a stern warning to pull away, which he did.
Instead of Vivian following his lead, she leaned in and pressed her lips against his in a gentle peck that hadn’t lasted nearly long enough.
Vivian’s eyes widened and she slapped her hand over her mouth, a pair of silky, royal blue panties sandwiched between. So that’s what she’d been hiding. They’d apparently been stuck to his shirt.
Dropping her hand and placing it behind her back again, she said, “Oh, God... I’m so s—”
Before she finished the unnecessary apology, he covered her mouth with his. She tensed in his arms, but melted into his chest a second later. His tongue danced in perfect accord with hers. His hands slid along her rib cage, then wrapped around her in a possessive embrace.
If he hadn’t been wearing underwear, he was sure he’d have an imprint of his zipper on his dick. Hands down, this was the best kiss he’d ever experienced. And if kisses had the ability to impregnate, she’d have definitely been pregnant with triplets.
Just as quickly as the kiss had started, Vivian ended it with the same sense of urgency, pulling away as if they were teenagers who’d been caught by her overprotective father. Staring into her vulnerable eyes, he didn’t question or protest her actions, despite wanting to. She’d had a reason for pulling away, and he respected that.
Alonso brushed a bent finger along her cheek, turned and left.
Thirty minutes later, he pulled into his driveway. He allowed his head to crash back against the headrest, a heavy sigh escaping. “You shouldn’t have kissed her, Wright.” As if he’d had the power to resist. “Shit.” This complicated things.
His cell phone chimed and he fished it from the center console. The text icon flashed in the center of his screen. Tapping it twice, a message from Vivian appeared:
Just checking to make sure you made it home safely.
An umbrella punctuated the sentence. He was glad she texted in proper English. Trying to decipher some of the texts he received often gave him a headache.
It was rough but made it!
He located an image of a boat and inserted it before hitting Send.
Good. I enjoyed tonight. Thank you.
Me, too. And no need for thanks.
A smiley face preceded her next message.
Sweet dreams.
You, too.
Just as he reached for the door handle, another text came through.
The kiss was nice.
Yes, it was.
How did he reply? Did he reveal that for those exhilarating seconds their lips were locked he felt as if he were flying? Or did he confess he’d wanted her so badly his hands had shaken? How about telling her no woman had ever affected him, confused him, consumed him like she had in such a short period of time?
Hell, no. He couldn’t tell her any of those things. Instead, he replied with...nothing at all.
Chapter 7
Vivian hadn’t expected Alonso to confess that the kiss they’d shared had been the best kiss he’d ever had, but she’d at least expected some type of response. What had she gotten? Nothing but radio silence for the past two days. Served her right. How in the hell did she go from considering him the Antichrist to sucking face with him? She blamed sexual deficiency.
She’d sparred with herself about even sending the stupid text. Why hadn’t she followed her first instinct and not addressed it at all?
Because she’d felt she needed to say something.
Vivian touched two fingers to her lips. Although it’d been days since he’d kissed her, she could still feel the sensation of his lips against hers. She’d been kissed before, but what Alonso had done to her mouth defied description. No words could capture that experience. The way he’d held her close to him, the depth of the kiss...
Ugh. She shook her head to scatter the menacing thoughts. There were far more important things that needed her attention than Alonso Wright. She eyed the rickety house in front of her. Far more important things.
A long while passed before she exited her vehicle and trudged toward 1411 Sycamore Place, her childhood home. It felt like ages since she’d been there. And when she thought about it, it had been. Eight months at least. Coming there reminded her that she’d failed.
Figuring the general contractor would arrive soon, she entered for a quick look around. She’d contacted Leon Johnson after receiving the notice from the city this morning that, loosely translated, read: make improvements or else.
The warning couldn’t have come at a worse time. Like I need one more complication. Impediments were starting to become the theme for her life. Don’t dwell on the bad, focus on the good. Hearing her grandmother’s words in her head put a lazy smile on her face. Yes, ma’am.
The warped wood creaked under her feet as she made her way into the living room. Instantly, memories suffocated her. Her attention slid to a spot in front of the window. Every Christmas there stood an ornately decorated tree. Dozens of lights, homemade ornaments and stringed popcorn that she and her grandmother had microwaved the night before. And gifts. They weren’t extravagant, but there were plenty.
When her chest tightened she shifted her focus to the four indentions in the tattered carpet where the baby grand piano once stood. Her grandmother had provided free lessons to the neighborhood kids. Vivian had donated the instrument after her death.
She closed her eyes and swayed to a melody she could only hear in her head. Stevie Wonder’s “Ribbon in the Sky.” A smile touched her lips, remembering how much Irma Moore had loved playing the piano, and that song.
After a few more soothing notes, Vivian made her way into the kitchen. The once-white linoleum was now a dingy cream color, curled at the edges and cracked by time. A strong odor of mildew lingered. She prayed the place didn’t have a leak.
Moving farther into the house, she bypassed the stairs that led to the upper level and headed toward the room that held the most significant memories. When she turned the knob to what was once her grandmother’s bedroom, it came off in her hand.
Well, at least the door itself is still intact.
As if the universe wanted to demonstrate its sense of humor, the door came crashing down the second she attempted to push it open.
How in the hell does a house deteriorate to this level so fast?
There was no one but herself to blame for the state of disarray here. This was all her fault. All of it. She should have never stopped coming by and checking on the place. But after that bastard ran off with the money... No excuses, she told herself.
Holding on to her diminishing cheery disposition, she stepped over the door and entered. Despite it being a sunny eighty-six degrees outside, the room was cold and dreary. Maybe that’s what death did to a room—siphoned all warmth.
Standing by the bed where she’d held her grandmother’s hand and watched as she’d taken her last breath, her eyes burned. “Fuck cancer,” she said under her breath. “Fuck cancer,” she repeated, this time only louder.
“Fuck it to the darkest depths of hell where it and all of its disciples belong.”
Vivian turned urgently to see Leon standing behind her. She swiped at her eyes. “Leon? I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.” Which surprised her, since every floorboard in the place appeared rotten.
Leon had done work for both her and her grandmother for years, so she trusted he wouldn’t price gouge her on the estimate to bring the place up to code. If the man gave up home renovating, he would have no problem scoring a gig walking the runway. But as handsome as he was, he had nothing on her Alonso.
Her Alonso? Had she really just thought her Alonso?
“You seemed to be having a moment. I didn’t want to disturb you. But when you damned cancer, I couldn’t resist chiming in and condemning the bastard, too.”
Vivian laughed. “Thanks for the support.”
“I’m doing a 5K cancer run in a few weeks in honor of my mother, sister and aunt. You should join me.”
Remembering what Leon had been through, Vivian felt overwhelming sympathy for him. To lose three family members to breast cancer, and within a few years, had to be tough. “Ha! I’d make it about twenty feet before I dropped face-first onto the concrete. I’m definitely not a runner.”
“Yo
u sound like my girl.”
They both laughed.
“So do you think I’ll have to auction off a body part to pay for all of this?”
“Are you wanting to do just enough to appease the city or you are looking to do a full renovation?”
A complete overhaul of the house was her dream; unfortunately, that wasn’t in the budget right now. “Just enough to avoid the ‘or else’ portion of the letter.”
“Gotcha. I see all the other houses on the block have been snatched up by Wright Developing. Are you thinking about selling, too?”
At this point, maybe she should have been thinking about it. “No. I think I’m going to hold on to it.” Trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, she asked, “What do you know about this Wright Developing?”
“Not much. Only what I’ve heard in passing.”
“Which is?” So much for nonchalant.
“That the owner, Alonso, I believe is his name, is one hell of a businessman and a force to be reckoned with.” Leon chuckled. “Which is why I’m surprised a Wright Developing sign isn’t staked in your yard, too.”
Well, she was also a force to be reckoned with. “Oh, trust me, he’s tried.”
“Huh. Well, that might explain the notice you received.”
Her brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“The city doesn’t usually get involved unless someone has launched a complaint. If Wright Developing is trying to get your property, odds are... You’d be amazed at the lengths some developers will go to get what they want.”
Was it plausible? Would Alonso stoop to that level? A thousand questions plagued her and she wanted answers. And she knew just where to get them.
* * *
“Two days?” Roth barked a laugh. “You tell me you kissed this woman, it was the best kiss you’ve ever experienced, she sends you a text about the kiss and instead of responding, you give her the cold treatment for two days? Man, this woman really has you upside down.”
Alonso wore a trail in the carpet pacing back and forth. He ran his hands over his head. “What in the hell do you think I’ve been trying to tell you? She’s worked some kind of damn voodoo or something on me. I think about her morning, noon and night. It’s like a damn sickness.”