by Radclyffe
Kip realized she was famished and she hadn’t had anything since the bagel that morning. “It sounds like heaven. And walking is fine with me.”
Jordan didn’t mention how skillfully Kip avoided talking about herself, and as curious as she was to know more about her, the privacy screen was welcome too. She wasn’t interested in revealing any of her past, either.
When they reached the street, the sidewalks were busy as always, anytime of the day or night, anyplace in Manhattan. Threading their way through the evening throngs made conversation difficult, and they walked in companionable silence, their strides evenly matched.
“Here we are,” Jordan said fifteen minutes later, stopping on a quiet side street in front of La Famiglia, one of the neighborhood restaurants still family owned—and one of Manhattan’s best kept secrets. With only a dozen tables or so, they didn’t take credit cards, took their time making your food, and didn’t object if you lingered over espresso and dessert. It was one of her and Tya’s favorite places, but she’d never eaten there with anyone else.
“Looks great,” Kip said, peering through the plate-glass window into a cozy looking place where half the tables were occupied. The night before she’d had dinner with Julia at one of the current hot dining spots, with hovering waiters, a pricey menu, and ultimately forgettable conversation. Standing on the uneven pavement beneath a live maple tree with kitchen smells wafting out on a wisp of a breeze, she might as well have stepped into a different lifetime, or someone else’s life. The thought of having dinner with Jordan in this unassuming place was unexpectedly comfortable, a welcome relief, and for an instant, she toyed with the idea of just walking out of her life altogether. Of course, she couldn’t do that any longer, could she? Now she had a sentence to fulfill and a probation officer to satisfy. The grim reality swamped the brief fantasy, as all dreams sooner or later surrendered.
“Are you okay?” Jordan asked. Kip had gone still, her expression distant and dark. “I’ll understand if you’d rather call this off. After all, you probably have plan—”
“No,” Kip said quickly. “That’s the last thing I want to do. Sorry, my mood is not the best today.”
Against her vow to steer clear of the personal, Kip’s sadness moved Jordan to ask, “Any particular reason?”
Kip grimaced. “More than I can possibly explain, and absolutely more than you would want to know.”
Jordan wasn’t at all sure that was true, but Kip had made her boundaries clear. “Fair enough, then. Let’s have dinner and talk about nothing of consequence.”
Kip smiled, thinking that was exactly what her dinner the evening before had been like, and somehow she didn’t think tonight would be a repeat. Eager to find out, she rested a hand on Jordan’s lower back and pulled the door open, holding it wide for Jordan to pass. “Here’s to no consequences.” When Jordan’s spine tightened beneath her palm, Kip pulled her hand away. “Sorry, automatic.”
Jordan laughed softly. “So chivalry isn’t dead. No need to apologize.”
“Then I won’t,” Kip murmured as they stepped into a big open room with a high tin ceiling, cherry wainscoting, and the only illumination coming from tulip-shaped milk-glass wall sconces glowing amber. The small white-cloth covered tables were scattered at reasonable distances from one another, another unusual situation for a New York restaurant, allowing patrons some degree of privacy while they ate. A dark-haired, slender woman in her midfifties hurried forward, wiping her hands on a snowy white towel. “Ms. Rice, how good to see you. I’ve got a table open in the window for you and your friend.”
“Mama Castellini. That’s perfect. Thank you so much.”
The restaurant’s obvious matriarch gave Kip an unabashed once-over and held out her hand. “I am Sophia Castellini, but everyone calls me Mama.”
Kip bowed her head slightly. “Very happy to meet you. It smells wonderful in here.”
Mama gave Jordan an approving glance. “You picked one with taste. Good for you.”
“Ah, yes. Red wine?” Jordan said to cover her embarrassment, afraid her ears were flaming. She’d never brought a date there, and ate either alone or with Ty. She couldn’t imagine why Mama assumed Kip might be a date. That definitely wasn’t the case, and wouldn’t be even if it turned out Kip was inclined to date women. She quickly hushed the little voice that whispered I certainly hope so.
Grinning as if Jordan’s thoughts were written all over her face for anyone to read, Kip followed Jordan to the table and settled across from her. “The perils of family restaurants. Once they get to know you, they treat you like family and embarrass you without mercy.”
Jordan stiffened. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“Sorry,” Kip said, instantly aware she’d touched on something painful. So family was off-limits with Jordan, something they both shared. “Right, we’re sticking to casual and impersonal. Sorry.”
“That’s okay.” Jordan hid her discomfort by studying the menu she knew by heart. “Everything’s good. I have a preference for the eggplant parm, but you can’t go wrong with anything.” She hesitated, uncertain of the limits. “I hope the red is okay—oh, I didn’t check. Can you drink?”
Kip frowned. “I’ve never had a problem with…oh.” She winced. “Right. Well, no one said I couldn’t.”
Her voice had gone completely flat, cold and hard.
“I’m very sorry,” Jordan said. “I don’t quite know the rules here.”
Kip leaned back in her chair, ice trickling through her chest. Was this what her life was going to be like now? When it was over, when the slate was wiped clean as Carver suggested it might be when she’d fulfilled her community service, could she put this episode behind her, or would it follow her forever, something she needed to explain, something that raised question marks in a woman’s eyes? Something that left doubt and uncertainty about her, between her and everyone else. “I don’t actually know the answer to your question, but I intend to have a glass of wine, and I hope you don’t mind.”
“I certainly don’t. And I’m sorry for bringing it up.”
“You don’t need to be. It’s my problem, not yours.”
Actually, Jordan didn’t think that was entirely true. Kip Kensington and whatever shadow hung over her were going to be her problem too for as long as Kip worked on the project, and if Jordan couldn’t stop thinking about her as anything other than that, she’d have more problems than she wanted. She smiled, hoping to lighten Kip’s mood. “Back to the inconsequential, then.”
“Hardly that, but tell me about the community garden.” Kip figured that was a safe, neutral subject, and something Jordan would be happy discussing. She’d gotten very good at keeping conversations away from areas she didn’t want to share, and that was going to become very handy in her future, it appeared. Besides that, she really wanted to know about the project, and especially about Jordan. How did someone who looked as urban and polished as Jordan, even in her plain cotton shirt and khaki pants, end up in one of the seediest parts of Manhattan trying to bring new life back to long-dead ground?
“It’s just one in a multicity project,” Jordan said, comfortable with the spiel she’d given dozens of time to potential contributors and supporters. “The idea is simple enough—there’s an untold number of undeveloped acres scattered throughout the city lying fallow, what were once community parks and are now abandoned lots or overgrown plots where buildings have fallen or burned down. The community garden project is aimed at reversing urban blight by reclaiming these areas and making them productive parts of the ecosystem.”
Kip leaned back as Mama appeared with a straw-wrapped wine bottle, expertly pulled the cork, and poured a little into Jordan’s glass. Jordan smiled, tasted it, and nodded. Kip waited while Mama poured hers and sipped. A rich chianti, what else. She smiled and met Mama’s expectant gaze.
“Perfect. I’ll have the saltimbocca to go with it.”
“Excellent choice.” Mama glanced at Jordan. “Your usual?”
&n
bsp; Jordan laughed. “I think I’ll be adventurous tonight and have the cacciatore.”
“Wonderful. Now you relax, enjoy the wine, and we’ll bring your antipasto so you won’t be hungry while we make you a perfect dinner.”
“I’m moving to this neighborhood,” Kip muttered.
Laughing, Mama retreated.
“So,” Kip said, savoring the wine, amazed to feel the tension seeping from her shoulders, “in addition to putting these dead zones to some use, I imagine you’re hoping to make some money from it?”
“The idea is for the garden to be sustainable, of course.” Jordan blew out a breath. “Something like that takes time.”
“I can imagine. There are quite a few locally sourced restaurants outside the city, and the whole locally grown movement is definitely becoming more popular in Manhattan, but these markets can’t be easy to penetrate, either.”
Jordan was surprised by Kip’s insight and business savvy. “You’re right.”
Kip eyed her. “Not what you expected, considering my pedigree?”
Jordan flushed, but lifted her chin. “I don’t know anything about you or your pedigree. Usually anyone I tell is shaking their heads at this point, that’s all.”
“Right. Sorry.” Kip rubbed her eyes. “I seem to have lost a layer or two of skin somewhere in the last day.”
“Is that how long it’s been?”
Kip met her gaze. “No, it’s been going on for years.”
Jordan wasn’t sure they were speaking of the same thing any longer, but she nodded, waiting for more. She didn’t mind talking about the garden project—in fact, if she wasn’t careful she’d go on and on about it until people’s eyes glazed over. She wasn’t even offended at having the conversation controlled. She was curious to find out why Kip was so good at it.
“How many people do you have working with you?” Kip asked, breaking a crust off the warm loaf of bread Mama had left.
“Presently, one.” Jordan half smiled. Redirected again. Kip was very, very good at that.
Kip looked up. “One. Wow. I’m impressed. I thought the whole idea of the community garden was to have community workers.”
Jordan laughed softly. “Well, that is the idea, but sometimes theory is more powerful than practice.”
“Something along the line of if you build it, they will come?”
Jordan nodded. “That’s the idea.”
Kip saluted her with her wine. “Good luck, then.”
“Thank you.” Jordan sipped the wine. “And things are looking up, since I now have another pair of hands.”
Kip’s eyebrows rose. “I’m afraid that’s a very uneducated pair of hands. What I know about gardening you could write on the head of a pin.”
“That’s no problem. I know quite a lot about it.” Feeling playful and not stopping to ask why, Jordan added, “The question is, how well do you take direction?”
Kip swirled wine in her glass and regarded Jordan across the table. The green eyes looking back held just a little bit of tease, and she wondered if Jordan actually intended to flirt. Whether she did or she didn’t, Kip liked it. “I think it’s safe to say I’m trainable.”
Chapter Seven
“You want dessert now?” Mama asked as she cleared the plates herself from their table. No busboys for her favorites, apparently.
“I am too stuffed, as much as I wish I could.” Jordan patted her stomach and glanced to Kip. “How about you?”
Kip was almost too tired to answer. Halfway through the meal the last of her energy drained away, leaving her muzzy-headed and dull. The adrenaline surge from the stress of the last twenty-four-plus hours had kept her going all day, but now the trauma of the night in a cell without sleep and a day of waiting to find out her fate had worn her thinner than just about anything she’d experienced in her life. Just about. She smiled, hoping to cover the slowness of her brain and the weariness of her flesh with the social mask she pulled out for occasions when she really wanted to be elsewhere. That wasn’t the case here, but she did want to hide her precarious grip on her capacities. “I’m afraid everything was so good I didn’t leave room for another course.”
“Hmm.” Mama glanced from one to the other and nodded. “Then next time, yes?”
Jordan laughed. “Promise.”
Kip doubted there’d be another time, at least not for the two of them together, and added another regret to a long list of them. She’d enjoyed relaxing over the dinner and the casual conversation that flowed easily from topic to topic once they had both come to the unspoken arrangement not to tread on personal ground. Jordan had obviously not asked her anything about her personal life—not even where she lived or the barest of personal details like her age or where she’d grown up. That had to be intentional, and Kip appreciated the careful respect for her silence.
In turn, she’d held back all the questions she wanted to ask, things she hadn’t even considered asking Julie the night before. Was it really just the night before? Could that have been her the night before, blissfully unaware of how quickly her life could be turned upside down, having dinner with a beautiful woman, having an offer of sex, and being too unaffected by the hours she’d spent with Julie to even want the superficial intimacy offered her? Apparently her life really had been going along without much intention or direction on her part until that moment when the flashing red lights in her rearview mirror signaled a sea change. Now, when she actively wanted to pursue getting to know an interesting, sexy, warm woman, a wall of secrets and silence stood between them.
“Sorry,” Kip muttered, meaning so many things. She’d guessed from a few references Jordan had let slip, clues she hoarded like bread crumbs before a long siege, that Jordan was twelve or fifteen years older, putting her somewhere in her late thirties, and hadn’t grown up in the city. That was just enough to make her want to know more—like everything. “I’m afraid I’m not the best company right now.”
“You’re perfect company,” Jordan said softly, “and I hope you don’t take this wrong…but you look beat. Are you all right?”
Embarrassed, Kip straightened and resisted the urge to rub both hands over her face to wake herself up. “I apologize. Believe me, it’s not you. I’ve enjoyed this evening…more than anything in a long time. I was actually just thinking about that.”
“Funny,” Jordan said almost to herself, “I was thinking something along those lines myself.”
“Really.” A new surge of adrenaline, this time one spurred by pleasant interest rather than fear, brought Kip back to startling awareness. She hadn’t realized how true her words were until she’d spoken them out loud. Despite her miserable, life-shattering day, she’d lost herself for a few hours in the company of an intriguing woman. Oh, she spent plenty of time with attractive, interesting women in business and social capacities, or when pushed by Savannah to date, but she’d rarely been as comfortable as she had been with Jordan. Her conversations with other women often seemed scripted, as if each knew their parts and played them. Often those conversations were filled with subtle probing about the private affairs of others, gossip masquerading as interest in her. Dinner with Jordan had been nothing like that. With Jordan she had no past. She only wished her present was different as well. “I don’t think I’ve had a conversation about steampunk with anyone before.”
Jordan grinned. “Well, obviously you haven’t been talking to the right people. Because really, if they don’t appreciate steampunk…” She waved a hand. “There must be something seriously wrong with them.”
“You’re absolutely right. Add that to a lack of taste for Westerns, and really, what would be the point.”
“I agree with you completely. Not worth pursuing.”
For an instant, a lighthearted wave of simple happiness lifted the clouds from Kip’s shoulders. She wished she could hold on to the sensation for just a little while longer but she’d run out of excuses to prolong the evening.
“I wish I didn’t have to admit this,”
Kip said, “but if I’m going to take a look at that truck first thing in the morning, I’m going to have to call it a night.”
Jordan glanced around. “Wow, this is a first. I think we might actually be closing out the place.”
“Can’t say I’ve done that in a long time.” Kip frowned. “Actually, maybe never.”
“That makes two of us,” Jordan said. Pleasure, warm and slow, settled inside her like glowing embers, a fire banked and just waiting for a single breath of air to flare into life. The sensation was thrilling and a little terrifying. She wasn’t used to having that kind of reaction to anyone, even women with whom she shared intimacies. She and Kip had barely touched, and then just by accident, but the spark in Kip’s eyes and the husky tone of her voice stirred someplace inside her, waiting to be stroked to life. The place she hadn’t even known she had and wasn’t sure she really wanted to awaken. Noticing she was turning her coffee cup in aimless circles, a nervous habit she had when uncertain of her next step, she forced herself to stop. She knew what she needed to do. “I should be getting home too. It’s hard to believe, but I’m not really an early riser.”
Kip laughed. “That’s very sad, then.”
Jordan laughed with her. “I know, ridiculous, isn’t it? But once I’m up, I’m so happy to see the dawn every morning and think about all the promise of the day to come.”
“You’re an optimist.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“You are. Some people view the morning as just the beginning of a long series of hours to be gotten through.”
“Is that what it’s like for you?”
Kip hesitated, considering. She didn’t exactly get up every day with the anticipation of excitement and promise. “Yes, maybe. I never really thought about it. I like my work, and that pretty much defines my day. The rest is mostly obligation.”
“Maybe you’re an optimist just waiting to be born.”