Magnolia Drive

by Rochelle Alers

  Keaton didn’t want to return to the Cove Inn and spend the night tossing restlessly because he’d spent more time denying his feelings for a slender woman with curly hair and freckles. When Francine told him that she loved him he feared blurting out the same. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

  “You don’t have to, Keaton.” She held out her hand. “Come.” She wasn’t disappointed when he took it, threading their fingers together. “You can sleep in the spare bedroom.”

  Bringing her hand to his mouth, he dropped a kiss on her knuckles. “One of these days I’m going to return the favor, when the renovations on my home are completed.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  He nodded. “It’s a vow.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Francine climbed the staircase on shaking legs, Keaton following after he took off his shoes. She’d just invited a man to spend the night at her house. The first time Keaton had slept over it hadn’t been planned. She told him he could sleep in the spare bedroom when she wanted him in her bed, their bodies joined in a sensual dance of desire.

  “You’ll have your own bathroom, and you can find a supply of toothbrushes and razors and other toiletries in a drawer under the vanity. If you want me to wash your clothes, then just leave them outside the door. I hope—”

  Keaton caught her upper arm, turning her around. “Slow down, baby. You’re talking a mile a minute.”

  Closing her eyes, she smiled. “I do that sometimes.”

  “Yes, when you’re nervous. And there’s no reason you should be nervous now. I’m not going to creep into your bedroom in the middle of the night to attack you. I don’t have protection on me and I doubt you have any. Or do you?”

  Francine opened her eyes. She struggled to control the momentary panic gripping her. It was the same emotion she experienced before each performance. It came and then disappeared the moment she stepped onstage. “No, Keaton. I don’t happen to have any condoms on hand.”

  He smiled, bringing her gaze to linger on his mouth. “See. You’re safe.”

  She wanted to ask him if she was really safe as his eyes seemed to undress her. “What time do you want me to wake you up?”

  “I don’t need a wake-up call. I get up with the sun.”

  “Then you can wake me up,” she countered. “Tomorrow, we can start our discussion on Gullah folklore and a few of those scandals no one likes to talk about. No more talk about us or food.”

  “Agreed.”

  Francine patted his shoulder. “It’s late, darling, I need to go to sleep.”

  “First you’re my girlfriend and now I’m your darling.”

  “Go to bed, Keaton. Remember if you want me to wash your clothes, leave them outside the door.”

  “Good night, sweetie.”

  Keaton walked into the bedroom and flipped a wall switch. The glow from bedside lamps reflected off jade-green walls, creating a calming effect. A platform bed, an armoire, and bedside tables were the only furniture in the room. He opened the doors to the Asian-inspired armoire to reveal a large flat-screen television and audio components. Stripping off his sweater, jeans, and underwear he left them outside the door. Walking on bare feet, he entered the bathroom. One entire wall was made up of mirrors.

  Keaton stared at his reflection staring back at him. He was confused. Outwardly he looked the same as he had when he’d first checked into the Cove Inn, but he knew he wasn’t the same person. He hadn’t been the same since the day he saw Francine Tanner standing behind the receptionist desk at the Beauty Box. It was all he could do to keep it together when she leaned over to shave him. Her warmth and smell had lingered in his nostrils for days even when they were apart. Everything about her was stamped on his memory like a permanent tattoo.

  Now he was electively sleeping under her roof with her in a bedroom across the hall. Either he was losing his mind or his edge. He was able to command the complete attention of every single person on a movie set, yet he couldn’t garner the nerve to tell a slip of a woman with a sultry Southern drawl that he was falling in love with her.

  Keaton brushed his teeth and took a hot shower, hoping it would help relax him enough to fall asleep without tossing and turning. It proved to be the antidote when he slipped between a set of crisp sheets, pulling several handmade quilts up over his shoulders. Within minutes of turning off the lamp he’d fallen asleep.

  Keaton nuzzled Francine’s ear until she stirred, then woke up. “What time is it?” Her voice was still heavy with sleep.

  “Five forty-five.”

  She groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding, Keaton. It’s too early to get up.”

  He ruffled her mussed hair. “I thought you told me to wake you up.”

  Francine buried her face in the pillow under her shoulders. “I did, but not this early.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re cranky in the morning.”

  She turned over on her back. “I’m never cranky in the morning. Come here.” Raising her arms she waited for him to come into her embrace. “Good morning.”

  “Thanks for washing my clothes,” Keaton said in her ear. “I’m going to let myself out. Remember you gave me your key.”

  “I have a spare.”

  “I’ll see you later,” he promised, kissing her hair.

  “Later,” Francine repeated, turning over and closing her eyes when Keaton moved off the bed. If she didn’t have to get up early for work she would’ve been more than content to while away the hours in bed with him. Each time she sought to compare him to Aiden she realized there was no comparison.

  One thing she did learn was that time had become her friend. It allowed her to step back and analyze her relationships with men. Those who’d had so little regard for her feelings that they blurted out whatever came to mind. And those who sought something from her whether it was money, or the chance to share in her success. And there were the few that had asked her out while she was awaiting the dissolution of a marriage that no one knew existed except for the parties involved.

  All of them wanted something from Francine and she’d included Keaton in that group once he’d revealed that he wanted her for a film. However, when she’d declined his offer he’d accepted her declination without attempting to manipulate her into changing her mind. Perhaps he knew she would never change it and had become more accepting of her decision.

  She respected him for not pressuring her to sleep with him. The physical attraction was apparent, yet he’d made it known that the final decision to take their relationship from friend to lover would be hers. Never had she felt as empowered as she did now. It was what she’d sought all of her life: to be able to balance her career with her personal life.

  After a busy day at the salon Francine crept silently into the kitchen, smiling when she saw Keaton stirring something in a cast-iron pan on the cooktop. He’d sent her a text saying he’d finished shopping and was on his way to her place. Seeing him moving around the kitchen wearing a bibbed apron, humming along with a song coming from the radio on the countertop was an image she would remember for a long time.

  “Something smells delicious.”

  His head popped up. “I didn’t hear you come in.” Wiping his hands on a terry-cloth towel tucked into the ties of his apron, Keaton closed the distance between them. Dipping his head, he kissed her cheek. “How was your day at the inimitable Beauty Box?”

  “Believe it or not it was one of those magical days when everything fell into place.” Her mother was still at home resting her back, so she did double-duty managing the shop and styling hair. “I’m going to go clean up. When I come back I’ll set the table.” She placed the bouquet of fresh flowers she’d picked up at the florist on a stool at the cooking island. “I’ll take care of the flowers later.”

  Francine retreated to her bedroom, wondering if this was what she could look forward to if she’d married Keaton instead of Aiden. Coming home and finding him in the kitchen preparing dinner instead of picking up the telephone and or
dering takeout or having to decide which of the many restaurants in their neighborhood they would frequent. Aiden claimed he couldn’t cook, but after he was profiled in a soap opera magazine he claimed cooking was one of his hobbies, leading her to believe he’d lied about that, too.

  Covering her hair with a large plastic cap, Francine stepped into the shower stall and turned on the water. She adjusted the water temperature, then picked up a bath sponge and a bottle of scented bath gel. This was her favorite time of the day, when she knew the rest of the evening was hers to do whatever she wanted. She would spend time with her grandmother, sit and read, watch television, or just listen to music. Her time was something she’d guarded jealously, not wishing to share it with anyone outside of her family or best friend.

  Francine didn’t linger in the shower as she normally would have. Patting the droplets of water from her body with a towel, she moisturized her arms and legs with the bath gel’s matching scent and slipped into a pair of white, lace-trimmed bikini panties and matching bra. Sitting on the stool at the makeup table in a corner of the bathroom, she applied a light cover of makeup to her face: bronzer, mascara, and lip gloss. Using her fingers, she fluffed up her hair. When Brooke shampooed Francine’s hair, she’d applied a solution that left her naturally curly hair in a mass of heavy waves. She’d taken her own advice—advice she told her customers: constant heat from blow-dryers and flat irons damaged hair.

  She selected a white silk tailored blouse and a pair of black cropped slacks, pairing them with black leather flats. After checking her reflection in the mirror on the closet door, she walked out of the bedroom.

  “What’s on the menu?” Francine asked Keaton when she returned to the kitchen. “What?” she questioned when he looked at her as if she were a stranger.

  His gaze softened. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” Francine wanted to tell him that whenever she was with him she felt beautiful, feminine, and desirable. He had that much of an effect on her.

  “Come here, baby.”

  She joined him at the stove. The aromas coming from a pot of red rice with sausage had her practically salivating. “Oh my goodness,” she whispered reverently. “That smells incredible.” He took off the top to another pot to reveal mustard greens with slivers of smoked meat.

  “It’s smoked turkey,” Keaton said, answering her unsaid question. “I still have to make the cornmeal dumplings.” He gestured to an envelope on the countertop. “I want you to look at some printouts and tell me what you think.”

  Francine glanced at the clock on the microwave. It would be another half hour before the Shaws arrived. “I’m going to set the table first, then I’ll look at them.”

  She busied herself covering the dining room table with a tablecloth, matching napkins, china, and silver with place settings for four. After arranging the snow-white flowers in a crystal vase, she set it on the table as a centerpiece, then stepped back to admire her handiwork. The dining room needed an additional touch.

  “Candles!”

  “Did you say something?” Keaton asked.

  “What do you think if I dim the chandelier and we eat by candlelight?”

  Throwing back his head, Keaton roared in laughter. “So you want a romantic candlelit dinner? If you’re not careful you’ll end up like Morgan.”

  “Married or pregnant?”

  Keaton sobered. “Both.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want to get married.”

  Keaton gave her a direct stare. “I thought most women wanted to be married.”

  “I’m not most women.”

  Crossing his arms over the front of his apron, Keaton angled his head. “What do you want, Francine?”

  She knew she had to choose her words carefully because whatever she said could send Keaton running in the opposite direction. Something she definitely didn’t want to happen. “I want a relationship free of commitment.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “In other words, you don’t mind sleeping with a man but you don’t want to marry him?”

  “Haven’t you slept with women you had no intention of marrying?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But nothing, Keaton,” she interrupted. “Why can’t it be the same for a woman?”

  “I’m under the impression that you don’t sleep around.”

  “I don’t,” Francine confirmed. “The last man I slept with was eight years ago.”

  “But didn’t you say you dated six months ago?”

  “Dated, Keaton. Not slept with. I’ve dated men I never slept with.”

  Keaton came toward Francine in a motion that reminded her of a stalking big cat. “You’re afraid of commitment.” The query came out like a declaration.

  “No, I’m not. I just don’t want my life encumbered with a husband.”

  Keaton’s hands came up to cradle her face. “A husband or a man?”

  She stared up into large, deep-set eyes the color of rich, dark coffee. “A husband.”

  “So you wouldn’t be opposed to shacking up.”

  Her finger went around his strong wrists. “Please don’t put words in my mouth, Keaton. I don’t believe in shacking up.”

  “What do you believe in?”

  “I believe in having a mature physical relationship with a man where I can respect him and vice versa. And it’s not about putting pressure on the other to commit. I’m certain you’ve dealt with women who wanted marriage and children and you didn’t.”

  Keaton slowly lowered his arms. “You’re right. I’ve dealt with a woman who wanted what I wasn’t able to give her.”

  “And that means you should know where I’m coming from?”

  “I do.”

  Keaton knew exactly where Francine was coming from because he’d gone through that very scenario with Jade. What Francine didn’t understand was that she wasn’t Jade. Francine wasn’t a clingy, needy woman craving constant attention in front of and behind the camera lens. She appeared mature beyond her years and secure about her place in the world. It was one of the reasons he was drawn to her, wanted to spend time with her.

  Francine had endured a hellish childhood of teasing that no child should’ve had to endure because she didn’t fit into the stereotype as Gullah. And like her ancestors she managed to survive to go on to have an illustrious, short-lived career as a stage actress. Whatever it was that had her returning to her roots, she’d embarked on a second career as a talented hairstylist. Her parents had given her the gift of her own apartment at a young age to foster independence and she’d become just that: an independent woman in control of her own destiny.

  “You talk about marriage and children, Keaton. Why are you still a bachelor and fatherless at forty-one?”

  Francine’s question shattered his reverie. “I would’ve married if I’d met the right woman.”

  “Does she exist?”

  Attractive slashes creased his jaw when he smiled. “Yes, she does.”

  “Who is she?”

  Keaton knew what he was about to admit would either make or break his fragile friendship with Francine. “I’m looking at her.”

  Francine’s jaw dropped, but no words came out of her mouth. Her eyes were reminiscent of a deer caught in the headlights. A beat passed, the silence shattered when Keaton’s cell phone rang. He immediately recognized the ringtone.

  “Excuse me, but I have to take this call.” Picking up the phone, he entered his passcode. “Hello, Devon.”

  “Keaton… I… I have some good news, and as my best friend I want you to be the first to know.”

  He was surprised to find the normally unflappable attorney stammering. “What is it?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  It took several seconds for him to process the two words. “Congratulations. Are you happy?” he asked.

  “I’m shocked but delirious. I didn’t plan on becoming pregnant, but I’m quickly ge
tting used to the fact that I’m going to be a mother.”

  Keaton smiled. “I’m happy for you, Devon.”

  “Thank you, Keaton. I’m going to hang up now because I need to get home and change because Gregory’s flying up from Virginia. He still doesn’t know that he’s going to be a daddy. I thought it better to tell him in person rather than on the phone.”

  “Congratulations again and I’ll call you in a couple of days to check on you. If you need anything, please remember that I’m always here for you.”

  “Thanks, Keaton.”

  He ended the call, turning off the ringer, his smile still in place. He couldn’t believe Devon was going to be a mother; the career-oriented entertainment attorney had stated emphatically that she never wanted children because of her own dysfunctional childhood. It was apparent she’d changed her mind because she sounded happy and content. His gaze lingered on Francine as she set out candles on every flat surface in the living room. Taking long strides, Keaton eased the fire starter from her hand. “What were we talking about before Devon called?”

  “I don’t know,” Francine replied.

  “You’re a horrible liar, darling. Don’t you remember me telling you that I’d met my future wife?”

  “Why do you sound so serious, Keaton?”

  “Because I am. You really don’t know just how serious I am.”

  Francine wanted so much to believe Keaton, but past insecurities had reared their ugly heads, making him suspect. What do you want from me? the silent voice in her head screamed. “You’re not going anywhere and neither am I. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

  “Who was he, Francine? And what the hell did he do to mess with your head?”

  Keaton was asking the same question she’d asked herself over and over, and the only answer she could come up with was she didn’t trust men. She wanted an honest relationship with Keaton but she knew that was possible only if she were honest with him.