by Amber Cross
He took a step away from her. Out of her unit and into the hall. She could slam the door now and lock it behind her. Lock him out. Only she didn’t want to. Despite everything that had happened, maybe because of it, she wanted to know who the real Glen Plankey was.
“Well”—he took a step farther toward his unit—“I guess I’ll—”
“Can I buy you lunch?”
“Excuse me?”
She spoke at the same time he did, so maybe he didn’t hear her invitation. “Lunch,” she repeated, “to make up for putting you out tonight. Can I buy you lunch tomorrow?”
He looked surprised, then uncomfortable, like he was searching for a polite way to say no.
“You’re busy,” she guessed.
“I’m helping my brother Roger at the farm.” Was that reluctance in his voice? She hoped so. “He’s a dairyman. I came up to help him and Dad take care of some maintenance before winter sets in.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say, any other way to keep him.
“I’m free on Sunday.”
She didn’t even try to hide her happy reaction to that announcement. “That works for me. How about eleven o’clock at the Golden Dragon on Depot Street?”
His answering smile made her bare toes curl against the hardwood floor. “I’ll be there.”
Chapter Three
Red dress? Blue dress? Short dress? Long dress?
Like a Doctor Seuss riddle, the choices kept running through her brain as she emptied half the contents of her closet onto her bed on Saturday night. What was she supposed to wear tomorrow? Dresses looked better on her short form than pants, because they created long, unbroken lines. Add a V neck and tights that matched the skirt in color, and she could visually fool people into thinking she was almost approaching average in height. But she only owned two winter dresses; the teal one he had already seen and a shapeless knit frock meant for running around the house or doing errands on the weekend. A skirt and top would cut her in half and widen what looked better narrow, shorten what needed elongating.
Half an hour later she realized she was making herself nuts over what might not amount to anything more than a cordial lunch to bury the hatchet between them. So she rolled a die, kept in her nightstand drawer just for big decisions like this, and when it landed on four she pulled the fourth outfit from the mound of clothing on her comforter. A pair of wool tweed slacks and a cream-colored sweater. Irish knit, of course. With a turtle neck and intricate cabling down the front and along the arms, it wouldn’t camouflage her diminutive stature or her round parts, but neither would it accentuate them.
Now she could finally go to bed and call it a night.
Or so she thought.
She couldn’t sleep on Friday night following her encounter with Glen, being close enough to feel his skin, to breathe in his scent. Tonight wasn’t looking any better.
He was in the same building! Not only was he there, right at this very moment, but he would be there frequently. If she took the elevator after him, would she smell his cologne? If she left the door to the balcony open, a balcony connecting her unit and his, would he accept the invitation and come over for a visit?
Of course she wouldn’t do that now. It was the middle of December. Besides, it had been snowing since late that afternoon.
It didn’t stop until Sunday morning. When she woke, the balcony was covered with several inches of heavy, wet snow. It brought tree limbs down on power lines and left the northeast part of town without electricity. Including Somerset Academy where she usually swam in the pool after breakfast.
Including Depot Street. When she arrived at the Golden Dragon restaurant, early because she was anxious and excited about her lunch date, a sign on the restaurant door explained they were closed until power could be restored.
Disappointment was a hollow pit in her stomach. It took a lot of nerve for her to invite a man out. They often felt the need to prove themselves to her, because she was a judge and successful in her own right. Glen Plankey was single, intelligent, and seemed confident with the exception of public speaking. It had been a big jump for her to ask him out. She didn’t want all the tossing and turning through the last two nights to be for nothing.
But even if they never shared a meal together, it was worth it. When he pulled into the parking spot beside her in a dark BMW and got out of the driver’s side, it was worth every second of lost sleep. The image of his lean physique clad in a black, quilted down jacket and snug denim jeans would play a feature in her late-night dreams.
He came around the hood of her car, and she rolled down the window, her breath making puffy clouds in the winter air while she drank in his features. She wanted to reach out and caress his cheeks when he leaned down to speak with her. Wanted to run her fingers through his trim dark beard and get lost in his aquamarine eyes, glittering beneath thick brows and the edge of a navy pom beanie he wore. Until she was distracted by the caption on the bottom. “Good Vibes,” she read aloud.
“My kids gave it to me for my birthday,” he explained without embarrassment or apology. She liked that.
Nodding to the restaurant door and the closed sign, he said, “Guess we won’t have Chinese after all.”
No way was she letting him go without a fight. “There’s another place if you’re interested.”
He shrugged. “As long as it’s not too far away. I have to get the kids tonight, and it’s a six-hour drive home in good weather.”
“It will only take a few minutes to get there. I’ll drive.”
“Sounds good. Just let me turn off my car.”
While he saw to his vehicle, she hastily scooped up the files and notebooks on the front passenger seat and tossed them into the back. Her SUV was like a mobile office, always filled with papers, maps, and other legal paraphernalia. No one rode in it besides herself, so she never had any reason to clean it out. She left the planning board materials in the back seat year round.
Once he joined her, she reversed out of the parking lot and left Depot Street for Gore Mountain. The plow trucks had made one pass up the steep, winding road, forging little more than a tunnel between tall snow banks on either side. Branches, white and heavy laden, stretched across the gap above them like fingers reaching for one another.
“Hopefully we won’t meet anyone coming down,” she said.
“I didn’t know there were any restaurants up here. Except for The Gables.”
“That’s where we’re going.”
Abby concentrated on driving, keeping her speed steady to avoid spinning and possibly going into a slide. Outside, the world lay in a white hush; inside the car was quiet as well. In good weather she would start a conversation, but right now she appreciated the silence.
A few minutes later they topped a foothill and came to a stop before Somerset Gables. The stately, three-storied building with white clapboards and green roofs presided over a breathtaking view of Kingdom Lake and the surrounding mountains. Today it sat glistening beneath the pale winter sun, frosted with snow like an old-fashioned Christmas card.
“There aren’t any cars here,” he noted. “Are you sure they’re serving?”
“They will be for me.”
Raising his eyebrows, he said nothing, just got out of the car when she did and joined her on the walkway to the front door. Where a sign clearly said they were closed for renovations.
She noticed him reading it and said, “Trust me.”
The door wasn’t locked. Walking right in, she gave him a conspiratorial grin before calling out, “Honey, I’m home!”
Clattering noises came from behind white batwing doors to their left, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps. Then her favorite Chinese man frowned over the top of the doors at them. “Do you know how much snow we got last night?”
She was expecting this. Deliberately provoking him, she said, “No, but if I had to guess I’d say eleven or twelve inches.”
“Yet you drove up the hill in it anyway?�
��
“Don’t be a nag. The Golden Dragon lost power, and I’m in the mood for some ethnic food. Your ethnicity, that is.”
Shaking his head, he pushed the doors apart and stepped into the lobby, wrapping both arms around her middle and hoisting her a few inches into the air so he could plant a kiss on her cheek. “Someone has to tell you when you’re not being your usual logical self, little sister.”
“I’m older than you.” She grinned, kissing him back. They’d been over this more than once.
Putting her back on her feet, he kept one arm loosely draped around her middle. “I’m still bigger.” With another kiss to the top of her head, he turned his attention to Glen. “Who is this?”
This is the man of my dreams. Literally. But as excited as she was about this lunch date, she managed to keep that answer to herself. “This is my neighbor. Glen, this is my brother David Wang. David, meet Glen Plankey.”
Her brother extended his hand and Glen shook it. Two good-looking men taking one another’s measure. “Plankey? You related to the owner of the Town Line Diner?”
“Linda’s my sister.”
“Oh! That’s why she looked so familiar at the wedding,” Abby realized.
David raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t get married and forget to tell me, did you?”
“Very funny.” Ducking out of his hold, she kicked off her boots and put them on the mat beside the door. “You know when I get married you’ll be the one giving me away.”
“Gladly.” His teasing couldn’t hide his fondness for her. “Can’t wait to get rid of you.”
“Wǒ yě ài nǐ.” Abby moved to the coat rack and unbuttoned her jacket.
“Tíngzhǐ. Glen will think we’re trading state secrets or something.”
“Or something.” To Glen she asked, “Can I take your coat?”
He unzipped his parka and handed it over, then toed off his boots, placing them beside hers. She admired the way his red, zip-front fleece caressed his long spine and stretched across the breadth of his chest. Just for a moment she wanted to rub against him, to see if her head fit perfectly in the notch between his pecs the way it had the other night or if she had just imagined it.
When they were both in stocking feet, they followed David through the batwing doors. On the other side was a deep room with two coolers at the end and a long steel worktop in the middle, a typical restaurant kitchen. It was also spotless.
“So what’ll it be?” David asked.
“What have you got? I can help.”
“Not a chance.” He pulled a chef’s shirt from a nail beside the doors and slipped it on over the T-shirt he wore.
“Hey! I’m brilliant in the kitchen.”
“Well, you are brilliant. A brilliant slob, that is.” To Glen he said, “Have you seen her condo?”
He shrugged. “A little bit.”
David looked horrified. “You actually let a man into that place?”
“Hey, I clean!” Abby could feel her cheeks going pink with embarrassment. Her condo wasn’t that bad. “As a matter of fact, I was up cleaning half the night Friday.”
“You must have been worried about something, then.” David pulled a bag of rice noodles from a refrigerator. “Or excited.” He raised his eyebrows in question, waiting for her to explain. Her cheeks grew even hotter. Avoiding eye contact with both men, she hoped her brother would drop the subject, but he didn’t get the hint. Looking from her to Glen, he said, “Ahh. I see, said the very wise Chinaman.”
Time for the direct approach. “Be quiet or I’ll help you whether you want it or not.”
“That sounds like a serious threat,” a new voice interjected, coming from a tall, dark-skinned man who ducked beneath the lintel to enter from the lobby. Strikingly good looking, when he smiled his face radiated joy. All of it was directed at her. “You wouldn’t be thinking of dirtying his sacred domain, would you, little sister?”
“You know it, baby brother.”
The words were barely out of her mouth before he picked her up. Literally swept her up into his arms like a small child, gave her a loud kiss on the cheek, then deposited her back on her feet again. “Last time I checked, your mother’s son was six months younger than me. That makes him the baby brother.” He offered his hand to Glen. “I’m Romney Wilson.”
“Glen Plankey.”
Romney moved past the steel worktop and went into the walk-in cooler. A moment later he popped his head back out, asking, “Wet or dry stir-fry?”
“Wet,” Abby said. “Dry,” David answered at the exact same time.
Looking at Glen, her younger brother asked, “What do you think?”
“I don’t know the difference.”
“Well, do you prefer fish or beef?”
Holding his hands up in an I give motion, he said, “Whatever Abby wants.”
Romney smiled at his answer. “Smart man.”
David groaned. “That’s it, then.” Taking a wok from a hook above his head, he pointed it at Abby. “You take care of the fish.”
“Bossy,” Romney said, emerging from the walk-in with bok choy in one hand and scallions in the other.
“She likes bossy men.”
Abby didn’t miss the speculative look that crossed Glen’s face, but all he said was, “What can I do?”
“Can you cook?” Romney asked.
“My kids don’t complain much.”
Both brothers stopped moving. She could just see them re-evaluating her guest and knew his worth had doubled in their eyes with that answer.
“You’re a father,” David finally said. “Congratulations.”
“Well, I’ve had them for a while. They’re teenagers.”
“Condolences.” This from Romney, but it lightened the mood, and everyone went back into action. “Here, you can come around and wash the vegetables for me while I get the fish out of the walk-in.”
David oiled the wok and put it over a burner. Glen worked at the prep sink. Romney returned with an armload of seafood ingredients, putting them down to take something from a high shelf. “Little sister, I have a puzzle for you.”
“Awesome.” It was one of those metal, mind-bender things that people give as Christmas gifts.
She loved them and her brothers knew it. Leaning against the counter, she studied the links and their pattern for a few minutes, made a twist here, a turn there, and solved the puzzle.
“Damn, that was fast, even for you.”
“I’m impressed.” Glen smiled. He had the scallions on a fiberglass cutting board and was chopping them into little pieces.
“You ever try those things?” Romney asked.
“I’ve done a few.”
“Here.” He took a different puzzle down from the same shelf and handed it to Glen.
He solved the puzzle in seconds.
“Double damn. I think he beat Abby’s time on that one.”
“Now I’m impressed,” she admitted.
David clapped his hands. “None of this will put food in your belly. C’mon, people. I need fish!”
The affectionate bickering continued throughout their meal preparation. She hoped Glen wasn’t put off by it. He seemed to be enjoying the repartee even if he didn’t say much.
****
Glen was having a great time.
It was a relief to watch her with her brothers and find that he enjoyed her company.
That he lusted after her was never in question. He had from the moment he saw her at the wedding and despised himself for it, so when she made the comment about her black blood, it was just what he needed. It let him channel his passion into safer emotions. Anger. Revulsion. They protected him against baser feelings. But on Friday night he’d lost that armor, and it sent him into a tailspin. He wanted to sleep with a woman he knew nothing about. That kind of mindless desire was foreign to him. Even in his adolescence he couldn’t remember anything this powerful.
When she removed her coat in the lobby, he’d considered helping her, but he c
ouldn’t trust himself to touch her in front of an audience. And he badly wanted to touch her, especially dressed in an ivory sweater clinging to her form like it had been knitted on. Then there were the brown tweed pants, molded to her backside before flaring out and elongating her legs. Imagining what she looked like beneath them almost robbed him of the ability to speak.
Now she was shucking scallops like a pro, a job he would never want, while bantering with her brothers. All three treated him more like a familiar face than a first-time guest.
“Glen, can you hand me the pickled chilies?” This from David. “They’re up over your head. Or my head. For you they’re at eye level.”
“How’s it feel to be shorter than everyone around you?” Abby smirked.
“Keep it up, and I’ll make you peel garlic cloves.” To Glen he added, “She hates garlic.”
“The taste is bad enough.” She wrinkled her nose. “How do you ever get the smell off your hands?”
“Wash them?”
“Very funny. Don’t listen to anything he says about my cleaning or my personal hygiene.”
“She’s just a paper freak, really,” Romney explained. “Stacks and stacks of it everywhere.” With his hands he indicated a two-foot pile and another and another. “What about you, Glen? What do you do when you’re not being put to work in a kitchen?”
“I’m in the securities industry.”
“That’s a broad answer. What, exactly, is your role?”
“Provide security for securities. I’m a tech guy; I help prevent hackers and viruses from bringing the whole market down.”
Both brothers paused and looked at Abby, who studiously avoided eye contact, then they looked at him. “So you’re a geek?” Romney finally asked.
“Guilty.”
“Me too,” Romney admitted. “A coder.”
David, with a speculative gleam in his dark eyes, said, “Ahhh, I see, said the wise Chinaman.”
“Tíngzhǐ,” Abby muttered.
“Don’t mind them,” Romney said. “She’s the one who turned me on to languages. That’s her specialty.”
This was interesting. Another layer to the little judge. “You code?”