Wine&Dine: another romance for the over 40

by L. B. Dunbar

  “Nice language,” he mutters, and my eyes fall to the open screen on my phone with the text message on display. I press the home button and spin, only my arm knocks his chest, throwing me off-kilter as I balanced on the edge of the curb. My ankles give, and he catches me at the elbow.

  “Whoa.” He chuckles, adding his other hand to right me. My cool palm comes to his firm chest, absorbing the warmth of his dress shirt. He’s wearing a suit without a tie. On reflex, I gently press the freshly starched material, feeling the firmness of his pec underneath the shirt. His eyes widen, a mischievous gleam in the sandy coloring.

  “Hey.” His lip curls in the corner, and a playful grin grows. His cheeks hold more scruff than the day we met, and I’m rendered speechless like on that day. His eyes twinkle like multiple grains of sand—russet and copper and tawny. The expression on his face good-naturedly teases me. His handsome features literally take my breath away.

  “Hi,” I squeak, removing my hand like I didn’t mean to touch him after awkwardly smoothing down his shirt. His hands still hold my elbows, but I lift my arms to release myself from his grasp. He takes the hint and drops his hand, slipping them into his pant’s pockets.

  “Whatcha doing out here?” he asks again.

  “I’m trying to figure out Uber.” I blink. “I mean, I’m waiting on an Uber.” I don’t want him to think I’m incompetent. What forty-seven-year-old woman can’t order an Uber? My shoulders fall with the thought. I hate admitting defeat, but I’m suddenly exhausted. Rusty’s text has me wound down. Maybe I’ll just go back to the condo and take a nap. I can get a warmer sweater or better shoes another day.

  “Denton called me.”

  “What?” I snort. “Why?” I should be infuriated with my younger brother for meddling, but a small sigh of relief fills my clogged throat. He’s trying, I tell myself. He wants to do nice things for me for some reason. I hate to question, why now, or feel like it’s too late. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt, or maybe I just don’t want to think at all. For once.

  “He asked me to direct you to a salon. Make her pamper herself, he said.” His eyes twinkle when he speaks.

  “Oh, I don’t need pampering,” I say, waving a dismissive hand between us. Then a piece of my over dry hair falls in my face from the messy bun on top of my head. I don’t think I can afford a salon around here anyway. I’m trying not to abuse my brother’s generosity and only pay for things I know I’d afford at home.

  Home. Georgia. I’m caught in this weird juxtaposition of wanting to miss it but not missing it yet.

  “I’m heading into LA. I can drop you off at Nordstrom. I have a friend who works there.”

  I bet he does. I bet he has many friends, I think, as I eye his sharp royal blue suit which makes his eyes look like whiskey. I could get drunk on those eyes. I blink and look away.

  “I don’t want to trouble you. I just need a Target. I was going clothes shopping.”

  His nose scrunches as if he smells something bad.

  “Ah, yeah, I don’t exactly know where one is.” He reaches for the back of his neck and scratches. He did this the other day on the beach, and I’m curious if it’s a nervous habit. Or something he does before he wants to laugh at me.

  I turn away from him and take a few steps before a hand covers my elbow again. With a sharp tug, I’m spun to face him.

  “Hey, where are you going?”

  “I don’t need your help,” I snap. He responds with a flinch of his head and a rapid blink.

  “Okay,” he draws out the word. “But I’m heading to the city anyway. Don’t waste your money on an Uber. I can drop you wherever you need to go. You can Uber back here later.”

  I exhale, and my shoulders fall. It does sound like a better plan than trying to figure out where to go or how to get somewhere on my own. Thinking of the noises coming from his apartment the other night, I can trust Garrett has no untoward intentions toward me.

  “Fine,” I mutter.

  “Perfect,” he replies too chipper, dropping my elbow and waving a hand forward for the garage. “And while we drive, you can tell me all about your boyfriend and the dirty things he says to you.”

  “You are incorrigible.” I gasp. “And how do you know he isn’t my husband?”

  “Is he your husband?” he questions, a brow rising while the expression on his face morphs into something I can’t read. I respond too quickly with a disparaging snort.

  “I didn’t think so.” His playful grin returns, but I’m offended by the comment.

  Why? Am I not marriage material? I’ve been told that and certainly felt that when James Harrington never asked me to marry him. He asked Evie instead.

  “Why not?” I snap.

  “No ring,” he replies with a shrug, forcing us both to look down at my long, empty fingers, the ones with chipped polish and veins sticking up the backside of my hand. I have my grandmother’s hands. Worker hands. “A woman like you should have a ring if she were taken.”

  I want to ask what he means, but we stop walking, and I glance up at his car, forgetting about my naked finger.

  Of course, it’s a Porsche.

  Incredible.

  5

  Stunned

  [Garrett]

  “Incredible,” she mutters under her breath as I pause next to my car. I’m not certain if she means me, my snarky comments, or my vehicle, a 2019 Porsche 911 Limited Edition Early Release convertible. Either way, I open the door for her and hold it as she folds herself into the leather seat. Even covered in jeans, I have a sense of how long her legs are, and I imagine them shapely and sleek beneath the denim.

  I close her door and round to the driver’s side. Slipping in, I fire up my little piece of pride. The sweet purr always excites me, but for some reason, the excitement intensifies with Dolores next to me. She’s a captive audience in my sports car as we drive down Highway 1 to the city. There’s no escaping me like she did a week ago.

  I’ve been busy this week and haven’t had the chance to cross paths with her. I’d almost missed Denton’s phone call this morning. If Dolores saw last night’s visitor, she hasn’t mentioned anything. I had to practically force Alicia out my door.

  We need to talk, Alicia pouted. Her presence on my doorstep was unprecedented, and a further reminder the previous weekend had been a mistake. Alcohol was involved then. Alcohol was involved last night. Alicia was drunk. A longtime friend, we’d already shared the benefits thing years ago, but when Alicia grew too clingy, I had to cut her loose. I wasn’t marriage material. It’s why I’m still single at fifty.

  After I was raised by a mother and three sisters, a woman fussing over me full time is the last thing I want. Freedom rings in my ears. That’s what I took when I left River City, Missouri. With a small inheritance from my granddad, I built the empire I now run—Fox Investors. I don’t invest in emotions. I invest in things. Things that make me money. Lots of money. The thought shifts my eyes to the woman next to me.

  Clearly, Dolores doesn’t care about money. She hasn’t said anything about my Porsche, the Italian leather seats, or the high-tech surround sound stereo system. Her request for a Target has me doing a second take at her clothing. Are those Chucks a knock-off? Is her sweater a brand of anything?

  “Why don’t you have a jacket?”

  “Uhm…” Those pink lips open and then twist like she’s locking in a secret. “I forgot one. It’s California. It’s not supposed to be cold here.”

  I scoff. “It’s not Hawaii.”

  “Aren’t they practically the same?”

  My head swivels in surprise. Her brother’s a former rock star, how does she not know the difference?

  “Prefer the East Coast, huh?” Easterners can be snobs like that, with their loyalty to the original colonies. Those people love their ocean, thinking it’s better than the one out west. Patriots, I inwardly chuckle with sarcasm.

  “I’ve never been to the coast.”

  My head twists again, but
her eyes stay focused on the houses we pass, those that line the very coast we are discussing.

  “Well, I went once,” she corrects. “But I try not to think of that time.”

  Huh. There’s a story there, but I don’t ask. I don’t need her sad history. I’m giving her a ride because I’m trying to be a nice guy, and Denton asked me to. He’s gotten me out of more than a few binds with women at the condo. We aren’t best friends, but I like to think we understand each other. We’ve watched a game or two together. Gone to a bar or three. Thankfully, we’ve never shared a woman. The thought draws my eyes back to the one next to me. His sister.

  She still looks like a wreck even without a damp T-shirt, sand in her hair, or the scent of wet dog permeating from her. Her dried out hair is pulled up in a messy bun. She wears no makeup and a sweater that looks two sizes too big for her. She needs a personal shopper and spa treatment, and even that might not wipe the sorrow off her cheeks. I should offer condolences for her mother, but if she cries, I’m a goner. It’s my one weakness. I’m a sap in that area, and as soon as a woman knows this secret—that I’m defenseless against tears—the challenge is on. Alicia pulled it on me, and it’s how she ended up in my apartment. Twice.

  Dolores and I ride in silence for a bit, but as we near the city, the traffic pulls us to a halt. I press five on my touchscreen speed dial. My mother and three sisters take up the first four numbers.

  “Nora, it’s Garrett. Can you set up a personal shopper at Nordstrom for me and then make an appointment at Beverly’s around one?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Fox.”

  I sense Dolores’s eyes on me as the phone disconnects.

  “Mr. Fox? You sound important.”

  “I think incredible is the word you mean.” Her arms cross, and her lip pouts.

  “Impossible,” she grunts under her breath, and I scoff.

  “I run Fox Investors.”

  “Never heard of it,” she says, not judging but not impressed either. Just making a statement.

  “Think Shark Tank. Ever see that show? I’m a behind-the-scenes guy. Invest in things to be bought and sold. The money man.” She nods like she understands but doesn’t probe me for more information. I’m taken aback as most women start questioning me, sniffing around for my net worth, which can easily be found in Forbes. I was once entrepreneur of the year and earned the decree of the most successful man under fifty.

  I wait for a beat and then reconsider my accolades. Maybe you don’t want her to ask.

  “I own a diner,” she says matter-of-factly. I’m surprised, and my head swivels in her direction again. “A woman’s place is in the kitchen, my father would say, but my grandmother disagreed. She said a woman should only be in the kitchen if she owns it. In my case, I own the diner, thanks to her.” She pauses and turns to face me. “I suppose now you’ll say something snarky about me running a small business as if it doesn’t compare to your big one.”

  “Actually, no. Small business was the foundation of this country. It’s how I got my start as well. I invest in a startup company, help them grow, and then either sell off my portion or help them sell their business.”

  Her lips curl outward, and for once, she seems impressed, but what shocks me is how impressed I am with her. For as disheveled as she looks, she sounds intelligent.

  I clear my throat.

  “So, let’s talk about your boyfriend, not a husband, right?” I tease. She hadn’t answered my question about the missing ring, and it’s on principle that I clarify. Denton hadn’t mentioned his sister was attached to anyone, and I don’t know why I’m digging. However, that text raised the hairs on my neck and not necessarily in a good way.

  “Neither,” she states; her voice low and disinterested.

  Single. Okay, interesting. But he was someone if he was mentioning her unmentionable.

  “Friends with benefits, then? I’m cool with that.” I had Alicia although she was a leash...on me.

  “Not exactly that, either.” Her hands disappear into her sweater, and she hugs herself tighter.

  “Sex buddies?” I joke. I don’t picture her as the casual type, but we all need to get off somehow. My eyes drift to her legs, curious about them wrapped around some guy. Strangely, I don’t like the thought.

  She doesn’t answer me, keeping her lips closed, and her thoughts quiet. We fall into a tense silence, and I wonder what she’s holding in over there. I shouldn’t care. I don’t, really, but she seemed put off when I joked about her being the type to wear a ring. I just meant some man should put one on her and claim her as his. I’d do that if I had a woman with legs like hers…if I did that kind of thing, that is, like marriage.

  My eyes wander to her legs again. Damn, I’m curious about them.

  I shake the thought.

  Denton’s sister.

  Off limits.

  We finally arrive at Nordstrom.

  “Ask for Lana. Give her my name.”

  Dolores nods without a word. She stares out the window at the three-story building.

  “You okay to go alone?” The question rings in my tone. I don’t know why, but I’m worried. This is not my thing. I leave the shopping up to Lana. But I have a strange feeling I shouldn’t leave Dolores.

  “I’m good alone.” Her comment is cryptic. She steps out of the car, but stands on the sidewalk, holding the door as she peers up at the store. Then she quickly turns, something filling her face, and I anticipate her asking me to join her. My heart races as I almost want her to say come with me. Instead, she says, “Thank you for the ride.”

  Huh. Not what I was expecting.

  “Here, give me your phone,” I demand, reaching across the passenger seat with my open palm. Her forehead furrows. “I’ll give you my number in case you need anything.”

  She hands me her phone, and I enter the digits. “Now text me.” Her brows pinch, but she does as I command. “Now I have yours.” Her lips twist, but it isn’t disapproving. She seems to be fighting a smile.

  A car honks behind me, and Dolores jolts. The door closes without another word from her. She stands with her back to me, and my stomach swirls. I should go with her, but the asshole behind me honks again.

  Coasting forward, I flip up my middle finger at the anxious honker. I roll up to the corner, willing myself not to look back, but my eyes are pulled to the rearview mirror. Dolores is still standing on the sidewalk, staring up at the building.

  “Come on, sweetheart. One step in front of the other,” I mutter aloud in my empty car.

  As if she heard me, she moves forward, and I turn into traffic with a sigh of relief.

  + + +

  Tonight lover?

  Alicia’s text is like something out of a bad comedy. I’m not her lover. I’m not her anything. Unfortunate for me, I’m a decent guy sometimes, and I let her in my condo last night when she Uber’d over. One too many drinks and a sloppy drunk later, and I had a new cushion on my couch for the evening. She tried to make a move for me, but I don’t get it up for sappy Sallys, and even when I tried to pump myself later, the release was weak. Strangely, it wasn’t the bleach blonde on my couch filling my fantasy in the shower but a certain brunette neighbor. The aftereffects left me shivering. I cannot be interested in Dolores.

  As for Alicia and me, been there, done that, and every man knows you don’t tap what you don’t want twice. Only, I’m an idiot. A week ago, I was the one with too many drinks and a sorry pick-up line, leading me back to Alicia’s place, tapping where I’ve already been one too many times. Years ago, Alicia filled a void. I don’t like to think about what happened, with who, or why. Just one night, Alicia was there, willing and a little too wild. She was everything opposite…nope, not going to think of her. We’d been friends. I wanted to add benefits. Alicia wanted more, and that was when it was time to dismiss Miss Clingy.

  Only I’d made the mistake of being with her again, and now, I get this. I toss my phone on my desk and lean back, taking in the view of the LA skyli
ne. I love this city despite the fact even on a clear day you can’t see it clearly. Smog. Forest fires. Pollution. It’s so different from where I grow up but no less murky. I left behind a factory town and traded up to another more expensive one. Still, I have the money, and speaking of, I had hoped Dolores was the one texting me. I wanted to hear how excited she was to be made up. A caterpillar metamorphosing into a beautiful butterfly. Not that I think Dolores is beautiful. I mean, she’s cute in a disheveled kind of way, but those eyes. It’s like she sees into me when she looks at me, and I want to see inside her. The sadness in her eyes is mesmerizing.

  Which it shouldn’t be.

  I straighten up, righting the tilt of my desk chair and spin for my computer.

  It’s been a hectic morning, but the glory of owning my own business and working for myself means I call the shots on my schedule. And today, I clear my afternoon, deciding to leave early to pick up Dolores, who still hasn’t called me. Instead, I call the salon to confirm she is still there, and I tell Beverly not to let Dolores leave.

  “She’s a beauty,” Beverly says in her heavy Eastern European accent. I snort as I don’t know what she could possibly see in the woman with split ends, dried hair, and the start of a skunk streak down her part.

  But her eyes, something inside me whispers.

  I enter the salon, walk past a woman waiting at the counter, and stop to speak to the girl working behind it.

  “Hello, Mr. Fox,” she purrs. She’s eyeing me like she knows me, and I mean more than my name. Shit. Have I slept with her? If I haven’t, she looks willing, but she’s a bit too young for my taste. I’m trying to stick with the over-thirty crowd.

  “Hello, Ginger.” I smile, reading her name tag, and then turn to the woman next to me, feeling her eyes boring into the side of my head.

  “Hey,” I say, tipping up my chin, and turn back to Ginger. “I’m here to pick up Dolor…” Her name fades as I slowly turn back to the woman next to me. Leaning against the counter with her mile-long legs casually crossed and arms folded over her chest stands Dolores.