Magnolia Bay Memories

by Babette de Jongh

  Heather wondered whether the gorgeous Jamie lived in 403 or 405.

  Adrian pushed open the door to his condo, allowing Heather to walk in first. The entry offered a short hallway to the right and another, wider hallway going straight ahead. When the wide hallway opened out to reveal the main living space, Heather’s initial impression was one of spartan elegance. Concrete floors scattered with expensive-looking oriental carpets anchored modern furniture groupings: a velvet couch and two love seats in tones of gray and blue, a long dining table and sleek chairs of dark polished wood.

  A baby grand piano sat in the corner of the room between two huge windows set into the old-brick wall. One window faced the river, a wide brown ribbon flowing silently past the pushed-aside curtains that puddled on the floor. The other window looked out onto the open market at the edge of the French Quarter.

  “You play the piano?” she asked.

  “A little.” Adrian tossed the truck keys into an artfully crafted glazed clay bowl on a marble-topped cabinet by the door. “My mom made us all take lessons, whether we liked it or not.”

  “Play something?”

  He sat at the piano and picked out a soft melody, nothing she recognized but soothing and beautifully rendered. “Feel free to look around,” he said, still playing. “There are two bathrooms; the closest one is just past the door we came in.”

  “Thanks.” She took him up on his offer to look around, taking her time getting the lay of the land while he seemed to lose himself in the music he made so effortlessly.

  She knew he was giving her time to relax and get to know him better by checking out his living space—and maybe also to use his bathroom without worrying that he might be paying some sort of attention to how long she was taking in there. She appreciated his sensitivity.

  The times when she could think of him as just a pretty face or even just a college buddy of Quinn’s were long gone. His complicated personality was built on multiple layers she’d only begun to recognize. Had all his teasing and flirtation been a convenient mask to keep her from seeing the generous heart beneath? When he’d told her about the neglected pony who’d snagged his attention and captured his compassion, she had the sense that he’d revealed a part of himself no one else had ever seen.

  “Your home is incredible.” Even though the white kitchen at one end of the wide-open space seemed not to be integrated with the rest of the space. The white-marble countertops were glossy clean—and empty. No coffee maker, no chopping board or knife block, no nothing, really. The kitchen lacked the vibe of life that filled the rest of the place.

  “It’s home, I guess,” he said without missing a note.

  Heather wandered into the hall bathroom—all casual-like so he wouldn’t realize she was a human being who might have to pee—then closed the door and leaned over the sink to stare into the mirror. Her mascara hadn’t exactly held up, but at least it hadn’t migrated down her face. She dug through her tiny purse but struck out. Not only no mascara, but no lipstick either. A lightly tinted Burt’s Bees lip balm was all that stood between her and total disappearance. “Oh, well.” Maybe that would cure her of the insanity of thinking she had any sort of chance with Adrian.

  Wait. She watched her eyes widen in surprise at the direction her thoughts had taken. Had she been thinking that? Was she actually considering indulging in a fling with Adrian? Because if she did, it couldn’t be anything more than a fling.

  As she used the bathroom facilities, washed her hands in the fancy sink with the fancy spout that gushed water down a chute that resembled a Japanese-garden fountain, she tried to imagine a way in which she and Adrian might actually explore a real relationship together.

  She scoffed at herself in the mirror. “No way.”

  The thought of her and Adrian getting together made about as much sense as a sparrow falling in love with a Japanese koi fish. Adrian fit in here, in this elegant, spartan place in this cosmopolitan party town.

  She didn’t fit in here.

  And the thought of her children living here? Ridiculous. Heather and her kids belonged in the small-town culture of Magnolia Bay, where everyone knew everyone else and the only thing to do for fun was to go fishing or hang out on the river or the bay with friends.

  He wouldn’t fit in there.

  But as she smeared a dab of Burt’s Bees over her lips, she had to admit to herself that an undeniable sexual chemistry flowed deep beneath the surface of every encounter she’d ever had with Adrian. And now that she was getting to know him, the chemistry between them felt even stronger, even more impossible to deny.

  Chapter 11

  When Heather went into the front hall bathroom, Adrian hurried to the master bathroom, where he brushed his teeth, rinsed the sink, wiped down the counters, and changed the towels. He wadded up the old towels, and on his way to the laundry room, he paused in his bedroom to take stock. His bed was made; his mother had drilled that habit into his brain.

  When had he last changed the sheets? He couldn’t remember.

  Then he laughed at himself. He didn’t have to worry about Heather seeing his bedroom or the master bathroom.

  Why would she? Was he going to invite her in here for a little afternoon nookie? Of course not.

  She had let down her guard when they were in the truck—he should have kissed her then, he thought, but then again, no. By the time she’d begun to thaw the boundaries between them, the traffic was moving again.

  So, yeah, he’d missed the chance to kiss her earlier. That was probably a good thing.

  Silly of him to even let the thought of Heather coming in here cross his mind.

  He eased the bedroom door closed, dumped the wad of towels into the washing machine to deal with later, and went back to the piano. He played a made-up tune that wasn’t much of a tune at all, but it took his mind off the push-pull of his attraction to Heather.

  His desire for her kept overwhelming his rational mind: the devil on his right shoulder arguing with the angel on his left. His biggest problem was that between one minute and the next, he couldn’t decide which side he was on.

  Playing soothed him. It always had, even though he had complained bitterly to his mother about having to practice. But she had never had to remind or force him to do it. Partially because he really did enjoy playing. Mainly because he’d been deathly afraid of his piano teacher’s wrath. The man had an acute extrasensory perception of the times when Adrian had skimped on practice, and he gave the same lessons over and over again until they were mastered.

  Heather came into the room, her green eyes shining in the afternoon light through the windows, her lips dewy pink and soft-looking.

  Maybe he should worry about the sheets after all.

  “You don’t have to stop playing.”

  He realized that his fingers had come to rest on the piano keys. He stood. “I thought you were starving. I know I am.”

  “If you’re waiting on me, you’re backing up.” She gave him a smirky smile. “I’m ready when you are.” He thought how pretty her face looked when her cheeks plumped up the way they did when she smiled. Not stunning or gorgeous or compelling, but so pretty that he wanted to take her face in his hands and kiss her soft pink mouth. He wondered if her eyelids would flutter closed so he could kiss them too.

  And maybe sometime today, he would find out.

  He squinted at her. “Do you have sunglasses?”

  “Nope.” She looked down at herself. “I’m not sure where you think I might be hiding sunglasses—or anything else.” She held up the tiny little purse with its tiny little strap slung crosswise over her white blouse. “Not in this excuse for a handbag, that’s for sure.”

  “Okay. Hang on.” He ducked into his bedroom, grabbed a couple of baseball caps from the closet, then got a tube of sunscreen from the bathroom drawer. In the living room, he dropped the baseball caps on the piano bench,
then stood by the window and beckoned her close. “Come here.” He uncapped the roll-up stick of sunscreen. “I’m not gonna let that lily-white skin of yours get sunburned today.”

  She came close but looked dubious. “It’s not going to turn my skin white, is it?”

  He shrugged. “Better white than lobster red, huh?”

  “Yes, you’re right.” She tilted her face up to him and closed her eyes. “Go ahead. Make me look worse than I do already. I’m sure the lovely Jamie won’t judge me too harshly.”

  The lovely Jamie? Hmmm. He grinned—couldn’t help it—but she wasn’t looking. Gently, he swiped the sunscreen stick across her forehead, then rubbed in the sunscreen with his pinkie. “Do I detect a slight note of jealousy?”

  She snorted. “Of course not.” Then, in the next breath… “Absolutely.”

  He applied the sunscreen across the porcelain-fine skin of her blushing cheeks, over the bridge of her actually very perfect nose—he hadn’t noticed that before—and along her almost-but-not-quite-dimpled chin. “Now why in the world would you be jealous of Jamie?”

  “Um…because she’s beautiful?”

  He smeared sunscreen on her neck—which was longer and more slender than he’d realized—and over her collarbones and into the very slight V of soft skin visible above the collar of her white sleeveless blouse. “She’s one kind of beautiful, I guess,” he conceded. “But then again, so are you.”

  She opened her eyes. “And maybe I’m jealous because…” She shook her head and closed her mouth against whatever she’d been about to say. “Isn’t it enough to be jealous because she’s beautiful?”

  “Jamie is also very nice.” He rolled the sunscreen stick over each of Heather’s shoulders, giving the task his full attention. In a minute—or less than a minute—he was going to kiss her. “She receives packages for me whenever I’m not home and leaves them on her dining table so I can get them anytime that’s convenient for me.”

  “And it’s easy for you to do that,” Heather said, watching his hands as they worked the sunscreen down her arm, “because you have a key to her condo.”

  He nodded. “Yes, all that’s true.” He applied sunscreen to her other arm, then recapped the tube and slipped it into his pocket in case they stayed out a while. “But you know what else is true?”

  He made eye contact, noticing how her pupils dilated, making her leaf-green eyes look darker and more moss-green as the gold starburst around the pupil blended more fully with the green iris.

  Her breathing quickened. “What else is true?”

  “I don’t want to kiss Jamie.” He touched Heather’s plump lower lip with the tip of his index finger. He realized with a sense of joy and relief that the devil had won, and he decided to be thankful for that victory and to never look back. “And I do want to kiss you.”

  ***

  When Adrian put his arm around Heather’s waist and drew her close, every nerve ending in her body woke up. A shiver of anticipation coursed through her, drawing her nipples into tingling buds and igniting a flood of sensation lower down that made her suddenly aware of the way her panties skimmed against her skin when she leaned toward him.

  His expression was serious, intense, intent on what he was about to do.

  He was about to kiss her.

  He held her loosely; she could break away if she wanted. His lips hovered over hers for a heartbeat before allowing them to touch hers, ever so slightly. She could have stopped him at any time.

  She still could.

  If that was what she wanted.

  He moved slowly, giving her every opportunity to change her mind.

  She could step back, make some quip about being hungry enough to eat his arm, and he would smile that easygoing smile he had perfected so well and usher her out the door with casual grace. It wouldn’t even be awkward; he would make sure of that.

  She opened her mouth to his, and given that small sign of assent, he claimed her. His tongue slipped into her mouth, skillfully sliding across her teeth, making the underside of her top lip tingle in response. He stroked the roof of her mouth, making that tingle too. He didn’t just kiss her; he explored her mouth as if he wanted to get to know each separate part of it.

  Dale hadn’t kissed like this.

  The thought crossed her mind without warning, and Adrian was so aware of her subtle shift that he ended the kiss and pulled back to look at her. She hadn’t meant to compare the two men. But wasn’t comparison inevitable? She had never kissed another man besides her husband.

  Adrian smiled, a gentle, questioning smile. “You okay?”

  She felt a blush spread across her face. “I’ve never kissed anyone but my husband.”

  Adrian’s smile grew, morphed into one of delight—maybe with an added hint of confidence. “Until now,” he added.

  “Until now,” she agreed. “It was…different.”

  His confidence was on full display now. “Yeah? How was it different?”

  “It was…” Incredible. That’s what it was. She tried to tone down her smile, to keep her lips primly closed. She failed, and finally allowed her twitching lips to show her true feelings, even though she wasn’t about to go so far as to admit to him that he’d just blown her away. “I don’t know yet.” She managed to regain the prim expression she couldn’t hold on to before. “I haven’t quite made up my mind. I don’t think I have enough data to go on.”

  “Good.” He grinned because of course he could see the effect he had on her. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m a big fan of data analysis.” He released her waist and took her hand, interlacing their fingers. “We’ll make a point of adding to your data set soon. But you’ll have to choose which comes first: food or data analysis?”

  Data analysis tempted her, but her stomach growled, threatening to derail any attempt to overrule the body’s basic need for fuel. “Food, please. I’m afraid I’ll die if you don’t feed me right away.”

  He brought their clasped hands up to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Let’s go then.”

  He tried to set one of the ball caps on her head, but she refused to allow it. She put the cap back on the piano bench. “Sorry. I’m not gonna let you give me hat hair.”

  He made a tsking sound but didn’t argue. He just tucked the other ball cap into the back pocket of his jeans and grabbed his keys on the way out the door. As they rode down in the elevator, he gave her some sultry looks that promised more kisses to come. But the most he did to ramp up expectation was to tuck her hair behind her ear and make a low growl in his throat.

  She felt like a bandit when he took her through the building’s exit on the opposite side of the building as the pool. Co-conspirators, they walked together, hand in hand, along a paved riverside walkway that led through Crescent Park to the French Quarter. A balmy breeze blew up from the water, softening the sweltering heat of the sun overhead.

  Having grown up in nearby Magnolia Bay, Heather knew New Orleans very well. Adrian’s loft on the outside edge of Bywater was almost within sight of the famous French Market. They were walking less than five minutes from some of the best restaurants in the world, and her stomach was growling. “Where are we going?”

  “I had wanted to take you to The Palace on Canal Street, but considering how late it is, I thought we’d go to the Original French Market Restaurant instead. It’s close enough to walk to, and the food is reliably decent. We’ve missed the lunchtime rush, so we can get a seat on the balcony, if that suits you.”

  “As long as you don’t judge me for getting the fried seafood platter.”

  “Are you kidding? If they only had one platter left, I’d fight you for it.”

  She leaned over and bit his shoulder through his T-shirt. “If you deny me my seafood platter, I’ll gnaw off your arm.”

  He stopped walking and twirled her toward him until they were chest to chest, hip
to hip.

  “Urp,” she wheezed, then caught her breath.

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and squeezed. “We might have a slight problem here. I think we’ll have to agree to a compromise before we go any farther.”

  “What sort of compromise are you proposing?”

  He kissed her lightly, not enough to convince, only enough to tease. “We’ll share a dozen oysters on the half shell for an appetizer, a seafood platter for lunch, and a creole cream cheesecake for dessert.”

  That sounded better than good—she’d happily eat a McDonald’s cheeseburger and fries by now—but she was determined to argue because this was fun. “Baked oysters—”

  “Nope, nope.” He kissed her again, deeply, before pulling away. “Fresh or char-grilled. That’s all you get.” Some guy on a bicycle went around them, the bike’s gears clicking.

  “Fresh oysters on the half shell, or…?” He pulled her close, his lips a breath away from hers.

  She had a hard time standing upright but answered with conviction. “Char-grilled.”

  His hand drifted down the seam of her jeans. “Creole or garlic and herb?”

  A biker zoomed past, yelling, “On your left!”

  Adrian eased them off the concrete path and onto the short-clipped grass. “Come on, girl, focus on the conversation. You have a decision to make.” He kissed her jawline, then her neck. “Creole or garlic and herb?”

  How could she think of food now? She slipped her fingers into his back pockets and leaned into him. He kissed her, quick, then threaded his fingers through hers and pulled her back onto the path. “Too late. You get garlic and herb.”

  Hand in hand, they walked the short distance to the restaurant. Adrian brought their clasped hands up and kissed her knuckles.

  “Adrian, I know this may be a stupid question, but…what are we doing?”

  “I don’t know.” He swung their hands in a carefree gesture. “Enjoying a little time off? Does it matter?”

  She sighed. “I’m afraid it does. I’m sorry.” She gave his fingers a brief squeeze. “You’ve been flirting with me a lot lately—not just today—and I’ve been playing along because I was starting to find it fun. I didn’t think there was anything more to it than that. But now…”