Flamingo Place (Mills & Boon Kimani) (10 page)

“I bet you could. Listen, I have to go.”

“Wait!” Chere shouted. “You still never told me who you had dinner with. Betcha I know.”

Pretending not to hear, Jen hung up on her.

Jen’s concentration was off as she brought up a list of possible
Doctor Loves.
The possibilities were endless. One “love doctor” in California wrote a column for a popular e-zine. Another author out of Chicago was a constant guest on
The Dr. Phil Show.
He helped the popular television personality dispense advice. There was even a porn queen with the name. Her outlandish attire reminded Jen of Chere.

Jen
ruled out the porn queen as a viable candidate.
The Southern Chronicle
wouldn’t stoop that low now, or would they? Jen’s thoughts shifted to her next-door neighbor. He could be charming, arrogant and inconsiderate. But there was still something about him that was exciting and appealing. He was the kind of guy with a youthful outlook who would never grow old at heart, but whom you could grow old with. She wasn’t looking, but if she was, she would opt for—stable and safe. Trestin Monroe was neither stable or safe.

A
thump, thump, thumping
came from next door. Her next door neighbor was back at it. Jen tried her best to shut out the noise but her skull felt as if a nail had been driven through it. Enough already. She pounded a fist against their shared wall.

“Keep it down, please!”

In reply, the music swelled even louder. The only way to get her point across was to give Trestin a taste of his own medicine. She turned on her surround sound and sat back to wait.

In about ten minutes there was a banging on her door. Jen smiled triumphantly. One point for her. Let the man experience what she did the minute she closed her eyes. She’d ignore him and pretend not to hear the rapping.

The
banging continued, louder this time.

“Security, Ms. St. George!” a gruff voice shouted. “We’ll need you to turn off your music.”

Security? Shit! As unresponsive as they’d been to her previous complaints about 5B, she hadn’t expected this.

Jen turned off her stereo hoping that would be the end of it, and she wouldn’t receive a nasty note from the management company.

Life was so grossly unfair. If anyone should be cited for disturbance it was that inconsiderate jerk she’d felt the need to invite to dinner because of one good deed.

Why, oh why, had she allowed him to bait her?

“I
thought
I said seven,” Jen mumbled as one hand of the clock slowly made its way to the half-hour position. “Could I have been wrong?”

Everything was ready. The chowder was in the pot just waiting to be served. The shrimp and scallops were simmering on the stove. She’d serve them in cream sauce with mushrooms over bow-tie noodles. The crisp sourdough rolls fresh from the oven had already been placed in a wicker basket and now sat on the kitchen counter.

In the middle of the dining room table she’d set
down a vase holding her favorite flowers. Sunflowers. Maybe it was the color but just one look at them and her mood shifted to optimistic.

When the phone rang, she frowned. “Please don’t tell me he’s canceling at this late date,” Jen muttered out loud, simultaneously grabbing the receiver.

“Yes?”

“Watcha up to?”

Chere. The woman had uncanny ESP.

“I been thinking of taking myself to this new bar that just opened. You want to join me?”

“I’m afraid I can’t. I’m busy.”

Silence. A foreign sound for her administrative assistant. She must be between men. Jen had never known Chere to be available on a Saturday night.

“Busy doing what?” Chere asked through what Jen imagined to be chomping. “Chuck those letters for one night and come out on the town. Please!”

Jen sighed. She’d better nip this right now or Chere would arrive over, trying to convince her to come.

“I have dinner plans,” Jen said firmly. “Maybe we can do a movie tomorrow.”

“Who you have plans with?”

The woman had no shame. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

Chere
cackled. As always she took the rebuke in good stride.

“Girl, leave it to me to find out. Nothing’s sacred in this town.”

“I’ll check in with you tomorrow,” Jen said and quickly hung up.

The doorbell rang, and about time too. Jen put an eye to the peephole and satisfied it was Trestin threw the door wide.

He stood on the threshold, for once looking uncertain.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said. “My peace offering wasn’t ready.” He handed her a box tied with several colorful ribbons. “This is to make up for the other night. We have Camille Lewis to blame for that visit by security.”

“Interesting lady.” And to think she’d thought it was him calling security.

He rolled his eyes. “The understatement of the year. Rosa makes the best key lime pie in town. I ordered in advance but there were problems with the refrigeration. In any case I had to wait.”

It was on the tip of Jen’s tongue to tell him he could have called. But bringing the pie was a thoughtful gesture on his part, especially given they had no
relationship. She’d expected him to show up swinging his two empty hands.

“And I have something else for you,” he said handing her a square flat package that was carefully wrapped.

“Should I open it now or later?”

“Later. Maybe when you’re alone.”

Jen thanked him and stood aside so that he could enter. Trestin’s gaze swept the room. “You have great taste. Are those antiques?”

“Yes, I know, very un-Florida in the land where pastels, chrome and glass prevail.”

“Were they inherited?” he asked, his palm skimming the surface of the sideboard where she’d set out the dishes, cutlery and glasses.

“There was nothing to inherit. I grew up in foster homes.”

He frowned. “Sorry.”

She didn’t want him feeling sorry for her. She was long over not ever knowing her parents.

“I was thinking we might have drinks on the balcony.”

“I’ll gladly play bartender,” Trestin offered.

Jen pointed to the kitchen. “I have all the ingredients for margaritas. They’re not a very masculine drink but the temperature outside calls for something cool and soothing.”

“You
have that right, the temperature I mean, not the masculinity thing. There are still real men who drink margaritas.” He winked at her. “In fact I would love one.”

She decided to leave it alone.

Trestin’s cadence reminded her of someone, but right now she could barely think straight. His six-foot-two frame was too close to her, and his smooth dark skin made the white linen shirt look like it was exclusively made for him.

“There’s always beer and vodka if you prefer,” Jen offered, speaking quickly.

“I’m sticking with margaritas.”

She left Trestin seated on the balcony, plopped in the pasta and hurriedly made up a batch of the quenching drink. Jen returned minutes later, carrying a pitcher and two glasses on a tray. She set the tray down and handed him one.

“You’ll join me.”

“But of course.”

After pouring a glass she stood next to Trestin and stared out on the ocean. Dusk was giving way to night and the last hopeful rays of sunshine illuminated the gray-green water.

“You wouldn’t by chance have tuned in to WARP
and heard Mayor Rabinowitz the other night?” Jen asked.

“Not sure why I would do that.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

For someone claiming to be in communications, he seemed so uninformed and uninterested in the happenings in their tiny town. Jen remembered asking him a similar question about the D’Dawg show when they’d had dinner previously. His answer had been about the same. What could be occupying his time so totally that he wasn’t keeping up with current events?

“Exactly what kind of communications are you in?” she asked.

Was it her imagination or was that a sickly tinge of gray shading his ebony skin?

“I’m a journalist of sorts.”

He spoke carefully. Too carefully.

She was beginning to think that what she suspected was true. He worked for the competition. In that case he was a really good person to know. Then again maybe he was just yanking her chain.

“I brought up the
Dear Jenna
controversy before and you hadn’t heard of it.”

“What about it?”

“I’d think you’d have an opinion.”

“I do.”

“So
what do you think?” Jen was treading on safe ground. She looked nothing like the stuffy, uptight photograph of Dear Jenna, in the corporate suit wearing her Condoleeza Rice pearls and disfiguring glasses. The photo had to be at least ten years old when she’d first started out in the business.

“About the columnist using the word
queer?
Or about how this town seized on it like a dog with a juicy bone?”

“It was more like that horrible on-air personality fanned the flames into a huge fire. No, I was actually tuned in to the broadcast when the mother supposedly came on. Do you think it was really her or someone he put up to it?”

“I wasn’t listening.”

“But you just said—”

“Can we change the subject? Something smells delicious. I hope you didn’t go through a lot of trouble.”

“Actually I like to cook.”

“Something else new I’ve learned about you.”

“Is that a hint? Are you hungry,” Jen asked.

“Famished.”

“Then let’s go inside where it’s air-conditioned and eat.”

Jen led him indoors, drained the pasta and began moving the items that made up the meal onto the
sideboard. She’d set her tiny table with coral-colored table mats. Her napkin rings shaped like dolphins held jade cloth napkins pleated like fans.

“Help yourself,” she said, gesturing to the laden sideboard. “I figured this way we would have more space.”

Trestin needed no further prompting. He helped himself to the chowder and rolls, took a seat at the table and dug in.

“Delicious,” he announced.

“Thank you. It’s a new recipe. It turned out well.”

After spooning the last of the chowder into his mouth, he piled his plate high with pasta, scallops and shrimp. Jen poured them both another margarita.

“So tell me,” she said. “Why do you think this
Dear Jenna
woman’s gotten so popular?”

“Because gossip sells. Our townsfolk have a lot of time on their hands or they wouldn’t find other people’s troubles so intriguing.”

“
Dear Jenna
isn’t a gossip columnist,” Jen said inwardly bristling. “She’s an advice columnist.”

Trestin’s fork paused midway from plate to mouth. “What’s the difference?

“One spreads rumors. The other provides a service helping people.”

Trestin snorted. “Services like telling an adult
man’s mother to hook him up with some woman desperately wanting to get married.”

Jen smiled. “You have been following the controversy. I take it you have something against marriage?”

He finished chewing and set his fork down. “Actually I don’t. But I think an adult should do his or her own choosing.”

“I think marriage, even plans to marry, can ruin a pretty good relationship,” Jen offered

Trestin looked at her curiously. “I’m surprised to hear you say that.”

“It’s just that people immediately start having these expectations of each other.” Jen was thinking of herself and Anderson.

“Like what?”

“Like one’s going to tame the other. Like one of them needs to be home at a specific time to start dinner and God forbid they’re not. Like one now owns the other.”

Jen began gathering the dishes.

“You sound bitter.” Tre stood. “I’ll help you,” he offered.

In the kitchen as they were stacking dishes into the dishwasher he continued, “I take it you’ve tried marriage and it isn’t for you.”

“No, I never have. I was engaged and I’m not interested
in repeating that experience. Once the ring was on the monster got released.”

“Ouch.”

Jen’s eyebrow shot up. “You’re interested in getting married?”

“To the right woman.”

“You are a diplomat.”

“Well, I’ve been around enough marriages to know that both parties better be in sync on important issues. Because once those hormones stop revving, you’d better be on the same page when it comes to finances, goals and even raising children.”

“Sure you haven’t been married?” Jen teased, trying to lighten things up a bit.

“I’m sure. But I lived through an unhappy marriage.” Jen glanced at him. “My mother and my father’s. When the responsibilities that came with having two kids got to my father, he left. I’ve seen it time and time again with friends. Two people are getting along just fine, even living together. But they never discuss the vital issues and when reality hits home in the form of crises, one or the other is out of there.”

“Uh-huh. Now you see why I’m not a proponent of marriage.

Trestin set the last plate in the dishwasher and closed the door. “I say date if you have to, get to know
the person well over a period of time, although that’s no guarantee. But it does help if the person shares your values and ethics and believes in a committed relationship.”

“I’m not sure there’s a person like that existing out there.”

“You are jaded.”

She supposed she was. Anderson had snowed her with his talk about soul mates and long-lasting love. He’d talk a good talk about fidelity and walking away from temptation. When it came down to it, he hadn’t been able to walk the walk.

“What about kids?” Trestin asked. “Don’t you want them? Or are you advocating having children out of wedlock?”

“I’m not planning on having any at all. It’s tough being a single parent.” Jen took the individual bowls of crème brûlée out of the refrigerator. “Shall we have these inside or out?”

“Inside. I’m fascinated by this conversation.”

“Follow me into the dining area,” Jen said, starting out.

Trestin set down the dishcloth he was drying his hands on and followed.

“You’d have beautiful children,” he said, smiling at her.

“Think
so?”

She placed a spoon in her bowl and began eating.

“In fact I’d be open to giving it a whirl.”

She’d just been propositioned, or was it her imagination? Better set him straight right now.

“There’s not a prayer of you and I going to bed tonight if that’s what you’re angling for. I’m not that kind of woman. I want to know my man well before I take that leap. And a leap of faith it will be after what I went through.”

“I was joking,” Trestin said with a perfectly straight face. “Lighten up. You’d have quite a bit of baggage to stow if you and I were to progress to the status of lovers.”

“Fat chance in hell.”

He was back to his cocky, arrogant self.

“Are you with
The Southern Tribune?
” Jen asked, taking the conversation in a safer direction.

“The newspaper? No, I’m not.”

She wasn’t sure she believed him. He trailed his fingers along her forearm and she wished he would stop touching her. His touch brought out the sensual erotic side of her that she hid from the world. “What about this doctor they’re supposedly hiring?”

“Why would a newspaper need a doctor?”

Exasperated, Jen
sighed. “I guess I’ll just never get a straight answer out of you.”

The pads of his fingertips traced a path on her arm, making her shiver.

“What have I been evasive about?”

She threw her hands in the air. “Everything. I had to push you for a last name. I still don’t know what you do.”

“Hey, simmer down. You’re getting all worked up over nothing.” Trestin now held Jen by the shoulders. She looked into his liquid brown eyes and forgot how much he could infuriate her.

His kiss began as a fleeting touch to her lips. When it became more intense it hinted at an even greater intimacy. He didn’t push it though, just held her tightly before gently releasing her.

“I’d like to introduce you to my mother,” he said unexpectedly. “She’ll be visiting me in a week or so.”

“What! Why?”

“Why not? You live right next door. It would be nice to know you if she needed a cup of sugar.”

“That would be fine then.”

Jen was thinking it might be interesting to see what Trestin’s mama was like. Maybe she could even fill her in on the missing pieces of his life and talk to her about the things Trestin glossed over.

“Good. I’ll
bring her by.”

When Trestin thanked her and kissed her goodbye his kiss was much more exploratory than demanding.

Jen pushed him firmly out of her front door.