She looked across the immaculate and empty living room. “Todd?” Quiet answered her.
Easing out of bed, she checked the securely locked door. “Todd?”
The plush carpet of the living room caressed her toes with its silky texture before it gave way to the hard, cold slate tile of the kitchen beneath her bare feet. Closer to the shiny black coffeemaker, she saw a bright yellow Post-it note.
Jamie—Hope you slept well. I got home late and had to leave again. Fresh fruit in the fridge. Later. T.
A glance at the pewter clock on the counter confirmed she had time to have a cup of coffee before showering and heading to Devon’s apartment.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Devon admonished Killer. “I’m not making a big deal. I just thought Jamie looked a little thin last night.” That would be when she was stretched out, naked, on the table in her apartment. “So I thought I’d make a bigger than usual breakfast for her. Don’t pout. I’ll put some in your dish, too.”
The feminine knock on his door could be only one person. “Okay, here she is.” He pointed a finger at his furry roommate. “I want you on your best behavior this morning, understand?”
Killer dropped to the floor and covered his eyes with his paws.
“Drama queen,” he muttered, reaching for the doorknob. “Wow. What a great way to start the day!” He perused Jamie’s petite frame, clad in another bright-patterned sundress with a short skirt. “Come in, please. I hope you’re hungry. I told Killer he was going overboard with the breakfast menu, but he insisted.”
They grinned at each other while he seated her.
“There’s a bowl of fresh fruit on the table,” he called from the kitchen. “Help yourself. I have to take the biscuits out of the oven and dish up the other stuff. Would you like some juice? I have V8 or orange.”
“Is the orange fresh squeezed?”
“What?” He walked back into the dining area and deposited two bowls and a bread basket on the table. “Ah, no. Sorry. Bottled.”
She smiled up at him. “Just kidding. You’re so organized, I thought I’d tease you a little. Bottled orange juice is fine.”
He lifted the lid on a warming plate. “We have three different kinds of eggs, along with sausage and bacon, biscuits and milk gravy.”
Before she could reach for anything, he began loading her plate. “Eat. You’re too skinny.”
“Gee, thanks.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “You need to keep up your strength.” He reached beneath the table and ran his hand up her thigh before giving her a little squeeze. “I like my women with curves.”
Her smile evaporated.
Panic seized him. “What? What did I say? Was it the crack about my women? Because there really haven’t been all that many, if that’s what’s bothering you.”
She shook her head and took a tiny swallow of juice and then licked her lips. “No. It’s just that, well, Fred always told me I had thunder thighs.”
“Yeah?” He made a big production of looking under the table, running his hands up and down her silky thighs. He straightened up and looked her in the eye. “Fred’s an idiot. Not to mention a scum-sucking dirtbag loser.”
“So true.”
He clicked the rim of his juice glass to hers. “To new beginnings.” Leaning closer, he swiped his tongue along the orange sweetness of her lip. “And possibilities.”
Jamie knew she had a sappy smile on her face as she sauntered along the boardwalk, but she couldn’t help it.
Breakfast with Devon had been so special. So right. Not to mention fun and sexy. A fresh wave of arousal swept over her as she thought of the product testing they’d done after breakfast. Whew. She didn’t know if it was Devon’s expertise or if she was experiencing hormone surges, but she just couldn’t get enough of him.
And although she most likely would be naked during most of their future dates, she realized that morning she needed more clothes.
Shirl looked up when Jamie walked through the door of Play It Again, Ma’am.
“Hey, girlfriend!” Shirl’s big smile revealed a smudge of tangerine lipstick on his/her front tooth. “Well, look at you. Don’t you just look like the cat that ate the canary.” Outrageous penciled eyebrows moved up and down. “Or was it something more interesting?”
Heat seared Jamie’s cheeks. Averting her eyes from Shirl’s knowing ones, she flipped through a rack of marked-down tank tops and shorts. “I need more clothes.”
Shirl’s chuckle vibrated the air. “Not if you play your cards right, sweetie.” She/he heaved a sigh. “Oh, fine. We just got a big shipment from an estate sale.” A long finger tipped with a bright orange, talonlike nail directed her to the back wall, where several boxes were stacked. Shirl glanced around the deserted store, and then said in a lowered voice, “I haven’t even inventoried any of it yet, if you know what I mean.”
“Not really.”
Shirl sighed again. “Since I haven’t inventoried it, I have no idea what is there…and what isn’t.” At her continued blank stare, he/she growled. “For cripes’ sake! Take whatever you want. Since there’s no inventory, no one will know if any are missing.”
“I couldn’t do that! It wouldn’t be right.”
“Doll, I’m going to tell you a little secret.” He leaned closer. “It doesn’t matter. I can let you have anything I want.” He glanced at the door and then back at her. “I own the store. Don’t spread it around.”
“But why—”
“My ex-wife. She bled me dry. All I had left was the store, and I was determined she wasn’t going to get that. So, after my ‘suicide,’ my sister Shirl inherited the store.”
“But I thought you were—”
“Shhh. This is our little secret, okay? I really do have a sister named Shirl, by the way. She hated the bitch I was married to almost as much as I did, so she didn’t mind me using her identity for a while. Now. Take the clothes. Wear them for your boyfriend in good health.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Jamie wiped a tear from her eye. Why was Shirl being so nice to her, a virtual stranger?
“How about ‘Thank you, Shirl’?”
“There are some killer shoes in the back that would look superb with that dress, doll,” Shirl said several minutes later when Jamie exited the dressing room. Shirl twirled his finger, indicating she should turn around. “You know, not many girls could wear that and not have their asses look big. On you, though, it looks perfect.”
Jamie glanced uneasily in the full-length mirror and resisted the urge to tug up on the plunging neckline and down on the short tight skirt of the lime-green raw-silk cocktail dress. “I’m not sure it’s me.”
“Do you think your guy will like seeing you in it?”
“Probably, but—”
“Does it make you feel sexy?”
Sexy didn’t begin to describe the way the dress made her feel. Lined with the softest silk imaginable, it gave her a full-body caress whenever she moved. She nodded.
“Then I guarantee your boyfriend is gonna love it. It’ll give him an instant boner.”
20
D evon shut the oven door with his heel. The warm sweetness of chocolate filled the air in the small kitchen, hugging him in a cocoon of well-being.
The sound of chocolate-chip cookies sliding onto the wire baking rack on the counter next to the stove echoed in the quiet apartment.
Killer, lying by the apartment door, rolled over and resumed his doggy snoring.
A glance at the clock confirmed Jamie had been gone for almost three hours. Should he be worried? Should he go check on her? Right. And say what?
He grabbed a warm cookie and took a big bite, only to open his mouth to let air cool the melted chocolate chip burning a hole in his tongue.
The cool milk carton slipped from his hand just as he lifted it to take a swig. Helpless, he watched as, in slow motion, it bounced on the tile floor, sending a plume of white liquid to rooster tail over him, drenching his shirt,
rapidly soaking into the running shorts he’d pulled on after Jamie left. The milk swam around his bare feet, darting between each toe, cold against the sensitive skin.
A swipe of his hand confirmed that not only was his face drenched, so was his hair. As soon as he cleaned up the mess and put another batch of cookies into the oven, he’d grab a quick shower. If Jamie had not returned by the time he was out of the shower, he’d go look for her.
The bell above the door of Play It Again, Ma’am rattled against its brass hook.
Jamie clutched the pile of clothing to her chest at the sight of Francyne walking into the boutique and cast a frantic glance at Shirl.
He waived a negligent hand and tottered on his size-twelve high-heeled pumps to meet the older woman.
“You’re gonna have to leave, old woman. Management doesn’t allow dogs in here.”
“Maybe she’s a seeing-eye dog,” Francyne retorted, shoving past Shirl’s bulk to the sale rack.
“Yeah, and maybe she’s not. You see just fine. Take your dog and get out.”
Hands on hips, Francyne whirled to face him. “You old cross-dressing goat! I have as much right to be in this shop as anyone. Petunia isn’t hurting a thing, and you know it. Now get out of my way.” Peeking around his arm, she waved and smiled. “Hi, Jamie! I was just telling this old goat Petunia wouldn’t hurt a fly and she’s not doing anything wrong. Is she bothering you?”
Jamie blinked. “Ah, no. I was just about to leave anyway.”
Francyne pulled a string bikini, in a shocking shade of orange, from the rack and held it up for inspection. “What do you think? Is it me? I bet the boys at the pool would really sit up and take notice if I wore this when I sunbathed.”
“No offense,” Shirl said, “but I think the days of men sitting up to take notice when you wear a bathing suit ended with Prohibition. Besides, you already look like a piece of shoe leather. Haven’t you ever heard tanning is bad for your skin?”
“Hey, Cinderfella, haven’t you ever heard a tan hides cellulite?” Francyne countered.
“I believe, in order to have cellulite, you have to have something other than skin and bones.” Shirl straightened to his full height and placed his fists on his ample, silk-clad hips.
Francyne regarded him for a few seconds and then broke into a grin as she patted his hip. “You’d know more about that than I would, for sure, bless your heart.” On tiptoe, she gave him an affectionate hug. “How’ve you been, girlfriend?”
“Fine until you and your mutt walked in.”
While the obvious friends shared a laugh, Jamie wilted in relief. She hated arguments and any kind of confrontation. For a few moments, she’d feared having to rescue the older woman.
“Jamie, I’m going to try this on while you finish your shopping; then I’m going to treat you to an ice cream on our way home.”
After she’d slipped behind the curtained area, Jamie walked to the counter.
“What are you doing?” Shirl gave a mock look of disgust and shook his head. “Here. Put that stuff in one of these shopping bags and take off.”
“But I thought I’d pay for at least some of it—”
Shirl leaned across the counter, his beak nose close to Jamie’s. “Did I ask for any money? No, I did not. I don’t need your money.” He gestured around the store at the bulging racks and shelves. “And I sure as hell don’t need any more inventory. You’d be doing me a favor by taking that junk off my hands.”
“Shirl, I don’t know how to thank you. I—”
“No thanks necessary, doll. Just enjoy the clothes and stop by occasionally for a visit, okay? Deal?”
“Deal.”
“Okay, you old reprobate,” Francyne said as she toddled up to the counter. “I’ll take it and this pair of walking shoes. They’re a perfect fit! Total up the damages.”
“Are you losing your mind, old woman? You donated those shoes two weeks ago.”
“Horsefeathers! Why would I give away a perfectly good pair of walking shoes?”
“Beats me,” Shirl grumbled as Jamie stepped out into the sunshine with Petunia at her heels.
The bench on the other side of the boardwalk was vacant, so she sat on it, the dog as close as she could get to her left leg.
“We’ll wait here for your mommy, Petunia. How would that be?” She scratched the silky warm fur beneath the dog’s ear. Within seconds, Jamie’s eyes began watering and her nose burned. She sniffed. Yes, it definitely was Petunia’s fur getting to her. But the big dog was such a gentle giant, she didn’t want to not touch her. “Do you like ice cream?” she asked, smoothing the warm, silky coat.
“’Course she likes ice cream, she’s female.” Francyne walked up, shifting her shopping bag to grasp the dog’s trailing leash. “Just let me get situated. Don’t want another ticket for not having Petunia on a leash.”
The dog’s hackles rose, a low growl echoing deep in her throat.
Both women followed the dog’s gaze.
A tall man stood by the corner of the surf shop. With the sun in her eyes, Jamie couldn’t make out his features, but Fred immediately sprang to mind.
She blinked, and he was gone; she could breathe again.
Petunia immediately quieted and settled into a slow, lumbering gait beside them as they made their way to the ice-cream parlor.
“Did you know that fella back there?” Francyne held the door open and motioned Jamie into the cool interior.
“I don’t think so. I didn’t really get a good look at him.” At least, she hoped she didn’t know him.
“Well, whoever he was, Petunia didn’t care for him.” She motioned for the dog to sit by the door and shuffled over to the counter. “Hey, Tommy, how’re you doing? How’re your mama and daddy these days?”
“They’re fine, Miz Anderson, Just fine. And yourself? What can I get for you ladies today?”
“I’ll take a triple scoop of mocha cheesecake in a cup, with marshmallow sauce. And give it a blast of hot fudge while you’re at it.”
“Make mine the same but with boysenberry cheesecake ice cream, please.”
“You got it. I’ll get it as soon as I give my favorite customer her cone.” Tommy scooped a huge mound of peach ice cream into a sugar cone and then walked out from behind the glass counter to offer it to Petunia.
The dog practically vibrated her joy, her bobtailed rump wagging so hard it lifted her hind legs off the floor in a happy dance.
A sudden lump rose in Jamie’s throat. How had she lucked out to land in a place with so many nice people? Not only did they all know each other, they even knew and were kind to the animals. Blinking back sappy tears, she accepted the cup of ice cream from Tommy and followed Francyne to a table by the door.
“Tommy’s a good kid,” Francyne said between bites, as if she’d read her mind. “His mama’s first husband, Tommy’s father, was a policeman. Got killed in a drug bust. Tommy was just a baby. Rita, his mother, lived in the Surfside for a while. Until she met Wes. He owns the market down the way. All the merchants gathered round to help Rita and little Tommy, donating their goods and time. Pretty soon, we noticed ole Wes spending a lot more time around her than any of the rest of us.” Francyne grinned and tossed her empty cup into the trash and then wiped her hands. “Nature took its course, and they’ve been married now, oh, ’bout fifteen years, I’d say. Gave Tommy two little sisters.” She dabbed at her eyes and then settled her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose. “I just love it when things work out.”
“It sounds like Rita was very lucky to have such a supportive group around her.” Jamie stood, tossing her cup in the trash and holding the door for Francyne and Petunia.
“Nah, not lucky. That’s just the way it is around here. Those that have help the ones that have not. What goes around comes around.”
Jamie thought about that on the way back to the complex.
“Want to take a walk with me and Petunia?”
Jamie shook her head. “I can’t right now.
But thank you anyway.”
“Fixin’ to do some more product testing with our young stud Devon?” Francyne wiggled her eyebrows and grinned.
Heat streaked up Jamie’s neck to puddle in her cheeks. “No, I, ah, I mean, I just told him I’d let him know when I got back. We’re just friends, Francyne.” Wow. That didn’t even sound convincing to her.
“Sure, sure. I get it.” Francyne shrugged. “I just had high hopes for you two. You look so cute together and all. You don’t have a boyfriend or anything, do you?”
“No! But I just came off a long-term relationship, and I’m not ready to get involved with anyone. Yet.”
The old woman patted Jamie’s cheek. “You just keep telling yourself that, sweetie. C’mon, Petunia. Let’s get this show on the road or we’ll miss our soaps.”
Devon placed the cookie sheet in the dishwasher and glanced at the clock on the stove when a knock sounded. Running a hand through his shower-damp hair, he made his way to the door, sidestepping a yapping Killer.
Jamie resisted the urge to throw her arms around Devon when he answered the door. Barely.
Stepping inside, she took a deep breath. Warm and cozy, his apartment smelled inviting and mouthwatering.
“Are you baking?” She set her packages by the door and followed him into the kitchen.
“Yeah, I do that a lot these days.”
“Oh?” Taking the cookie he offered, she took a bite, forcing her eyes to remain open when the flavors burst on her tongue. “Oh, wow. This is fantastic! It’s the best chocolate-chip cookie I’ve ever tasted. What did you do to the recipe?”
“Added a couple extra things, used real butter, stuff like that.” He opened and shut the refrigerator. “I was going to offer you a glass of milk to go with that, but I forgot I don’t have any.”
“I wish I’d known,” she said, reaching for another cookie. “I could have picked some up. Wait. I have a gallon at my apartment. I’ll go get it.”
“No! I don’t want you going back there until I get the window fixed. The glass place couldn’t get to it until tomorrow.”
P J Mellor Page 12
