by Reina Torres
“Jordan, I think maybe-”
“I think we should go inside.” Her tone and the smile in her eyes were a little too bright to be real, but he certainly wasn’t going to argue with her. “You wanted to see the Prohibition Exhibit for your story and that’s what we’re going to do.” She must have seen the concern written on his face. “Look, if you want to talk about Steve later, we can do that, but Mrs. Harper gets really testy if you make her miss her soaps. So, let’s get inside, okay?”
He gave her a look from head to toe and back again, enjoying the sunlight as it turned her coppery hair into fire. “I love it when you’re bossy.”
She leaned in and nipped at his earlobe making him hiss with pleasure. “Tonight, after dinner,” she pulled back and her eyes were filled with promise, “I’m going to make you ecstatic.”
Vance felt hot and cold all over, his hands began to tremble, all from anticipation. “Yes, ma’am.”
The visit to the Prohibition Exhibit was inspiring in more than one way. Besides the wealth of information on bootleggers in St. Helena, he’d had his fill of surreptitiously watching Jordan. And thanks to his cell phone camera, he’d not only gotten a lot of photos on the exhibits, he’d gotten a lot of photos of Jordan.
Curled up on Jordan’s couch, which had turned out to be a lot more comfortable than the desk, and a lot more productive as well, Vance was hard at work on his novel. The scene he was working on was set in an underground speakeasy and featured a torch singer with fire red hair, a white gardenia behind her ear, and her gorgeous body encased in a shimmery black dress. Try as he could to avoid mixing business with pleasure, he couldn’t seem to help himself.
She was the boss of the place he decided. One look from the woman, whose temper was a match for her fiery looks, and men would quake with fear or lust. She had a way about her that made some men weak and made some superhuman, just because they loved her.
Love.
Vance sat back and laid his head against the edge of the couch, his eyes closed a moment later.
Love.
The old adage was to ‘write what you know.’ Which was, as he’d said so many times, completely bogus. If it were true, well he’d be a former beat cop with a penchant for getting into the middle of international intrigue, saving the girl and getting beaten to a pulp in the process. And maybe the last part was true. He’d been beaten up from time to time. The press, reviewers, ex-lovers. They’d all had their chance. But talking about love, and thinking about Jordan.
It meant something. It came from somewhere.
And heaven help him, he was sure it was real.
He just didn’t know how to tell her.
Or if he should.
“Vance?”
He shook himself and still he was lost in the words running roughshod through his head, until he felt a solid nudge to his shoulder.
“Vance?”
He looked up and saw Jordan leaning over him, her expression full of concern.
“I’m sorry, what?”
She stood up, and he suddenly realized that he’d been staring down the neckline of her top in rapt attention.
Closing the file, he laid the tablet down on his thigh.
“I’m sorry, I was a little absorbed.”
“A little?” She laughed. “I was trying to call you two in for dinner and when Ava came in without you, I was a little worried.”
He swallowed and felt his cheeks warm a little with a bit of shame. “Worried about-”
“Maybe that you’d wasted away from hunger while I was cooking dinner?” She laughed. “That you lacked the strength to walk to the table. Either way, I thought it best to hoof it over here and bring you up to speed.”
Vance nodded. “I’m sorry to drag you back in here. I’m not trying to be a bad guest. I just had a little bit of a tunnel vision issue.”
She shrugged and the movement stretched the thin cotton material of her blouse tighter over her breasts and every muscle in his body tensed. “Anyway,” she took a step back, “it’s nothing special, but if you’re hungry, food’s ready.”
Gesturing for her to precede him, Vance followed Jordan out of the living room and through the kitchen toward the breakfast nook. The oak colored country kitchen table was nestled in a rounded alcove set near a bank of windows that went from the floor to the ceiling. He knew without having to squint that her lilac bushes were growing just outside, shrouded by darkness at the moment.
She gestured at one of the seats. “It’s a good night to open the windows and let some fresh air in. It’s a little warm in the house.” She punctuated her words tugging on the neck of her blouse. He didn’t think she knew she was doing it, but he had to drag his eyes away and toward the table.
He saw the casserole serving dish set in the center of the table, where six pieces of chicken were nestled in amongst a variety of roasted vegetables.
He took in a deep breath and smiled. The scent promised him garlic and parmesan cheese, and the salad bowl next to the dish held a small mountain of deep red beetroot. “Is that goat cheese in the salad?”
Jordan paused beside him, a pitcher of iced tea held in her hands. “Yes. We get it from the Farmer’s Market at the elementary school on Saturday mornings.”
“The farm to table movement is pretty strong here.”
“St. Helena’s always had it. It's only recently that larger cities have discovered the concept and made it into a movement.” She nodded and gestured to the table. “Go ahead and have a seat.”
He remained standing as she set the pitcher down, making her turn back to look at him. “Something wrong?”
He heard the worry in her voice and saw the pinch of a line between her brows. “No. I was just wondering where you’re sitting.”
Jordan’s gaze flickered to Ava’s curious expression and then back to him. “Uh, I guess where I usually sit.” She made a vague gesture to the seat across from Ava at the oval table and that’s when he moved. Jordan tensed up a little as she tried to follow him with her eyes, but when he crossed behind her, she turned her head to look over the opposite shoulder at him.
“Here, I’ll get this for you.” He pulled the chair back and waited for her to sit. When she didn’t immediately take her seat, Vance looked up into her face and froze.
She was smiling at him. So, she wasn’t angry at the gesture, that was good. Some people didn’t like his notion of ‘manners.’ But what he wasn’t prepared for was the quicksilver flash of tears in her eyes.
“Thank you, Vance.”
Setting her pitcher down in front of what would be the empty chair of the four, she moved to stand in front of the chair he was holding out, her hand sliding down her thigh to hold her skirt in place as she bent down to sit. Vance tried to focus on her as a whole and not the view directly before him. But his intentions faded quickly...
And what a view it was. He hadn’t intended to get a view of her incredible backside, encased lovingly in a golden-brown skirt that would no doubt feature in a few fantasies someday, but he tried not to let his eyes linger too long. After all, they weren’t alone.
At just the right moment, he slid the chair forward and waited until Jordan sat back and settled against the high-backed chair before he went back to his place. With a quick tug, he pulled the chair back and then he sat himself down.
“Here you go, Mr. Donovan.” He turned and saw Ava holding out a basket of rolls to him. She darted a quick glance at her mother and he assumed that Jordan was busy with something, or Ava wouldn’t have mouthed, ‘like the view?’
He took the basket and withdrew a roll. Setting it on his plate he turned to Jordan and waited for her to select one herself.
“Don’t get too excited,” she shrugged, “they’re not homemade. The rolls are from Lexi’s bakery.”
“They’re a particular favorite of mine,” Ava explained, “so don’t get any idea of sneaking into the kitchen while we’re sleeping and eating them all.”
Vance sat back in hi
s chair and held up both hands in surrender. “You got me,” he admitted, “but now that you’ve said it, I’ll have to stay away because I’ll be the first suspect you’ll look at.”
“The first,” Ava agreed as she took the basket back, “but probably not the best suspect.”
That caught Vance’s attention. “Who then?”
Ava set the basket down and picked up a roll, pulling the warm bread apart with her fingers. “I’ll avoid the obvious,” looking across the table, “Mom.”
Vance picked up the salad bowl and accepted the tongs from Jordan. “Why not your mother?”
Shrugging, Ava managed to chew and swallow a bite in record time. “She avoids carbs like the plague,” with a wink at her mom, she continued on, “I mean, my mom’s got a killer ass, and she's earned it.”
“Oh my god,” Jordan groaned as she set Vance’s glass in front of him, “are you talking about my as… backside at the table?”
Ava didn't look the least bit contrite. “Why not, if I had a ‘backside’ like it, I’d talk about it all the time.”
Bracing her hands on the table, Jordan leaned toward her daughter. “Well, while we have company,” she darted a glance at Vance, but he noticed that she didn't quite meet his eyes, “let's keep the booty talk to a minimum, okay?”
Ava leaned across the table to hand her glass to her mom. “Okay, ixnay on the assway alktay while we’re playing host. I get it.” She took the full glass back from her mom and brought it up to her mouth for a sip. “I don't see why, since he was looking his fill when he helped you into your seat.”
Now it was Vance’s turn to want to shrivel up and disappear from the table. Ava certainly was her mother’s daughter. He’d seen enough pictures of Ava to know that she was born with a full head of Jordan’s brassy red hair, but over time she’d added other colors into the mix and was currently rocking a Tardis Blue wash of color. On top of her over-the-top style, this young woman certainly spoke her mind.
Vance decided to study the pattern of salad as it hit the plate. Fascinating. Really.
“Would you like some chicken breasts?”
Both Vance and Jordan looked up to see Ava holding the casserole dish in her hands.
“I'm pretty sure that you’ll really like them,” Ava’s eyes were twinkling with mischief. “After all-” she stopped short and sighed, a loud dramatic sound, “you guys really aren't making this any fun.” She picked up the tongs from the stand beside the dish and with efficient movements, served a chicken piece to both her mother and their ‘guest.’ “Look, I'm not a little kid. And just being in the room with both of you is like having hot flashes,” she looked at Vance with all sincerity, “not that I personally have them, or my mom as far as I know,” she added a nod at the woman in question for good measure, “and if you're not already ‘doing it.’ I would lay a bet that it's going to happen soon. I guess I'm trying to say, have fun, be safe, and I promise not to walk into my mom’s room without knocking first, okay?”
Scooping some of the roasted veggies onto her plate, Ava held the spoon out to Vance. “Go ahead and help yourself.”
Chapter 8
After dinner, Jordan excused herself from the table and Ava started clearing the dishes, leaving Vance and his plate alone. He'd managed to eat most of his meal, but spent a good portion of his time at the table talking to Jordan and Ava. Now, as he sat alone at the table he was almost afraid to let his thoughts run in a certain direction, but it was about time that he acquired some kind of positive characteristics from his hero over the year, and instead of backing away from the ideas in his head, he stepped off the nice safe path and wondered when he'd enjoyed a dinner like that one.
In fact, his editor would call bullshit on the idea that Vance had enjoyed any kind of small talk, over a meal. The fact that he'd enjoyed the conversation with not just one, but two women, would likely give Maxwell a stroke.
The sink turned on behind him and Vance pushed his chair back, his hand reaching for his plate.
“Hey, you don't have to rush on my account.” He heard a little bit of a chuckle in Ava’s voice and decided to answer it with his own.
“I'm okay,” he explained, “I didn't have to gum my food.”
She laughed and a spoon slipped from her soapy hand and plopped into the water. “Good one.”
He set his plate on the counter beside the sink and picked up a piece of roasted potato and put it in his mouth. “I’ve been told I have a way with words.”
She looked up at his droll comment and nodded in appreciation. “I can see that.” She held out her hand and he put the plate in it. Sliding it under the stream of water for a moment, she turned off the faucet so she could scrub the plate. “But you know it's going to take more than a few quippy comments to get my mom to fall for you.”
Vance opened his mouth to comment and thought better of it.
But he had to say something and went for the truth. Ava was much too intelligent for that. “I'm pretty sure anyone who tried to convince your mom of anything she didn't want to do would find themselves in for a frustrating time.”
Ava set the plate in the other half of the sink, laying it down in the sudsy water. “I hate to say this, because I feel like I should play the dutiful role of protector, but I kind of like you.”
Vance couldn't help smiling. “Why can’t you do both,” he wondered aloud. “Your mom said that women are born multitaskers.”
She shook her head and pointed a bubble-covered finger at him. “Careful now,” her shoulders shook a little, “I might turn the faucet on you.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Point taken.” When she went back to the dishes, he lowered his hands and leaned against the counter. “But I’ll keep the protector thing in mind, because I don't want to find frogs in my bed.”
“Please,” she groaned, “I'd be much more creative than that.” She scrubbed at the casserole dish. “Now I'm really glad that I came home for break. This is going to be a lot of fun, getting in between you two.”
He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but he knew his smile was brighter. Ava was going to give him a run for his money. “What was your other option,” he asked her, picking up the dish towel and stepping around to her other side so he would be ready when she was done and needed to rinse, “going home with one of your girlfriends?”
“That's so passé.” She gave the dish a few more swipes with the scrubber, giving it a bit more elbow grease. “No, my other option was going to Chicago to play babysitter for my half-sis and brothers.” She dunked the dish into the rinse water and handed it off to him to dry. “That's about as fun as stabbing myself in the eye with a protractor.”
“I’m glad you came here. That doesn't sound like a lot of fun.”
Ava gave him a bowl to wipe and moved on to the next dish. “It's like being a nanny, but I don't get paid. My stepmom seems to think that I live to serve... for free. It isn't like I don't want to see my dad,” she cleared her throat and scrubbed a little harder at a plate that was already clean. “But the last time I was there,” she set the plate in his hand but didn't meet his eyes, “he came through the door after work one day and when I came into the room he got this blank look on his face and kind of snapped at me.”
She followed it up with a practical demonstration, and while he had to admire her skill to snap with wet and soapy hands, he cringed inwardly at the way her father had treated her. Vance wanted to reach out to Ava, but he didn't know how she’d react to the gesture. He had little experience with children and Ava wasn’t much of a child. Thanks to her mother, she’d grown up to be a confident and well-spoken young woman. And a woman with a shrewd eye and a smart mouth, and that wasn’t a criticism in any way. In fact, he almost pitied the men at her college. She must have them running in circles trying to be worthy of her.
“And spending time with your mom?” He took another dish as she handed it to him. “That must be fun.”
“Fun?” She gave him a look that wa
s a mixture of emotions and yet he seemed to understand them all. “That’s one way to put it. You should have seen us when I was still in high school.” She swept a plate under the running water. “Wow… I’m surprised she let me go away to college with the way that I behaved.” She cringed and gave him a look as she picked up another plate. “I can’t believe she didn’t lock me away in my room, and fit me for a chastity belt.”
Vance laughed a little and then squashed it, unsure about the minefield that he was navigating. “And yet you went. But not very far, right?”
She turned off the water and leaned against the counter as she looked up at him. “I went to New York first. Columbia.” He could almost see the thoughts going through her head. “I went as far as I could get. I put a whole continent between us, but it wasn’t what I thought it was going to be.” Shaking her head. “I know you live there, and all, but I’m not a big fan of the Big Apple. I wanted to disappear into the crowd. I wanted to be ‘just another someone,’ but I didn’t count on being invisible.”
Vance set the plate in the dish rack and tucked the towel onto the bar against the wall. “All that concrete can take the life out of you, if you’re not careful.”
She folded her arms across her chest in a gesture so like her mother that Vance had to take a breath and shake himself to focus again. “Then how do you do it?”
“Me?”
She rolled her eyes and he resisted the urge to comment on how much she was exactly like her mother.
“Yes, you. I don’t see anyone else in the room.” She let out a sigh and continued on. “Is there some sort of secret handshake that makes people notice you… even the littlest bit?”
Vance shook his head and leaned against the tall cupboard with an easy smile. “No secret. You just have to be a little pushy. You step up, you speak out, you make it happen.” He watched her expression carefully. “That’s not really you though, is it?”
“Nope, and I guess that’s why I came back to the West Coast,” she turned and lifted the handle to start the flow of water to finish off the last few dishes in the wash. “The people are different here. They’re busy, and they’re kind of crazy, but there’s a warmer feeling to people.”
