Mallory pressed her lips together to hide her amusement and headed toward the door. From the first day Mr. Finney had moved into the small ranch next door to Mrs. Trigali three months ago, they’d rubbed each other the wrong way. She complained that he made too much noise with his power tools, and he thought she was a busybody.
When she opened the door, she was greeted by a heat-wave induced blast of hot, humid air and Mr. Finney who carried a flashlight in one hand and a large canvas tote similar to Mrs. Trigali’s in the other. As always, his full head of white hair was neatly combed and his tortoise-shell-rimmed bifocals rode low on his nose. He wore his usual summer attire of rumpled, short-sleeved tropical-print shirt, wrinkled khaki shorts and battered deck shoes.
“The meeting hasn’t started yet, has it?” he asked with a smile, stepping into the foyer.
Before Mallory could answer, he caught sight of Mrs. Trigali and he froze, his smile faltering. He jerked his head in a nod. “Evening, Sophia.”
Mrs. Trigali raised her chin. “Ray.”
Mallory introduced Adam and the two men shook hands.
“What do you have in that tote bag, Ray?” Mrs. Trigali asked, eyeing the canvas bag as if it contained snakes.
“My emergency supplies.” He ticked off items on his fingers. “Battery-operated radio, extra flashlights and batteries, candles, matches, a bottle of single-malt scotch, a deck of cards and poker chips, Oreo cookies and canned spaghetti with meatballs-and a can opener.”
“Canned spaghetti and meatballs?” Mrs. Trigali said, her nose wrinkling with obvious distaste. “What sort of man eats canned spaghetti and meatballs?”
“The sort of man who doesn’t know how to cook something unless he can slap it on a grill.” He turned his attention to Mallory. “Carl and Tina Webber are out of town, so they won’t be coming to the meeting. I’m not sure about Wanda Newton.”
“Wanda’s in Jersey this weekend visiting her son,” Mrs. Trigali said. “So it’s just us,” she and Mr. Finney said in unison. They turned and glared at each other.
Wanting to forestall an argument and get her evening with Adam back on track, Mallory quickly interjected, “Mrs. Trigali, I keep my emergency supplies in the kitchen. Do you think you could bring your flashlight to help me find them?”
“Of course, my dear.” She directed her beam of light toward the archway that led to Mallory’s kitchen and moved forward.
“We’ll be right back,” Mallory murmured, shooting Adam a quick smile. To her relief, his good humor was clearly still intact as he smiled in return and shot her a wink. To her further relief, there was no missing the desire banked in his eyes.
As soon as she entered the kitchen, Mrs. Trigali grabbed her hand and pulled her to the farthest corner. The low murmur of male voices reached them, indicating Adam and Mr. Finney were chatting.
“Okay, tell me everything,” Mrs. Trigali whispered.
“Everything about what?” Mallory whispered back.
Mrs. Trigali looked toward the ceiling. “About your new young man. You can start by telling me what happened to your other man, Greg.”
“We’re no longer together.”
Mrs. Trigali nodded, her sharp eyes alight with…something. “Aha. I knew something wasn’t right there.”
“You did?”
“Of course. You dated him for months, yet you still weren’t in love with him. If you haven’t fallen in love after all that time, it’s never going to happen.”
Well, hell. Now she gets this great advice. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Mallory asked, half-joking.
“You didn’t ask me. Besides, that’s the sort of thing a woman has to find out for herself. Now tell me, when and where did you meet this Adam?”
Mallory suppressed a knowing grin. She’d known the questions would come and it occurred to her as it often did that her neighbor would make a fine newspaper reporter. She had a nose for a story and an uncanny knack for ferreting out information. Some people, namely Mr. Finney, found that trait annoying, but Mallory found Mrs. Trigali’s ways endearing and motherly. Her husband had passed away five years ago after forty years of marriage, and Mallory knew the woman suffered from bouts of loneliness. At least once a month they had dinner together to swap stories and recipes.
“Adam and I have known each other for years, even dated briefly, but we lost touch about five years ago. We bumped into each other last week and-”
“And here he is. So he’s ‘The One Who Got Away.’” Mrs. Trigali’s dark eyes lit up with unmistakable excitement. “I just read an article about this in Metro Chick magazine. Did you know that eighty-eight percent of women who meet up again with ‘The One Who Got Away’ discover that he’s ‘The One’? Eighty-eight percent, my dear.”
Mallory couldn’t help but chuckle. “So I’ve recently heard. When did you start reading Metro Chick?”
“Just started. My fifteen-year-old granddaughter bought me a subscription saying I needed to ‘get more hip’ and ‘check out the hotties.’ I must say, after just one issue, I’ve learned a lot. Who knew lip gloss came in so many flavors? And did you know that two out of three men prefer the cherry-flavored?”
“To wear?” Mallory teased.
“No, my dear. To kiss. I drove right over to Walgreens and bought some.”
“Oh? Who are you planning to kiss?”
Mrs. Trigali became visibly flustered. “No one. But you know my motto-Always Be Prepared. But back to your new young man-now he’s what Metro Chick would call a hottie. Wanna borrow my lip gloss?”
Smothering a laugh, Mallory reached out and hugged the woman. “That’s very sweet, but I already have some.”
“Good. Make sure you use it. I like your Adam. He’s a fine young man, I can tell. He’s polite and he clearly loves his grandma. That counts for a lot.”
“We’re only friends.”
“Perhaps for now-but don’t forget. Eighty-eight percent.”
“We have…very different lives. I’m not planning that we’ll even see each other after tonight.” She firmly ignored the unsettling flutter her words caused in her midsection.
Mrs. Trigali studied her over the rims of her bifocals for several long seconds, then said, “That may be your plan, my dear, but I don’t believe it’s his.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw how he looked at you.” She leaned closer and her voice dropped even lower. “He’s very interested.”
Yes-very interested in picking up where they’d left off. As was she. But there was nothing more to it than that. Of course, she wasn’t about to share tidbits that personal with Mrs. Trigali.
“He’s leaving for an extended trip to Europe the day after tomorrow, and after that he’s off to God knows where for who knows how long. Then there’s a good chance he may move away from New York. We’re only getting together this evening,” Mallory repeated as firmly as a whisper would allow. “And that’s it.”
Mrs. Trigali’s jaw sawed back and forth several times, the way it did when the wheels in her mind were furiously turning. Finally she nodded decisively and said, “Well, if you only have tonight, then you certainly can’t waste your time with a block captains’ meeting. As soon as we’ve gathered your emergency supplies, I’ll hustle that pest Ray Finney out of here so you and your young man can enjoy your one evening together. I’ll leave you my ham, provolone and Chianti.” She shook her finger. “Mark my words-the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
Mallory pressed her lips together to hold in the laughter that threatened to escape. No way was she going to tell Mrs. Trigali what Adam had said about that particular theory. “Thanks, but I have plenty of food and wine here,” she said.
“What kind of food? Not canned spaghetti, I hope.” A visible shudder ran through Mrs. Trigali.
“Nothing canned,” Mallory promised with a smile. “I made antipasto.”
“Ah. Excellent choice. It’s hearty and offers a selection of things to nibble on. Acc
ording to Metro Chick, men like that.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
They spent the next few minutes locating candles, a half-dozen of which Mallory lit, along with her pillar candles, casting the kitchen in a cozy, golden glow that spilled out into the breakfast room and foyer. After putting fresh batteries in two flashlights, she and Mrs. Trigali headed back to the foyer where Adam and Mr. Finney were deep in conversation.
“Now that I’m retired, I have the time to indulge my hobbies,” Mr. Finney was saying. “Be happy to show you the shop I’ve set up in my garage any time you’d like to stop by.”
“Thanks,” said Adam with a smile. “I’ve always had a weakness for power tools.”
“Typical man,” Mallory teased, handing him one of her flashlights. “Likes anything that goes ‘vrrroooom.’”
Their fingers brushed when his curled around the light’s handle and a barrage of tingles jittered up her arm. Ridiculous. Or maybe it was more the way he was looking at her that caused the tingles.
“Not just any power tools,” he said. “Mr. Finney has a top-of-the-line, model XJ586 power saw.”
Mrs. Trigali fixed a laserlike glare on Mr. Finney. “Is that the thing you use in your garage that makes all that racket?”
“It makes some noise,” Mr. Finney said calmly, “but it’s music to my ears.”
“Then you must be tone-deaf,” Mrs. Trigali said with a sniff.
“Can’t cut the wood to make furniture without making a little noise,” he countered.
“A little noise would be fine. And a huge improvement. But we can argue about it later. Let’s go.”
“I don’t want to argue with you, Sophia-” Mr. Finney’s brows snapped down. “Go?”
“The meeting’s been canceled.”
“What do you mean, canceled? There are issues that need to be discussed-”
“Fine,” Mrs. Trigali broke in, picking up her belongings. “It’s not canceled. But it’s being relocated. To my house.” She set her radio on the small table near the door. “I’ll leave this with you so you can keep up with the blackout news.”
“But what about you?” Mallory asked.
“I have another one at home.” She flicked a glance at Ray. “Let’s go.” She headed toward the door, her flashlight beam dancing in front of her.
Mr. Finney’s confused gaze shifted from Mrs. Trigali to Adam to the radio to Mallory. “You’re not coming to the meeting?” he asked Mallory.
“No, she’s not,” Mrs. Trigali said in a tart voice from the door.
“But why…?” Mr. Finney’s voice trailed off as his gaze again bounced from Mallory to Adam. Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by a flicker of amusement. “I see.”
“About time,” Mrs. Trigali stated. “Since I’m not getting any younger, let’s get this show on the road. I don’t suppose you know how to play canasta?”
Mr. Finney turned and stared at her. “I don’t suppose you know how to play poker?”
Mrs. Trigali muttered something under her breath in Italian. Mallory wasn’t sure what the translation was, but based on the woman’s expression it wasn’t complimentary. They all walked to the door where Adam shook hands with both Mr. Finney and Mrs. Trigali and Mallory gave them quick hugs.
“Be careful,” she called from the open doorway, watching them make their way down the short cement path leading to the sidewalk. Mr. Finney gallantly took Mrs. Trigali’s arm.
“I can walk by myself, you old coot,” Mrs. Trigali said, but Mallory noted with amusement that she didn’t pull her arm away. Chuckling softly, she closed and locked the door. When she turned around, she discovered Adam stood directly in front of her, highlighted by the pale golden glow spilling from the kitchen where the candles she’d lit burned.
Before she could so much as draw a breath, he dipped his knees and scooped her up into his arms.
“Now…” he murmured against her lips. “Where were we?”
8
Saturday, 10:00 p.m.
ADAM HELD MALLORY in his arms and headed swiftly toward the darkened hallway, which he assumed led to the bedrooms. “Where’s your room?” he asked.
“This way,” she said, clicking on her flashlight and pointing with the beam. “Last door on the right.” She nibbled on the side of his neck and he increased his pace. “Give up on the sofa?”
“I thought it best to get out of the foyer and as far away from the front door as possible. I survived one interruption-barely-and even liked your neighbors in spite of their bad timing, but it’s not a scenario I want to repeat.”
“Good thinking. You know, without the air-conditioning running, it’s going to get really hot in here soon.”
“As far as I’m concerned, it’s really hot in here right now.”
“Exactly. So probably we should get these clothes off.”
“Couldn’t agree more.”
“How about first one to get naked wins a prize?” she suggested, slipping her fingers beneath the V opening at his neck to touch his chest.
“Works for me-especially since I don’t see anybody being a loser in that contest.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than he heard a faint musical sound. He paused and listened for several seconds. “Did you leave that radio on?”
“No. That’s my cell phone.” She worried her bottom lip. “I should-”
“Don’t even think about it.” He started toward the bedroom again, but before he’d taken one step, another sound chimed in. He stopped again and groaned.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“My cell phone.”
She buried her face against his neck and made a noise that sounded like a muffled laugh. “We should probably answer them.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Whoever it is can wait.” He didn’t bother to add I can’t since it seemed patently obvious. He started walking again.
“They’ll just call back.”
“That’s what voice mail is for.”
“It might be my mom,” she said. “Worried about me with the blackout. If I don’t pick up, she might decide to drive over here.”
That stopped him like he’d walked into a brick wall. “Where’s your phone?”
“Kitchen counter.”
“Mine’s in my bag in the foyer.” Muttering a litany of very creative curses, he turned around and walked swiftly back down the hall. A noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle vibrated against his neck. “You’re not laughing, are you?”
“You have to admit this is sort of funny.”
“I do? Maybe funny later. Not funny now.”
“I guess we could ignore the ringing and call whoever it is back in ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes? Ten minutes? Sweetheart, if you think you’ll only be in that bedroom for ten minutes…” He shook his head and gently lowered her to her feet. “Not happening. Of course, I have to actually get you there first, a task that’s turning into a Holy Grail-type quest.”
He strode into the foyer, grabbed his bag then walked back to the kitchen. Settling himself in the far corner, he fished out his cell phone, noting that she’d already answered hers. He glanced at his missed-calls list, which indicated Nick had been the person phoning him. A spurt of guilt worked its way through his frustration. A blackout couldn’t be an easy situation with a new baby.
Bracing his hips against the counter, he watched Mallory lean against the opposite wall. He dialed Nick’s number, but received a busy signal. Then, in an attempt to forestall another interruption in case she heard about the blackout on the news, he dialed his mother’s number in South Carolina. Her answering machine picked up and he left a brief message assuring her he was fine and he’d check in again tomorrow. Then he redialed Nick and this time the phone rang. Waiting for his friend to pick up, he noticed Mallory had ended her call and set her phone on the counter. She shot him a heated look filled with the wickedly playful mischief he remembered so clearly-that had so thoroughly bewitche
d and inflamed him. Then she walked slowly toward him in a cat-stalking-its-prey way that spiked his temperature another few degrees.
Nick’s voice sounded in his ear. “Hello.”
With his gaze glued on Mallory, Adam said, “Hi, Nick. Everything okay?”
“Except for the no lights, no power thing, yeah, we’re fine. Caroline’s actually asleep, and Annie’s lit a bunch of candles. I was calling to check on you. Where are you?”
All thoughts of answering were driven from his head when Mallory pressed herself against him, raised up onto her toes and lightly bit his neck.
“Hell…” he said on a soft exhalation of breath.
“Yeah, it’s hot as hell. But where are you? Still at the studio?”
“No.” He managed to get out the word before gritting his teeth when Mallory’s hands skimmed underneath his shirt. He reached for her with his free hand, but she smiled and shook her head at him.
“Finish your call,” she whispered, her fingers trailing over his abdomen. “Don’t mind me.”
Yeah, right.
“Damn, you’re not stuck on the expressway, are you?” Nick asked. “According to the last radio news report I heard, the traffic’s turning into a nightmare.”
She lowered his zipper and slipped her hands inside the waistband of his boxer briefs.
“I…I’m here on the island,” he managed to say. “Uh, safe and sound.”
She freed his erection then slowly sank to her knees before him.
“Good. You want to come over here and crash?”
He looked down and watched her slowly swirl her tongue over the head of his penis. A guttural growl rumbled in his throat.
“Adam, dude, you okay? I can barely hear you. Damn cell phones.”
“I’m…good.”
She drew him into the satiny heat of her mouth, and he dropped his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’ve gotta go, Nick.”
“You coming?”
“Huh?”
“You coming over?”
Why Not Tonight? Page 10
