As they waited for the truck to arrive, Jon said, “So what do you say about bowling? They’re having a meeting at the alley tomorrow at six-thirty to get organized.” He named the bowling alley and the street it was on. “Will I see you there?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It runs a lot longer than dance lessons. Chances are I’m going to want to avoid going outside over the winter.”
“You did say you’re from Wisconsin, didn’t you?”
“Yes, why?”
“Because you’re sounding more like someone who came up here from the Sunbelt. Sure, the winter’s going to be cold, probably colder than you’re used to, but you have to go to work, don’t you? Do you really want to be trapped inside until the spring thaw unless you’re going to earn your paycheck? Winter is when the bowling alleys make all their money. Indoor activities are big when it’s cold out. But a lot of places in Minnesota reduce their hours in the summer.”
She remembered that some of the lanes in Wisconsin did the same thing, and those that did open on weekend afternoons were often abandoned as residents spent time outdoors.
Jon drove his point home. “Joining a bowling league is a great way to meet people, Miranda.”
She said nothing, but that was what held her back. Jon would certainly make plenty of new friends, all of them female. Watching him surrounded by adoring females was hardly her idea of a fun time.
She wondered why he was pressing so hard for her to join the league. Surely he didn’t want her to be his fall companion…
Or did he?
“Who knows,” he said as the flat bed tow truck pulled into the parking lot. “Maybe we’ll have the same magic at the lanes as we do on the dance floor.”
It only took about five minutes for the tow truck driver to replace Miranda’s flat tire with the donut in her trunk. She signed the receipt and thanked him, then turned to Jon as he returned from a quick trip to his own vehicle for reasons he hadn’t mentioned. “Thank you for waiting with me, Jon. I really appreciate it. It looks like I’m all set.” She yawned. “Excuse me. It’s been a long day, and alcohol usually makes me sleepy.”
“Before you go, I’ve got a little something for you, but I don’t want you to look at it until you get home,” he said. He handed her a plastic supermarket bag, and she realized that was what he’d retrieved from his car. As Miranda studied it she realized she couldn’t have peeked if she’d wanted to: He’d knotted the bag, and the thickness of the knot suggested the small object had been double bagged. But as she groped the contents, she learned it was square shaped.
“Well, thank you for…whatever this is.” She smiled at him. “Good night.”
“Good night, Miranda.” His gaze held hers. “I do hope to see you tomorrow. Do you remember where it is?”
His softly spoken words caressed her ears, and she swallowed hard and choked out a noncommittal reply before starting the engine and backing out of her parking space. Jon wasn’t kidding when he said he could be persuasive. He could probably talk a struggling farmer into buying more acreage.
Once inside her apartment, Miranda threw her shoulder bag on her bed and then attacked the bag. When she couldn’t get the knot undone, she tried to rip the bag open, but it wouldn’t tear. Ain’t this about nothin’. The damn things usually tear in an instant if the cashier puts in two liters of pop without double bagging, but this one acts like it’s auditioning to be a Hefty bag.
She ran into her tiny bathroom and grabbed the sharp scissors she used to trim her ends from under the sink and cut through both bags. She pulled out a blue square gift box with white stars. No wonder she’d only felt a square. He’d put whatever he’d gotten her inside a box.
Growing more curious by the second, she undid the flaps of the box. Inside was a strange-looking fruit or vegetable in a vivid shade of red-orange, plus a note.
She picked up the note, written in a distinct, almost geometric-like handwriting.
Dear Miranda, I thought you might want to give this pomegranate a try. Remember...you should never be afraid to try something new. Jon.
P.S. You can tell me the next time we see each other—which I hope will be soon—if this is as juicy as I said it would be.
Underneath that he had clipped one of his business cards.
Smiling, she picked up the fruit. The outer shell looked inedible. She went upstairs to the kitchen, took a knife and cut it in half. Juice ran out onto the counter.
She tasted it. Jon had been right; the fruit was deliciously succulent and naturally sweet.
And she knew she’d tell him as much…tomorrow night at the bowling alley.
Chapter 8
Miranda didn’t know what to expect when she arrived at the bowling alley, nearly thirty minutes after the appointed time. She didn’t feel like walking into a room of strangers and wanted to make sure Jon got there before she did.
She’d thought about asking Chelsea if she was interested in joining the league, but she had another date with the guy she’d met for drinks last week. She’d have to face this alone…just as she had to decide what to do about Jon.
It felt wonderful to know that he found her attractive. It wasn’t all that long ago that Miranda and her good friend Aislinn Palmer used to bemoan how long it had been since either of them had been in a relationship. She’d talked to Aislinn, but hadn’t mentioned her dance lessons—and therefore her dance partner—to her, or to her mother. She could just hear Aislinn saying, “He’s good-looking and attracted to you? Girl, what are you waiting for? Jump on him!”
The idea of having sex for no other reason than to feel good wasn’t without appeal, and it wasn’t as if she’d never done it before, but Miranda didn’t want to jeopardize the alliance with her tall, handsome dance partner by bringing sex into the equation. Sex was nice. Good sex was even better. But ballroom dancing was something she’d always dreamed of doing, and with Jon she did it very well. Something special happened whenever they took to the floor. He must have felt it too, and he probably felt the magic between them would extend beyond the dance floor. Why else would he be flirting with her, getting her that fruit and going through the trouble of boxing it up?
Their lessons would end in mid-November, but by then Jon would probably be involved in his fall/winter affair, and as he’d put it himself, he gave the woman of the moment his full attention. It was probably just as well. Miranda already thought more of Jon than to have a quick affair with him out of desperation to once again experience life’s physical joys. He possessed the qualities she wanted in her Mr. Right: handsome, personable, successful, good sense of humor…and if that weren’t enough, he enjoyed dancing as much as she did. To Miranda, a relationship with him would have real potential to be long-lasting…but to him, it would only represent a body to keep him warm through a cold North Dakota winter. It seemed so callous, and she didn’t want to be this year’s diversion. She wanted Mr. Right. Jon wanted Ms. Right Now.
There was something else to think about as well. Their employer’s strictly enforced rule meant they weren’t supposed to see each other socially anyway. She was a physical therapy assistant, and Jon was a director. That was no small consideration, for she certainly hadn’t gone through the expense of relocating to Bismarck so she could lose her job in case management learned she and Jon were dating.
Miranda breathed in deeply. It looked like the decision had already been made. A little romance was one thing. But it didn’t compare to the self-respect she got from earning a paycheck every other week, a check that made it possible for her to pay her bills and begin to make regular contributions to her savings account again.
After a quick check of her appearance in the mirror on the flip side of her sun visor, she walked into the bowling alley and told the man behind the counter that she was supposed to meet with a league that was forming. He directed her to the barroom.
A bowling alley was one of just two places left Miranda could think of that still allowed smoking and didn’t restrict smokers to a s
pecific area, casinos being the other. She didn’t particularly care for the idea of breathing in cigarette smoke, but part of her also felt badly for the smokers who were being treated like pariahs.
A cloud of smoke lingered near the ceiling, gathering around dim lights. She paused uncertainly, looking for Jon among a sea of unfamiliar faces.
Jon had stopped by the bowling alley several times at Brian and Jae’s invitation last spring, as the term of the league was concluding. As a result he knew a few of the members, and while he was genuinely happy to see friendly, familiar faces, there was one person he wanted to see more. His eyes kept going to the door, but when Miranda hadn’t shown up by six forty-five he decided she wasn’t coming. He’d hoped she would have called him at the office, since he’d included his business card with her pomegranate, and tell him she was coming.
He’d wanted her to come. He hated to think of waiting until next week to see her again.
Out of all the women he’d met here in Bismarck, Miranda Rhett was the one he wanted to spend the winter with. He wanted to see if their magnetism that was in display when they danced would carry over to the bedroom. He imagined kissing the length of her long legs, from the inside of her ankle all the way to her inner thigh, longed to feel those legs wrapped around his waist, to see that heaving chest he’d glimpsed completely uncovered…
Jon glanced at his watch again. Six forty-eight. Who was he kidding? She wasn’t coming. She hadn’t called. He didn’t believe for one minute that she didn’t share his interest; he could practically feel it. If the attraction between them were to take shape, it would take a machete to cut through it. No, the existence of their desire for each other wasn’t the problem. Miranda was probably afraid of repercussions if they were to embark on an affair and someone reported it to management. In a way he couldn’t blame her. She’d struggled with extended under-employment before landing this job, and unlike him, she’d had to pay her relocation expenses out of her own pocket.
He really resented what he viewed as unwelcome corporate interference with his love life. Just because some director saw an opportunity to frighten female employees into offering him sex in exchange for saving their jobs…intimidation was the factor with that. Why should other directors and managers be told they couldn’t forge social relationships with coworkers at a different level, unless, of course, they were direct subordinates? Everybody knew that work was the logical place to meet people. In his opinion, management carried their concerns too far. They actually had what they called an Employee Integrity Hotline, an anonymous phone line which they encouraged employees to report not only suspected affairs between co-workers, but other offenses, like goofing off or pilfering of office supplies.
One thing in their favor was that their working in two different locations meant that should they be out and run into anyone from work, that person would likely be familiar with either him or her as fellow employees, but not both of them.
That was all well and good, but he was getting way ahead of himself. First he had to convince her to go out with him. And her staying away tonight pretty much said she wasn’t interested.
Once more Jon’s eyes darted toward the door, and what he saw made him sit up in his barstool. Miranda stood in the doorway, tall and regal, her hair brushed back into a ponytail caught at the nape of her neck, wearing a checkered blazer of maroon, gray, and navy over pencil slim jeans, her eyes scanning the room.
Looking for him.
He broke into a happy grin. “Legs! Over here!”
She followed the waving hand in a long-sleeved beige sweater. She couldn’t see his face at first because of someone partially blocking her view, but as she got closer she recognized his handsome smiling face beaming at her from under his trademark cap.
She forgot everything and everyone around her as she smiled back. A few folks, perhaps alerted by comments among those who could see her approach, turned around to see for themselves. Some of them smiled her way. Others kept on talking. Still others glanced and dismissed her. But no one seemed hostile. Curiosity seemed to be king.
Jon was seated at the bar, not surprisingly, surrounded by women, and their reactions to Miranda were very different from the blonde from the first night of dance class. Where she had expected Jon to change his plans to dance with Miranda once he learned she was available, these women stared with wide-eyed curiosity, clearly trying to figure out how Miranda and Jon knew each other. If she could get fifty dollars for every raised eyebrow, she’d be able to fly to New York for a weekend…and have enough left over to stay at The Stanhope on Fifth Avenue.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” he said, getting off his stool and gesturing for her to take it.
She suppressed a smile. “Did you, now?”
Jon waved over the barmaid. “What’re you drinking?”
She shrugged. “Something harmless.” She nodded toward his bottle of Coors. “Beer, I guess, but make mine a Miller Genuine Draft.” She gracefully climbed into the stool he had just vacated. “So, what’d I miss?”
“Not much. They’re discussing the by-laws of the league. This’ll go on for another fifteen minutes or so, and then we’ll elect officers, and then divide into teams.”
A plump brunette in her later mid-thirties, wearing what Miranda felt was way too much eye makeup, took his arm. “I hope you’ll bowl on my team, Jon.”
“No, on mine,” purred a redhead whose outdated teased hairstyle made her look older than her face suggested.
“I already talked to Joe, and he said most of the teams were already full,” Jon replied easily. “He expects the new bowlers will probably team up together.”
“I just heard from Carol Martin,” the brunette said. “She decided not to bowl this term, so I’ve got an opening on my team.”
“What happened to Carol?” the redhead inquired.
“She’s having her knee replaced.”
“Oh, too bad.”
The brunette shrugged. “She can’t bowl worth two cents anyway, and now she’ll probably be worse. I’d like to fill her slot with someone who can do a little something.” She tugged on Jon’s arm. “So how ‘bout it? Join a team of winners. Who knows how far we’ll go?”
Miranda rolled her eyes.
“I don’t think so, Corinne. Brian’s busy with a project at work and won’t be able to bowl this time out, but Jae’s going to. Plus I invited Miranda here to join the league, and I’d like for the three of us to be on the same team.”
Isn’t that nice, Miranda thought crabbily, noticing that he made no attempt to free his arm from Corinne’s grasp.
The bartender placed a bottle of Genuine Draft in front of her, and at that point Jon wriggled his hand free to reach for his wallet.
“You buyin’, Jon?” a blond woman with dark roots asked in a ridiculously seductive voice.
Miranda wanted to ask if she was selling.
“Miranda is my guest,” he explained.
What a nice way of saying, buy your own damn beer. Instinct told Miranda she was being stared at, so she turned around to face the cold gazes being sent her way. Nothing like meeting hostility head-on.
They were the first to look away.
“So how do you two know each other?” the redhead asked.
“I stopped to help her one night when she had car trouble,” Jon replied easily. “Sorry, Miranda, I don’t mean to talk about you like you’re not here.” He then introduced her to Corinne and company.
In the end, she and Jon formed a team with Jae, and two other new arrivals, two women named Jill and Christine, friends in their late thirties who declared that Thursday nights would be their weekly escape from their husbands and children. Miranda learned that Jae and the absent Brian had bowled with this group last year, which accounted for most of the participants coming to greet Jae. Miranda also knew Jon hadn’t been in Bismarck last fall, but he certainly seemed to know plenty of people here. Maybe Brian and Jae had hosted a party in the interim or something
.
Either that, or Jon had made friends awfully fast.
Jon walked her to her car. “So,” he said, “what’d you think of the pomegranate?”
“I found it to be sweet and succulent, just like you said.”
“Yeah. All you have to do is peel off that hard outer shell.”
She looked at him sharply, sensing he was taking a jab at her. “The shell might have been a little bit of a challenge, but hardly impenetrable.” The minute the words were out she chided herself for saying them. What the hell was she doing, spurring him on with a suggestive word like ‘impenetrable’ when she knew she wasn’t prepared to back it up with action?
A Kiss of a Different Color Page 7
