Long Time Coming

by Rochelle Alers

  All of his life he’d faced challenges: abandonment by his biological mother, becoming a ward of the state of New Jersey, serving and protecting the citizens of New York City for twenty years as a police officer and now as an assistant district attorney for Kings County.

  He liked challenges and he was patient—patient enough to wait until after his sister’s wedding, when she would no longer be a Signature bride.

  Micah walked into the bathroom and took in a quick breath. Aside from indoor plumbing and electricity—or lack of the latter at the present time—he felt as if he’d stepped back in time. The French-inspired bathroom was a retreat—a place to relax and while away the hours in the oversize marble tub or in a corner with an overstuffed chaise covered in a pale-blue-and-cream-striped fabric.

  A nearby table held a crystal vase filled with a profusion of colorful fresh-cut flowers. A terra-cotta floor and walls covered with pale-blue-and-cream wallpaper reflected the French influence Tessa seemed to favor. He picked up a book off a stack on the table and smiled. He and Tessa had similar reading tastes.

  As he unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it from the waistband of his trousers, he didn’t want to think of what else he had in common with the seemingly elusive woman who’d aroused his curiosity. Perhaps it was because Tessa was so unapproachable that she’d piqued his interest. He’d never viewed women as sexual objects or regarded them as receptacles for his lust, but that also didn’t mean that he hadn’t had his share of affairs or one-night stands. There were women he’d liked—a lot. And there were women who’d liked him—a lot.

  He brushed his teeth and undressed, leaving his clothes folded neatly on the chaise. Opening the door to the shower stall, he stepped in and closed it behind him. Turning on the cold water, Micah gritted his teeth as the icy spray pebbled his flesh. Then he turned on the other faucet, adjusting the water temperature until it was lukewarm. He picked up a bar of soap and lathered his body.

  The scent of flowers and fruit filled the space. He recalled the Aerosmith classic hit, “Dude Looks Like A Lady.” He may not have looked like a lady, but he sure smelled like one. The first thing he had to do when he returned to his apartment was take a shower using his own bath gel.

  Micah completed his shower, toweled off, extinguished all of the candles and carefully made his way out of the bathroom. He repeated the action, blowing out the candles in the alcove. He managed to get into bed without bumping into chairs or tables.

  The moment he pulled back the duvet and the sheet everything about Tessa came rushing back. Her scent clung to the linen. He recalled her flyaway hairstyle and bohemian style of dress, things that were incongruous to her very controlled personality.

  He lay in the darkened room, listening to the sound of his own breathing, when he heard a noise. Sitting up, all of his senses on full alert, Micah saw the outline of Tessa’s body in the beam of light coming from the flashlight where she’d opened the door.

  A grin split his face. “Are you coming to join me?”

  “I just came to check on you.”

  “I’m glad you did, because I forgot to tell you that I’m afraid of the dark.” Tessa laughed softly, the sound sending a myriad of emotions racing through Micah.

  “I can’t help you there, buddy. But if it would make you feel better, I’ll leave the flashlight with you.”

  He patted the mattress beside him. “Come sit with me a while.”

  “Aren’t you sleepy?”

  “No. I’m too wound up to sleep.”

  Tessa walked into the bedroom. “So am I.” She approached the bed. “Move over.” He shifted and she crawled atop the sheet beside him. She didn’t know if he was naked under the sheet and she wasn’t anxious to find out. Placing the flashlight in the space separating her from Micah, she leaned over and sniffed him. “You smell like a woman.”

  Folding his arms under his head, Micah chuckled softly. “I’ll put up with smelling like a woman only if I don’t turn into one.”

  “What’s wrong with being a woman?” There was no mistaking the censure in her tone.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being one, but I like being a man, thank you very much.”

  Shifting slightly, Tessa stared at Micah. “Why?”

  “Because we can belch, scratch and adjust ourselves with impunity—because that’s what men do.”

  She scrunched up her nose. “That’s disgusting, Micah.”

  “Well, it’s true.”

  “It’s true because that’s what society has permitted men to do. Meanwhile if a woman chooses to breast-feed her baby in public—and even if no one can see her breast or nipple—she’s rebuked and castigated for something that is the most natural thing in the world. And some of those same narrow-minded people will go to the zoo and see animal mothers nursing their babies and claim it’s so cute.”

  “You’re preaching to the choir, Tessa. I’m not a sexist. How did you get into the wedding business?” he asked, deftly steering away from the controversial topic of differences between male and female.

  “I’m second-generation wedding business. My mother is a wedding dress designer, and my father and uncles own and operate a catering hall in Mount Vernon. My sister, cousin and I set up Signature Bridals four years ago. I’m the coordinator, my cousin Faith’s specialty is wedding cakes and my older sister Simone is a floral designer.”

  “You come highly recommended, because when Bridget attended the Jadya Fyles-Ashton Cooper wedding in Bryant Park she couldn’t stop talking about how spectacular everything was.”

  Tessa had addressed the invitations for the Fyles-Cooper wedding, and because there had been so many invited guests she’d hadn’t remembered Bridget Sanborn’s name until Bridget called to tell her that she wanted Signature Bridals to coordinate her upcoming wedding.

  “It took more than a year of planning to pull their wedding together. What helped was that Jadya knew exactly what she wanted from the onset.”

  “What about Ashton?”

  “The prospective grooms usually adopt a hands-off attitude. It’s the brides who become the Bridezillas.”

  “How do you handle them when they go ballistic?”

  “It varies from bride to bride. You’ll get an up-close-and-personal view when I deal with your sister.”

  “Bridget is a pussycat.”

  Tessa snorted delicately. “Don’t forget that a cat also has claws. I usually can tell within fifteen minutes of meeting a prospective bride what I’m up against.”

  “Have you ever turned anyone down?”

  There came a pause. “Yes. There was one woman who punched out one of her bridesmaids because she refused to agree on a color that was totally wrong for her complexion.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I gave her back her deposit, tore up her contract and told her to find another wedding coordinator. I wasn’t willing to run the risk of her hitting me if something I said or did offended her.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She cried and pleaded, but I wouldn’t change my mind.”

  “You’re tough, aren’t you?”

  There was another pause before Tessa said, “I’m all business when it comes to business.”

  “What happens when it’s not business?” Micah asked.

  Tessa smiled. “I’m a pussycat.”

  “A pussycat with claws?” he teased.

  She wrinkled her nose. “But of course.”

  Tessa entertained Micah with stories about some of the more bizarre weddings she’d coordinated that made him laugh and/or speechless. It was after one when her voice faded and she closed her eyes. She never knew when Micah turned off the flashlight, pulled the duvet up over her shoulders and draped an arm over her waist.

  * * *

  Tessa woke hours later to see light coming through the silk-lined drapes and the space next to her empty. She stared at the impression on the pillow beside her own.

  It was the first time she’d shared her bed with a man
who hadn’t made love to her. A knowing smile tilted the corners of her mouth.

  Unknowingly Micah Sanborn had earned a seal of approval from Theresa Anais Whitfield.

  He was a man she knew she could trust.

  CHAPTER 4

  Micah drove from downtown Brooklyn to Staten Island in record time. The trip that would’ve normally taken anywhere between twenty and thirty minutes, depending upon the flow of traffic, was accomplished in ten.

  It was Saturday. The power hadn’t been restored, and at six-thirty in the morning he was one of a dozen motorists on the Verrazano Bridge.

  He’d woken up in bed with Tessa Whitfield, her huddled to his chest like a trusting child, him experiencing a gamut of emotions he hadn’t wanted to feel at that time. It was when he felt a rush of desire for the woman whose bed he’d shared that he knew it was time to leave Brooklyn.

  Maneuvering into the driveway, Micah activated the remote device under the visor, raising the garage door. Less than a minute later he opened the door to his studio apartment and walked in. Streaks of gold had pierced the veil of night as the rising sun filtered through the skylight over a utility kitchen with a sink, a two-burner stove and a portable refrigerator.

  Whenever he returned home he made it a practice to look in on his landlady. However, the eighty-two-year-old former schoolteacher was currently in Florida with relatives.

  Diane Cunningham had complained of a pain in her side for several days, but when he’d offered to take her to the doctor she’d balked, saying she’d probably pulled a muscle from lifting a laundry basket.

  She’d proudly announced that she’d waited more than a year to travel to Sarasota to see her newest great-granddaughter and a little old pain was not going to stop her from making her scheduled flight. Two days ago he’d gotten a call from Mrs. Cunningham’s daughter telling him that her mother was in the hospital recuperating from an emergency appendectomy.

  Micah made a mental note to check on his landlady’s place as he emptied his pockets of loose change, keys to his office, credit card case and money clip, leaving them on the bistro table. He also had to call Tessa and give her an approximate time when he would pick her up on Sunday to take her to New Jersey.

  He undressed and walked into the closet-size bathroom to shower. A slow smile parted his lips as he soaped his body with a bath gel in a scent that matched his aftershave and cologne, washing away the scent of fruit and flowers. His smile faded when he remembered waking up to find Tessa’s face pressed to his shoulder. The velvety smoothness of her body, the moist whisper of her breathing on his exposed throat and the soft crush of her breasts against his bare chest had elicited lascivious thoughts that were truly shocking.

  What he did like about Tessa was her spontaneity. She was candid, without a hint of guile—attributes he hadn’t experienced with most women he’d dated. Her beauty and intelligence aside, it still didn’t explain why he’d reacted to her like a randy adolescent boy. Well, he thought, he didn’t have too much longer to wait to uncover why, because in a little more than twenty-four hours he would see her again—this time in the light and away from her cloistered sanctuary.

  * * *

  Minutes after eight on Saturday morning electrical power was restored to lower Manhattan; Brooklyn a little before ten; and portions of Staten Island an hour later. Tessa trained her gaze on the television, channel surfing and listening to the same rendition of the possible and probable causes of the blackout from network correspondents.

  Experts reported that a Con Ed work crew had cut through a feeder cable, while other reports attributed the blackout to a fire in a substation. The result was that New Yorkers in three of the five boroughs had lost power for more than twelve hours, and the owners of restaurants and smaller eateries were particularly vocal because they were forced to dispose of food worth estimates exceeding twenty million dollars.

  Sitting on a stool in the kitchen and sipping her second cup of coffee, Tessa’s attention was diverted when the telephone rang. Leaning over, she picked up the cordless instrument and peered at the display. Smiling, she pressed a button.

  “Hello, Simone.”

  “How was the blackout?” drawled a low, sultry voice.

  “I managed to survive,” Tessa told her sister. “At least this time I was home when the lights went out.”

  “Mama told me you were with a client. How on earth did you manage to conduct business in the dark?”

  “I used candles.”

  “Damn, Tessa. It’s not that critical. Couldn’t you’ve postponed the meeting?”

  “Not when we have ten weeks to put together a formal interfaith wedding for more than eighty guests.”

  “That’s really cutting it real close.”

  “Tell me about it. I haven’t met the bride, so right now I have no idea what she wants.”

  “Who were you meeting with last night?”

  “Her brother.”

  “Where’s the bride?”

  “She’s on jury duty.” Tessa told Simone that Bridget had canceled two meetings and went over what she’d discussed with Micah. However, she didn’t reveal that Micah had spent the night or that they’d shared the same bed without making love.

  “The girl sounds ditzy. The fact that she’s canceled twice could be a cry for help that she really doesn’t want to get married.”

  Tessa rolled her eyes upward. Simone had enrolled in college with the intent of becoming a psychologist but changed her major from psychology to a liberal arts degree program. She never became a psychologist, and when her marriage ended she channeled her pain and frustration into flower arranging. The result was wannabe psychologist Simone Whitfield had become a much-sought-after floral designer and the official florist for Signature Bridals.

  “Don’t go Dr. Phil on me, Simone. She just got engaged six weeks ago.”

  “Now that proves she’s certifiably ditzy. Formal weddings usually take more planning than a few months. When’s her big day?”

  “New Year’s Eve.”

  “And I suppose she wants you to book a room at the Waldorf-Astoria or Tavern on the Green?”

  “Thankfully, no,” Tessa drawled cynically. “She’s getting married at her parents’ house in Franklin Lakes, New Jersey.”

  A soft whistle came through the earpiece. “Nice neighborhood. A lot of homes in that community start at a million and go as high as eight to ten.”

  Tessa thought about Micah saying money’s not an issue, which meant the Sanborns were willing to pay for whatever Bridget wanted. “Well, I’ll find out how much her folks are willing to spend when I meet them tomorrow.”

  “How old is baby girl?”

  Tessa laughed. Simone always referred to spoiled, pampered brides as baby girl. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask her brother.”

  “Then how old is baby boy?”

  “I don’t know,” Tessa said. She didn’t want to tell Simone that if Micah had put in twenty years with the NYPD, then he had to be at least in his early forties. “I’ll let you know what I come up with when I see you and Faith Monday night.”

  “Faith called me early this morning from Vegas—”

  “Don’t tell me she’s not coming,” Tessa moaned, interrupting Simone. Of the three, it was Faith Whitfield who’d become the most elusive. Faith had missed their last two bimonthly Monday-night dinner meetings. At any given time she could be asked to create a cake for a surprise birthday celebration or for a high-profile celebrity’s impromptu gala.

  “She’s coming, but she’s flying into Westchester instead of LaGuardia. I’ll pick her up, and she can ride back to Manhattan with you.”

  “If she calls you again, please tell her that we’re going to need a wedding cake for New Year’s Eve.”

  Tessa talked to Simone for another quarter of an hour before ending the call. As soon as she hung up, her phone rang again. Micah’s name came up in the display.

  She smiled and said, “Good morning, Micah.”

  “I
s it really a good morning?” came his velvet baritone query.

  “Yes. I have electricity. How was your drive home?”

  “Quick. It took about ten minutes door to door.”

  “You were speeding,” she said accusatorily.

  He chuckled softly. “Guilty as charged. I called to let you know I’ll pick you up around ten. If that’s too early, then I’ll let my mother know we’ll come for an early dinner.”

  “Ten is fine.”

  “Dress casually and wear comfortable shoes.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ll see when you get there,” Micah said cryptically.

  “I don’t like surprises, Micah.”

  “This one I’m certain you’ll like….” His voice trailed off. “I’m going to have to take this call, Tessa. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Tessa held the receiver to her ear until she heard a programmed voice telling her to either hang up or try her call again. She hung up, wondering what it was Micah wanted her to see.

  She couldn’t begin to think of the possibilities, so she decided to concentrate on the laundry list of things she had to do: glue crystal beads and faux pearls to the bodice of a sample gown she’d designed in her spare time, put up several loads of laundry and go through her closets to take out winter clothes and put away her summer wardrobe. The leaves on the trees lining the streets had begun changing color, a blatant indicator that the summer was over.

  * * *

  Tessa walked down the steps at ten on Sunday morning, cradling a large envelope in one hand, at the same time Micah drove up in a low-slung, two-seater BMW convertible Roadster in a subtle charcoal gray. A hint of a smile softened her mouth. He’d just gotten another gold star: he was on time.

  He waved to her as he got out of the car. A pair of jeans, an off-white cable-knit pullover sweater and running shoes had replaced his tailored suit and imported footwear. Her smile widened when she noticed the well-worn New York Yankees cap on his head. Her smile faded as quickly as it’d come. Micah hadn’t shaved, and the stubble on his jaw enhanced his overt maleness.