Long Time Coming

by Rochelle Alers

  Recovering quickly and holding her arms out at the sides, she spun around. “Is this causal enough for you?”

  What Micah hadn’t been able to see in the dark was now blatantly on display for his viewing pleasure. His midnight gaze moved slowly over the curly hair Tessa had brushed off her face and secured in a twist on the nape of her neck, down to her face with a subtle application of makeup that highlighted her gold-flecked eyes, high cheekbones with a light sprinkle of freckles and a lush mouth outlined in a soft rose-pink shade. A single strand of pearls matched the studs in her pierced ears.

  He stared at her lush, compact body in an apricot-pink cashmere tank top with a matching cardigan, brown body-hugging stretch slacks and matching suede slip-ons. Even her brown pony-and-calfskin leather shoulder bag complemented her elegant sense of style. The epitome of casual-chic, she looked as if she’d stepped off the pages of Town and Country.

  What she wore wasn’t casual enough for what he’d planned for them, but he couldn’t tell her that. “You look beautiful.”

  Caught off guard by the vibrancy of Micah’s voice, the tenderness in his eyes, Tessa was helpless to stop a rush of heat darkening her face. She lowered her gaze in a demure gesture. “Thank you.”

  Micah winked at her. “Don’t thank me, Tessa. I had nothing to do with the way you look.” Cupping her elbow, he helped her into the car, closed the door and got in beside her. Pressing a button, he raised the convertible top, shifted into gear and maneuvered through the quiet Brooklyn neighborhood as the soothing sounds of jazz filled the racy sports car.

  He took a quick glance at Tessa as she pressed her head to the leather headrest and closed her eyes. “Do you want me to put on a different CD?”

  Tessa recognized the melodious horn of Wynton Marsalis playing a bluesy piece perfect for a nightclub setting. “No, please don’t. It’s nice.” The music was nice, Micah’s car was nice and he looked and smelled very nice.

  Stopping at a red light, Micah reached for a pair of sunglasses off the console and slipped them on against the brilliant autumn sun. “Do you like jazz?”

  She smiled. “I love it.”

  “Cool or hot jazz?”

  Tessa opened her eyes and stared through the windshield. “Both. I grew up listening to my father and uncles playing Coltrane, Miles Davis, Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Art Tatum, Thelonious Monk and, of course, the incomparable Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday and Abbey Lincoln.”

  “What about hip-hop?”

  “It depends on the artist. I prefer R & B to hip-hop.” Shifting on her seat, she stared at Micah’s distinctive profile. She preferred him dressed down because he appeared less intimidating. “Why did you ask?”

  “I’ve been thinking about places where we could go for dinner and I’m leaning toward one that features live music. If you have a favorite place or are partial to a particular cuisine, then let me know.”

  “I’ll let you pick the place.”

  She didn’t want to give him the names of places where she’d eaten with the men in her past—Bryce Hill in particular. Once she’d ended her relationship with Bryce she’d promised herself that she would never look back.

  Micah gave Tessa a quick glance behind his dark lenses. “I’ll pick the place and you can let me know when you’re going to be available.”

  “I’m free this coming Saturday and Sunday.”

  He took his hand off the gearshift, leaned over, opened the glove compartment and handed Tessa a PDA. “Please check and see what I have for next weekend.”

  She scrolled through his calendar filled with entries of meetings and reminders. “You’ve blocked out Saturday.”

  “What does it say?”

  “‘Check heating system.’”

  He smothered a groan. He’d forgotten about his upstate vacation home. He hadn’t gone up this past summer because he hadn’t had the time with moving to Staten Island and settling into his new position with the Brooklyn D.A.’s office.

  He didn’t want to put off having dinner with Tessa any longer than necessary because, as a new prosecutor, his hours were slated to change from days to nights, and with most weddings taking place on weekends he wasn’t certain about her timetable. Perhaps, he mused, he could check on the house and have dinner with her.

  “How would you like to go apple picking next Saturday?”

  Tessa shot him a confused look. “Which one is it, Micah? Are we going apple picking or out to dinner?”

  “We can do both. I have a place upstate, and across the road is an apple orchard where you can pick whatever variety you want. We can pick apples, I’ll winterize the house and then we’ll go out to dinner. But if we eat up there, then it’s not going to be fancy.”

  “Is the food good?”

  Giving her a quick glance, Micah smiled. “It’s very good.”

  Her smile matched his. “That sounds like a plan to me.”

  Micah covered her left hand with his right, bringing both to rest on the gearshift. He continued to hold her hand as he shifted gears. They lost track of time when they talked about the evolution of music from the early days of blues and jazz to the advent of pop, rock and roll, R & B and soul and the sampling and crossover of artists to different genres.

  He was so engrossed in their conversation and the sensual pull of the woman sitting inches away that he hadn’t noticed he was in Bergen County until he saw the signs indicating the number of miles to Franklin Lakes. The landscape had changed, along with the size of the homes.

  Tessa eased her hand from the protective warmth of Micah’s when they entered the city limits for Franklin Lakes. Judging from the number of gated properties, there was no doubt he’d grown up in a privileged environment.

  He maneuvered off a local road and onto a private path with four mailboxes bearing the names of homeowners at the bottom of a steep hill. She peered through the copse of towering trees lining both sides of the unpaved path like sentinels on guard duty and filtering out the sun’s rays.

  “You grew up in the woods.”

  A soft chuckle rumbled in Micah’s chest. “It’s not the woods.”

  Resting a hand on her hip, Tessa gave him a look that dared him to refute her. “Anytime trees grow high enough to block out sunlight, then it’s the woods.”

  “Okay, you win. It’s the woods.”

  Her delicate jaw dropped. “I don’t believe it!”

  “What don’t you believe?” he asked.

  “I can’t believe you conceded,” she teased.

  “I only conceded because you hurt my feelings when you said I was contrary.”

  Tessa leaned close enough for her shoulder to touch Micah’s. “I’m sorry. Will you accept my apology?”

  Slowing, he pressed one of two remotes attached to the visor, and the iron gates protecting the property at the top of the hill opened smoothly. He drove through, continuing along a paved path and coming to a stop behind one of several SUVs parked in the rear of a three-story manor-style house.

  Micah shut off the engine, got out and came around to assist Tessa. He didn’t give her time to react when he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side.

  Lowering his head, he stared at her parted lips. “I’ll think about it.”

  Tessa shivered noticeably despite the warmth from Micah’s body. She had no intention of permitting herself to fall under the spell he wove just by their sharing the same space. She imposed an iron control on her emotions she hadn’t known she possessed.

  “Don’t think too long, Micah.”

  A hint of a smile tilted the corners of his mouth. “I won’t.” Reaching for Tessa’s hand, he said, “Let’s go inside. Once you meet my family, then you’ll know what you have to deal with.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Tessa followed Micah as he led her around to the front entrance, and within seconds of walking into the great room with a ceiling rising upward of three stories she understood Micah’s claim that his parents were prepared to p
ay for whatever Bridget wanted. The size of the house and surrounding acreage confirmed that Bridget Sanborn didn’t need a room at the Waldorf or a catering hall for her reception because the Franklin Lakes house with a massive chandelier and elaborate winding staircase was the perfect setting for a formal wedding and reception.

  Micah studied Tessa’s reaction to seeing the house where he’d grown up, but nothing in her expression revealed what she was thinking or feeling. “What do you think?”

  Tilting her head, she flashed a warm smile. “It’s wonderful.” Opening her handbag, she took out a slim digital camera and snapped pictures of the entryway, the great room and the staircase. “Is your sister here?”

  Micah shook his head. “I didn’t see her car.” He took her hand again. “Whatever happens, don’t let my mother talk your ear off.”

  “I heard that, Micah Edgar Sanborn. And you know it’s not nice to gossip about your mother behind her back.”

  Tessa and Micah turned around at the same time. Standing in the entryway was a petite woman with stylishly cut silver hair and laughing blue eyes. She’d come up behind them without making a sound, looking every inch the suburban housewife in a pair of khakis she’d paired with a pale blue button-down shirt, navy-blue cardigan tied over her shoulders and leather slip-ons. Attractive lines fanned out around her eyes.

  Micah released Tessa’s hand and scooped up Rosalind Sanborn, kissing her cheek. “Good morning, beautiful.”

  A rush of pink suffused Rosalind’s porcelain complexion as she patted her son’s shoulder. “Don’t try to get over on me, you silver-tongued devil. I owe you a dressing-down for standing me up for dinner last week.”

  Setting his mother on her feet, Micah winked at her. “We’ll talk about that later.” He turned and smiled at Tessa. “Tessa, this is my mother, Rosalind Sanborn. Mom, Miss Tessa Whitfield of Signature Bridals.”

  Tessa slipped her camera into her purse and offered her hand. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Sanborn.”

  Rosalind shook Tessa’s hand while rolling her eyes upward. “Please call me Rosalind. The title of Mrs. Sanborn has been reserved for my mother-in-law.”

  Tessa felt an instant liking for Rosalind Sanborn. She was friendly and unpretentious, and although there was nothing in her physical appearance to substantiate that she was Micah’s biological mother, the intangible bond between mother and son was strong enough to be palpable.

  “Why are we standing here talking when Tessa’s probably starving? Are you ready to eat, my dear?”

  Tessa’s gaze met Rosalind’s. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Taking her arm, Rosalind led Tessa across the marble floor. “You’ll get to meet everyone except Bridget. It’s not often that Edgar and I get to have all of our children together at the same time, but we take whatever we can get.” She glanced over her shoulder, giving Micah a knowing look.

  Tessa entered the kitchen with Micah and Rosalind and found herself bombarded by a cacophony of noise, voices and a variety of tantalizing aromas. Adults and children ranging in age from a toddler sitting on the floor banging on a pot to an adolescent sat around an oval counter in the middle of the expansive kitchen, waiting to eat. An older man with salt-and-pepper hair stood at the cooking island. He alternated flipping pancakes with checking omelets for doneness.

  “Hurry up, Grandpa,” urged a young boy with a shock of unruly red curls. His identical twin brother drummed his elbows on the table as he brandished a fork like a rapier.

  “Put down that fork before you put someone’s eye out,” warned a slender freckled-face woman with hair a darker shade of red.

  “Hold on, champs. Grandpa is cooking as fast as he can.”

  A teenage girl with a sun-browned gold complexion, waist-length curly black hair and large, slanting eyes glanced up and stared at Tessa. She’d been lip-synching to the song coming through the earbuds of her iPod Nano.

  “Are you my uncle Micah’s new honey?” Snickers and giggles followed her query.

  “Marisol Sanborn!” Rosalind chided, her eyebrows crinkling in a frown.

  Finding herself the object of curious stares, Tessa’s gaze flitted from one face to another with a myriad of expressions ranging from shock to embarrassment to amusement. She managed a half smile as she stared at the incredibly beautiful teenager.

  “No, I’m not. I’m your aunt Bridget’s wedding planner.”

  Micah glared at Marisol. “Tessa, please forgive my niece’s lack of manners.” The girl hung her head, seemingly embarrassed by her outburst. He moved closer to Tessa, meeting the curious gazes of his relatives. “This is Tessa Whitfield of Signature Bridals. Her company has earned the reputation as an A-list wedding planner, which means Bridget is very lucky to have her coordinate her wedding. Now that everyone knows you’re not my girlfriend, let me introduce you to my family.”

  “What’s a honey?” asked one of the ten-year-old twins.

  “Duh, baby brother. Someone you kiss on the mouth,” Marisol drawled.

  Micah shot his niece a warning look. “Maybe you should make the introductions, Marisol, because, after all, you’re the factotum.”

  Marisol smiled, exhibiting the colorful bands on her braces. “That’s okay, Uncle Micah. You do it.”

  “Thank you, Marisol.”

  She waved a hand. “Whatever.”

  Taking a deep breath, Micah slowly counted to three. He loved his niece, but there were times when she truly tested his patience. “Tessa, I would like to introduce you to my father, Edgar Sanborn, aka chef and Grandpa.”

  Edgar deftly slipped three pancakes off a stove-top griddle and slipped them onto a platter. He winked at Tessa, his dark eyes sparkling like polished onyx. “Welcome, Tessa. I’d shake your hand, but that would be a little risky with this wild bunch.”

  She smiled at the man who bore an uncanny resemblance to one of Hollywood’s late great leading men, Clark Gable. “I understand,” she said. “It’s nice meeting you.”

  Micah pointed to his redheaded sister-in-law. “This is Melinda, but everyone calls her Lindy. Standing behind her is my brother, William. Will and Lindy are the parents of my bottomless-pit nephews, Isaac and Jacob, and my niece, la princesa, Marisol.”

  Marisol affected a curtsy with Micah’s compliment. Tessa acknowledged William and Lindy with a warm smile. “You have a beautiful family.” The twins looked like their mother, and Marisol had inherited her father’s rich olive-brown coloring and raven-black hair.

  Bending down, Micah scooped up the toddler whose intent was to make as much noise as she could when she pounded a pot with a wooden spoon. Her sandy-brown hair, braided in cornrows, resembled orange sections, and the braids, held together with a length of red ribbon, looked like a stem.

  “This future percussionist and indisputable boss of her family is Kimika.” The chubby little girl squirmed, holding her arms out to her mother, who’d affected a similar hairstyle. “Kimmie belongs to my brother Abram and my sister-in-law Ruby.”

  Abram, who claimed the height and girth of a football linebacker, looped an arm around his petite wife’s waist and pressed a kiss on her braided hair. His clean-shaven dark brown head gleamed like polished teak.

  Abram winked at Tessa. “I think I can speak for everyone else in the family, but I hope you have the patience of Job. Dealing with our little sister is certainly going to try your soul.”

  Edgar, using a pair of tongs to remove strips of crisp bacon from the heated griddle, shot his youngest son a warning look. “Watch it, son. You’re talking about my princess.”

  “Dad, you know your princess is spoiled rotten.”

  “And you’re not, mama’s boy?” Edgar teased.

  “Edgar, please,” Rosalind said softly, blushing. “We have company.” Her husband had accused her of spoiling Abram, while she’d blamed him for indulging their only daughter’s every whim.

  Micah’s hand cradled the small of Tessa’s back. “Let me show you where you can wash up before we sit down to e
at.”

  * * *

  Tessa stood in an all-white bathroom with pale blue accents, next to Micah at twin blue-veined pedestal sinks, washing her hands. She met his amused gaze in the mirror. He’d taken off his cap and placed it on a table with a half dozen others bearing the logos of baseball and football teams.

  “What’s so funny, Micah?”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “Go ahead and say it.”

  She smiled. “Say what?”

  “That my family is a little off the chain.”

  “They appear quite normal to me.”

  “Didn’t you notice something that was just a bit unconventional?”

  “By unconventional do you mean that the Sanborns are a multiracial family?”

  Reaching for a towel on a stack on a low table, Micah handed it to Tessa. “Yes.”

  “Your family is anything but unconventional, Micah. I’ve interacted with families with two mommies or two daddies, transgender, families where the bride and groom are visually-or hearing-impaired and I’m forced to bring in someone fluent in Braille or American Sign Language. That’s what I’d consider unconventional. My focus will be on the bride, the groom and the mother of the bride. And if Bridget and Seth want a traditional interfaith ceremony wedding, then there are certain customs and traditions they have to follow.”

  Micah dried his hands as he watched Tessa’s reflection in the mirror. The more sedate hairstyle displayed her features to their best advantage, but he much preferred seeing her hair loose and framing her face in sensual disarray.

  “When my brothers got married, all I had to do was put on a tuxedo and show up.”

  “You’ve never been a best man?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve been a witness a few times but never a best man. What about you, Tessa? Have you ever been a bride?”

  She met his steady gaze in the glass. “No.”

  “Have you come close?”

  “No. What about you, Micah?” she asked, shifting the focus from herself to him. “Were you ever married?