Thursdays
In Savannah
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THURSDAYS IN SAVANNAH
First edition. May 17, 2014.
Copyright © 2014 Olivia Gaines.
ISBN: 978-0615755007
Written by Olivia Gaines.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Thursdays in Savannah (Slivers of Love, #3)
Thursdays | In Savannah
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty - One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty- Four
Chapter Twenty- Five
Chapter Twenty- Six
Chapter Twenty- Seven
Chapter Twenty- Eight
Chapter Twenty- Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty - One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty - Three
Chapter Thirty - Four
Epilogue
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Also By Olivia Gaines
About the Author
Also by Olivia Gaines
The Short Stories
Two Nights in Vegas
The Basemen of M. McGee
A Letter to My Mother
The Perfect Man
A New Mommy for Christmas
Beneath the Well of Dawn
The Bounty: Revenge Can be a Bitch
The Bounty: Lizzie’s Vengeance
The Blakemore Files
Being Mrs. Blakemore
Shopping with Mrs. Blakemore
Dancing with Mr. Blakemore
The Novels
A Few More Nights
Friends with Benefits
The Cost To Play
Thursdays
In Savannah
—————————————
Olivia Gaines
Davonshire House Publishing
PO Box 9716
Augusta, GA 30916
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events are locales or persons, living or dead, are entirely a coincidence.
© 2013 Olivia Gaines, Cheryl Aaron Corbin
Copy Editor: Kathy Riehl, http://www.riehlfaithproductions.com/
Line Editor: Teresa Thompson Blackwell
Proofreader: Rachel Bishop
Special Promotions: Pilgrim Soap Company, Augusta, GA
Cover: koougraphics
Olivia Gaines Make Up and Photograph by Latasla Gardner Photography
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address, Davonshire House Publishing, PO Box 9716, Augusta, GA 30916.
ISBN-13: 978-0615755007
ISBN-10: 0615755003
ASIN:
Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 10 9 8
First Davonshire House Publishing May 2014
DEDICATION
For my sister, Melanie
As a child she inspired me to read by keeping a book in my hands.
As an adult she inspires me to write by keeping my books in her hands.
Easy reading is damn hard writing.- Nathaniel Hawthorne
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my online community and network of writers.
An extra special thank you to my bibliophiles who keep my nose to the grindstone.
And thank you, for spending some time in my magical world.
Write On!
Prelude
Sometimes to love a man, you have to know a man. Oh, I can go back and forth all day ruminating through the argument of does anyone ever truly know anyone? In all honesty, you don’t, you can’t, and you never will. There are times in life when a man can consume you with his needs and you find yourself putting his wants, hopes, and desires before your own. Then, there are those rare occasions when you meet that man. You know the one. He’s the one you make the time to love on every level.
He is that guy you hold dear to your bed, but not necessarily to your heart. Something just doesn’t mesh where you can give yourself completely until that one moment when everything changes. That is when you find yourself muddling through life with Johnny Come Lately, or Johnny Comes Too Fast, only to find your better years are behind you and your baby years are staring you in the face.
I met the perfect guy. He attended the right schools, had the right job, and came from a great family. He was everything I wanted in a husband and a life partner. Over a romantic dinner at a little bistro on the outskirts of Birmingham, he took to one knee and asked me to be his. A one-carat princess cut diamond was offered to seal the deal. Amid a round of applause, followed by oohhs and aahhs, I consented to be Mrs. Darwin Finney.
Life was grand. I would have my Mercedes, two point three children, an expensive dog, soccer practice with little Jr., and dance recitals with the little princess. I was on my way, but I made one pit stop.
Jesse Orison. That man made me lose my freaking mind! He was the wrong guy at the wrong time and in the wrong damn place. That place was my bed, almost every Thursday night. Well, loose interpretation, I invited him in the front door and into my bed. The problem was, once he came inside, he made no plans to leave. I had a busy week so I asked him to come over on a Thursday. I know, but he scheduled himself for every Thursday and I cleared my calendar to make room for him and dear heavens, I turned into a lovesick fool.
There, are you satisfied?
Anyhoo ... I was engaged to be married. I was not a loose woman. But that damned Jesse.... When we got behind closed doors.... Hi. I am Savannah Niden and I am in trouble. I need someone to hear me out, not judge my actions or choices. Just hear me out. The wedding is in a month and I am not certain if I want to marry for stability or marry the man who makes me happy. Maybe getting some of this off my chest will help me figure out what to do. I hope you are ready for an earful.
Chapter One
February 14th
Soft music played in the background as Darwin Finney escorted his date into the five star restaurant. Tonight was going to be a special evening and everything was set. The champagne had been pre-ordered, the chef had been notified, and the musicians were ready. Darwin was dressed in his best black suit, a fresh haircut, clean-shaven, and sporting his favorite cologne. He arrived at the bistro with a game plan. It was true what many said about the two. They were indeed a striking couple, but looks were so often deceiving.
Savannah Niden, PhD. was the total package. She was the perfect woman to adorn his arm as he made his way toward senior partner in his architecture firm. The only things left were the formalities of an engagement ring, followed by the betrothal party, a tea at the country club, and a year to plan the wedding. During the year Mrs. Finney, his mother, would introduce her in all the right social circles. Savannah would make new friends, pick out a nice home in Vestavia Hills, and within the next two years,
give him a son. In return, she would have a household expense account, a new Mercedes every three years, a large closet, and two perfect children, along with a non-shedding dog.
Savannah and Darwin had been together for a year and a half. The lady understood what this night was about and was ready to receive the blessings. She smiled when the champagne was brought to the table and uncorked. She placed her hand on her chest as the cork popped and she feigned surprise. There was even a practiced giggle that escaped her lips as she sipped the bubbly. The truth was she hated champagne. She also hated this stuffy ass restaurant. The Chef never got an order right, even if you requested a grilled chicken breast.
Savannah had ordered the lamb chops, partly to piss off Darwin and ruin his perfect evening, but mostly because she had lost her appetite. True to form, when Chef Robens sent out the meal, the lamb chops were still bleeding, the potatoes were cold and the asparagus was limp. She nibbled on a roll that must have been on the shelf too long and been reheated.
“What is the matter, Love? Don’t you like your meal?” Darwin asked as he watched her push food around her plate.
“The chops are a bit too rare,” she told him as she sipped on her champagne.
“It befuddles me why you always order something you’ve never tried or don’t understand and then seem disappointed when it arrives,” he told her as he cut a large chunk from his bloody steak.
In a nutshell, the same could be said for their relationship. Hunger is a good teacher. Once you have been there, it is the one place a person never wants to revisit. Savannah smiled a coy smile. “I know. I am trying to expand my palate, but bloody meat is not my thing.”
“Next time order something simple, something you know you like, maybe some chicken or something.” He spoke to her as if she were a child incapable of making a decision. Instead of responding with something snappish or a chiding remark, she sat in silence, watching him masticate a large chunk of cow with his oversized teeth and wondered if their children would have a big head like he did. He wasn’t an unattractive man; he was just average.
That was the thing about Darwin. He was simply mediocre. He was of normal height and regular build. He made a six-figure income, which was usual for his business, but his salary was low for the number of years he had been in his field. He was a fair kisser, a moderate thinker, and hovered around boring in bed. There were things he was very good at doing.
Patronizing her was at the top of the list, followed by a kind heart, a positive spirit, an optimistic outlook on life, and his unabated love for her. In his eyes, she could do no wrong and Savannah worked hard not to disappoint him. He was, after all, the key to her cushy future.
Her hand flew to her chest when he pulled out the Tiffany blue box. Tears flooded her eyes when he opened the token of love to reveal the one-carat princess cut diamond, flanked with a tapered band. Darwin even added two topaz stones, which cast a golden hue on the brilliance of the diamond. Her excitement was not holstered when he got down on one knee and asked for her hand in marriage.
She accepted with tears of joy and pecked at his face with kisses. Diners in the restaurant as she held up her hand to show off her new present. She had arrived. Savannah belonged to someone who was happy to have her. The days of going to bed hungry had long since been over, but in her mind, she was always one paycheck away from being back in that unfortunate spot. Darwin was her ticket to make sure that didn’t happen to her ever again. Her consent to marriage was based mainly on two simple thoughts: being poor was no fun and being hungry was even worse.
They chatted amicably about the engagement party in April. He told her about the tea at the country club in May. There would be dress shopping in New York in June, something in July, and blah, blah, blah in August. She heard little of what he said after that. She only knew the wedding was this time next year, on Valentine’s Day. It was corny, but she would go along with it.
His phone chirped, which meant he had to leave. Her car was close by so she would make her way downtown to her little condo on her own. She truly loved it, because she had scrimped and saved to make the down payment herself. She had a few bucks in the bank, but not nearly enough to make her feel secure. Savannah was always skimping and scraping to get the bills paid. Pride filled her, as she was always grateful to pay her own mortgage. She was content with driving her ten-year-old Ford, but damn, she sure would look good in a Mercedes. It was a fair trade, an accomplished wife living an accomplished life. It mattered little that her betrothed was as exciting as watching fecal matter dry on a wall. Darwin gave her a quick kiss on her cheek as he settled the tab and ran off for whatever emergency was calling him. She wouldn’t be surprised if it were revealed that her soon to be husband was having a last minute love fest with some dumb, weave-wearing woman that liked to twerk in his lap, but she didn’t care. The end and the means were all justified.
After Darwin’s departure, she sent back the chops and ordered a salad. She grazed on it until she was hit with a genius idea. She would head to a local hotspot and have a drink before heading home. Savannah hoped she would get lucky and find someone she could have a good conversation with. Maybe they could talk about a book or an upcoming vacation. Lord knows I could use some change in my life.
Chapter Two
The club was loud and the patrons were rowdy, but it seemed like the perfect place to have a bit of fun. It wasn’t every day that a girl got engaged and she wanted to celebrate. A few people from her complex were here tonight. She waved at one and danced with another. She made eye contact with someone who looked like a guy from her speech class at the University of Alabama at Birmingham, some years prior when she was completing her undergraduate work.
Oh crap. She had made eye contact for too long and he was on his way over. What was his name?
“Savannah Niden, is that you?” he asked as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. His breath reeked of scotch, and he had a bad tooth. Both smelled sour.
“Greg, right? We had speech together at UAB?”
“It was more classes than just speech.” He helped himself to a seat. She continued looking toward the door, hoping somebody, anybody, would see her in distress and rescue her from the man who thought she was the one who got away.
“You know, I was a little obsessed with you in college.” He smiled at her through drunken eyes. His coffee-colored skin had an ashen hue, symbolizing the presence of sickness. “I admit, I’m still a little taken with you. You are such a fine specimen of a woman,” he added through slobbering words.
She placed her hand on his to show off her new ring. “That is so sweet of you. I am engaged, but it was good running into you.” As she stood up, he grabbed her roughly by the arm and forced her back into the seat.
“Back then, you treated me like I wasn’t good enough for you. But I’ll be damned if I let you do it to me now!”
It was a reflex action. Savannah grabbed his pinky finger and began twisting until he let go. “You were always overly aggressive Greg, with way too much to prove.” She continued pushing the finger until he relaxed his grip on her arm. “Again, it was good seeing you.” She placed a ten on the counter to cover her drink. “Have a good night.”
Savannah was nearly out of breath as she slid into the driver’s seat of her car. She locked the doors and checked the rear view mirror. It was too late to argue with herself for not following her instincts to head for the door when she spotted Greg. Something about him always made her uneasy. She started the car and checked for traffic before she pulled out and headed home.
The bar was only a few blocks from the condo community where she resided. She pulled into the parking structure to find that someone had blocked her space. She circled around and the only available space was in the very dark far corner. Fine. Saying a silent prayer, she pulled into the slot. Her suspicious nature made her check the rear and side view mirrors. She pulled out her flashlight from the glove box and her pepper spray from her bag, and then opened the driver’s side door.
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Instantly, she felt hands around her throat as she was yanked forward and slammed onto the hood of her car. She fought back as her assailant threw her against the wall, tearing her clothing. She felt the skin rip on her shoulder blade as he slid her side to side against the rough bricks on the wall. “Don’t scream bitch or I’ll gut you!” Savannah felt the knife press against her breast and she screamed anyway.
“If you’re going to gut me, then do it now, because in a minute, I’m going to fuck you up!” The assailant was shocked. The self-defense course she had taken taught her to fight back and this man was in for a rude awakening. It was all the time she needed. She followed up her threat with pepper spray to his eyes and mouth, a knee to his groin, a small, but powerful right fist to his chin, and then one more kick in his nuts for good measure. She stood over him, looking down and screaming at the top of her lungs, “Fire, fire, fire, you sorry son of a biscuit maker!” She screamed again and again until she heard footsteps on the stairwell as a burly white man, wearing a tool belt ran into the parking structure.
“Miss, are you okay?”
“Do I look like I’m okay, Einstein?”
The silk cream-colored blouse she was wearing was torn, there was a small knick from the tip of the assailant’s blade on her breast and the skin had been scraped from her back where he threw her against the brick wall. Savannah wished she had put on her jacket. “This fool attacked me,” she yelled as she kicked him again and sprayed his face with more pepper spray, and then she insulted his manhood.
Tool belt guy leaned down to check the attacker. As he turned him over, he asked, “Do you know this man?”
Oh my goodness, it’s Greg! He had followed her home. But wait, he knew which parking space was hers. Dear God, he has been watching me!
“Vaguely,” she muttered.
“Do you want me to call the police?”
She looked at Greg, who was now struggling to get to his feet. “Greg. Do I need to call the police? Or have you had enough?” She sprayed him in the mouth with more pepper spray, as the tool belt-wearing rescuer snatched the container from her hand.
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