This Time for Keeps

by Rochelle Alers

  Nicole had come to look for the colorful lights, the beach and the infusion of Latin energy that made her feel alive after she completed a sixty-hour workweek.

  “I have time to make a decision,” she whispered. She emptied the remains of the champagne into the sink, rinsed the bottle and put it in a plastic bin to be recycled.

  Picking up her cell phone, she called her mother and settled in to listen to Elizabeth giving her an update as to what was going on in her life and those in her gated community.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Hey, son, the mailman just delivered the mail and there’s a package for you.”

  Fletcher wiped his hands on an oil-covered rag and closed the hood to the fifteen-year-old Honda. He’d had to install a new battery, replace all four tires, fan belt, intake manifold and cooling fan for the man who wanted to give his granddaughter her first car. The sedan’s body was in good shape, while some of the parts had needed to be replaced.

  He stared at his father standing in the doorway to the office. “I’ll be right there.” Fletcher motioned to Billy Grimes, who’d just finished an oil change. “You can take it out now.” Walking over the sink in a corner of the garage, he washed his hands with a special soap and scrubbed his nails with a small brush.

  Jesse sat in the worn leather recliner, watching a sports channel. He pointed to the box. “It’s from the judge’s daughter.”

  Fletcher met a pair of eyes so much like his own. He’d inherited his father’s eye color and height, and his mother’s features. “Her name is Nicole, Pop.”

  The older man waved a heavily veined hand. Jesse had recently complained of stiffness in the joints, and Fletcher suspected it was arthritis. “I know what her name is, but I’ve always called her the judge’s daughter.”

  Fletcher picked up a box cutter, slid it along the tape, opened the box and removed a tin filled with cookies. He read the enclosed card and then handed it to his father.

  “What did she send me?” Jesse questioned.

  “Homemade cookies.”

  Jesse sat straight and swung his legs over the side of the recliner. “Word of advice, son. Don’t let her go.”

  “She’s not mine to keep, Pop.”

  Lines of consternation crossed Jesse’s forehead. “Do you like her?”

  “Of course,” Fletcher said without hesitation.

  “Well, what are you going to do about it?”

  Fletcher’s expression changed, becoming a mask of stone. “Stay out of it, Pop.”

  “But—”

  “I mean it, Pop,” Fletcher countered, cutting off his father. “What goes on between me and Nicole is not open for discussion.”

  Throwing back his head, Jesse laughed as if he had taken leave of his senses. He pointed to his eldest son. “That’s the very same thing I said to your grandfather when he asked me about going out with your mother. And you know what happened?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Fletcher drawled as he attempted not to smile. “You married her.”

  Jesse quickly sobered. “Yes, I married her and thirty-eight years later I’m still the happiest man in the world, because she is the best wife and mother any man could ask for.”

  Fletcher extended the tin. “You’re becoming maudlin. Eat a cookie, Pop.”

  “I don’t know what maudlin means, but I will have one.” Jesse took a bite of the shortbread cookie and before finishing it, he reached for another. “These are good.”

  “Save some for Billy and Charles.” Fletcher topped the tin and returned to the garage to share the cookies with their employees. His father had hinted about him not letting Nicole go, when he did not know what he could say or do to convince her to stay. He knew exerting pressure was not the answer, and that meant he had to let everything unfold on its own.

  * * *

  Othello began whining and turning around and around as soon as Nicole pulled into the driveway to Fletcher’s house. She taken advantage of her days off to visit the local salon for a full-body massage, facial, manicure and pedicure. The stylist had trimmed her hair in a becoming style that framed her face to its best advantage. She had also baked another batch of cookies, stored them in an airtight tin and sent it by overnight mail to Austen Auto & Sons.

  “Okay, boy. Settle down. I’ll let you out in a minute.” The words were barely off her tongue when Fletcher appeared, opened the hatch, and man and dog reunited as if they hadn’t seen each other in months instead of days. She reached for her overnight bag on the passenger seat, handing it to Fletcher as he helped her down. He wore a bibbed apron stamped with Kiss the Cook.

  “Really, Fletcher? Do you realize you’re not very subtle?”

  He smiled. “There’s no shame in my game. I ain’t too proud to beg.”

  Going on tiptoe, she brushed a light kiss over his mouth. “You are shameless.”

  “No, I’m not, sweetheart. I’m just a man who happens to be in love with you. And I like what you’ve done with your hair.”

  Fletcher was in love with her and she loved him, but refused to dwell on where it would lead because she did not want to think about the future, just now. And he had become her Mr. Right Now. Nicole smiled. “I’m letting it grow. If I’m going to spend the winter here, then I’m going to need longer hair to keep my head warm.” Not only would she need more hair, but she also would have to wear a cap once the temperature dropped below forty because she had become accustomed to Florida’s mild winters.

  Fletcher wrapped his free arm around her waist and escorted her around to the rear of the house. A soft gasp escaped Nicole when she saw tiny white lights intertwined in the branches of the trees shading the patio. Strategically placed outdoor lamps illuminated the outdoor kitchen. Twilight had shrouded the landscape in glorious shadows reminiscent of a watercolor painting, and the pinpoints of emerging stars against the darkening sky was ethereal. Candles flickered under the lanterns positioned around the perimeter, and several lit citronella torches added more brightness to the outdoor space. A slight breeze stirred the wind chimes suspended from the ceiling of the rear wraparound porch.

  “It’s beautiful.” She was unable to disguise the awe in her voice.

  “Is it romantic enough for you?”

  Looping her arms through Fletcher’s, Nicole rested her head against his shoulder. “It’s perfect.”

  “That’s because you’re perfect. I’m going to take your bag inside, then I’ll bring out the food. Oh, I forgot. We got the cookies the other day. When Pop saw the card, he said he would’ve preferred to thank you in person.”

  “Did he like them?”

  “Like them? That’s an understatement. He ate one and then another, and I had to take the tin before he devoured every one. He was madder than a wet hen when I shared them with the other guys.”

  “What did you do with the ones I gave you?”

  “I gave half to my mother. Mom told me she has one with her morning coffee and another with her afternoon tea. She said if you decide to sell them, she would be one of your steady customers.”

  “I bake cookies for fun and not profit.” She had done more cooking and baking during the past three months than she had in years. “Do you need me to help you with anything?” she asked.

  “No, babe. I’ve skewered the veggies, seasoned the steaks and chilled the wine. Just sit and relax.”

  Nicole watched Fletcher as he opened a pocket door and disappeared inside. She strolled around the patio, smiling. Her man had gone out of his way to transform the outdoor space into a romantic wonderland with lights and candles. He had covered a small round table with a white cloth, a quartet of lit votives in glass holders and place settings for two. Two wineglasses were turned over and the plates were covered with mesh food tents. Fletcher had suggested she relax, and that was exactly what she planned to do. She sat on a webbed recliner and smiled when Othello ambled
over and lay beside the chair.

  Earlier that morning she’d sent Fletcher a text message telling him she was going to feed and walk the dog before coming over. Othello must have sensed he was going out in the car when he saw the overnight bag.

  “You like coming here, don’t you? So do I,” Nicole said, continuing with her monologue. “Tomorrow morning I’m going to let you run and chase rabbits, but you have to promise not to hurt any.” Othello raised his head as if he understood what she was telling him. “There are times when I feel you need a lady friend so you can have company when I leave you alone in the house. Of course, you can’t make babies because you’re neutered, but if you could, I know they would be adorable. What type of lady would you like? Another Malinois or a German shepherd? You would need a big girl because you are a big boy.”

  “Do you always have lengthy conversations with your fur baby?”

  Nicole sat straighter. Fletcher had returned carrying a cloth-covered tray. “Of course.”

  Fletcher set the tray on the countertop next to the sink. “Does he ever talk back?”

  She slipped off the recliner and stood next to him. “I didn’t know you were a comedian.”

  * * *

  Fletcher knew he had struck a nerve with Nicole when he heard a trace of censure color her tone as her protective instincts surfaced. “I’m not trying to be funny, babe. It’s just amusing to hear you talking to the dog as if he’s human and understands what you’re saying.”

  “He does understand commands. I...” Her voice trailed off abruptly. “Why are we talking about a dog, Fletcher?”

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  Nicole rested a hand on his back. “You.”

  Fletcher felt the warmth from Nicole’s palm through the cotton fabric of his T-shirt as he uncovered the tray, revealing skewers of red and green pepper, cubed squash, cherry tomato, onion and mushroom. There was also a platter of rib eye steaks seasoned with kosher salt and freshly ground pepper, and a dish of sliced garlic and fresh herbs. He had come to look for her spontaneity whenever she kissed or touched him.

  “What about me, love?” He smiled when her hand made circular motions on his shoulder blade.

  “Do you ever see the soldiers you served with since your separation?”

  Fletcher nodded. “We get together the second week in May every other year to go fishing in the Florida Keys. One of the guys bought and lives on a large fishing boat that sleeps six. We hang out in Key West for a couple of days eating and drinking until everyone arrives. We sail down to Puerto Rico and spend a few days there before coming back.”

  “Do you actually do any fishing?”

  “Some,” he admitted, smiling. “The reunion is more about catching up on what’s going on in our lives than seeing who can catch the biggest fish.”

  “How long is your fishing expedition?” Nicole asked.

  “A week, but no more than ten days because some of the guys have to be back on base before they’re AWOL.”

  “What do you do during the off year?”

  Fletcher turned on the gas grill. “Those of us who are civilians will meet once or twice a year. This past May, I invited two of my buddies to come to The Falls for the Memorial Day weekend. They marched in the parade with me, and really enjoyed the picnic afterward.”

  “One thing I can say about Wickham Falls is that the town officials really know how to host a celebration.”

  Fletcher nodded. “Word.” While on active duty, he’d missed the three-day Fourth of July celebration, the Memorial Day parade and picnic, and Halloween night festivities. “Other than your navy SEAL, are you connected to any of your other buddies?”

  Nicole lowered her hand. “No. I seemed to have lost touch with everyone in my NROTC class except Keith.”

  There was something in Nicole’s tone that signaled to Fletcher she hadn’t wanted to keep in touch with her former military comrades. He wondered if the death of the master sergeant had emotionally impacted her more than she wanted to acknowledge. On the other hand, when he’d seen her interacting with those who had crowded into the Den for Military Monday, she’d appeared to be in her element.

  “How do you like your steak?” he asked, smoothly segueing away from the topic of the military.

  “Medium well.” Nicole rested her hand at the middle of Fletcher’s back. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help you?”

  Bending slightly, Fletcher opened the fridge and took out bottles of merlot and prosecco. “Which one do you want?”

  “I prefer the prosecco.”

  “There’s a corkscrew on the table.” He drew a normal breath for the first time since Nicole had touched his back. Although the gesture was an innocent one, it still had turned him on. He’d had to shift his body slightly away from her so she wouldn’t detect his hard-on.

  Now that he was back in control of his traitorous body, he placed a large cast-iron skillet on the stove and coated it with a couple of tablespoons of canola oil. While he waited for the oil to heat, Fletcher took a cutting board from a shelf under the stove. Once the oil was hot enough, he added the steaks and cooked them over high heat until the bottoms were crusty.

  He then turned over the steaks and added butter, sprigs of thyme, rosemary and slivers of garlic to the skillet, basting the steaks with the melted butter and herbs until the steaks were medium well. Transferring the steaks to the cutting board, he let them rest for ten minutes and then placed the skewers on the grill.

  It was only after installing the outdoor kitchen that Fletcher had taken a concerted interest in cooking. He had begun watching cooking channels and downloading and printing recipes off the internet. He’d had some failures, but most times what he prepared was palatable. It would take him years, if not decades, to compete with Nicole, and he was looking forward to assisting her if or when they prepared meals together.

  * * *

  Nicole stared up at the night sky sprinkled with stars that reminded her of diamond dust on a blanket of dark blue velvet. The smell of burning wood from the firepit, the tinkling of wind chimes and the sultry, distinctive voice of Sade singing “Sweetest Taboo” flowing from speakers set up around the patio, lulled her into a state of complete relaxation.

  The dinner of garlic-buttered, herb-infused grilled steak, roasted vegetable kabobs and prosecco was nothing short of perfection. His fajitas and now the rib eye steaks were comparable to what she’d had in restaurants. Nicole hadn’t eaten too much, but she had drunk too much. She’d exceeded her two-drink limit and the result was that she did not want to get up to go inside.

  “Do you plan to sleep out here all night?”

  She turned to look at Fletcher reclining on the chaise next to hers. After putting away everything, he’d volunteered to walk Othello.

  “May I?”

  “You can, but don’t complain if you wake with bug bites. Once the citronella torches burn out, you’ll become a feast for the mosquitos.”

  Nicole sat up. Many of the candles had burned out and others were sputtering. “I hope I find my way inside the house without falling on my face. I drank too much.”

  Fletcher got off his recliner, leaned down and scooped Nicole up. “You don’t have to walk, babe. I’ll carry you upstairs to your bedroom.”

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed her face against his muscled shoulder.

  Any modicum of uncertainty vanished whenever Nicole found herself in Fletcher’s arms. She protested vehemently when he talked about protecting her, but if she was truly honest with herself, she would acknowledge it without protest.

  She loved him, and was in love with him, and if circumstances had been different she would have accepted his proposal to become his wife and the mother of their children. A wry smile twisted her mouth when she recalled the number of men she’d met since enrolling in college. One she’d belie
ved she loved enough to marry and another after she’d received her commission. As a woman she was a minority in the military and even part of a smaller number who had gone into combat, yet she’d had to return to her hometown to reunite with a man who unknowingly had captured a little piece of her heart. A man she was willing to give not only her heart but also her body.

  “I don’t want to sleep in my bedroom.” Fletcher stopped, Nicole feeling the stiffness in his body. “I want to sleep with you.”

  “Do you know what you’re asking?”

  She smiled against his shoulder. “I know exactly what I’m saying, Fletcher. I want to sleep in your bed tonight.”

  “Just to sleep, Nikki?”

  “Yes, if you don’t have protection, because I didn’t bring any condoms with me.”

  * * *

  Fletcher realized he had to get used to the very adult Nicole Campos, who said what she wanted and said exactly what came to her mind. He was so used to women who preferred playing head games that had left him confused, exasperated and unaware their coquettish antics were a turnoff.

  “I have condoms.”

  Nicole pressed a kiss to the column of his neck. “Can you give me time to shower and brush my teeth?”

  Fletcher smiled. “Take all the time you need, sweetheart. I still have to put out the candles and the firepit.”

  He carried her up the staircase and to the bedroom where she’d slept the first time she’d come to his home. He still did not want to believe how comfortable it had felt spending hours with Nicole. It was as if they’d turned back the clock to when they’d worked together on yearbook and senior class committees. It had been their responsibility to gather all the information for the yearbook and to make certain to list the various clubs, awards and future careers for all the graduating seniors.