Playing For Keeps

by Deborah Fletcher Mello

  He nodded. “No, ma’am. I certainly don’t!”

  At six-fifteen Malcolm was well past Baltimore’s evening traffic, sitting on the tarmac. He had dinner reservations for eight-thirty and he knew the two dozen yellow roses resting on the seat beside him was Maxine’s way of giving him her approval and support even though he hadn’t told her anything at all about the woman she was making plans for. He hoped Cilla loved them as much as he loved the gesture.

  Just minutes before the pilot announced that they were ready for takeoff he called home. His mother answered just as he was about to hang up.

  “Is everything okay?” Malcolm questioned, concern ringing in his tone.

  Miss Claudette nodded into the receiver. “We’re fine. The girls and I were outside planting some rosebushes. I left the phone inside on the kitchen table and had to run for it.”

  “You should have made one of the girls run.”

  “They both had their hands dirty and I didn’t want them to stop doing what they were doing. So how’s Baltimore?”

  He shrugged. “No different since the last time you asked me.”

  Miss Claudette laughed. “Well then how is my friend Maxine?”

  “She’s holding it down.”

  “My girl always does. God bless her!”

  “She said she’s going to call you because she wants to arrange for you and the girls to drive up and meet her at Potomac Mills for a weekend shopping spree.”

  “That sounds like fun.”

  “I told her I’d treat.”

  “Then we will definitely take you up on that! If I don’t hear from her in the next day or two I’ll call her.”

  “Well, as long as you and the girls are doing okay, I’ll let you go. I’ll give the girls a call later, right before they go to bed.”

  “Do you need a ride from the airport tomorrow?”

  There was a moment of pause as he debated whether or not to tell his mother he was on his way home. He took a deep breath. “No. I’ve got it covered.”

  Not missing a beat his mother chuckled softly, mother’s intuition kicking in high gear. “I just bet you do,” she said.

  Malcolm laughed with her. “I’m actually coming home now but I have a dinner date. In case it runs late I didn’t want you looking for me.”

  “Uh huh . . . in case . . .”

  He laughed again. “Okay, Mama.”

  “I didn’t say anything. Just keep in touch so I know you’re safe, please.”

  “You know I will.”

  “Love you, Son-shine!”

  “I love you, too, Mama!”

  Takeoff was smooth and easy and when the pilot gave his okay, the private plane sailing midair, he dialed Cilla. She answered on the second ring.

  “I was just about to give up on you,” Cilla said in greeting, the caller ID giving him away.

  “Oh, ye of little faith!”

  She laughed. “Have you landed?”

  “The pilot says we should be in Raleigh in less than an hour. Can you pick me up from the airport?”

  Cilla laughed. “I guess I could do that.”

  “Do you know where the private terminals are?”

  “I’m sure I can find my way.”

  “I’ll be coming in at the TAC Air building.”

  “I’ll find it. And then what? Where are we eating?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “At least tell a girl how to dress. I don’t want to be in five-inch heels and a little black dress if we’re just going to Snoopy’s for a hotdog.”

  “Something tight and short always works.”

  “So, we are going to Snoopy’s!” Cilla responded with a giggle.

  “Tight and short works wherever.”

  “Uh no. Try again.”

  “You’ve already made a great first impression. I’m sure you’ll be beautiful in whatever you wear.”

  “You’re very good with the compliments, Mr. Cobb!”

  Malcolm grinned into the receiver. “I aim to please!”

  “Safe landing and I’ll see you soon,” Cilla said, her voice dropping an octave.

  Just before he disconnected the call, Malcolm responded. “I can’t wait to see you, too!”

  An hour later Cilla saw him before he saw her. She was standing on the second floor of the General Aviation Terminal, staring out at the private planes that were coming and going with relative frequency. The luxury aircraft landed easily and her eyes followed as it moved down the taxiway to the hangar. The Cessna Citation Sovereign was lean and sleek, looking like a winged Maybach. It had to be one of the sexiest sights Cilla had ever seen.

  Minutes later Malcolm exited the aircraft. His attire was business casual; silver-gray slacks, a white dress shirt, and a black silk blazer. He carried a black leather attaché in one hand and the most beautiful bouquet of flowers in the other. He was even sexier in his dress clothes. That flutter of attraction rippled with a vengeance through her abdomen and she smiled, her excitement reaching an all-time high.

  Rushing down the expanse of stairway to the first floor, she followed the path to the building next door. By the time she reached the reception area Malcolm had made his way inside. He stood nervously, his gaze dancing around the space as he searched for her and when their eyes connected, both stood staring and grinning foolishly. Cilla moved quickly to his side. They stood face-to-face, their bodies mere inches from each other. Heat wafted between them, abundant and full, seeming to take on a life of its own.

  Malcolm suddenly laughed and Cilla laughed with him. His deep chortle helped to ease the rise of tension that had swept over them both and they relaxed easily into the moment like their meeting was something they did every day.

  “Hey, you!” he said as he extended the roses in her direction.

  “Hey, yourself,” she said as she paused to sniff the sweet aroma wafting off the long stems. She lifted her eyes to stare back into his. “How was your flight?”

  He nodded. “Perfect now.”

  “Now?”

  “It brought me back to you.”

  Cilla laughed again as she rolled her eyes upward. “That was so cheesy!”

  “It was, wasn’t it!” he said with a deep chuckle. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hugged her warmly. “Thanks for coming to pick me up.”

  Leaning into his side Cilla liked how it felt. He was the perfect height, standing just tall enough where even in heels she had to tilt her head to stare up at him, but not so tall that she couldn’t rest her head easily against his shoulder if she were so inclined. She felt comfortable against him and her whole body eased into his as if it were the most natural thing for her to do.

  “Thank you for the flowers,” she said. “They’re beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful,” Malcolm said as he took a step back.

  She was wearing tailored chocolate-brown palazzo shorts that stopped at her calves and a brown and cream, short, cropped, herringbone blazer. Beneath the jacket she wore a silk tank that was a brilliant shade of peach, the coloration a perfect complement to her light brown complexion. She was perfectly proportioned with a full bustline and wide hips and enough curve to her backside to make him wonder what she’d feel like cushioned close against him. The neckline of her top dipped just low enough to show off her cleavage, the round of her breasts teasing him. High-heeled pumps in a wonderful shade of emerald green, gold bangles around her wrists, and a thin beaded gold and diamond chain around her neck completed her ensemble. It wasn’t enough to call her beautiful, he thought. Cilla Jameson was absolutely stunning.

  A blush of color tinted Cilla’s cheeks at his compliment. “Thank you.” She took a deep breath. “So, where do we go next?” she asked, her curiosity consuming her.

  Malcolm took his own deep breath as he gave her a wry smile. “Do you mind if I drive your car?” he asked, ignoring her question.

  She shook her head. Reaching into her leather purse she pulled the keys from inside and handed them to him. Malco
lm reached for her hand and entwined his fingers between hers as he pulled her along beside him. Outside, she pointed to the black Lexus IS 350 convertible parked off to the side.

  “Nice ride,” Malcolm said as he tossed her a quick look. He guided her to the passenger-side door then opened it to let her inside. “Very nice ride,” he echoed as he made his way to the driver’s side and took the seat beside her.

  “It was my birthday present to myself.”

  His head bobbed. “I can’t wait to see what you get me for my birthday,” Malcolm said teasingly. He engaged the engine and pulled into airport traffic.

  Cilla laughed. “When is your birthday?”

  “November first. I’ll be thirty-seven.”

  She smiled. “They’ll be sending you your AARP card soon.”

  He cut an eye in her direction. “I said thirty-seven, not fifty-seven.”

  “I heard what you said.” She laughed heartily. “A little sensitive about your age, aren’t you?”

  “Not at all. He gave her a wide-eyed look, a humorous smirk across his face. “How old are you?” he asked, flipping the conversation.

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “So what do you plan to get yourself for your thirtieth birthday?”

  “The question should be what do you plan to get me?”

  He laughed. “Good question. I’m glad I have some time to think about it.”

  “’Cause it better be good!” Cilla countered with her own soft giggle.

  Malcolm shook his head as he cut another eye at her, his smile miles wide.

  It was a short ride from the airport parking lot to the Angus Barn, the city’s premier steakhouse. Cilla’s eyes widened as he turned her car into the restaurant’s parking lot to an open space and brought it to a stop. Dining at the exclusive eatery had been on Cilla’s bucket list of things to do. Wanting to share the experience with someone special, and having no one who fit the bill, had been the only thing to deter her from making this experience a reality. She gave Malcolm a look but said nothing as he exited the vehicle, circled around the car, and opened her door for her. He reached for her hand to help her out, his palm and fingers warm and teasing against her own.

  “This is very nice,” she said as they headed toward the entrance hand in hand.

  “Walter Royal is an old friend of mine,” he said as he referred to the restaurant’s executive chef, a former Iron Chef America winner.

  “You know Mr. Royal personally?” She eyed him with a hint of reservation in her gaze.

  Malcolm nodded. “We go way back,” he said.

  Cilla’s reservations were cast away once they were inside. At the door, the hostess greeted Malcolm by name. She was duly impressed when the owner made his way over to shake the man’s hand, the two having a brief conversation about a potential joint fundraising venture between their two businesses. The man personally escorted them to the restaurant’s kitchen and the infamous chef’s table that was known to be a popular attraction.

  Cilla felt like a deer caught in headlights as she tried to take it all in. With all the introductions, everyone’s name and face had become a confusion of who was who. Despite her best efforts Cilla knew that she would never remember who everyone was regardless of the tidbits of personal information Malcolm offered after each introduction. Then there were the sights, the sounds, and the tantalizing smells coming from the bustling kitchen area as they were treated to an exclusive behind-the-scenes look at the Barn’s operations. It was sensory overload and definitely more than she’d been prepared for.

  There was a brief moment of quiet after the sommelier uncorked a bottle of wine and poured her a glass. Malcolm’s glass was filled with a beverage of fresh pomegranate puree, lemon juice, and seltzer water.

  “You don’t drink?” Cilla questioned after he’d lifted his glass in toast, encouraging her to savor the delicate spirits.

  He shook his head. “No. I’ve been sober for thirteen years. They blend this concoction especially for me.”

  “Sober?”

  “I’m a recovering alcoholic,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “But you said it’s been thirteen years. If you haven’t had a drink in all that time wouldn’t you consider yourself recovered?”

  Malcolm shrugged. “I don’t ever want to make the mistake of forgetting how bad things were in the midst of my addiction. There is a wise saying that says those who forget their mistakes are doomed to repeat them. I don’t want to ever forget because I have no intentions of ever going back there.”

  “Was it that bad?”

  He hesitated for a brief moment. “I’m not a very nice drunk,” he said. “It got really ugly. I stopped drinking when I realized everyone in my life deserved better.”

  “So why would you own a bar?” she asked, suddenly curious to know more about the man. “Don’t you ever get tempted?”

  He shook his head. “No. I refuse to be tempted. But I love being in the bar business. I love the people and the atmosphere. And every day that I’m successful reminds me of just how strong I am and how strong I need to be for my daughters and my family.”

  Cilla suddenly sat upright, shifting in her seat. “Daughters?”

  He smiled and nodded. “I have two daughters. Twin girls that I have custody of.”

  “So you have a wife?” There was suddenly an air of attitude in her tone.

  He laughed as he shook his head. “I have an ex-wife. We’ve been divorced for over ten years.”

  “So you’re raising your daughters alone?”

  “My mother lives with me and helps me take care of the girls.”

  Cilla’s expression made Malcolm laugh. “It’s really not that bad,” he said with a wry chuckle. “I come with luggage but I assure you it’s all unpacked and put away.”

  Cilla laughed with him. “I’m just . . . well . . . wow!” she suddenly exclaimed. “I didn’t know what to expect from you but I didn’t expect all that.”

  He nodded. “Too much for you to handle?”

  She met the look he was giving her, his stare intense. “No, it’s not too much. I appreciate you being open and honest with me,” she said.

  He smiled sweetly. “You will always get that. I don’t have anything to hide and I believe in being transparent. With me, you’ll always know what you’re going to get.”

  Before she could respond one of the many chefs stood tableside, serving up the first course of their sumptuous five-course meal. The crab cakes were a succulent blend of large lump crabmeat and the barest hint of bread crumbs and seasoning. It was sheer delight for a seafood lover. As the chef detailed the dish, Malcolm found himself drifting off into thought.

  He’d opened up to Cilla right out of the gate. He had never before done that with any woman and definitely never on a first date. Malcolm had learned years ago that one or two dates would never make it to three or four so there had been no reason to make himself vulnerable by revealing too many details about his personal life. Only a woman he was interested in introducing to his mother needed to know about his children. And if the discussion of his drinking came up, it was only after he was certain she was someone he wanted to know better. As the chef stepped away his gaze moved over her face. Meeting her eyes he stared and she stared back, the intensity of it like nothing he’d ever experienced before. He suddenly realized that with Cilla, he couldn’t see himself not telling her all there was to tell about himself. But he couldn’t help but wonder what she thought about that, and him. Before he had an opportunity to ask, the second course arrived. It was a lobster bisque with a corn and red pepper relish. The flavor was light and delicate and absolutely mind-boggling.

  “Why do you look so serious?” Cilla suddenly questioned, interrupting his thoughts.

  He shrugged, a slight smile pulling at his mouth. He swallowed a spoonful of soup then swiped at his mouth with a cloth napkin. “I was actually thinking about you and wondering what you might be thinking.”

  “I’m having a wonderful tim
e. The food is magnificent and I’m enjoying the company.”

  He nodded, his smile widening. “So tell me about yourself. Since I’ve shared my deep dark secrets it’s only fair that you share yours.” He leaned back in his seat, an arm thrown over the back of it as he waited for her to talk.

  Cilla laughed and the warmth of it flooded his spirit. “My deep dark secrets,” she said as her gaze floated around the room. “I’m not sure I have any.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you have a few.”

  She shrugged, her narrow shoulders pushing toward the ceiling. “Not really. I was a military brat. I grew up on the base in Adana, Turkey. My parents divorced when I was nine and my biological father didn’t have anything to do with me after that. My mother moved here to North Carolina with her second husband who turned out to be a perfect father-figure. I was so desperate to have their approval that I was an absolute angel. I got good grades, never missed a curfew, dated all the right boys, and did everything I was supposed to do. Even during college and after I moved out on my own, I’ve always played by the rules. There’s nothing deep or dark there.”

  “So, would dating me break that vicious cycle you seem to be caught in?”

  Cilla grinned. “Probably not. I don’t think my parents would see you as a bad boy. You’ve got too much going for you.”

  The conversation continued through the salad; a blend of baby arugula leaves, roasted sweet potatoes, bell peppers, red onion, Parmigiano cheese, and a honeyed balsamic vinaigrette. Laughter was abundant as they teased back and forth, sharing stories about their childhoods and their families.

  “Being an only child I was spoiled rotten,” Cilla said, her smile bright. “And I’m very much a girlie girl. I kept Barbie dolls, hair bows, and all things pink in my bag of tricks. My father hated it!”

  “Couldn’t make a tomboy out of you, huh?”

  “Not even a little!”

  “Did you play any sports?” Malcolm questioned as he took a bite of his salad.

  “Cheerleading!”

  “That’s not a sport!” he said with a laugh.

  “You wish! You try doing sequences of back handsprings and double twisting layouts over and over again during a football or basketball game. The tumbling required is very much a sport.”