One Summer Night

by Caridad Piñeiro

  “About today… Would you and your friends like to come over for dinner?” he said.

  And there went desire, she thought. She hadn’t really imagined that he was going to propose a group dinner, but maybe that’s what they needed to let things cool down and allow calmer heads to prevail.

  “Sure. What time?” she asked, taking hold of one of his hands and twining her fingers with his as she led him toward the door of her bedroom.

  “I’ll call you later to let you know.” He paused by her door. “Are you okay with your friends seeing me now?”

  Truth be told, she was hoping that they were still asleep, but if they weren’t…

  “I’m okay with it. They’re going to wonder what’s up anyway when I tell them about dinner.”

  With a nod, he followed her out the door and downstairs to the foyer of the mansion. There were sounds of activity from the kitchen already, but no one came out to check when Maggie opened the front entrance.

  They faced each other, silent for a long moment before she rose on tiptoes and danced a kiss across his lips.

  “See you tonight,” she said.

  “Tonight,” he replied and left.

  She watched him as he slipped through a break in the privet hedges lining the property boundaries. Chill morning air spilled through the open door, and she hugged herself to ward off the cold. The weather had taken a turn overnight, and misty fog blanketed the ground. Definitely not a beach day, she thought, closed the door, and turned.

  Connie and Emma stood there, stunned expressions on their faces.

  Chapter 11

  “Just how much did you see?” she asked.

  “Enough,” Connie said, accusation icing the single word.

  Emma elbowed Connie and said, “Ease up. We suspected something was going on last night after you bolted to your room.”

  Maggie breezed by them and into the kitchen, but her friends were quickly on her heels and peppering her with questions.

  “Spill, Mags. Did you do it?” Connie asked, blunt as always.

  “You can’t possibly think this makes sense,” Emma pointed out, ever the relationship pessimist.

  Maggie whirled and faced them, anxious to end the inquisition. She held up her index finger to count down and said, “One, I didn’t do him, but he sure knows how to rock my world.”

  That statement had Connie’s mouth flapping open and closed like a sea bass pulled from the ocean, fighting for breath.

  She popped up another finger. “Two, I’m not sure if this makes sense, but I like spending time with him.”

  “Because he rocks your world,” Connie interrupted.

  “Because I have fun with him and because he’s sexy and handsome, and I need to find out if this is something that can become more.”

  “More complicated, you mean,” Emma said and dragged a hand through the long strands of her hair in a sure sign of frustration. She plowed on. “I mean when it was just smoochies, I thought, it’s just a thing, you know, and not a thing as in a serious thing.”

  Maggie rubbed the back of her neck and sighed, almost as frustrated as her friend. “I don’t know what it is, but I want to figure it out. I’d like the two of you to support me because you’re my BFFs and your opinions matter to me.”

  Connie and Emma shared a brief look that communicated a great deal, Maggie could tell.

  Connie was the first one to step forward and give her a hug. “We’re not just your BFFs—we’re your BFFFs, best fuckin’ friends forever, and we’ll do whatever you need.”

  Emma joined in, hugging the two of them hard. “Whatever,” she said.

  When they finally separated, sniffling, Maggie wiped at a tear and said, “Well, for starters, we’re going to have dinner tonight with the Pierce brothers.”

  “What?” Connie shouted at the same time Emma said, “Wait, really?”

  “Dinner. Tonight. Owen will call with a time later. And because my grandmother and Mrs. Patrick taught me never to go anywhere empty-handed, I want to make dessert to take over,” she said and walked to hug the older woman, who had just entered the kitchen. “Right, Mrs. Patrick? A good guest always brings something for the dinner host,” she said, which prompted a pat on the arm she had wrapped around the older woman.

  “Normally, it does, my girl. Unfortunately, you’re not known for your prowess in the kitchen.”

  “Don’t you remember those cookies you made that one time? We could have used them as skeet pucks, they were so hard,” Connie said with a grin.

  “And the spaghetti dinner? Globs of pasta all glued together in… What was that? Ketchup?” Emma teased.

  Mrs. Patrick patted Maggie’s hand again in sympathy, but Maggie wasn’t going to be dissuaded. Ignoring the assorted tales of her cooking woe, she said, “Owen has a sweet tooth.”

  Wiggling her eyebrows like Groucho, Connie said, “If you’re the sweet, I bet he does.”

  “You guys can help me, right?” she said, glancing back and forth between her two friends, who shared another conspiratorial look.

  “If by help she means we can bake it for her, I guess we can,” Emma said.

  Maggie pursed her lips and angrily shot back, “I really do mean you’ll help and not make it for me. It’s time I learned.”

  “Since when did you decide to get all domestic? Or do rich girls really get tired of eating out all the time?” Connie said with a below-the-belt shot.

  Although they had clicked when they’d first met, the issue of the haves and have-nots had always simmered beneath the surface of their friendship. Every now and then, it would break through and cause upset, usually on Maggie’s part.

  Connie was a Cuban hothouse flower transported from her ethnic enclave in Union City to the mostly lily-white university thanks to a full scholarship. Emma was a suburban girl from Edison whose parents’ divorce had upended her family life and finances, forcing her to work her way through school.

  “Low blow, Connie. If you don’t want to help a friend, I’m fine with that.”

  Connie winced and looked away, shamefaced. Emma laid a hand on Connie’s shoulder and said, “We’ll help, only… You’re not even having a real thing with this guy, and already, you want to change. I see it happen over and over. Girl meets guy. Girl suddenly becomes someone else.”

  While Emma hadn’t said it, Maggie knew what else they were thinking. Hell, she’d thought it more than once herself as she’d seen one acquaintance after another get married. Those women suddenly had more important things to do than to hang out with their girlfriends.

  She walked over to them for a group hug, embracing them tightly. “I will never, ever stop being BFFFs with you guys. And besides, this thing with Owen—we all know how impossible it would be.”

  “More impossible things have been known to happen,” Connie mumbled.

  “Yeah, you’re right. But all I’m asking is a little help in making a cheesecake,” she said.

  Emma eyed her carefully. “A cheesecake? Where did that come from?”

  She shrugged. “It’s sweet and tasty. We all love cheesecake. It’s not really baking, just some cream cheese and stuff, right?”

  Emma rolled her eyes and huffed out a complaint. “And cookies are just butter and flour. You really do have a lot to learn, my friend.”

  “Great, so teach me. Show me how to make a cheesecake.”

  “Coffee first,” Connie grumbled and slipped away from the group hug to pour herself a big mug of java.

  “And eggs. I’m starving,” Emma said.

  “I’ll help,” Maggie said, but both her friends immediately held their hands up like cops stopping traffic.

  “No, you sit. Mrs. Patrick and I can make breakfast. You’re going to need all your strength for the cheesecake,” Emma warned.

  Her housekeeper chimed in with her agreement.
Maggie looked at the older woman, who said, “Sit, and if you can’t sit, you and Connie can set the table.”

  She helped Connie do just that, made herself a giant cup of coffee, and sat to wait for breakfast. It didn’t take long for the two women to dish out perfectly fluffy and tasty scrambled eggs and crisp, smoky bacon.

  Which just made her think that if breakfast could happen so easily, how much harder could it be to make a cheesecake?

  * * *

  Owen crept in through the french doors in the back, hoping not to wake Jonathan. As he entered stealthily, however, he realized his brother was in the same position he’d left him the night before, sprawled out on the couch with his laptop.

  He was busily typing away until he caught sight of Owen sneaking in.

  “Yo, Bro. I guess you’re glad I dared you to go over last night,” Jonathan said, a smug smile on his face.

  Owen walked over and sat on the coffee table in front of his brother. His brother’s sun-streaked light-brown hair stood up in weird spikes. It looked like Jonathan had dragged his hand through it more than once in frustration. Dark smudges of fatigue sat above the strong suntanned lines of his cheekbones.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve been up all night.” While his father thought Jonathan had no work ethic, Owen knew that Jonathan’s businesses demanded hours that weren’t necessarily nine to five.

  His brother shrugged broad, powerful shoulders. “When the muse hits, you don’t ignore her. I just finished some basic specs for this new fuel cell, and my brain feels like I emptied it all out on the page. I should go get some shut-eye,” he said and powered down his laptop. He glanced in Owen’s direction, his observant inventor’s eyes not missing a thing. “You, on the other hand, look like you got plenty of sleep, which is downright disappointing. I was hoping you’d nailed Maggie last night.”

  Annoyance flared at Jonathan’s crudeness. “I don’t want to ‘nail’ Maggie. I want to make love to her.”

  Jonathan burst out laughing. “Look at you, all Mr. Sensitive Guy. I get it. Maggie has grown up really nice, but it’s too soon for love.”

  On that point, his brother might be right. While he had feelings for Maggie and had had them for some time, he wasn’t quite sure it was love…yet. He knew she had similar feelings, or he could be deluding himself and it was just the allure of being with her because he shouldn’t. Because doing so would royally piss off his father, and in some deep, dark part of himself, he wanted some kind of payback for the years of being told he wasn’t good enough. Ruthless enough. Or maybe it was that he’d lacked a woman’s touch in his life for so long. Since his mother had walked out on them decades earlier, there hadn’t been the tenderness and sense of home that he felt whenever he was with Maggie.

  “Whatever it is, it’s mutual and it’s…”

  He searched for the words to describe the peace he felt when he was with her. What it felt like when passion rose as he kissed her. Touched her and heard the exciting little sounds she made. How his gut twisted when she called out his name as she came and the very Neanderthal satisfaction at knowing he’d been the one to bring her that pleasure.

  At his prolonged silence, Jonathan leaned closer and darted his gaze all across his face. “Fuck, Bro. I take it back. You’ve got it bad for Maggie. She’s the one.”

  Owen pushed off the table and came to his feet, discomfited by the inspection and his brother’s perceptiveness. “I don’t know if she’s the one, but I intend to find out. I invited her and her friends to come over for dinner tonight.”

  “No way. Please tell me you didn’t,” his brother said as he rocketed to his feet and raked his fingers through his disheveled hair again.

  Owen smiled and clapped his brother on the back. “I did. Seemed to me like you and Connie could talk about old times,” he kidded.

  Jonathan shook his head furiously. “Fuck no. That chick is like sand in my shorts, rubbing me the wrong way all the time.”

  Despite his brother’s words, Owen recalled many a night when Jonathan had snuck out and risked himself on the Sinclairs’ wisteria vine in order to see Maggie’s friend. After doing it once, he had no desire to do it ever again.

  He threw his arm around Jonathan’s shoulders for a bro-hug. “I guess you’ll just have to man up for your big bro. Make sure it’s a nice night for the ladies.”

  Jonathan elbowed him playfully and shoved him away. “Because to get into Maggie’s pants, you have to make nice with her friends.”

  To shut up his brother, he said, “I’ve already been in Maggie’s pants, Jon.” He sauntered away, feeling perversely satisfied at the stunned look on Jonathan’s face. But that pleasure faded quickly as he climbed the stairs and thought about Maggie. He wasn’t the kind to kiss and tell, but he trusted Jonathan not to repeat what he’d said. Not that Maggie and he being together was a secret, given the fact that she’d kissed him in full view of her friends.

  She’d kissed him, he thought with a smile and headed to his bedroom to plan.

  If tonight was going to be the night, he wanted everything to be perfect.

  Chapter 12

  Maggie wiped away the bead of sweat running down the side of her face and piped the last of the whipped cream onto the top of the cheesecake. She had no sooner put down the plastic bag with the remnants of the whipped cream than Emma handed her a bar of dark chocolate and a peeler. She eyed her friend dubiously.

  “Chocolate needs to be peeled?”

  Emma rolled her eyes and grabbed the items from her. “So sad,” she teased and proceeded to show her how to use the peeler to create delicate curls of chocolate that she artfully placed on top of the whipped cream. After, she grabbed a small grater and added a dusting of chocolate all across the top.

  When her friend was done, all three of them and Mrs. Patrick examined the cheesecake.

  The older woman clapped her hands together and grinned. “Brava, Maggie. It looks wonderful.”

  Connie said, “I have to say, it actually looks edible.”

  “You might not be as hopeless in the kitchen as I imagined,” Emma added.

  “Well, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Maggie said, pride and humor in her tones.

  Connie glanced at her watch and said with a grimace, “I guess it’s time to go over.”

  “Don’t look so overjoyed,” Emma replied and nudged her friend.

  In one way or another, Connie had been dropping hints all day about how much she didn’t want to do dinner that night, but Maggie wasn’t about to let her off the hook. Especially given Owen’s comments from the night before about her friend and Jonathan.

  Connie’s ongoing displeasure was a sure sign that whatever had happened with Owen’s brother wasn’t resolved. Being forced to face him again might just provide the impetus needed to set that relationship to rights again.

  “Time to go,” Maggie said, grabbed the plate with the cake, and waited for her friends to go ahead of her to open the door.

  Outside, they walked down to the sidewalk and up to the front door of the Pierce home. Unlike her house, there were no planters filled with fragrant and colorful flowers. The beds all along the perfectly manicured lawn contained only pachysandra, ivy, or boxwoods trimmed to within an inch of their lives. Many years earlier, the flower boxes on all the windows that used to overflow with an assortment of blooms had been taken down and never replaced. While the house was well maintained, the life that had once been there had seemed to be sucked away, and the dark scheme of the paint colors on the home only added to the gloom.

  It lacks love, Maggie thought and wondered if it had anything to do with their mother leaving the boys and taking away any hope of happiness with her. Even though she’d lost her mother also, her mom’s vibrant spirit kept the house alive and full of life.

  They had no sooner set foot on the front porch than Owen yanked open the door, smiling bro
adly. He stepped aside and swept his arm wide. “Welcome. Please come in.”

  “Said the spider to the fly,” Connie mumbled beneath her breath, but if Owen heard her comment, he ignored it.

  As Maggie walked in, she held out the plate to him. “I made dessert. It needs to go in the fridge.”

  He nodded and accepted the cheesecake, some surprise on his features. “Thank you. I didn’t know you liked to cook, but it looks wonderful. Why don’t you all follow me to the kitchen? We thought we’d do informal tonight.”

  As they walked through the foyer and living room and back to the kitchen area, Maggie looked around, trying to get a feel for the place where Owen had spent so much of his life. When they had spent time together as kids, they had usually been running around outside on the beach. They’d never spent time inside together, since Owen’s father wouldn’t have tolerated having Maggie inside. As long as he hadn’t seen her, it was fine for her and the boys to play together. But then the boys had stopped coming down, and when they’d returned, the fight between the families had kept them apart.

  There were big, comfortable leather couches in the living room and an immense flat-screen television. The rest of the furniture had a very contemporary feel, so someone had clearly remodeled recently, unlike her home with its period antiques. Here and there was some artwork, mostly landscapes with a beach feel. The shore. Lighthouses. It all came together to have a decidedly masculine feel, but there was another thing she noticed: no family pictures.

  Jonathan was in the kitchen, an apron over his jeans and T-shirt. There was some kind of saying on the shirt, and she recalled that Owen’s brother often wore shirts that said something outrageous or funny. The apron covered whatever this one said.

  As they walked into the kitchen, Jonathan moved away from the stove, and with a broad smile on his face, he sauntered over and hugged her. “Nice to see you again, Maggie.” He embraced Emma next, bantering with her as he did so. “How’s the world’s best wedding planner doing?”