Dressed in White

by Diana Stone

  Wrapping both arms around my back, he rolls us over, away from the edge.

  He looks down at me, with a questioning expression.

  I fix that by propping myself up on my elbows and kissing him. “Sorry, I’m a bit clumsy.”

  “I’m OK with that—you’re also sexy,” he ogles me and grins.

  He is the hottest man I’ve ever, um—had. It isn’t just his fitness, it’s his attitude. While intense, he’s taking life as it comes, not stressing over it. It’s like he knows he can handle anything. I like that kind of man… one with skills to handle common problems. And uncommon ones, too.

  * * *

  The sun is fully up. It’s a work day with code enforcement. I can make it if I leave in the next five minutes. But I don’t want to! I want to lie here and enjoy this. If I dash out the door, it will vanish. I have a day of banked overtime. So I quietly reach for my phone and text my boss that I’ll be taking today off. There, it’s done. There isn’t a problem, they know we have our personal lives, and if there’s nothing urgent at the office, it’s fine. Ahh. Wonderful. I change my phone’s do not disturb time to much later; in case someone thinks they need to call me.

  I glance at the man in my bed. He’s awake.

  Rolling onto his side he asks, “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving!”

  “Would you like to go out, or do you prefer your own cooking?”

  “I’m not at my best in the kitchen.”

  He laughs. “Does that mean you’d rather eat out?”

  “Not really. I get tired of restaurant food, especially omelets. They’re either saturated in butter, or have too many onions and green peppers.”

  “You can have them leave out peppers and onions,” he suggests.

  “I know. How about if we have omelets here?” I pause, “I mean, scrambled eggs done in a pan, or the microwave, with cheese and stuff.” I’m not sure what kind of stuff I have.

  “That works for me,” he smiles.

  “Are you always this easy going, or is it the afterglow?”

  He laughs again, “I’m pretty easy going, as long as I get my way.”

  “Oh, that sounds like most men.”

  “I’m kidding. I eat healthy, but I was thinking we might want to stay away from public places until this dies down.”

  “I’m fine with that, as long as it doesn’t mean you’re saying that to several other women, to keep us all hidden.”

  “Not a chance. I’m too busy to be interested in multiple ladies.”

  I hate this topic; it’s time to change it. I usually start feeling jealous and annoyed. I’ll bring back the lightness.

  “Glad to hear it. Let’s make our way to the kitchen. I’ll text Nikki that you’re here.” I roll out of bed.

  “You have a great body, you know that?” he sounds throaty.

  “Thank you, I try.” Lord knows I try. I’m crazy-careful about calories. That’s the only way to stay slim.

  I’m not thrilled about walking around naked, so I rummage through my drawers, and slip on a shirt and jeans. “I’d offer you a t-shirt, but it won’t fit.”

  Once I’m dressed, I text Nikki. “Remember the guy with the white Pegasus tattoo? He’ll be making breakfast with me this morning. I don’t know about the rest of the day. I’m not pushing it.”

  I open the bedroom door, and there’s Cami, my tortoiseshell cat. Oops, she was locked out all night. “Sorry, I forgot.”

  “Kitty.” Quinn bends down to say hi as she comes over to introduce herself.

  “You like cats?”

  “Yeah. Mom likes to feed strays. It was my job to put out food. They got pretty friendly.”

  He passed my cat test. That’s nice to know.

  Nikki replies: “Yeah, I knew you had a thing for him. I’ll be out for several hours, the house is yours.”

  “Nikki alright with me being here?” he queries.

  “Yes, see,” I hand him the phone.

  He smiles.

  Yup, my interest has been building. He has an uncanny ability to be everywhere at the right time. Plus, his skills are amazing, and I don’t mean just in bed. I hoped he was former military or law enforcement. It seems he’s both. I like talent, and men who are above average, way above average.

  I open the fridge. “Ohhh. This doesn’t look good.”

  “What?” He peers around the door.

  “I’m out of eggs. Nikki doesn’t eat them, so I can’t borrow any.” Now what?

  I stand here, pondering, and beginning to stress-out.

  My happy morning is falling apart. I have nothing to keep him here. “Soup?”

  “Are you talking homemade, or from a can?”

  “A can. I’m sorry, it looks like the fridge is bare.” My stress is building.

  “Don’t worry. I can eat later.”

  He sounds like he’s alright with going hungry, but I doubt that. Looking at his physique, it didn’t get that way from starving himself.

  I try to bounce back to my perky self, “I’d like to feed you. Maybe you’re stirring my feminine qualities.”

  He tugs my arm from the handle, letting the door close. Then he steps into the empty space. “Don’t worry, it’s really okay.”

  “I have protein powder, peanut butter and apples. I can make a good shake…?” it comes out like a plea.

  He laughs. A real laugh. Then he sighs and says, “Sure, let’s have one. Then we can go somewhere I know we’ll eat well.”

  “Are you sure you want to be seen with me?”

  “Heather wouldn’t be caught dead in my part of town. I know the area. Remember, I grew up there. I know the streets and who runs them. That’s where we met—while you were driving around, sticking out in that big white truck of yours in the middle of the night,” he chuckles to himself, remembering.

  “Thanks for helping get Monica’s cat back! Looking back, it was fun, though you were a loose-cannon.”

  “It required me to act the part of a young drug dealer. I couldn’t deviate, or it would blow months of work. You threw a wrench in it.” His brown eyes go darker. “I didn’t want you hurt, but you kept getting in deeper. Especially when the crazy dealer found you to her liking.”

  What she really wanted was me. Ugh.

  I don’t hold it against him for letting me get deeper into her clutches. He was under cover, and I was just a fun girl looking for a kidnapped cat.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t like that I left you after her Kentucky dinner. Of course, I knew the police were coming, but I had no idea the other gang was going to attack. That was an unknown.” He looks down to his shirt covering the scar on his chest.

  The scar I hadn’t asked about because I hate to be one of those women who are impressed by scars. So now I know. It isn’t a horrific scar; I think he got lucky. Of course, a few inches lower and it would have been a different matter.

  “I couldn’t wear Kevlar. It could’ve been really bad,” he remembers.

  “I didn’t go to your funeral. I saw the obituary online and felt sad for you and your family.”

  He pulls me into his arms. “Freddie didn’t have a family, and my mother didn’t know what I was up to.” He brightens up. “Come on, let’s talk about something better.”

  “Right, like the two guys who broke in the house, while I tried to run them over?” That’s another interesting conversation.

  “No… come on. We’ll have a shake, then see what someone with a restaurant can make for us.”

  “Oh, is he a good cook?”

  “Yes, but you may not like traditional Mexican. Though she can make anything taste good,” He proudly says. “Her restaurant is in the heart of Lompoc. Those are her customers.”

  “Oh.” I have the horrific image of pieces of tripe in a stew of pork, garbanzo beans, and green peppers. I’m beginning to feeling sick.

  “You should see your face!” He has a good belly-laugh, slapping his thigh with his palm. “Don’t worry, I won’t subject you to anythin
g like what you’re thinking.”

  “How do you know what I’m thinking?”

  “Sweetie, I’m trained in interrogation. Plus, your expression says everything.”

  He called me sweetie. I wonder if this is an after-sex term he uses, or if it’s something more.

  “I’ll try to be brave.” I’m never brave with my food. I can’t handle slabs of steak, or whole fish with eyes. Anything that looks like the animal it came from makes me squeamish.

  I press blend to swirl my apple, peanut butter, and whey protein. That’s more my style. But for this man, I will visit a traditional Mexican restaurant, and hope he’s as aware of my eating habits as he seems to be.

  * * *

  As we step out the door, it occurs to me I may be doing the driving. “Where’s your car?”

  “It’s behind the shed by the pond,” he has a bright smile.

  “How did you sneak it up the driveway in broad daylight?” I was sitting outside. It’s in plain view.

  “I didn’t take the driveway, I took the long way around.”

  “Huh, I didn’t know there was a long way. I’ve never monitored that side of the vineyard.”

  “That’s how I creep around; by being in unmonitored areas and looking inconspicuous.”

  “You’re like a chameleon. Each time you’re different.”

  “Yep.” One word says it all.

  “I wonder if I should be concerned.” I look at him, squinting my eyes for effect.

  Is this his true self, or one of his personas?

  He looks thoughtful.

  I let it go, as we walk down, past the barn to the shed by the pond. I would never have looked here.

  “This is a nice car. Doesn’t it make you stick out?”

  “Yes and no. When I was transferring Aquamarine’s laundered money, I needed to look the part. I’m still acting as the same character while they’re running loose.”

  “I won’t expose you while wearing this wig.” I’m wearing my messy, brown-haired one. “At the rate I’m using these, I should probably buy a few more.”

  “I can show you how to change your look using the same ones. You can dye them if you don’t want a whole collection.”

  I slump low in my seat, to be less obvious, just in case. I also see him frequently checking the mirrors and keeping an eye on our surroundings.

  After crossing the 101 in Buellton, I sit upright again. They won’t come this far out of town. The roads are less traveled, and there are fields on both sides for mile after mile. Memories come back from when I wore the wire for the Sheriff’s Department. It’s a strange twist to be with Freddie once again. I prefer Quinn, but they’re both the same.

  “You’re quiet,” he prompts.

  “Just thinking about the old-days with you,” I look over at him. I feel emotion slamming me pretty hard. He’s something of a bad-boy who isn’t, and a good-guy who pretends not to be.

  He reaches across and takes my hand. He lifts it to his lips and kisses my palm.

  15

  Lunch

  The old building is made of pink stucco, with the name Valentina’s painted in giant black letters across the front. Purple bougainvillea vines are growing up the sides and over entrance. It’s in keeping with the neighborhood.

  “Is your friend’s name Valentina?” I picture her in red lace and black nylons. Or, she could be obese, and draped in a thick fabric.

  “No, it’s Elisa,” he chuckles. “You’ll be surprised, I promise you.”

  I pull off my wig and fluff my hair. I shouldn’t be concerned about meeting her, I’m an adult, not a young girl.

  We step in the back door, past the kitchen with kitchen smells of meat and frying food. Oh dear. Quinn grabs my hand to encourage me along.

  “Elisa,” he lets go and hugs a woman. I can’t see her over his shoulder. He steps back. “I’d like you to meet Jessica,” he smiles at me. A big smile. “Jess this is my mother Elisa. Also known as Valentina.

  Oh. She isn’t his friend, she’s his mother! And she isn’t at all what I imagined. She’s slim, dark haired, and beautiful.

  “Good morning. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I quickly recover and extend my hand.

  “Jessica,” she looks me over. “It’s nice to meet the woman my son has been talking about.”

  “He’s been talking about me?” I whip a look at Quinn. That sounds interesting.

  “Mom, come on,” he grumbles, and takes control of the conversation before it deteriorates into a discussion about him. “We’re here for lunch, but nothing too authentic for our little wimp.” He lightly pats my shoulder, like he’s pacifying me.

  “No problem. We’ll make lunch any way you like. I think he means you’d prefer less fat, and meat, and more vegetables?”

  “That sounds about right. Thank you.”

  “Go find a seat, I’ll have the guys make something good.”

  Through the kitchen door, out to the crowded dining area… the place doesn’t look like you’d expect from the outside. There are sky lights and plants, lattice and benches. The décor is like a lush Mexican garden.

  Once seated, I can’t contain myself. “OK, she’s not what I expected, and what’s with the exterior vs the interior looking so different?”

  “The building has been here forever. Mom wanted the outside kept traditional. But the inside is for her. It’s like a secret only the insiders know. But everyone in town knows, so it really isn’t a secret.”

  “I have to process this, it’s unexpected. You didn’t let me know she’s beautiful. That explains how she captured the eye of a pilot. I’d been wondering how a dowdy woman could do that.”

  It also explains his dark hair, smooth skin, and nice features under the hard muscles and tattoos. If he were a horse, I’d say he has really good bloodlines.

  We chat about the restaurant and its décor, but stay away from personal subjects. I’d like to know more about him, but it will have to come later. I won’t dig for more. I’m smart enough to let it come in small bites.

  Here comes lunch, carried on a traditional aluminum tray. A bowl of soup is placed in front of Quinn, and another for me.

  I look down, and see plenty of carrots, zucchini and chunks of tomato. It looks fresh.

  I smile and look up—into his laughing eyes. “What? My soup looks great.”

  He points to his, “Right, but mine is traditional,” he grins.

  “How traditional?” I peer across the table.

  He takes a spoon and gently stirs the ingredients. “Let’s see—tripe, and it’s hot and spicy.”

  “Oh.” I carefully stir mine. I don’t see pieces of cow’s stomach floating around. I take only part of a spoonful to taste. Nope, it isn’t hot either. I’m pretty sure it is safe.

  “She wouldn’t do that to you. It’s vegetable,” he looks mildly scornful.

  Yikes, I can’t have him losing attraction this soon. I dig in and chew with gusto. “Delicious!”

  He does the same. “I agree. I love Menudo.”

  “Just so you know, it’s not that I’m a snob. I don’t like shrimp, or lobster either.”

  “You mentioned that before. It’s alright, you can eat your vegetables. You don’t have to build muscle like I do.”

  Our conversation settles down to other topics, like the area, and what it was like when he was a kid growing up in the rough part of town.

  The next course arrives: Two chicken breast tacos with lettuce, slices of ripe avocado, and a chunky mango salsa that looks delicious. I wait for Quinn to be served, then I take a big bite. “It’s good, I mean it’s great!”

  He has four tacos. They’re different from mine. “What did you get?” I inquire between bites.

  “Pork. I like to stay close to my roots. I can pretty much eat anything without getting squeamish. It’s a requirement when out-of-country.”

  “Ah. I was a little wimpy girl who would rather go to bed hungry than eat something she didn’t like.”


  He laughs, “You’re cute. I don’t mind—eat what you want.”

  I think he realizes I’m not on a high-horse, I’m just not a brave eater.

  Elisa comes out and makes her rounds. She’s chatting with her customers and making everyone feel at home. When she arrives at our table, she asks if I enjoyed lunch.

  “It was delicious. I like your mango salsa.”

  “Thank you. I love my kitchen,” she smiles happily. “Would you like anything else?” She looks at her son.

  “No, I’m good.” He looks at me, “How about you, Jess?”

  “It was perfect. Thanks for making non-traditional for me. I really appreciate it.”

  “We’ve grown up eating every part of the animal, but I’m well aware not everyone likes it that way.” She looks at Quinn with a smile. “Like your father.”

  “Yeah, that’s true. I inherited your palate.”

  She heads off to speak with a group coming in the door, and I’m left thinking about Quinn’s dad.

  “Are you ready?” he asks.

  “Yup. Thank you for lunch. It was nice.”

  He smiles.

  We say goodbye to Elisa. He says he’ll be right out, meaning I should go on without him. I guess he has something say to her. No, I don’t assume it’s about me. It never is, when people think they’re being talked about.

  I stand under the shady trellis. It’s kind of nice, like it’s the old, but not too-old, history of Lompoc.

  He comes out with a smile, and his arm goes around my waist. I get a soft kiss on my cheek. Hmm, that’s nice. It shows a gentleness that may mean something. Or may not.

  “Do you want to drive around, or maybe see the mission? We don’t have many tourist attractions,” he gives me a sideways grin.

  “I’ve had problems at the mission in Santa Ynez. Maybe this one is safer. It would be fun to go with a man who can kick ass.”

  “What happens at a mission? Did a ghost scare you?”

  “That sounds fun, but no, an outraged crook tried to make me tell him where the evidence was. I didn’t, so he got violent—very violent. He liked inflicting pain.” I see Quinn’s expression, so hurry to add, “Don’t worry, he met his maker at the end of a horseshoer’s hoof rasp.”