Hot Flash (18 page)

I held up my glass to clink against his.

“To new relationships.”

That was a nice thing for him to say. I added, “To new friends.”

We each took a sip. So I’m thinking that maybe Aiden’s a little different, but none of his foibles were enough to take away from his assets, either. I lit the candles on the table. “Have a seat while I bring in the salad.”

It was while I was bringing in the second course that I realized he could still see himself in the mirror and was continuing with his Harrison Ford impressions every time I left the room. This was getting past the foibles stage and heading directly into eccentric territory.

As he bit into the prime rib, he looked like he’d found heaven. “This is incredibly wonderful.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Actually, I love it when someone praises my cooking, so I sort of glowed under his attention.

“I’ll get dessert,” I said as we finished our main course. Taking both plates to the kitchen, I paused, wondering if it was me or if Aiden was decidedly nuts. Surely these were just little flaws, the kind of thing that annoys you a bit, but not the type that drives you away entirely? Sort of like squeezing the toothpaste at the wrong end or leaving the toilet seat up?

I was still very attracted to Aiden, and he was very successful according to Mandy, so he couldn’t be
that
nuts. I added a few toasted almonds to top off the Chocolate Pots de Crème, then returned to the dining room.

He took one bite of dessert, then said the exactly perfect words to redeem himself. “This has got to be the best meal I’ve ever had in my entire life. You’re brilliant.”

I love praise, so sue me. Nothing can butter me up more than flattery. And Aiden’s kind words got me in the mood to get started with his audition.

I stood and began gathering dishes to take to the kitchen and Aiden pitched in to help, too.

“I’ll dry if you’ll wash,” he said.

I filled the sink with hot water and bubbles, then Aiden grabbed the dishwashing liquid and added a little more.

“I like bubbles, don’t you?” he asked in a bedroom voice and my knees nearly buckled with longing. How could he seem so weird one moment and the next seem so incredibly sexy?

The kitchen felt very homey and cozy while we worked our way through the dishes. As we finished, Aiden leaned over the sink, gathered a dollop of suds on his finger, and dabbed it on my nose. “That’s more like it.”

I removed it with his towel. He leaned forward and kissed me.

You can tell a lot from a man’s kiss. Some kisses tell you that you’re just friends, some say the guy’s not certain about you, other kisses say they want to be much more than friends.

Aiden’s kiss said:
Wow! I ‘m totally into you.

My arm wound itself around his neck and we smooched some more. Then he gentled his kiss and stepped back.

He was a skilled kisser and I wasn’t ready to stop. “Something wrong?”

“No. Very right.”

“But?”

“The kitchen counter is digging into my right hip,” Aiden groused.

“Want to go in the living room?”

He nodded. As we left the kitchen, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “Your kissing is as good as your cooking. Are you sure you’re available?”

“I’m positive.” I laughed. “Guys aren’t exactly banging down my door.”

“Stupid guys.” We took a seat on the sofa and he gazed into my eyes. It was one of those soulful gazes. You know the kind I mean, where you feel like you’re looking directly into his heart?

However, that was when Aiden noticed the mirror over the TV set. Then he started with the damn impressions again.

“Check this out.” He pointed to the mirror. “Don’t I look just like Harrison Ford when he’s angry?”

“Spittin’ image.” Wanting to get his attention back on the subject of us and off Harrison Ford I said, “I never knew salesmen could kiss like you.”

He continued his facial antics, but commented, “Oh, I’m not a salesman.” He made a brooding face at his reflection. “Nope, left those days long behind me.”

He wasn’t a salesman? Shit. “But I met you at the Classical Cookware sales convention!”

“True.” He turned back to gaze into my eyes and I was wondering what his job now was, when he gave me a bedroom look.

Even if he wasn’t a salesman, maybe he’d be gone a lot? A girl could hope. Visions of being a golf widow danced in my head. The only problem was that golf wouldn’t take him away from home for three weeks at a time. “So, do you travel a lot?”

“Not as much as I used to. I’ve finally gotten to the place where I choose when, where, and with whom I travel. I’ve reached my business goals and realized I’d been neglecting my personal goals. Right now I’m looking to settle down, find the right woman, and …” He kissed my nose when he said that, but I didn’t find it nearly as admirable as I’d found his caresses earlier. “Plant roots, you know?”

Plant roots?
What did he mean by that? “Are you planning to buy a house?”

“I already own a great place. You’ll love it.”

By planting roots, he couldn’t mean … “You mean, have kids?”

“Yeah. You’ve got a toddler, right?”

“I have a son. Stephen’s seventeen, not a really a child anymore.”

“Where is he? I’d like to meet him.”

“He’s with his other mother,” I said, still trying to process the fact that Aiden was not a salesman, didn’t travel a lot, and wanted to start a family. I was way past the point of wanting babies!

It might seem shallow, but I’m ripe, not desperate. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t want to live life without my son, but just as assuredly, I didn’t want to start playing Mommy again at my age. I needed college tuition, not day care expenses. I was ready for fun and a little freedom from the responsibilities of parenthood. Dammit, I wanted three weeks off, followed by a week of sex so hot it melted asphalt. That and my son’s education financed.

“Steps can be a pain, can’t they?”

I must have looked at him with confusion, because at first I didn’t know what he meant, then realized he thought Stephen was with a stepmother because I’d mentioned him being with his other mother.

Aiden evidently misinterpreted my look to mean I was asking if he’d ever been married. “Not that I know from personal experience, but my sister has to deal with her ex-husband’s new wife all the time.”

He made another face at the mirror and I slowly pulled away from him. This wasn’t the time to explain about Stormy. Talk about splashing cold water on any lurking libido I might still retain. If there was any chance of a future between us, I’d have taken the time to explain about Stormy. Without a reason, though, it would merely be a waste of words. It wasn’t likely there would ever be a time, either.

The good news was I didn’t have to get kicked out of a restaurant to figure this out.

The bad news was I wasn’t sure how to get rid of Aiden.

“My sister’s children are great,” he added. “Most kids are really cool.”

“They are.” Let me digress for a moment. Sometimes little white lies aren’t so bad. Sometimes lying is the most polite way of getting out of awkward situations. Actually, I’m always guilt ridden over the tiniest of lies. It’s not something I do often or ever do well. Between the golf swings and impressions, I wasn’t sure this guy’s pilot lights were all burning. A little white lie suddenly seemed the right choice—and the only sane one. And so it was that I lied through my teeth. “I’m sorry, Aiden. I really like you, but I can’t have more kids.”

“We could adopt?” He looked at me hopefully.

I shook my head. Sometimes white lies work, and this one did.

We chatted for a bit, but he seemed uncomfortable. At last he said, “Sorry, but I should be heading out now. Got an early morning.”

He gave me another kiss, but this one didn’t jingle my nerve endings as the first one had.

“You sure about the kids?” he asked, rising from the sofa.

“Certain.”

He nodded. “Want to have sex anyway?”

“No, thanks.” I led him to the door and opened it for him.

“Thanks for the incredible dinner.”

The nice thing was Aiden didn’t tell me that he’d call, because we both knew he wouldn’t. We parted amicably because neither of us had expectations the other didn’t. He took another air putt and I felt genuinely relieved that I’d never have to go out with him again, not even on a mercy date.

And I did a little air putt of my own.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Re: Marriage Survey

Dear Ms. Storm,

Who put you up to this practical joke? One of the inmates at the state pen? If my ex-husband had anything to do with this, then you’re an accomplice in violating his restraining order.

Do not communicate with me again.

When you have children, there are certain things you know you’re signing on for, such as middle-of-the-night feedings, potty training, and the terrible twos. However, there are some things other parents never mention, probably because misery loves company and they don’t want to scare potential parents off.

These items include the impossibility of communicating with a teenager, functioning as a prison guard when it comes to homework, and the item that most bothers me as a single mother, the fact that I no longer have possessions. My teenage son thinks what’s mine is his and what’s his is his.

It’s not hard to understand why I wandered around that morning, with my hair in a towel, aimlessly searching my apartment for my missing blow-dryer. What had Stephen done with it?

I was looking beneath the sofa cushions when the phone rang.

Connie’s name came up on the caller ID. I yanked up the receiver. “Have you been avoiding my calls? Are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“So you’re merely avoiding me.”

Connie sighed. “Do you want to do brunch or not?”

As far as invitations go, it was particularly ungracious, but Connie wouldn’t do better so there was no point in razzing her. “Brunch it is.”

We agreed on a time and I hung up the call to the sound of my front door opening.

“Hey, kiddo. You’re home early from Stormy’s,” I said to Stephen. His friend Tom, a gangly computer geek, came in, then headed straight to the kitchen and began looking through the cupboards.

Following, I asked, “Busy with something?”

“Oui
. Tom and I are working on a project.”

“Stormy doing okay?”

“Bien.”
He rolled his eyes and opened the door to the pantry. “Are we out of olive oil?”

“Is that what you’re looking for?”

“Oui.”

I went to the spice rack and pulled out the olive oil, noting the items they’d piled on the counter: two eggs, a cup of milk, some leftover Vegas Pudding from my date the night before—and a potato???

“Merci beaucoup.”

“What are you cooking?” I asked Tom.

“We’re not cooking,” he said. “This is for our project.”

“Science project?” I couldn’t think of any other type that would require food because I knew he wasn’t taking any home ec or cooking classes.

“Sorta,” replied Stephen as he and Tom headed to Stephen’s room.

Tom snickered as if Stephen’s reply to me was funny, raising my maternal antenna. “You’re not making drugs with that stuff, are you?”

Stephen stopped and turned back.
“Non.”
He didn’t look guilty.

“You’re not using drugs?”

“Only if you consider lead paint pigment a drug.”

I eyed the blue spikes on his head. “You’re not using it on your hair, are you?”

“Non.”

“Then I guess the lead paint is safe?” I glanced in the refrigerator, wondering if I’d been distracted enough by dinner preparations yesterday that I’d accidentally put the blow-dryer in there.

“I’m careful.”

“Good.” The dryer wasn’t in the fridge or the pantry or the bathroom. “Do you know what happened to my blow-dryer?”

“I borrowed it. Sorry.”

Stephen ran to get it. I met him halfway as he came out of his room. When he gave me the blow-dryer, his guarded expression puzzled me. He and Tom were obviously up to something.

I tried to see past him into his bedroom, but he was tall enough to block my view. All I could make out was Tom looking at something on an easel. Obviously whatever they were doing involved “art,” so they couldn’t be up to much trouble. “Connie and I are going out for brunch. Do you and Tom want to come with?”

“No time. Tom’s only got a couple of hours to help me before he has to go home.”

“Too bad. By the way, I also couldn’t find my pumice stone …”

“Um, I used it. Just a sec.”

He came back a second later with the pumice. It had been ground down to a mere shadow of its former stonely shape. “What did you use it for, sanding furniture?”

“I needed it to smooth out a canvas.
J’ai regret.”
His eyes darted furtively.

“What is going on, kiddo? Did something happen at Stormy’s last night?”

“Nothing’s going on and nothing happened at Stormy’s. And before you ask, I don’t have an inner woman aching to break out.”

“Fine.”

He went back to his bedroom, closing the door loudly enough to be heard, but softly enough not to qualify as a slam.