Hot Flash (21 page)

“That’s not what I mean. I mean travel a lot.”

“I travel every day—to and from school.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“Well, you could have fooled me and my car odometer.”

“You come home every night.”

“And this is a problem?”

“Yeah. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“What about
Out of sight, out of mind?”

He had me on that one. But so many happily married women couldn’t be wrong. “Have you ever considered changing careers?”

“Have you?”

“Why would I change careers?”

“You’d make one hell of an interrogator. Maybe you should work for the CIA.”

“Ha-ha. You’re so very not funny.”

“Go sit down at the table and I’ll bring in dinner.”

“There’s only one thing worrying me.”

“What’s that?”

“You mentioned Step 2-A. That means there’s gotta be a Step 2-B.”

“I’m not telling you that one until after we eat.”

“Don’t forget, this is
not
a date. I’m not going out with you.”

“You only date old men who travel. Got it.” He seemed a bit huffy, but I had to be honest, didn’t I?

As directed, I took my seat at the table. The stack of surveys on my desk was in my direct line of vision. All those women had to be right. The problem was obviously me, or perhaps my taste in men.

I’d crashed and burned with two salesmen, and when I finally kissed someone and enjoyed it, he was as far from a traveling salesman as you could get. Plus, a teacher’s pay barely covers necessities, not expensive colleges.

Davin’s a homebody, a caretaker, a nurturer. Hell, from the happy whistles coming from the kitchen, he even enjoyed cooking. You’d think, since I’m a chef that would be a good thing. But it’s not if you’re looking for a guy waiting on his next flight outta town.

Davin kept whistling. How could he go from huffy to happy so quickly?

Hopefully, he didn’t think there was anything between us, or going to be anything between us. I would let him down easy; it was the least I could do since he was making dinner for me.

Next, I heard noise in the living room. Cocking my head, I saw Davin fiddling with the stereo, then the sound of classical music gently playing in the background.

Nice touch.

He brought plates into the dining room, with everything served up already, and set one in front of me. “One sec, I’ll be back with our tea.”

“Not wine?”

“I can’t afford not to be clearheaded around you.” He brought in two tall glasses of iced tea and set them on the table before taking a seat.

“It looks really good.” The pork was flawlessly cooked and the mac and cheese had the perfect consistency. Even the salad looked crisp and inviting.

“Dig in,” he said, waiting for me to start.

I forked a bite of salad and as I brought it to my lips, the aroma of tarragon assailed my senses, reminding me of our kiss. I dashed the thought away and took the bite. “Great dressing.”

Still, he didn’t eat. “Try the pork chops.”

I diced off a slice and tasted it. “Tender. Good.”

He seemed to relax and began eating, too, casually making periodic small talk. “Stephen said mac and cheese is his favorite food.”

“He loves it. Even the microwave packet kind.”

While Davin chatted amicably about his day at school, I devoured the yummy meal he’d prepared. After such a crappy day at work, it was nice being pampered.

As we completed our meal, the dining room seemed a bit too domestic, too cozy, too comfortable, so I grabbed my plate and stood. “I think I have some cheesecake if you want some?”

“That would be great.” Davin allowed me to take his plate, as well. “While you get dessert, I’ll check on Stephen to see how his homework is coming.”

“Thanks. Maybe you can ask him if he wants some cheesecake, too?”

By the time I returned from the kitchen, I expected Davin to have returned, but he was just exiting Stephen’s room and heading down the hall with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Does he want cheesecake?” I asked.

Davin shook his head. “Said he’s full.” He took his seat at the table again but seemed to be distracted.

“Is something wrong with Stephen?”

“No.” He took a sip of tea. “Yes. Maybe.”

“What’s up?”

“Have you noticed what he’s been painting lately?”

“Mona Lisa?”

“He’s moved on to Matisse.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes. It’s probably nothing.” He looked a little concerned but didn’t say anything more.

I made a mental note to check on Stephen as soon as Davin left. I took a bite of the cheesecake. Unfortunately, the slices were too small for any sustained conversational avoidance. All I could think about was Step 2-B and whether it involved more kissing.

No matter how good a kisser Davin was, it wouldn’t be fair for me to encourage him to kiss me again. Would it?

And it would be silly for me to kiss someone who was totally not my type.

So why couldn’t I stop thinking about it? I became increasingly nervous and increasingly more klutzy, dropping my fork, my napkin, clunking my tea glass against the side of my plate, while Davin silently watched me making a fool of myself.

I jumped up from the table. “You cooked. I get to clean.”

“Is that a rule, or do you want help?”

“It’s a firm rule. Your turn to relax.”

He stood, stuck a hand in his jeans pocket, and withdrew a set of keys. “I’ve got some papers to grade, so I’d better head out now.”

“What about your dishes?”

“I’ll get them from Stephen later.”

He meant it? This really wasn’t a date? Then my eyes narrowed. What about Step 2-B? Since he was so crafty, I’d have to stay on my toes until he was safely gone. “I’ll walk you to the door, then.”

“Night, Stephen,” Davin called to my son from the other side of his door.

“Night,” came Stephen’s muffled response.

We went to the door and I opened it, wondering when Davin was going to make whatever move he had up his sleeve.

But surprisingly, he did nothing except walk outside into the hallway. “Night, Jill.”

“Night.” Just as I closed the door, he placed his hand in it to keep it from closing.

He asked, “Aren’t you going to ask about Step 2-B?”

“I wondered when we were getting to that.”

He leaned forward and gave me the sweetest, most tender kiss. It lasted only seconds, but made a lasting impression on me.

He pulled back. “Time for Step 3. Night.”

As I watched him walk down the hall, I realized how totally nefarious his scheme had been and I had played right into his hands. I didn’t get the chance to let him down easy, because he didn’t ask for anything. And his kiss had achieved exactly his goal. It left me wanting more.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Dear Ms. Storm,

Your survey was great and I’ve enclosed my answers.

Since you’re obviously searching for Mr. Right, I have a tip to offer for
after
you find him. The secret to a happy marriage is to have
separate checking accounts
. Each of you needs your own money that you don’t have to account for to the other, even if it’s only a tiny amount.

So many couples argue over money and I’ve found this to be a great way to avoid that trap.

Please let me know when you find Mr. Right. I’d love to hear back from you.

Yours truly,

After Davin’s dire hints about Stephen, I almost ran to his bedroom, although I like to think my stance was more dignified than a true sprint. When I opened Stephen’s bedroom door and peeked inside, everything appeared to be perfectly normal.

Stephen stood in front of his easel, painting his soul out. The room was, as usual, strewn with his various books, dirty laundry, and assorted miscellaneous dishes and discarded sneakers. It was a bedroom that even my mother would have been unable to keep clean.

Davin must have been delusional. Stephen was fine. But just in case, I asked, “You okay?”

“Fine. Just busy.” He barely turned his head to acknowledge me and his paintbrush didn’t seem to break stride.

There was nothing worrisome here. Nothing to create concern in even the most obsessive of parents.

Wesley had merely done it to me again.

I quietly shut the door, leaving Stephen alone with the muse that so often stole my sweet son away. I headed back to the living room, only thinking a little about Davin and about waiting. I most definitely was not going to think about his lips.

In order to get my mind off Davin and the whole wanting-more routine, I checked the time. It was only half past seven. A quick call to Goodwill ascertained they were still open. Less than fifteen minutes later, I arrived and entered the store.

Within seconds, I found myself wailing, “What do you mean you don’t have my skillet?”

“We sold it,” said the saleswoman.

I checked her name tag. Maybe the personal touch would help. “Meg, can you check, please, because I called ahead? I made sure you had it. The woman I spoke with said she would put it aside for me.”

“I don’t know who you spoke with, but the skillet sold less than an hour ago.”

“Are you positive?” I felt a hot flash coming on and desperately wanted to remove every stitch of my clothing. Perspiration streamed from my forehead. I didn’t care how old my mom had been when she went into menopause. I was too young for it.

My face must have become bright red, because the saleswoman added defensively, “I sold it myself.”

I felt like banging my head on the counter that separated us. This could not be happening. “But it wasn’t your skillet to sell. It was mine. Someone stole it from me and gave it to Goodwill. There has to be a mistake.”

“I’m so sorry.” Meg patted my hand to comfort me. “There’s not much I can do, except, you know what? The woman who bought it comes in all the time. The next time she comes in, I can ask her to call you.”

A sense of relief washed over me. Or maybe it was because the hot flash had abated. My skillet couldn’t be gone forever. I had to get it back. Without it, I was like a sailboat without a sail, a target without a bull’s-eye, a book without any pages.

Within a few minutes, I gave Meg my contact information. While I didn’t leave the store in a perky mood, there was a chance, at least, that ultimately my skillet would be returned.

The woman who bought it would come in, get my number, call me, and readily agree to sell me back my skillet. Then everything would seem more right in my world.

Maybe I’d even find the perfect traveling salesman to fulfill my sexual fantasies and pay Stephen’s tuition.

Anything could happen.

Right?

I’m always nervous about introducing a good friend to other good friends for the first time, especially when I introduce someone to Connie, Susan, and MaryEllen. Introducing Mandy, who’s gorgeous, gorgeous, and more gorgeous, felt like a huge risk. Luckily, Mandy is not only beautiful, she has brains and a hilarious outlook on life.

On our usual night out, I asked Mandy to come with me. Connie, Susan, and MaryEllen adored her. And MaryEllen particularly loved the free booze.

“What are we going to do with all these drinks?” asked Susan as she eyed the tray of watermelon martinis the server, Samantha, was delivering to our table.

We were seated at our favorite table by the plate glass window at our favorite neighborhood bar. Susan, of course, was drinking water because she was due to deliver in just over three weeks.

“Chug ‘em.” Connie tossed back one of the three martinis sitting in front of her on the table.

Mandy is a man magnet, hence all the free booze. Since our arrival, drink after drink had been delivered, all bribes from hopeful men. Hopeful-to-meet-Mandy men, I mean.

“Who are these from?” Mandy asked Sam.

Sam was our favorite server and knew us all by name. She pointed to a handsome stockbroker type by the bar.

Mandy held up her drink, mouthed, “Thank you,” then turned and totally ignored him. Like she’d done with the last three guys. A couple of them had actually approached her, but she’d quickly sent them on their way. She was only interested in nerds and they weren’t the type who sent drinks to women in bars. “They aren’t the type to actually be
in
a bar,” Mandy explained. “Unless there’s some kind of computer bar?”