“My pleasure. I’m enjoying working with you.”
I smile, unable to help myself from confessing. “I’m enjoying working with you, too. Even though you’re supposed to be the enemy.”
He grins back. “What will it take to convince you that I mean no harm?”
“Don’t tear down my building.” Even though I’m still smiling, I’m dead serious. And more than a little disappointed when he doesn’t respond definitively. I place my hand on the door handle, the light momentlost like a feather floating away on a soft breeze. “I should go.”
Before I can open the door, he opens his. “Wait. Let me get the door for you.”
He jogs around and opens the passenger door, extending a hand to help me out. “Do you need to go inside for anything? I don’t want to leave you here alone at night.”
I realize he’s still holding my hand firmly in his. It’s comforting, not controlling, the warmth enveloping me like a hug. I’m not ready to break the connection, despite his non-response to my comment about the building. Maybe I just need to work harder at convincing him of the value of tradition. “Can I show you something inside?” It’s something I might have revealed that day I shared my vintage collection with him, had we not been interrupted by George.
“Sure.”
I unlock the front door with the original old-fashioned brass key. Once inside, I disable the alarm system, a modern necessity for this old structure. “I want to show you one of my favorite things about this building since you said you like vintage things, too. Follow me.”
I lead Stone toward the rear of the shop, back to the storage area, and then to the corner where there’s an internal door. I release the hasp on the outside and open it, finding the light switch to illuminate the narrow set of wooden stairs. I turn to see if Stone is still behind me and motion for him to follow me up.
“Should I be worried?” He asks, but I can tell he’s joking.
“What? Don’t you trust me?”
He chuckles in response.
When we reach the top, I flip another light switch which lights up the rear of the second floor. Stone looks around, taking in the scene. An old wooden bar sits along one wall, covered in dust. The art deco-style mirrors behind it are tarnished with age, and an old-fashioned cash register sits on the counter. Tables and chairs are scattered about; a small raised area sits in another corner holding some metal sheet music stands, and there’s an old piano off to the side. The rear windows are blacked out with paint so that you can’t see in or out.
Stone lets out a low whistle. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Well, if you’re guessing it’s a former speakeasy, you’d be right. You’re standing in the midst of history, courtesy of prohibition.”
“Amazing.” He steps over to the bar, running his hand along the cherry wood top. “I can just imagine one of my ancestors standing here and ordering a whiskey.” He points to the small raised stage in the corner. “And a four-piece jazz band playing over there.”
He walks back over to me and extends his hand. “May I have this dance, Ms. Russell?”
I was not expecting that!I place my hand in his, as he takes me in his arms and sways side-to-side, pulling me close. I rest my head on his chest, inhaling the scent that is uniquely masculine, uniquely him. The low melodic rumble emanating from him tickles my ear as he beginshumming a tune. A tune that I recognize from Nana’s old jazz record albums.
I lift my head from his chest, just enough to look up into his dark blue eyes, shining like brilliant sapphires.
“I know this song. It’s Billie Holiday. ‘As Time Goes By’.”
He doesn’t respond, simply lowers his mouth to mine. A sigh escapes me, as I’m transported to a place where it’s just the two of us.
But time isn’t going by.
It’s standing still.
This morning I wake up in a sweat, my sheets drenched, as my dreams alternated all night long between passionate kisses with Stone, and a fear that, like George, he’ll eventually find me too much to handle. It doesn’t help matters that since George’s unexpected visit a few days ago, he’s been texting me constantly, begging me to meet him for lunch.
I finally give in, if nothing else to get him to stop, and to reaffirm that any affection for him is long gone. Since there’s nothing in Pelican Point that meets George’s elitist standard of fine dining, and the Silver Willow in nearby Hibiscus Harbor was destroyed by a fire, I agree to meet him in West Palm. And honestly, I don’t mind the drive if it means keeping George away from Pelican Point.
As soon as I sit down inside the outrageously expensive and trendy restaurant, George attempts to turn onthe charm with a fake smile and ostentatious display of ordering the most expensive wine on the menu.
As long as it’s on his dime, I plan to savor every sip of the Cabernet Sauvignon that rivals the blends imported from France. However, with every word he says, the quality wine turns increasingly sour.
“Desirae, darling, I made a mistake letting you go. Why don’t we start fresh, move up north? You can open up a dress shop anywhere. We belong in New York City, or better yet, LA, where I can expand my financial portfolio.”
As usual, it’s all about George. Wherehewants to be, wherehecan advance his career. Never mind that I have one of my own. I suppose his little arm candy grew tired of him, or maybe he wasn’t able to keep her in the lifestyle she felt she deserved. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be sniffing around me. He thinks I’m a sure thing because we were engaged before and he’s too lazy to work on establishing a new relationship.
