A Love for All Seasons (7 page)

A Taste of Honey

J
ack
made sure he arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes early. He wanted to be there to greet Alicia when she arrived.

“Devlin is the name. I have a reservation for eight o'clock. I'm meeting someone,” he told the maître d'.

The middle-aged man nodded knowingly. “Yes, Mr. Devlin. And does the young lady have any distinguishing characteristics?”

“Only that she's stunning,” he promptly replied. “Definitely too gorgeous to be entering a restaurant alone.”

“I'm sure I'll recognize her. But just to be on the safe side, would you like to give me her name?”

“Miss Timberlake,” he said, adding, “I'll wait at the bar.”

“Very well, Mr. Devlin. I will bring her to you myself.”

“Thanks.” He wandered into the separate bar area, where he sat at the end of the counter and ordered a Scotch and water. The maître d' seemed amused by his description, but how else could he describeAlicia? With her high cheekbones, gracefully arched brows, and skin so flawless it looked like it had been painted on, she was a goddess.

Two African-American women entered the bar area and sat nearby, leaving just one stool between them. Jack toyed with his Scotch and entertained himself with thoughts of the pleasant evening that lay ahead. He looked over when he heard a question he believed was directed at him.

“How are you tonight?” a female voice inquired.

He looked over at the women to make sure one of them had addressed him and not some other person. One of them, a striking brown-skinned woman, smiled at him, while the other looked away and appeared uncomfortable. “Good, thanks. You?”

“Not bad. What brings you out tonight?”

“I'm meeting a young lady.”

“My friend is a young lady,” the woman pointed out. Her friend jabbed her in the ribs and mouthed the words, “Stop it!”

He chuckled as the first one said, “Ouch! That hurt, Charlene!” Both women appeared to be in their early forties. The one doing the talking wore engagement and wedding rings; and Charlene's ring finger was bare. Apparently Charlene's friend wanted to fix her up with someone.

“I'm meeting a
specific
young lady,” he clarified, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

“Oh, that's too bad.”

“Will you forget about it already, Andrea?” Charlene hissed.

“Listen, you can't spend your life waiting around for Reggie to get off his butt. Your biological clock isn't just ticking, it's about to blow up.”

“Reggie and I are doing just fine.”

“So what are you doing out with me on a Saturday night, having Merlot and lobster bisque? You called, all upset because you think Reggie's up to something and you don't know what it is. I say there are plenty of other fish in the sea. You wait and see, this man's date won't look half as good as you do, Charlene. If you wouldn't be so shy you could probably make him forget all about her.”

Although they spoke reasonably softly, in trying to be heard over the sound of the television poised over the bar their voices carried, which didn't allow Jack to make out everything they said, but he could follow the gist of their conversation. He found Andrea's comment about his date not looking half as good as Charlene particularly humorous.
I wouldn't bet on it
, he thought. Charlene was certainly attractive, and he'd never shied away from dating women slightly older than himself. Under different circumstances he might take the bait. But make him forget Alicia? Not a chance.

 

He'd almost finished his drink when his peripheral vision saw movement on the left. He looked up to see the maître d' leading Alicia to where he sat.

He quickly got to his feet. “Miss Timberlake, sir,” the maître d' announced with a flourish. “Your table is ready. I'll have someone bring you to it when you're ready.” He then bowed stiffly and turned to leave.

Jack had a vague awareness of the maître d' approaching and saying something. As far as he was concerned, the heavyset gent might as well have been both invisible and silent. He had eyes only for the figure behind him.

For a moment all he could do was simply drink her in. She wore an open, belted white wool coat with a berry-colored scarf draped over her neck and a black pantsuit with a tailored double-breasted blazer. The starkness of the black-and-white ensemble was relieved by lips painted the same berry color as her scarf, lips he knew would taste sweet as strawberries in June. He wanted to savor them with his tongue and nibble at their fullness.

Blood rushed to his groin.
No, Jack
, he told himself.
What you need is to forget about what you want, at least for right now
.

She stood silently as his eyes roamed over her with obvious approval. Finally she broke into a shy smile. “Hello, Jack.”

He took her hand in both of his, raised it parallel to his mouth and kissed the back of it, his eyes never leaving hers. “I think that's the first time you ever said my real name,” he said as he lowered her hand, continuing to hold it.

“My inclination would be to walk in and say, ‘Hiya, Dev,' but somehow it didn't suit the mood,” she said honestly.

That told him that she, too, felt the sparks in the air between them. He stroked the back of her hand with the pad of his thumb. “I'm glad you could make it.”

“I hope you weren't waiting long.”

He loved the sound of her voice, all husky and low. Much as he hated to, he let go of her hand. “Not long,” he said easily. In his heart he knew he would have sat there for hours, just to get a glimpse of her. “We should get our table.” He noticed the eyes of Andrea and Charlene fixed on them. Neither woman moved to try to make their staring more subtle. If anything, he thought their mouths might drop into their soup bowls.

“Ladies,” he said, “this is my dinner partner. Alicia, this is Andrea and her friend Charlene.”

Alicia nodded pleasantly, if a bit uncertainly. “Ladies.”

The women's shocked expressions at Jack's use of their names told Jack they realized he'd overheard their conversation. “A pleasant evening to you,” he said jauntily. He removed a single from his wallet and laid it by his highball glass, then took Alicia's elbow and escorted her out of the bar.

“Friends of yours?” she asked, sounding mildly curious.

“No. It appears one of them is trying to console the other over an issue involving a man.”

“What other kind of issues are there?” she said with a throaty chuckle.

As they left the bar area a hostess offered to take Alicia's coat. He stood behind her and removed it, stepping back as he handed it to the hostess just in time to see her turn around slowly. “Wow,” he said under his breath, too softly for her to hear. He'd only glimpsed her at the restaurant, of course, and at the party her loose-fitting sweater, at nearly tunic length, did much to conceal her figure, but the black pantsuit left little to be guessed at. Alicia might possess an imposing height, but she was no toothpick thin high fashion model. The short tailored jacket—she wore no blouse beneath—accentuated a cinched waist, rounded bust and lush, full hips. He liked his women curvy.

When the maître d' held out her chair, Jack wanted to push him aside and do it himself. “If I may say so, Mr. Devlin,” the maître d' said, “you were absolutely correct in your description of Miss Timberlake.”

“I'm glad you agree.”

She waited until he departed, then turned a curious gaze on him. “Your description was correct, huh? Tell me, Jack, how did you describe me?”

“I said you would be the most astoundingly beautiful woman to ever enter this establishment.”

“What a sweet embellishment!” she exclaimed, obviously flattered.

He leaned forward, his eyes captivated by the black onyx oval overlaid with ivory and gold that tantalizingly teased her cleavage. Her hair looked fuller than he remembered. He pictured her reclining in bed, her dark hair fanned out against a pastel pillowcase, waiting for him….

A lump momentarily became stuck in his throat at that mental vision. Eventually he managed to say, “It was no embellishment, Alicia.”

She tried to be cool from the moment she stepped inside the famed steakhouse, but his special way of pronouncing her name took her breath away. She inadvertently rolled her head back and shivered, her shoulders momentarily rising around her neck, her chest rising. “You're very kind,” she managed to say. In truth, she'd gone through special pains with her appearance, having driven into Stamford this afternoon to have her hair washed and set. Laverne, her longtime hairdresser, made her tresses look beautifully thick, like a lion's mane. She'd even bought new shoes, black slingbacks with a two-inch heel, to go with her suit.

“How's your mother today?” he asked, graciously not commenting on her reaction.

“She's good, thanks.” She opened her menu.

As they enjoyed an appetizer of bacon-wrapped broiled sea scallops and sipped on Pinot Noir, Alicia companionably said, “Tell me about Jack Devlin.”

“Hey, I'm an open book, and probably not all that exciting, either. I'm originally from a small town outside Birmingham called Docena. I went to Fisk for my Bachelor's and started working in Galveston, Texas. I stayed there seven years, then went to Houston—which is like an hour away from Galveston—for three, then back to Birmingham.”

“Does your family still live in your hometown?”

“Most of them, yes. One of my sisters lives in Memphis, and I have a brother in Houston.”

“Do you have a large family?”

“We were seven. I've got two sisters and two brothers. I'm the second oldest child and the oldest boy. My father was a postman, and my mother worked for the Jefferson County School Board. They managed to give all five of us college educations.”

“Quite a feat.”

“We all think so.”

His handsome face reflected the pride he felt in his parents' accomplishments. “They've been married over forty years.”

“That's a long time.”

“It sure is. I can't imagine being married to someone for that long. That's more than my entire lifetime.” He smiled at her. “I suppose you've never been married.” From what Pete told him Jack already knew she hadn't, but it might be interesting if she gave any views on the subject.

“No. I don't think I'm the marrying type.”

“Oh? Why's that?”

“Living with the same person, year after year…I'm afraid I'd get bored.”

Jack didn't know what to say. Alicia made marriage sound no more meaningful than a marathon session of bid whist. If that was how she felt he couldn't say he hoped to one day find the right woman without sounding like a sap. “I think there's something to be said for having a life partner,” he finally said. “For me it's infinitely more preferable than going through life with a series of, uh, significant others, drifting from one affair to the next.” He didn't see how she could feel otherwise, but then he thought of Derek Taylor and how he kissed Alicia's lips when he left her party, and suddenly his shoulders went taut.

“What about you, Jack? Ever been married?”

“I was engaged once.”

“What happened?”

“She broke it off. An old lover came back into her life, and she realized she wasn't ready to commit to me.” He shrugged. “The way I see it, it was for the best. Better to find out sooner than later.”

After dinner they shared a raspberry soufflé, laughing and talking about a variety of topics, including their respective professions. “I enjoyed this, Jack,” Alicia said as she delicately patted around her mouth with her napkin. “Thank you.”

“It sounds like you've been under a lot of stress lately, with your mother being ill. I'm glad you were able to get away for a few hours.” He hadn't exaggerated. His watch read ten-twenty p.m., which meant they'd been sitting here for nearly two-and-a-half hours. For him it wasn't nearly enough time.

“Time has been passing so quickly. Can you believe that in another few weeks it'll be Thanksgiving?”

“Fortunately, I made my reservations the moment I accepted the job here.”

“You must be going home to Alabama.”

“Yes, for a long weekend. I leave Tuesday afternoon and come back Saturday.”

“I'm surprised you're not staying until Sunday.”

“The Sunday after Thanksgiving is a mob scene. Everybody's going back home that day. I think the only day that's worse is the Wednesday before. I figured I'd travel on Saturday and avoid some of the insanity.”

“That makes sense. Will you be spending Christmas with your family, too?”

“No. I've got a huge project pending with a deadline just after the holiday. DVD, titles, the whole nine yards. I won't be able to take any time off until after the first of the year.”