Whitney unsnapped her bra. Pulled it through the sleeve of her shirt and tossed it onto the floor. She exhaled and rushed to the toilet. Her bladder had been about to burst as she’d sat in rush-hour traffic on the interstate. She’d almost run two red lights just to get home. She sat there for a moment contemplating dinner. Wondering if it was worth the effort to cook something or if she should just run out for fast food.
She’d just gotten back into her workout regimen because she knew she needed to maintain her current weight. It was imperative that she fit into her dress for Kenya’s wedding. She’d already been fitted for the flowing red gown, with the back of it sinfully low. She wanted the silky material to hug her body effortlessly and knew that those hot wings and fries might not treat her as nicely as a baked chicken breast with a side of broccoli would.
She washed her hands and headed for the kitchen. Turned on the oven. She lit a jasmine-scented candle and found some music—Jhené Aiko. She needed something mellow to wind down from the kids, and Jhené’s voice was soothing enough. After pouring herself a glass of Merlot, she seasoned a piece of chicken and tossed it into the oven.
Her phone rang, and she studied the phone number. Didn’t recognize it but decided to answer anyway.
“Hello, Whitney,” the male voice greeted her. “It’s Jason, Kenya and Will’s friend. You and I were supposed to meet at the Cheesecake Factory last week.”
“Ah, Jason.”
“I heard about your accident. I hope you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. It was just a small fender bender. Nothing serious.”
“That’s good to hear,” said Jason. “Kenya gave me your number. I hope that’s okay.”
“Yeah, fine,” said Whitney as she sorted through her mail.
She opened the manila-colored envelope—a formal invitation for her brother’s wedding reception. The blessed event would take place at the Grove, her family’s B and B on Harbour Island in the Bahamas. She had only a few weeks to find a cheap flight, a nice dress and a suitable escort. She would not be going home alone—not this time.
“I would love another opportunity to take you to dinner.”
She barely heard a single word as thoughts of Lane filled her head. She wondered how he would feel about accompanying her to the islands. When another call came in, she looked at her screen. Him.
“I’m sorry, Jason. I have another call coming in, and I really need to take it. Would you mind terribly if I called you back?”
“Of course not.”
“Good! I’ll talk to you soon.” She hung up before she missed the call.
“I think I dialed the wrong number,” said Lane.
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“How did you manage that?”
“My phone does weird things sometimes. Like calling people randomly, just because I think about them.”
“Wow, that phone is intuitive.”
“Indeed.” His voice smiled. “Has a mind of its own.”
“How did it know that I was thinking of you at that moment?”
“That is scary,” Lane laughed. “So you were thinking of me, too?”
“Sort of.”
“How do you sort of think of someone?”
“It’s possible.”
“I don’t see how. That’s like being sort of pregnant or sort of married. You can’t sort of think of someone. You’re either thinking of them or you aren’t.”
“Okay, I was thinking of you!”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” teased Lane. “And what exactly were you thinking?”
“Well, I got this invitation in the mail for my brother’s wedding reception. He remarried his ex-wife. Long story, but the point is I need a date.”
“Okay. Details.”
“It’s in the Bahamas in a few weeks, at my family’s property there. And I would completely understand if you can’t go or don’t want to.”
“I’d love to.”
She hadn’t expected that response, and so quickly. She completely figured him the type to take days and mull over things.
“Really?”
“Sure. Why not? I have plenty of vacation time. And I’ve never been to the Bahamas.”
“Well, okay. I’ll buy you a ticket, and—”
“Whoa! I can buy my own ticket.”
“Okay.” She didn’t mean to insinuate that he couldn’t. “And you’ll need a passport.”
“I have one, though I haven’t had much of an opportunity to use it,” he said. “Will I need a suit?”
“Yes. Will that be a problem?”
“No.” He was a bit hesitant. “I have a suit.”
He didn’t strike her as the suit type, but he said he had a suit. She had no reason to doubt it. She just hoped it was an appropriate one. She didn’t need any surprises. The imperious part of her wanted proof of this suit. A photograph. A description.
“Send me a pic.”
“Of the suit? Are you serious?”
“Completely.”
“No, sweetheart. You’ll have to trust me on this one.”
Trust? It was something that didn’t come easy for Whitney when it pertained to men. She often ended anything that resembled a relationship before it had time to blossom. It was easier that way. And here Lane was asking her to trust him—but only with a suit, not her heart. That she could handle.
“Okay, but don’t show up in anything powder blue, or with ruffles.”
Lane laughed. “Should I wear white socks, or no?”
“Not a good look.”
“Okay, I’ll make sure I don’t wear anything powder blue or ruffles or white socks.”
“Whew! Now that we got that cleared up.”
“Right. Now we can move on to Friday night.”
“What’s happening Friday night?”
“Well, I have these tickets to the Mavs game. Center court. I could take Melvin, but I’d really rather take you.”
“Seriously? Are you sure you don’t wanna go with your buddy? I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“No imposition,” he said. “And besides, you’re much prettier than he is.”
“Okay, I’ll have to agree with you there,” she said. “I guess it’s a date.”
“I guess so.”
His smile lingered in her head long after she’d hung up the phone. Lately, he was spending too much time there—in her head—and she wasn’t sure what to make of it.