Mitch holds my hand in a tight grip and strides through the restaurant. Luckily, my legs are long, and I can keep up. He gives a short nod or wave to the few people in the restaurant and waiting area who are brave enough to approach him, perhaps for an autograph or picture. Mitch is usually courteous and accommodating to fans, but tonight he appears on a mission to get me out of the restaurant.
Once we leave the inn, he turns toward the sidewalk rather than the parking lot. I spot his truck out of the corner of my eye.
“What about your truck?”
“I’ll get it later.”
Okay, what is the all-fired hurry? Yes, my leg is wet from the heap of pasta and sauce and my dress has a wet spot that resembles medusa and her head of snakes, but I’ve done worse to myself with my clumsiness.
“Where’s the fire?”
He glances over his shoulder at me, tiny lines appear between his dark eyebrows. “What?”
“You’re not planning on breaking into a jog or anything, are you? Because I tried it once, and only once. Unsurprisingly, it was a disaster. My feet somehow tripped over themselves and I fell, twisting my ankle and leaving a nasty scrape down the length of my arm where I hit the pavement.”
Mitch slows his pace and shakes his head. “Better?”
“Yes, thank you.”
His thumb rubs the palm of my hand in a lazy circle while we stride down the sidewalk.
The outside lights of The Sweet Spot shine ahead. Only a few buildings separate my bakery from the inn.
Climbing the stairs to the apartment, nerves build in my system. What will happen behind that door? Will he hand me another pair of sweatpants and hoodie and then drive me home? In the truck he left back at the inn?
Miserable and reeking of skunk the last time I was here, I hadn’t looked around much.
The interior of the apartment isn’t much different from what I remember. Considering I had planned on living here, I have imagined the space many times. I want to paint the worn oak cabinets in the kitchen white. It is a small kitchen, approximately the size of my mother’s walk-in closet, but it’s enough space for one, maybe two. The counters are a brown and tan Formica and the sink is a basic stainless-steel model on the small side, but again enough to accommodate a single person living here. I will change out both though when I move in.
He hasn’t painted or changed anything in the living room except to add a couch and television. The brown rug and cream-colored walls are the same. It’s rather spartan, and much cleaner than I envisioned a bachelor’s apartment to be. There are no dirty dishes lying in the sink or on the counter even.
He hasn’t let go of my hand and continues through the living room towards the bedroom and bathroom. The same cream walls and brown rug decorate the bedroom. A king-size dark wooden bed and dresser dominate the room.
My gaze is riveted on the bed. It’s made. Was it made last time? I can’t remember.
Who makes their bed unless they’re expecting company? My mother does, of course, and expects me to. I’ve been chastised more than once for not completing the task. Does a single guy make his bed and clean up the apartment if he’s not expecting company? He had been on a date with Lucinda. Had he planned to bring her back here?
A sick knot forms in my stomach.
“Here’s a T-shirt. It’ll be long, but…” He shrugs and opens another drawer and snags a pair of shorts and hands them both to me. “I’m fresh out of sweatpants and sweatshirts.”
Of course he is, I still have both sets from my previous disasters. I should have washed and returned them. Instead, I sleep in them.
“I’ll wait out in the living room.” He jerks his thumb in its direction, then smiles. “Unless you need any help?”
I slow blink. Is he flirting with me?
What would he do if I said yes? Swap plans with one sister for another?
A chill passes over me.
“I think I’ve got it.”
He points towards the bathroom. “You can wash up in there.”
I stare at the door he closed behind him. Had he planned to seduce my sister, but now is flirting with me? Am I crazy and reading more into everything than what is really there?
I start to sit on the bed but halt halfway. I don’t want to get sauce on his bed.
Carrying the clothes into the bathroom, I set them on the vanity and shut the bathroom door. There aren’t any bottles of aftershave, lotion, or even toothpaste on the beige countertop. I am tempted to peek in the drawers of the oak vanity but I restrain myself.
There’s the same shampoo and shower gel from my last visit on the shelf in the shower.
Jerking the dress over my head, I roll it into a ball and set it aside. The poor dress is past saving at this point. I slip off my sandals and nudge them aside.
The scent of garlic and Italian seasonings fill the small space. Hopefully it’s the dress and not me. Plucking a cream-colored washcloth from a shelf over the toilet, I run the water until it is warm and then wet the washcloth adding a bit of soap to clean my leg. I might as well rinse the area on my dress while I’m at it, in case there’s a possibility it can be cleaned.
Rolling it like a long tube, I place it on the other side of the vanity and inspect the clothes he’s given me to wear. At this rate, I’ll have my very own Mitch drawer of clothes.
The white T-shirt ends at the top of my thighs. I momentarily wish I was a confident woman who could sashay out in just the T-shirt. What would he do or say? Would he ignore it, being used to women dressed in so little? Would he find me attractive? Or would he act uncomfortable and ask me where the shorts are?
I tug on the navy blue shorts. He gave them to me to wear after all, and I’m not brave enough to test his response. When it comes to my baking, there is no self-doubt, but everywhere else in life I am a churning miasma of uncertainty.
My reflection stares back at me from the mirror. My wild hair is tamed into a French braid and the makeup I sparingly applied for my date with Bobby is still miraculously in place. I tend to forget when I wear makeup and by the time I do remember to look in a mirror, my mascara is smudged under my eyes and my lipstick is half chewed off.
I open the bathroom door and shuffle into the bedroom with my dress in my hands. The bed creaks when I perch on the edge to put on my sandals. Cringing, I glance at the door. A cabinet opens and closes in the kitchen, so he hasn’t gone to get his truck. What is he planning?
Open the door and find out!
I swing it open as he walks out of the kitchen with a mug in his hand. “I thought you could use a cup of tea to warm you up. It’s decaffeinated so it won’t keep you up late.”
“Thanks.” I’m not much of a tea drinker, but it is thoughtful of him.
“Do you want to sit?” He signals towards the couch with the mug.
Taking the mug from him, I nod and amble over to the gray couch and sit. The cushion is deep and soft, so I scoot back and rest my back against the corner, cradling the warm mug in both hands.
Mitch goes back into the kitchen and returns with a mug of his own and sits next to me.
“Do you always keep your apartment this clean?”
He glances around and shrugs. “I guess. My parents were strict about cleaning up after myself, and then once I got well known I learned to put away anything remotely personal or it might get stolen or show up in a tabloid picture or something.”
So, not a planned seduction of my sister? The night is looking up and up.
“People have really stolen your stuff from your home?”
“Yup, from my hotel room, trailer on the set, some people have no boundaries.”
“I’m sorry, that’s terrible.”
“I’m not in the public eye much anymore so I haven’t thought about it in a while, it’s just become a habit.”
“What do your parents think of you buying a place here?”
“They didn’t get it at first, but they’ve always been supportive of me no matter what I did. They plan to visit at the end of the summer. I’m hoping the house will be far enough along by then for them to stay there.”
“That’s nice. I have to admit I only have a vague memory of them from the summers you spent here.” The tea had cooled enough for me to sip at, so I blow lightly over the top and take a swallow. There is a hint of mint and lemon.
“Yeah, they were going through a rough patch at the time, they didn’t socialize much when they were here.”
“They obviously worked it out.”
“I think that last summer saved their marriage. My mom had been struggling for years with infertility after she had me. She had had another miscarriage that year and it had sent her into a depression. My dad took us here hoping to change the downward spiral they were on.”
“That must have been hard on you. I had no idea.” Holding the mug with my right hand, I rub his shoulder with my left hand.
Mitch takes my hand from his shoulder, laces our fingers together, and rests them on his thigh. “I wasn’t aware of all the details back then, but I knew something was wrong.”
Our arms brush against one another. His skin is warm and too irresistible not to lean against. “Your mom had no more children after that?”
“No, they decided it was too painful and didn’t want to put any of us through that again. Now she keeps waiting for me to settle down and provide her with grandkids to spoil.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“I’d like a few, eventually.”
“A few?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I bought that big house. It would be nice to have kids to enjoy it.” He takes a sip of his tea and rests the mug on his opposite thigh and then looks at me. “What about you? Do you plan to have kids?”
I take a swallow of tea, and then another. How do I feel about kids? “I don’t know. I mean I guess I always assumed I would have one or two someday, but I’ve never really thought about it too much.”
“You haven’t planned out your future with Bobby?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Good.”
“Good? What does that mean?”
“I don’t see him in your future.”
“Oh? You’re a psychic now?” Although after the fiasco the date ended in, he is probably right. Bobby isn’t likely to ask me out again even if I promise to make him raspberry turnovers.
“No, but you have to admit the date was not going well even before I rescued you.”
“Rescued me? The date was going just fine until you and my sister showed up. It all went downhill from there.”
“Oh, come on, admit it, the guy barely said two words throughout dinner despite Lucinda’s valiant efforts. You needed us there to save you.”
Wow, he really thinks I am so completely inept that I can’t handle the date on my own. I tug my hand free and lean forward to set the tea on the coffee table.
“Bobby had plenty to say before you arrived. I actually thought it was going well.” Yes, I’m a klutz and I made a mess, and I have a tough time thinking of things to say sometimes, but does he really believe I’m such a disaster?
“You need more lessons before you’re ready to accept any dates.” He sets his cup down next to mine.
He wants to give me more lessons? I don’t know whether to smile or cry. On one hand, he thinks I am such a loser I could never get Bobby on my own. On the other hand, more lessons mean more time with him.
Scooping me up in his arms, he deposits me on his lap.
I gasp and latch onto his shoulders to balance myself. My legs dangle over the side of his thighs. “What are you doing?”
“Lessons, remember?”
What kind of lessons require me on his lap?
Not that I’m complaining.
One of his hands rests on my bare thigh under the edge of the borrowed shorts, and the other is wrapped around my back. His lids lower and he leans forward to touch his lips to mine.
There is no slow build up or teasing this time. His tongue immediately seeks an entry I eagerly grant. The taste of mint and lemon fill my mouth.
His hand raises the T-shirt at my back and slides against my bare skin. His palm scorches a path up my back under the shirt.
Mitch’s lips leave mine to feather kisses along my jaw and neck. My hands cup the back of his head holding him to me.
He grasps my hip and back and lays me onto the couch and settles over me.
Our gazes lock for an instant. He places a series of drugging kisses on my lips. My eyes drift closed.
My heart pounds in my ears as my body melts beneath the hardness of his.
I’m enveloped by the warmth of his body stretching the length of my own. His knees dig into the couch against my legs enclosing me in his heat. I slip my arms underneath his and clutch his back, praying the pleasure won’t end.
His tongue strokes and curls around mine. He caresses my neck and shoulder, weaving a path of fire every place he touches.
A vibration against my leg startles and confuses me until Mitch jerks out of my arms and grabs his phone from his pants’ pocket. He glances at the face of the phone and stands, rubbing the back of his neck.
“It’s your sister.”
He answers the phone and paces over towards the cabinet holding the television.
I scramble to a sitting position and wrap my arms around my drawn knees. Lucinda calls and he drops everything, drops me, to answer.