Hot Flash (20 page)

He brings me souvenirs from his trips, but mainly he lets me know he’s missed me. He takes me to dinner frequently. Back when our children were small, he used to arrange for babysitters so we could have a night out alone together. He even insisted that I have a housekeeper once a week to do the heavier cleaning, so I wouldn’t feel like a household drudge.

Jill, when you find a man who values you and treats you good, keep him. I’ve never regretted marrying my sweetheart, John.

Sincerely,

Shortly after my meeting with Nagasaki, Mandy found me in the corridor, still using the wall for support.

“How’d it go? Did you get the promotion?”

“Not so well. No promotion.” Hell, I felt lucky that I still had a job at all, which was not the way it was supposed to go.

“I’m sorry.” Mandy pulled me away from the wall and hugged me, then gestured toward her office. “I’ve got even more bad news.”

I straightened my shoulders. “Today seems the day for it. What’s up?”

“Your ex-boyfriend is in my office. Something about a skillet?”

“The Asshole Professor?”

“The one and only.”

“How’d that happen? I told him to leave my skillet with the bellman.”

“Your ex demanded to see you and present the skillet personally. I told the bellman to bring him to my office since you were tied up.”

“Thanks.” I took a step toward her office. “It shouldn’t take long.”

“Good luck.”

I nodded, needing all the luck I could gather since my luck gauge was running on empty. I was not in the mood to deal with the Asshole Professor, but on the upside, I was finally getting my skillet back. At least there was
something
good about today.

“Hi,” I said as I entered Mandy’s office. The cradle robber stood awkwardly beside Mandy’s desk as if he’d been about to riffle through her drawers. In his left hand was a department store bag. I had hoped he’d look haggard and drawn, but he appeared to be chipper and in good physical condition. Darn it.

“Hi. I brought your skillet.”

“Great.” I held out my hand.

“There’s a small problem.”

“What’s that?” Surely he hadn’t washed my perfectly cured frying pan in the dishwasher? I started to take the bag, but he tightened his grip.

“I told Barbaretta that it was your pan and you wanted it back.”

That
really
was her name? He had dumped me for a child whose name sounded like a stuttering hair clip?

He continued, “When she learned it was your skillet, it would be an understatement to say she went into a tizzy. She’s extremely jealous, particularly of you.”

“How peachy.” She was jealous of me? Weird, since she was the relationship wrecker. I couldn’t care less what she thought of me. Despite his attempts to stay my hand, I grabbed the bag, opened it, and pulled out the pan. “This isn’t my skillet!”

“Barbaretta donated yours to charity.” He shook his head.

“What?”

“The saleswoman assured me that this one is excellent.”

I bit back a snort. Like I’d ever use Teflon? He’d probably bought the cheapest pan he could find and then put it in a department store bag.

I pushed the pan at him, bag and all. “I want
my
skillet.”

“Barbaretta gave it away.”

“Get it back.”

He looked at me as if
I
were the crazy person in the room. “It’s gone.”

“Which charity did she donate it to?”

“Goodwill.” He held out the skillet. “This one will have to do.”

I pushed it away. “Just leave.”

I was pissed and wanted to go for his jugular. He must have caught on because he began backing from the room.

When he reached the door, he said, “I’m sorry.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. I’d heard it all when he’d dumped me for a child. I didn’t want to hear it all again.

I arrived home that evening, ready to bury my head under the covers. As I let myself into the apartment, I was met by the odor of cooking food—or maybe it was the odor of third-grade teacher. Stephen had company. You got it, the guy I didn’t want to see again, Davin Wesley.

They were seated in the living room with their heads bent over a picture book of some type. They appeared very intimate—almost like father and son.

My stomach clenched.

Davin glanced up at me, then stood. “Hi, Jill.”

“Hi. How was school today, Stephen?”

“Good.”

“Have you given any thought to Ping-Pong?” There had to be some sport he was good enough at to qualify for a scholarship.

Stephen snorted and I could have sworn it was a French snort.

As I began making my way through to my bedroom, Davin stopped me.

“This is for you.” He handed me a small grocery bag.

I only hoped it wasn’t another wrong skillet. “What is it?”

“You left the store the other night before I had a chance to give you your glasses.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did it for selfish reasons.”

“What selfish reasons?”

Davin turned to Stephen and they exchanged a look. “Don’t you have some homework to do?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll go do it now.” Stephen grabbed the picture book and headed to his bedroom.

Without grousing.

Without argument.

He even said, “Sir.”

Shit. Davin was a better part-time parent than I was full-time, and he wasn’t even related to Stephen.

Davin turned his attention back to me and I unconsciously straightened, half-expecting him to remind me I had dinner to cook or an apartment to clean.

“I had to buy the glasses because you look so darn cute in them. Why don’t you put them on now and read something?”

I admit it. I snorted at that comment. I don’t know why some people have such a problem with snorting. Sometimes it’s the perfect expression of how you’re feeling, you know? So I snorted. “What happened, did the manager catch you breaking the glasses on videotape and demand you buy them?”

“Honest. I had no other reason, except maybe currying your favor.”

“And why would you want to do that?”

A smile slowly appeared on his face and crept into his eyes, which were gazing into mine. “I like you.”

If he liked me, he sure had a fine way of showing it, always pointing out my flaws and generally annoying the hell out of me. I didn’t know how to respond, so I took a step back, toward the kitchen. “Well, thanks. I have to get dinner started now.”

He shook his head. “No, you don’t.”

“I don’t?”

“You don’t if you don’t want to. I imagine you get tired of cooking all day and then coming home to do it some more. I made dinner tonight.”

He was totally right about sometimes getting tired of cooking. But I couldn’t believe he was perceptive enough to know that. So that’s what I smelled when I came in. I probably looked a bit like a fish, what with the way I kept opening and closing my mouth. Finally I smiled and found my words again. “What’s for dinner?”

“Baked pork chops, homemade mac and cheese, and a bag of mixed greens for a salad.”

He looked kind of cute. A worry line creased his forehead as if he were concerned I’d be unenthusiastic about his menu. Little did he know that I’d be happy to eat a TV dinner if it meant I didn’t have to cook. “It sounds delicious! I’m so impressed.”

“Great.” He headed toward the kitchen, stopping long enough to place his hands on my shoulders and gently spin me to face my bedroom. “Go get changed, then read a book while I get it ready to serve.”

“Wow. Okay.” My opinion of Davin Wesley went up about three-thousand fold. “Do I have time for a shower?”

“A quick one.”

“Perfect.” I tapped on Stephen’s door on my way to the bathroom.

“Did you know about dinner?”

“Oui.”
Stephen grinned conspiratorially. “I told him it was a great idea. I hope that’s okay?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s terrific not to have to cook.”

“I thought you’d say that.”

“Thanks,” I said, as I left his bedroom and headed to the shower. Afterward, I quickly changed into a clean pair of jeans and a comfy T-shirt. And in case you’re wondering, no, I didn’t put on my “COOKS DO IT” T-shirt. I have more class than that. I put on my “TALK TO THE HAND” T-shirt.

I made my way to my desk in the dining room, with my new reading glasses perched on the tip of my nose, ready to look over the latest surveys I’d received.

Mr. Fix-It had purchased both pairs of glasses and I was wearing the broken pair, the one taped together with a small strip of black electrical tape.

The repair was barely noticeable and they worked perfectly well. I’d placed the extra pair in my handbag for use when I was away from home.

When I reached the dining room, I noted that the dining table was only set for two. I peeked into the kitchen. “Only two for dinner?”

“Stephen already ate.”

“Ah. Okay.” More like
ohhhhh
. There was definitely something fishy going on. “You don’t think this is a date, do you?”

“Why?”

“In my experience, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck … You bring food, you feed my kid and send him off, and the table is set romantically for two.”

“It’s not a date.”

“Why are you being nice to me?”

“I don’t have an ulterior motive, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“That’s exactly what I’m worrying about.”

“Well, don’t. Go. Read. Relax.”

“As long as you aren’t expecting sex if I eat your pork chops.” I blushed. I couldn’t believe I said that, even though it was exactly what I was thinking.

“I’m planning on dinner. Sex with you, while intriguing, is not on the menu.” He looked amused. “Even if you want sex, I promise to defend your honor.”

“You don’t want to have sex with me?”

“I didn’t say that. Why can’t you go relax while I get dinner on the table?”

“You’ve got a point.” I took a seat at the desk and slit the envelope of a new survey arrival. Like the majority of surveys that had been returned, this one also featured an absentee husband.

But I couldn’t concentrate. Davin was making too much racket. I poked my head back in the kitchen. “I’m sorry, but I need to know what’s in it for you. Why are you feeding me and my kid? Why are you here?”

He shook his head as he put the spoon he’d been using on a paper towel. “I like your kid. Since we got off to a bad start, I thought cooking for you would give us a chance to get to know each other. Is that enough of a reason?”

It would do, I supposed, since it was all I was going to get out of him. “If you want to get to know me, wouldn’t it be easier if we were in the same room?”

“It’s all part of my evil plan.”

I knew he had an evil plan!

“Step One—disarm you, by making you relax.” He began ticking items off on his fingers. “Step Two—chat you up over dinner.”

“What’s Step Three?”

“That’s the truly nefarious part of my plan. Step Three—leave with you wanting more.”

“You plan to skimp on my dinner?”

“I forgot to mention Step Two-A.” That was when he slid my reading glasses from my nose, pulled me to him, and laid one hell of a kiss on me. The kind that leaves you breathless, and yeah, wanting more.

Wow. Step Two-A was quite a doozy. He tasted of red wine vinegar, olive oil, and—I raised the tip of my tongue to my palate—”Tarragon?”

“That wasn’t part of Step Two-A. I was making salad dressing.”

“Are you sure this isn’t a date?”

“It’s not a date. Just dinner and a sneaky plan.”

“Dinner and kisses—sounds like a date to me.” The fact his kiss was the best I’d ever experienced made me feel exceptionally cranky.

“If that’s the case, you need to get out more.”

I snorted and grabbed my reading glasses. Evidently they were sort of like a chastity belt, but for the lips. “You are
so
not the right kind of guy for me.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

Everything about him was wrong, but I couldn’t tell him that. So I settled for the obvious. “You’re way too young for me.”

“That’s the best you’ve got?”

“No, but it’s pretty good. Also, your job doesn’t take you out of town.”

“Au contraire
. Once a year the kids and I have a field trip to the State Capitol.”