Authors: Julie Lessman
A slow grin slid across Tess’s lips as her gaze flicked to the Great Wall of Privet, where she’d heard Beau barking and whining earlier. Just last week she’d noticed the beginning of a hole beneath the hedge, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t the work of a rabbit. Stifling a giggle, Tess tiptoed out the screen door, taking great care to close it without a sound. With all the stealth of a nosy neighbor, she knelt close to the near hole on her side of the hedge and peeked through. Her grin grew when she spied Ben relaxing in his Adirondack chaise, head back and eyes closed while his hand rested at the base of a soda can on the arm of his chair.
Tess scrunched her nose. Soda. Not her drink of choice, but then fresh-brewed peach tea was her addiction, whether pizza or steak. Her gaze drifted to sweet, ol’ Beau sprawled out at the base of Ben’s chair, and when the lab lifted his head to sniff the air, an idea struck. One night last week when she’d fixed BLTs for dinner, she remembered hearing Beau’s whines from the other side of the hedge, right before Ben had called him inside.
Feeling delightfully devious, Tess carefully rose to her feet and went inside to fry several pieces of bacon. When they were nice and crispy, she carried the hot pan outside to her wrought-iron table and fanned the fumes Beau’s way with a magazine. In no time, Beau was sniffing at the hedge, which immediately escalated to whimpers after Tess placed a piece of bacon by the hole on her side. As suspected, sweet ol’ Beau commenced to digging, the volume of his whines rising as fast as the chuckles in her throat, which she worked hard to restrain while ol’ Ben lounged lazily in his chair.
“Oh, knock it off, you big baby,” Ben called, causing Tess to jump back when her neighbor lifted his head to glare at his dog. “You have absolutely no reason to whine.”
A giggle escaped Tess’s lips as she perched hands on her hips and stared at the top of the hedge. “Oh, yeah? Well, you’d be a baby too, mister,” she called loudly, “especially if you spent all afternoon making homemade pizza for your family and then had to eat all alone.” Tess held her breath, the silence on the other side of the hedge deafening despite Beau’s woofs and whines.
———
Tess?
Ben stared at the privet hedge, jaw gaping before he snapped it closed again to silence a groan.
Come on, lady, why can’t you leave me alone?
He exhaled slowly and opted to just wait her out, hoping she’d take her bacon and pizza smells back inside and forget he was even around.
Silence reigned except for the pound of his pulse in his ears, and then … “I can hear you breath-ing …” she said in a sing-song tone that drawled out the last word.
He found himself holding his breath, the absurdity of it actually making him smile.
“Cheesy-gooey, hot, and straight out of the oven.” She continued on as if talking to herself, and he’d lay odds her cadence punctuated each word with a back-and-forth bobble of her head. “Mounds and mounds of Italian sausage … and bacon … and hamburger …” She paused, no doubt for effect, and he swore he could almost see the twinkle in her eyes through the hedge. “Oh, and pepperoni! You know the real thin, crispy kind that all but melts in your mouth? And, of course, lots and lots of veggies—mushrooms and Vidalia onions and broccoli and …” She droned on and on until he figured the stupid pizza had barely fit in her oven. “All smothered with the yummiest cheeses ever, like Mozzarella, Provolone, Parmesan … and just wait till you hear what’s in the salad …”
He couldn’t take it anymore—he had more drool on him than Beau. “Stop!” he shouted, pretty sure she could hear the rumble of his stomach. “
Why
are you tormenting me, Tess?”
She hesitated while he imagined her smiling. “Because I slaved over this gourmet pizza half the afternoon, Dr. Doom, and I have no one to eat it with.” There was a lull where Beau stood on his hind legs to paw at the privet before Tess’s voice bled through the hedge as a near whisper, lancing his heart. “And because I really, really hate to eat dinner alone.”
“You get used to it,” he called, hoping to tamp down any sympathy she might arouse.
“Oh, Ben ...” Her tone faded to soft, although its intensity did not, “I don’t ever want to get used to it because …” The sound of her wispy sigh wreaked havoc with his defenses. “Sustenance nourishes so much more when it’s shared.”
Head bowed, he slipped his hands in his pockets and slowly exhaled his dissent, wondering how in the world Tess always managed to disarm him, be it foul mood or temper. It had always been something she’d been particularly gifted at, even when the couples had been friends. His jaw stiffened.
But not this time.
“Tess, I have dinner plans later,” he lied, a last-ditch effort to put her off. It was drinks at Rocks on the Roof with friends who had bulldozed him into meeting a “lovely doctor,” but she didn’t need to know that.
“Come on, Ben, please? Appetizers, then …” There was a plaintive little-girl quality in her soulful tone that totally undid him, like when Lacey was little and used to beg him to come home from overnight shifts.
His eyelids shuttered closed at the memory, and gouging his temple with the ball of his hand, he unleashed a noisy exhale that smacked of surrender. “Deep dish or thin?” he said in a near groan.
“Thin. But deep,
deep
on the veggies, cheese, and meats, I promise.”
His sigh could have ruffled the hedge. “Okay, pushy neighbor, where will we nourish then—your place or mine?”
Her little squeal crooked his mouth into a grin, even as he stood there kneading the bridge of his nose.
“My house, please,” she said, the hurry-scurry of wrought iron scraping stone nearly drowning her out. “My ruffians are gone for the night, and my patio is calling.”
“Yeah, well I’m pretty sure I could have ignored the stupid patio,” he muttered, lifting his chin to project his voice through the hedge. “So, what can I bring …?” His mouth shifted sideways. “Besides a court injunction?”
Her giggle made him smile despite himself. “Just your crabby self and whatever you want to drink.”
He snatched his soda off the table and paused, suddenly craving something a lot stronger. “You want a beer?” he said, squinting at the hedge.
“Oh, heavens no—bite your tongue.” Several seconds passed while he imagined her chewing her lip like she used to whenever she’d said something she wished she hadn’t. “Uh … but thank you.”
The grin came more naturally this time, making it a record for the most grins in a day, at least lately. “Yeah, well keep in mind, Mrs. O’Bryen, that
none
of this would be happening if I had.”
Ambling to his slider, he ducked inside to grab one of the Blue Moons his fishing buddy Mort had left, then headed toward the gate. He patted the thigh of his Dockers to signal Beau to come, eyes narrowing when he spotted a hole beneath the hedge. His smile went flat. A hole considerably deeper than the rabbit hollow he’d noticed when he’d mowed last week. He halted to cock a hip. “So
you’re
the culprit, are you? Trying to dig your way to the bacon lady, huh? And all this time I’ve been blaming the poor rabbits.”
Beau woofed his response, jumping and dancing in circles all the way to the gate, obviously as excited about bacon as Ben was about pizza. The thought stopped him cold at the front edge of the border.
Excited—him?
About stepping foot into enemy territory for the first time in almost eight years? His eyes lumbered closed, the very notion depleting his air. He absently scruffed Beau’s head while the dog attempted to nudge him along. But Tess wasn’t the “enemy,” he reminded himself, only one betrayed by him just like Ben. An innocent who—unlike himself—hadn’t deserved such pain. He expelled a weary breath and continued his trek down Tess’s driveway to her back patio, where a woman who had once been a good friend waited, armed with pizza to assuage his hungry stomach.
And maybe—just maybe—her own hungry soul.
Beau bounded toward her with a humiliating squeal, drooling like he hadn’t been fed in a week, while Ben followed behind, shaking his head.
What am I, buster, chopped anchovies?
She fawned shamelessly over his dog with bacon brandished in the air, her laughter filling the summer night with the smell of it and oregano, lightly seasoned with just a hint of honeysuckle from the bushes that lined her garage. “Ah, the power of pizza,” she said with a hand splayed to her chest, her blue eyes sparkling more than the glimmer of river on the shore across the street. “Enough to lure the crabbiest of hermits to a neighbor’s table.”
“But not enough to tempt the kids to stay home, eh?” He regretted the barb the moment it left his mouth, but she only laughed, her smile as lively and bright as the candle that flickered and danced on a blue woven placemat.
“Oooo … low blow, Dr. Doom.” She tapped one of the wrought iron chairs they all used to sit in on summer nights. Only these were newly painted a pristine white with heron blue striped pillows that matched the shutters. “I can see my pizza and I have our work cut out for us. Sit, and I will administer the cure for the snarkiest of moods.”
He slid into the chair and watched as she flitted around her garden patio lighting torches, reminding him of Tinker Bell on octane, her air of excitement bubbling more than the cascading fountain edged with hostas. She tossed a grin over her shoulder as she lit the final torch, and if he didn’t know better, he’d swear she wasn’t a day over thirty, her sloppy ponytail bouncing as she hurried about. A smile flickered at the edge of his lips when her eyebrows did a Groucho Marx. “Mosquito repellent so we’re the only ones doing the nibbling,” she explained with a playful innocence that incriminated the direction of his mind.
‘
Nibbling,’ indeed.
The random thought took him by surprise as did the stutter of his pulse when his eyes scanned from loose curls that fluttered a graceful neck to a baggy tank top that couldn’t obscure the curves beneath. Heat crawled up his throat, and he doused it with a long swig of beer as she reentered the house, forcing his gaze from the back of shapely legs framed by jean shorts and sequined flip-flops.
For crying out loud, Carmichael, grow up, will you?
He was a respected middle-age physician, not some pimple-faced pup OD-ing on hormones. He sat up stiff in his chair, girding himself for an eat-and-run. After all, this was an old neighbor and friend, not some fix-up with a friend of a friend in a bar.
“Hey, I didn’t even ask you what you like on your pizza.” The screen door slammed behind her as she toted a humongous cooking stone laden with a thin-crust pizza that would put any deep-dish to shame. From a distance it could’ve been a bloomin’ Bundt cake streuseled with icing, for all he knew, except for that heavenly garlic and onion smell that gurgled his stomach. With a look of impish pride, she plunked it down next to an amazing-looking salad with a satisfied smile. “Hope you like a pizza with everything,” she quipped, and his smile veered dry as he snapped a nautical-style napkin onto his lap.
Yep, everything but perky neighbors.
His mouth watered while she disappeared inside for fresh grated parmesan and those little dried pepper flakes he’d had at Pizza Hut once, plopping them and sea salt down next to a stack of paper napkins. “This looks incredible, Tess,” he said, mouth full of drool as he ignored the salad to heft a giant piece of pizza with both hands.
Mere inches from his mouth, the pizza froze like every limb on his body when she bowed her head and whispered a prayer that put him to shame. “Thank you, Lord, for this willing—” The blue eyes peeked up beneath a sweep of the longest natural lashes he’d ever seen, twinkling with mischief. “
Or
unwilling, whatever the case may be—person to share my pizza tonight at a time when I was feeling just a tad lonely. I pray that you bless our food and our conversation and especially our friendship. Amen.” She proceeded to pile a dark leafy salad on her plate and drizzle it with vinegar and oil.
“Amen,” he mumbled around a huge bite of the pizza, shoving it in before any saliva could escape. Reaching for a stash of paper napkins, he eyed her while he chewed and swallowed, glomming onto the part of her prayer that surprised him. “I can’t imagine anybody who cooks like this being lonely, Tess, especially not with four kids. This is great.”
She poked at a cherry tomato that glistened with oil, chewing slowly while she studied him with a pensive look. “I’m not usually lonely, but lately—with Jack and Matt and the girls growing up and going their own ways—well, it just seems like my time with them is dwindling away, and I guess that makes me sad.”
“There’s always Davey,” he said with a smile, anxious to restore that light and fun air of hers that seemed to be a balm to his own empty mood. “Should be lots of basketball and bath-time battles left in your life, I would think.”
That did the trick.
He sat back and devoured his pizza while she chattered on and on about what a total shock and “blessing” her final pregnancy had been, sharing laughter and stories that relaxed him far more than the beer he’d consumed. She was a woman fiercely in love with her family and it showed, loosening more and more of his laughter with every Davey debacle disclosed.
When they’d been close as couples, he’d always known her to be fun and full of life, which at times like tonight gave her an almost innocent, little-girl air. But the moment she spoke about her children, she became the consummate mother, it seemed, still fun loving, but somehow steeled by a quiet authority and confidence that surprised him, impressed him. By the time she’d finished her salad and pounced on her second piece of pizza, he knew more about her life than anyone who was a part of his and strangely enough, he felt the beginning of a bond he hadn’t expected. A comfortable silence ensued as she closed her eyes to chew a piece of pizza that barely fit in her mouth, and he tried to remember the last time he’d felt this relaxed. Body mellow, great food, his gopher dog sprawled out by his side, and the easy company of one of the few women in the world he actually trusted.