Authors: Dianne Venetta
The coffee machine beeped three times. She only hoped the effort didn’t blow up in her face.
Reaching into an upper cabinet she withdrew a coffee filter and filled it with dark, aromatic grounds; a specialty brand Aurelio secured for her from Colombia. Latching the cup into place she flipped the switch into the on position.
She caught movement out of the corner of her eye. “What the—" Jennifer froze. Her pulse skyrocketed. Jackson walked by her window. She dropped to the floor.
Did he see her
?
Conscious of the perspiration spray to her underarms, she burrowed her squatted body into the corner of her cabinets. Her heart pounded. She couldn’t be seen like this!
Voices called back and forth.
What were they doing here on a Saturday
? Spotting the top of their heads walking around the back, she panicked. The back doors were wide open.
Now what? Make a dash for it?
She glanced at the back doors. Not a chance. There was no way she’d make it by without them seeing her. Her pulse skittered.
Seeing her naked. She groaned. Oh, wouldn’t
that
be perfect. Dr. Jennifer Hamilton... She closed her eyes. Notorious streaker. Her career would be ruined.
She popped open her eyes. What if they checked her open door? What if they poked their heads in and called her name.
She shuddered. That could not happen. Inching upward, she peered over the kitchen table. The man following Jackson had black hair and dark skin. He wore a loaded tool belt and carried a large white bucket. She briefly wondered what he needed a bucket for until they headed for the cracked wall. He must be the fellow Jackson hired to work on the back fountain.
Rising a tad higher, she scanned the perimeter for others. Seeing no one, she decided this was her best chance. She’d make a run for it while they were far enough away to miss her.
Crawling across the kitchen on all fours, she headed toward the living room; deeper into her house and further from view. Then, like a trapped animal, she made a dash for it. She yanked the blanket from the armrest when a man shouted.
Oh my God
! Her heart thumped hard against her ribs. He sounded like he was standing right outside her door! Nearly tripping as she wrapped the material around her body, she flattened her body against a wall. Mostly hidden by an enormous armoire, she edged around the piece and checked for onlookers.
No one. Dropping her head back against the wall, she struggled for calm. Breathe. Breathe, darn it,
breathe.
Satisfied no one was in plain view she slid around the corner and ran to her bedroom. As she passed the back windows, she could see Jackson and the dark-haired man by the wall, but where was the other one?
Instantly alarmed that he must be outside the kitchen—watching her streak!—she slammed the door closed. Mortified as a guilty teenager, she struggled to catch her breath.
This was ridiculous! This was her home! Noting shades were still drawn, she thanked God for small favors.
Jennifer took more breaths to calm the rapid rhythm of her heart. Once back in control, she turned the lock on her door to assure her privacy, then reminded herself that the prospect of strangers in her backyard was something she was going to have to get used to—at least for the next couple of weeks anyway. Otherwise, the entire city will learn some interesting new tidbits about Dr. Jennifer Hamilton!
Shower. She seized upon the idea at once. Shower first, coffee second. She moaned, instantly craving her Java Mocha. A creature of habit, this wasn’t going to be easy.
Forty-five minutes later Jennifer emerged from her bedroom a new woman. Dressed in khaki Capris and a sleeveless blue button-down, her hair blown-dry and complexion lightly made-up, she was ready for a taste of the heavy scent of coffee drifting through her home.
Peering out through the open patio doors as she ambled across the living room, she could see Jackson and his assistant smearing stucco over the wall. He seemed to be working as hard as his hired hand, causing her to wonder, did he put this much face-time in all his projects? Or was this one special, because Michael had insisted.
Pulling a ceramic mug from the cabinet she poured the coffee, replaced the carafe, and brought the hot liquid to her lips. She winced.
More cream. Setting the cup down on the counter, she fetched the carton of creamer and doused her coffee with a wallop. Must be what happens when coffee is allowed to sit, she mused soberly. Tasting it again and satisfied it was drinkable, she sighed. Oh well. Some things can’t be helped.
It’s not every day you find strange men lurking in your yard!
Plucking a pink grapefruit from the refrigerator, she grabbed a knife and plate and began to cut the individual sections. Though she had toyed with the idea in the shower—what if Jackson had seen her? A thrill shot through her belly. What if she had been inappropriately exposed? Would he have said something? Would they pretend it never happened? Jennifer shook the thoughts away.
Stop
. The man is here to work, not spy.
Her attention drifted from her task and back into the yard.
Definitely an industrious one, she’d give him that. At least on this job. Judging by his knowledge of plants and his skill at drawing, he could probably be successful—if he wanted to be. He need only apply himself and he could have a real business going where he wouldn’t need to tend bar.
The question loomed heavy in her mind. Why settle for digging through dirt and part-time bartending, if you could do better? Was this a family business? She glanced back at him. Did he feel obligated to continue in this line of work?
Jennifer set her mug on the breakfast table and walked out the front door in search of her newspaper, only to crush it underfoot. Startled, she reached down and picked it up. How did the
Herald
manage to make it to her doorstep? But no sooner had the thought occurred, so did the answer—
Jackson. Well, wasn’t that a thoughtful thing to do. She turned back into the house with a soft close of the door. Placing the paper on the table, she topped off her coffee mug and settled into a chair to eat—one that gave her a bird’s-eye view of the backyard activity.
Jackson and his associate were laughing as they worked. Perhaps a funny tale shared over someone’s cavorting the night before? Jennifer imagined men discussed those things, much like women did. Probably divulged a lot more detail, though. She experienced a mild shiver at the thought. Never do anything with a man you’re dating that you don’t want shared with his buddies, right?
Hmph
. Perhaps one worried about that with other men, but not with Aurelio. He was a model of integrity; a man made from the cornerstone of honesty and respect. He would never talk in such a crude manner.
A half-hour passed as Jennifer enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, perusing the day’s headlines. Jackson and his helper hadn’t budged from their task, other than to change position along the wall. She was impressed. At this rate, they were making great strides, almost three-quarters of the way finished. Her mood lifted. Things were beginning to look up around here now that everything was under control.
Rising from her chair, she decided now was as good a time as any to check their progress. Refreshing her coffee, she slipped on a pair of leather slides she kept by the door and walked out onto the terrace. Across the quiet, she could hear the occasional metal clang against cement, the scraping as the men smoothed the wet cement mixture over the wall.
On either side of her yard, mounds of black dirt dotted with bright-orange flags and lined with string provided her only clue as to what lay ahead. Other than his phenomenal drawings of course, but paper and ink was one thing. Real life perspective was quite another.
She recalled that his plan called for a hedge between the driveway and grass and it was clearly marked as such, several holes already dug. The center aisle arbor that was to connect wall fountain and pool remained a vision in her imagination, as the space was currently free of any such markings.
Squatting to spackle the base Jackson turned, abandoning the wall for a moment to look in her direction. He smiled.
The unexpected spotlight of his attention caused a minor stir of self-consciousness. Jennifer waved and smiled back, slightly uneasy at being caught staring at him. But since he was doing the same, now was as “innocuous” an opportunity as any to make the first move.
Careful not to fill her sandals with dirt, she approached.
He stood, and without entirely deserting his work space took a few steps in her direction. Wearing khaki shorts and boots, no sweat on his brow, his appearance was neat, save for that stubborn mess atop his head.
“Good morning!” he called out.
“Good morning,” she returned.
A patter of birdsong rang out as morning stretched into noon. The sun trickled in through the overhead oaks and while humidity dampened the air, it wasn’t too heavy. The heat hadn’t become oppressive yet thank goodness, or her makeup would be on the verge of melting.
A complication she didn’t need when trying to put her best face forward. She gazed about the immediate vicinity in feigned indifference and sought comfort in benign conversation. “Do you always work on weekends?”
“Usually,” he grinned. “But Sundays I keep for myself.”
Not last Sunday, he hadn’t
. She came to a stop a good ten feet away. “So how’s it coming?”
“Great. We’re really making some headway on the fountain.” Jackson turned to introduce the other man. “This is Carlos.” The shorter fellow nodded a cheeky smile in her direction. “He’s my masonry guy. He’ll be forming the basin for the fountain this week, and then attach the fountainhead.”
“Will he also be responsible for the tile?”
“No.” Jackson shook his head as though the thought was absurd. “I have a special outfit I’ll be using for the tile work. They specialize in international ceramics and I think you’ll be happier with their selection and application process. The guy’s going to call me tomorrow with his schedule. Then I’ll have a better idea when I can get the sample books of tile for you to choose from.”
Jennifer nodded, and Carlos stood.
“
Voy a coger mas
.”
“
Si
,” Jackson replied. He placed his spatula on a temporary work table and proceeded to pull off his gloves.
Carlos gave another nod in her direction. “
Senora
.”
“
Senorita
,” Jackson corrected with a good-natured grin, tossing his chin toward Jennifer. “
No esta casada. Todavia
,” he winked.
“Sorry,” Carlos said, his English thick, and aimed a sheepish smile in her direction.
Jennifer turned to Jackson in surprise. “You speak Spanish?”
He laughed. “Doesn’t everybody in Miami?”
“No,” she mumbled. It wasn’t one of the subjects she had chosen to learn.
“A lot of my subs are Spanish so yes, I learned a little over the years. I’m not fluent, or anything close!” he added without an ounce of shame. “I speak mostly the nuts and bolts of the language, especially that which pertains to my business. It gets me by.”
“It’s more than I know,” she said, bringing the warm cup of coffee to her lips.
“I plan on putting in the hibiscus today,” he said, the change in subject brisk.
She withdrew her mug in surprise? “So soon?”
“The sooner I get them in, the better they’ll look for the big day.” Jackson smiled again, pleasure swallowing his eyes.
Something he did quite often, Jennifer noticed. In fact, smiling seemed second-nature to him.
Which she felt to be refreshing. She straightened a bit and cleared her throat. “Listen,” she said, establishing a semblance of objectivity to her voice, “I realize Michael told you why I’m pressed to get this landscaping in, but—"
He held up a hand. “No explanation necessary. Nothing becomes a bride like a garden wedding.” Gloves held in one hand, he hitched his shorts up a little higher then settled both hands to hips.
“Yes, well,” she said, uncomfortable at revealing her personal affairs. “It’s a little more complicated than that.” Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she mulled over the best approach. While she didn’t want to give him the impression she was some foolish young bride who wanted what she wanted—when she wanted it—she did want him to understand why her situation demanded haste.
“Michael mentioned your mother,” Jackson intervened, his tone dropped in reverence.
“Yes. Well, the truth of the matter...” she hemmed. “I could just as easily go to the Justice of the Peace, but it’s not really an option and...”
Brown eyes filled with understanding. “I know.”
The compassion in his expression closed her throat with a hard lump. Unable to speak, Jennifer didn’t attempt to fill the pause.
“A bride is such a beautiful creature,” he moved easily past the uncomfortable silence. “You can’t waste that on a dirty government building. Your mother’s right.” His eyes softened. “A garden complements a woman in love like nothing else.”