Rochelle Alers - Long Time Coming

He didn’t want to put off having dinner with Tessa any longer than necessary because, as a new prosecutor, his hours were slated to change from days to nights, and with most weddings taking place on weekends he wasn’t certain about her timetable. Perhaps, he mused, he could check on the house and have dinner with her.

“How would you like to go apple picking next Saturday?”

Tessa shot him a confused look. “Which one is it, Micah? Are we going apple picking or out to dinner?”

“We can do both. I have a place upstate, and across the road is an apple orchard where you can pick whatever variety you want. We can pick apples, I’ll winterize the house and then we’ll go out to dinner. But if we eat up there, then it’s not going to be fancy.”

“Is the food good?”

Giving her a quick glance, Micah smiled. “It’s very good.”

Her smile matched his. “That sounds like a plan to me.”

Micah covered her left hand with his right, bringing both to rest on the gearshift. He continued to hold her hand as he shifted gears. They lost track of time when they talked about the evolution of music from the early days of blues and jazz to the advent of pop, rock and roll, R & B and soul and the sampling and crossover of artists to different genres.

He was so engrossed in their conversation and the sensual pull of the woman sitting inches away that he hadn’t noticed he was in Bergen County until he saw the signs indicating the number of miles to Franklin Lakes. The landscape had changed, along with the size of the homes.

Tessa eased her hand from the protective warmth of Micah’s when they entered the city limits for Franklin Lakes. Judging from the number of gated properties, there was no doubt he’d grown up in a privileged environment.

He maneuvered off a local road and onto a private path with four mailboxes bearing the names of homeowners at the bottom of a steep hill. She peered through the copse of towering trees lining both sides of the unpaved path like sentinels on guard duty and filtering out the sun’s rays.

“You grew up in the woods.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in Micah’s chest. “It’s not the woods.”

Resting a hand on her hip, Tessa gave him a look that dared him to refute her. “Anytime trees grow high enough to block out sunlight, then it’s the woods.”

“Okay, you win. It’s the woods.”

Her delicate jaw dropped. “I don’t believe it!”

“What don’t you believe?” he asked.

“I can’t believe you conceded,” she teased.

“I only conceded because you hurt my feelings when you said I was contrary.”

Tessa leaned close enough for her shoulder to touch Micah’s. “I’m sorry. Will you accept my apology?”

Slowing, he pressed one of two remotes attached to the visor, and the iron gates protecting the property at the top of the hill opened smoothly. He drove through, continuing along a paved path and coming to a stop behind one of several SUVs parked in the rear of a three-story manor-style house.

Micah shut off the engine, got out and came around to assist Tessa. He didn’t give her time to react when he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side.

Lowering his head, he stared at her parted lips. “I’ll think about it.”

Tessa shivered noticeably despite the warmth from Micah’s body. She had no intention of permitting herself to fall under the spell he wove just by their sharing the same space. She imposed an iron control on her emotions she hadn’t known she possessed.

“Don’t think too long, Micah.”

A hint of a smile tilted the corners of his mouth. “I won’t.” Reaching for Tessa’s hand, he said, “Let’s go inside. Once you meet my family, then you’ll know what you have to deal with.”

Tessa followed Micah as he led her around to the front entrance, and within seconds of walking into the great room with a ceiling rising upward of three stories she understood Micah’s claim that his parents were prepared to pay for whatever Bridget wanted. The size of the house and surrounding acreage confirmed that Bridget Sanborn didn’t need a room at the Waldorf or a catering hall for her reception because the Franklin Lakes house with a massive chandelier and elaborate winding staircase was the perfect setting for a formal wedding and reception.

Micah studied Tessa’s reaction to seeing the house where he’d grown up, but nothing in her expression revealed what she was thinking or feeling. “What do you think?”

Tilting her head, she flashed a warm smile. “It’s wonderful.” Opening her handbag, she took out a slim digital camera and snapped pictures of the entryway, the great room and the staircase. “Is your sister here?”

Micah shook his head. “I didn’t see her car.” He took her hand again. “Whatever happens, don’t let my mother talk your ear off.”

“I heard that, Micah Edgar Sanborn. And you know it’s not nice to gossip about your mother behind her back.”

Tessa and Micah turned around at the same time. Standing in the entryway was a petite woman with stylishly cut silver hair and laughing blue eyes. She’d come up behind them without making a sound, looking every inch the suburban housewife in a pair of khakis she’d paired with a pale blue button-down shirt, navy-blue cardigan tied over her shoulders and leather slip-ons. Attractive lines fanned out around her eyes.

Micah released Tessa’s hand and scooped up Rosalind Sanborn, kissing her cheek. “Good morning, beautiful.”

A rush of pink suffused Rosalind’s porcelain complexion as she patted her son’s shoulder. “Don’t try to get over on me, you silver-tongued devil. I owe you a dressing-down for standing me up for dinner last week.”

Setting his mother on her feet, Micah winked at her. “We’ll talk about that later.” He turned and smiled at Tessa. “Tessa, this is my mother, Rosalind Sanborn. Mom, Miss Tessa Whitfield of Signature Bridals.”

Tessa slipped her camera into her purse and offered her hand. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Sanborn.”

Rosalind shook Tessa’s hand while rolling her eyes upward. “Please call me Rosalind. The title of Mrs. Sanborn has been reserved for my mother-in-law.”

Tessa felt an instant liking for Rosalind Sanborn. She was friendly and unpretentious, and although there was nothing in her physical appearance to substantiate that she was Micah’s biological mother, the intangible bond between mother and son was strong enough to be palpable.

“Why are we standing here talking when Tessa’s probably starving? Are you ready to eat, my dear?”

Tessa’s gaze met Rosalind’s. “Yes, ma’am.”

Taking her arm, Rosalind led Tessa across the marble floor. “You’ll get to meet everyone except Bridget. It’s not often that Edgar and I get to have all of our children together at the same time, but we take whatever we can get.” She glanced over her shoulder, giving Micah a knowing look.

Tessa entered the kitchen with Micah and Rosalind and found herself bombarded by a cacophony of noise, voices and a variety of tantalizing aromas. Adults and children ranging in age from a toddler sitting on the floor banging on a pot to an adolescent sat around an oval counter in the middle of the expansive kitchen, waiting to eat. An older man with salt-and-pepper hair stood at the cooking island. He alternated flipping pancakes with checking omelets for doneness.

“Hurry up, Grandpa,” urged a young boy with a shock of unruly red curls. His identical twin brother drummed his elbows on the table as he brandished a fork like a rapier.

“Put down that fork before you put someone’s eye out,” warned a slender freckled-face woman with hair a darker shade of red.