Rochelle Alers - Long Time Coming

Propping her elbow on the table, Tessa rested her chin on the heel of her hand and stared directly at Micah. She had to admit that the diffuse light flattered the sharp angles in the face of the man sitting opposite her. He was well-spoken and urbane—two traits she’d found missing in some of the men she’d come in contact with. Either they were one or the other.

“There’s not much I can do until I meet with her. There are too many questions and details to go over that only she’ll know. But there is something I could check out now.”

“What’s that?”

“I need to see the wedding site.”

“How soon do you need to see it?”

“Like yesterday.” There was a hint of laughter in Tessa’s voice.

A small smile played at the corners of Micah’s firm mouth. “That can be arranged.” He stood up and reached for the jacket he’d left on the stool. Retrieving his cell phone, he scrolled through the directory. Within seconds he heard Rosalind Sanborn’s dulcet greeting.

“Mom, I’m here with the wedding consultant.” It took less than three minutes for Micah to give his mother an update on what Tessa needed for Bridget’s wedding, Rosalind promising to help when and wherever she could. There was no mistaking the excitement in her voice.

Covering the mouthpiece with his thumb, he met Tessa’s questioning look across the table. “Are you available to come to New Jersey with me on Sunday?” She nodded. He removed his thumb. “Yes. We’ll see you Sunday.” Ending the call, he placed the tiny phone in his shirt pocket.

Tessa expelled an inaudible sigh. She’d just scaled one hurdle in the Sanborn-Cohen nuptials. She didn’t have to scramble to look for a place in which to hold the reception for eighty.

“What time is your mother expecting us?”

“My mother is always up early, so maybe we’ll get there in time to share brunch with her and my father. And if Bridget is finished with jury duty, she’ll also be there.”

Tessa spent the next hour outlining minute details of a formal wedding, from invitations, prewedding parties, hair and makeup to ceremony, reception flowers, photographs of the ceremony, reception and music. Some of the candles on the table were sputtering when she finished.

She pushed to her feet and Micah stood up with her. “I need to clean up the kitchen.”

Micah caught her wrist as she picked up a plate. “Sit. I’ll clean up.”

“No.”

He tightened his hold, registering the fragile bones under his loose grip. “You cooked, so I’ll clean.”

She shook her head. “No, Micah.”

Not releasing her hand, he rounded the table. “Yes.” He hadn’t raised his voice, but the single word was pregnant with authority.

“Must I remind you that you’re in my home?”

Attractive lines fanned out around his eyes when he smiled. He let go of her hand. “There’s no way I’d ever mistake your place for mine. I live in a studio apartment above a garage that’s about the size of your kitchen and pantry. The bathroom is no larger than a closet. It’s a good thing I’m not claustrophobic, because there’s only enough room for a convertible sofa, a table and a chair.”

Tessa’s naturally arching eyebrows lifted as she smiled. “A single chair?”

Micah returned her smile, nodding.

“Have you always lived in Staten Island?”

“No.” Taking the plates from her, Micah walked over to the sink. “I moved there four months ago.”

Tessa gathered up the glasses and silver. “Where did you live before?” She wasn’t chatty by nature, but talking was preferable to complete silence.

“Da Bronx. “

She laughed softly. She’d grown up hearing Bronxites refer to their borough as da rather than the. “I assume you’re a Yankees fan?”

Shifting, Micah stared at Tessa in the muted light. The flickering flames turned her into a statue of gold. “I didn’t grow up a Yankees fan, but after living in the Bronx for almost half my life it was safer to root for them than the Mets.”

Tessa joined Micah at the sink, filling it with water and adding a dollop of dishwashing liquid. She rinsed the dishes and glasses, passing them to him as he stacked them in the dishwasher.

“Did you grow up in the city?” Tessa asked, continuing with her questioning.

His eyebrows lifted when he realized she’d called New York City the city. “No. I grew up in New Jersey.”

She gave him a sidelong glance. “How did a Jersey boy find his way across the river to the Bronx?”

His hands halted placing serving pieces in the dishwasher. “My, aren’t you inquisitive.”

“You can say that I’m just a little curious about a man willing to do dishes.” She was very curious about Micah Sanborn because he was the first man who’d offered to help her in the kitchen.

“Good home training.”

She smiled. “Good for you, and kudos to your mother.”

“You can tell her when you meet her Sunday. To answer your question as to how I came to live in the big city, I lived with an aunt in Manhattan while I went to college. After graduating, I rented an apartment in the Bronx. Eventually I bought a two-bedroom condo not far from the Throgs Neck Bridge. Earlier this year I moved from the Bronx to Staten Island. Where did you grow up?” he asked, deftly shifting the focus from himself to Tessa.

“Mount Vernon.”

“What brought you to the city?”

“It’s the same as you. I came to go to college.”

“What college did you go to?”

Before Tessa could answer the question, the power returned; the lights flickered off and on for several seconds, then went out again. She let out an audible sigh. “It looks as if this is going to be a long night.”

Several of the tea lights sputtered, fizzled and went out. Micah replaced the burned-out candles from a supply in a large plastic bag. “I’d better light a few more candles or we’re going to be in the dark again.”

The doorbell rang, startling Tessa and Micah. They stared at each other as a slight frown appeared between her eyes. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Reaching for the flashlight, she flicked it on.

“I better see who that is.” She turned to make her way out of the kitchen, Micah following. Without warning, she stopped. He plowed into her and she dropped the flashlight. “What are you doing?” The query came out in a hissing sound.

Micah picked up the flashlight. “I’m coming with you.”

“There’s no need for you to follow me.”

Ignoring her reprimand, he held her hand in a firm grip. “There’s no way I’m going to let you answer the door when you don’t know who’s standing on the other side.”

“You’re a bossy somebody, aren’t you?” she said accusingly.

“Hell, yeah.” There was laughter in his confirmation.

She struggled to free herself, but she was no match for his superior strength. What little she’d been able to glimpse of Micah Sanborn before the power went out was a tall, slender man whose tailored clothes artfully concealed a lean, muscular physique. When he’d held her during his call to One Police Plaza, she hadn’t been that traumatized that she hadn’t taken note of the comforting crush of his solid body.

“I’d answer the door by myself if you weren’t here with me,” she countered angrily.

Training the beam of light from the flashlight on the floor, Micah steered her down the hallway to the front door. “Thank goodness that I am here. There are some folks who’ll use a blackout as an excuse to act the fool.”

Tessa rolled her eyes at him even though he couldn’t see her. “This happens to be a safe neighborhood.”

“No neighborhood is that safe. There is crime in Brooklyn Heights.”

“I suppose you would know the statistics.” A tapping on the door and a man’s voice calling Tessa’s name cut off Micah’s reply. “It sounds like one of my neighbors. May I open the door?” she asked facetiously.