Ann Christopher - Redemption's Kiss

Jillian rolled her eyes. She’d wondered how long it’d take Blanche to raise this topic and was surprised it had required—what?—fifty whole seconds.

“I am not dating,” she said, now using a floured glass to cut dough rounds and place them on the baking sheet. “I had one dinner with a man—”

“And coffee with him last week. Coffee plus dinner equals dating.”

“I don’t date,” Jillian said flatly. “I meet the occasional nice man and have dinner.”

“Very occasional.” Blanche’s backside poked in all its considerable glory from the depths of the refrigerator, where she was now arranging food. “Since this is the first man I’ve seen you have dinner with in three years.”

Affronted because there was no need for such an unvarnished recitation of the sorry state of Jillian’s love life this early in the day, she put the glass down and frowned at Blanche.

“You just focus on baking that chicken for lunch, okay?”

“No sex.” Blanche emerged from the fridge and pulled a tragic face on Jillian’s behalf. “No fried chicken. All work, no fun. No wonder you’re so uptight all the time. You haven’t got much to live for, far as I can tell.”

Jillian laughed, but it was as hollow as most of her laughter these days. Something inside her had broken and, three years later, she still hadn’t found a way to fix it. Maybe it was time to face the fact that the old Jillian, the happy one, was damaged beyond repair.

The funny thing was, she didn’t really care. Here at the B & B, which she’d bought with her divorce settlement because she didn’t want to return to practicing law and she needed something to do now that she was no longer the first lady of Virginia, she’d built something more lasting than happiness: peace, personal satisfaction and self-sufficiency. Even better, she’d found a mother’s pleasure in seeing her child discover the world.

Wasn’t that good enough?

She knew how to meet a payroll and balance the books, manage several employees, feed up to thirty people in the dining room, unclog a toilet, install storm doors and bandage scraped knees. Best of all, Allegra was happy and healthy.

Those were the important things. As long as they were on track, it didn’t matter that Jillian felt dead inside—when she felt anything at all.

A clatter in the hall jarred Jillian out of her thoughts and she looked around in time to see Barbara Jean, Blanche’s granddaughter, appear in the doorway.

Twenty-one and heading back to Vanderbilt in the fall, Barbara Jean spent most of her time marching to the beat of her own drum. Witness the orange and red hair, the multiple piercings and the iPod, which was always strapped to her arm. On the other hand, Barbara Jean was a straight-A student, levelheaded and responsible. She was, therefore, Allegra’s well-paid and much-appreciated nanny.

Barbara Jean threw her arms wide in a flourish and bowed. “Make way for Princess Allegra!”

Jillian and Blanche, who went through this drill on a daily basis, snapped to attention and bowed as two-year-old Allegra sidled into the room, teetering on purple plastic prostitute-in-training slides with pink ostrich feathers across the open toes. Today’s ensemble also included a pink leotard and tutu combination, a sparkling rhinestone crown and a blue magic wand with pink streamers.

“All hail Princess Allegra,” the adults intoned.

Allegra blessed them with a serene nod. “You may rise.”

Jillian crooked her finger at the girl, who came over. “Come here, Princess Allegra. Mommy’s got something for you.”

“What?”

“This.”

Sweeping her daughter up, Jillian kissed her fat little honey-with-cream-colored cheeks and swung her in a circle. Allegra screamed with laughter, revealing one Shirley Temple dimple on the left side of her mouth and tiny white teeth. After a few seconds of this silliness, Jillian set the girl back on her wobbly legs and ruffled her sandy curls.

“Don’t forget you’ve got a swimming lesson soon. Barbara Jean will take you.”

“Nooo-ooo.” Allegra backed away as though she expected to be dragged off in chains and tortured in a dungeon. “I don’t want to go swimming. I want a tea party.”

“Yeah, well, there’s plenty of time for a tea party after you swim.”

Allegra prepared for a rant by opening her mouth so wide you’d think it had a hinge, but a new distraction arrived before she could get started: someone knocked on the kitchen door.

They all looked around to see a man standing on the other side of the screen with a bouquet of red roses slung over one arm.

Jillian’s pulse quickened and a hot flush crept over her cheeks. She hastily washed her hands while Blanche shot her a smirk and then sauntered to the door and swung it open.

“Adam Marshall,” Blanche cried, laying the charm on so thick she’d need a putty knife in a minute. “You come right on in here and have some coffee and a muffin. How’s our favorite accountant?”

“I’m pretty good now that I know there’s a muffin in my future.” He came inside while everyone said hello and Blanche fixed his snack. His gaze went straight to Jillian and held. “How are you, Jillian?”

“I’m good.”

Adam had been the B & B’s accountant for two years and had been making eyes at Jillian for a year and eleven months. There was an intimidation factor involved, Jillian supposed, because she’d been the first lady of Virginia and was the sister of the sitting president. That, combined with Adam’s natural shyness, accounted for his delay in asking her out, not that Jillian was anxious, given her antidating stance.

But last week he’d finally gotten up the nerve to approach her, and they’d had coffee. Why not? She had to drink coffee, right? Why not drink it with him? Then they’d had dinner. Both had gone reasonably well. Now here he was again.

On paper he was everything a single mother like her should want: single, straight, with a nice job, a sense of humor and no lurking baby mamas. Plus, he was easy on the eyes. Dark skinned with a mustache and skull trim, he had warm brown eyes and the kind of dimpled boyish grin that probably weakened knees wherever he went.

It wasn’t his fault that Jillian’s knees were impervious.

So, yeah, she wasn’t dating, wasn’t smitten and wouldn’t be falling into this guy’s bed—or anyone else’s, come to think of it—anytime soon. And that was just fine with her because she had a drawer full of BOBs (Battery Operated Boyfriends) upstairs.

But…he was a decent guy and she had to pass the time somehow. Why not do it with him on occasion?

Allegra tottered over on her plastic heels and stared up at Adam.

“I like your flowers.”

Adam looked down at the girl. “Thank you.” Allegra’s curls quivered with her bouncing excitement. “Are they for me?”

Adam, bless his heart, didn’t miss a beat. Smiling, he pulled one perfect red bud out of the huge arrangement and held it out to Allegra.

“For you, your majesty.”

Allegra beamed up at him. “Thank you. You may kiss my hand.”

They all laughed. Adam took her tiny hand with its chipped pink nail polish and kissed it with the appropriate solemnity. Allegra tittered.

And Adam went up another notch or two in Jillian’s estimation.

“Okay, princess.” Barbara Jean took Allegra’s hand and steered her toward the hall. “Time for swimming.”

“Nooo-ooo.” Allegra’s wails echoed down the hall as they disappeared from sight.

Blanche presented Adam with coffee and a pumpkin muffin the size of a small melon. “I’ll just leave you two to chat.” She patted Adam’s arm. “Enjoy your muffin.”

“Thanks, Blanche.” Adam watched her go and then gave the roses to Jillian. “For you.”