Deborah Mello - Always Means Forever

Darwin nodded. “When was the last time we saw each other? Christmas?”

She shook her head. “Thanksgiving, I think. At Mac and Jeneva’s. If I remember correctly, you were in Louisiana for Christmas.”

“That’s right. My sister did Christmas dinner.” He screwed up his face as though the memory had brought back a bad taste.

Bridget chuckled. “Was it that awful?”

He laughed. “No, not really. But cooking isn’t one of Paris’s stronger attributes and she wouldn’t let me help. We have to be nice, though, when she tries or Mama gets mad at us.”

“How is Mama Frances?” Bridget asked, inquiring about his mother.

“She’s doing very well. Still trying to keep Uncle Jake on the straight and narrow.”

It suddenly dawned on Bridget that they were still standing in the foyer of her home. She shook her head. “How rude of me. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you.” Darwin smiled as she gestured toward the living room sofa. He took a seat, settling his large body against the cushioned perch. An awkward silence suddenly filled the space between them as Bridget dropped down against the wing chair across from him. Darwin stared down to the hardwood floor, searching his thoughts for something clever to say but words were fleeting. He suddenly felt silly, the moment reminiscent of grade school and after-school antics between the boys and the girls.

The rising uneasiness felt thick and heavy and both of them suddenly felt self-conscious. Bridget brushed her palms against her thighs, wiping at the dampness that had risen to her palms. This was the first time she and Darwin had ever been in a room alone together. She’d fantasized about this moment more times than she was willing to admit, but never had her dreams been as embarrassing and as uncomfortable as she was now feeling.

“So…” she started, her gaze skipping around the room as if she were afraid to rest her eyes on him.

Darwin smiled. “So…how have you been?”

Bridget smiled again, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. “As well as can be expected, I guess.”

Quiet filled the space for a second time. Bridget was suddenly aware of his breathing, the slow inhale and exhale of his breath blending with the louder click of the grandfather clock in the hallway and the CD player that was playing softly in the other room. He sat with a large manila envelope between his palms, spinning the package over and over in his hands. She watched him as he looked around the room, slowly noting each detail of her decor. His gaze lingered ever so briefly on the large acrylic painting that hung just above her baby grand piano. His lips pulled up into the slightest smile and the gesture sent a shiver through the pit of her stomach and up her spine.

“That’s beautiful,” he said, his head bobbing up and down. “Is it an original or a reproduction?”

“An original. It was done by an artist named Joseph Holston.”

“Very nice.”

Bridget stared where he stared, reflecting on the abstract painting’s cubist style. The image was of a couple embracing, and it had been one of her favorites from the moment she’d first laid eyes on it. She turned to stare back at him.

“Are those your contracts?” she asked, gesturing with her head to the mailer in his hands.

“Oh…yeah. These are them.” He extended the envelope toward her. “I really appreciate this, Bridget. In the past I’ve used my agent’s attorney, but these needed to be reviewed in a hurry and I really wanted someone I trust to look them over for me. But if it’s a bother or if I’m keeping you from anything, I’ll understand.”

She shook her head. “It’s not a problem, really. I was just going to throw a chicken breast under the broiler and call it a night.”

“You haven’t eaten yet?”

“Not yet.”

Darwin beamed, shifting forward in his seat. “I’ll tell you what. Let me loose in your kitchen and I’ll cook your dinner while you look at my contracts.”

“That’s not necessary—” she started.

“Really,” he said, rising to his feet and heading boldly toward the back of her home. “I want to.”

Bridget followed behind him. “Well, only if you promise to stay and eat with me.”

The man smiled, winking an eye as he glanced back over his shoulder. “It’s a deal.”

“Now, I really don’t have a whole lot to work with,” she said. “I usually eat out.”

Darwin chuckled as he took in the expanse of her immaculate kitchen. “It doesn’t take much to eat well.”

Taking a seat at the dining table, Bridget watched as he took command of her kitchen. Pulling open her cupboards, he gathered a row of spices onto the counter, then moved to lean into her refrigerator. The view of his backside and the tight pair of Levi’s jeans he wore caused her body to heat with sudden wanting. Shaking the emotion, Bridget laid the documents onto the tabletop and began to read.

Darwin was grateful for the distraction. He’d not anticipated feeling this unnerved in Bridget’s presence. He’d forgotten just how exquisite she was. Bridget bore a striking resemblance to the songstress Lauryn Hill. They shared the same rich, deep-chocolate complexion; charismatic smile framed by full, luscious lips and dark ebony eyes that shimmered with a hint of vulnerability. Her demeanor was controlled and confident and Darwin was willing to bet that Bridget didn’t have a clue just how intimidating she could be to a man.

Bridget could bring a man to his knees with just the hint of a smile. And when she opened her mouth to speak, those around her were usually bowled over by her intellect, her beguiling sense of humor. And her laugh could make a whole room feel comfortable to be around her.

And damn, he thought as he laid four strips of chicken breast against a plastic cutting board, she smelled sweet, like a delicate concoction of vanilla and honey. As he’d wrapped his arms around her in greeting, it had taken every ounce of his control not to trail his tongue in the crevice of her neck to see if she tasted just as tantalizing. He heaved a deep sigh and Bridget looked up from her reading to meet his gaze with her own.

She smiled and his stomach did a quick flip. He smiled back, praying in the back of his mind that he didn’t ruin this meal, his attention focused on everything but what he was cooking.

“You do that quite well,” Bridget said, breaking the silence.

“Excuse me?”

She gestured in his direction. “Cooking. You are good at it. I’ve been watching how easily you’ve been moving around in my kitchen. It’s almost like a ballet the way you’ve been dancing behind that counter. And whatever is in that pan smells incredible.”

Darwin chuckled. “Girl, I don’t do ballet. I’m more of a tap-dance, hip-hop kind of guy.”

Bridget laughed with him. “Excuse me! Either way, you do your thing very well. You’ve got good moves.”

“Well, it’s easy when you’ve got a great kitchen to work in,” he responded. “Are you sure you don’t cook? Your kitchen is stocked way better than my own.”

She shook her head. “Thank you, but no, it’s more for show than anything else. I could probably burn water without any effort.”

He nodded. “I guess I’ll have to stop by more often and take advantage of this.”

Bridget’s eyes widened as he grinned in her direction. “Any…any time,” she stammered, the prospect of Darwin returning for any reason raising her temperature.

The duo laughed, then almost simultaneously returned to what they were doing. Bridget grinned into the manila folder that lay open on the tabletop. Her body was on overdrive. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. Darwin was covering the chicken strips in flour, an egg wash, and then seasoned breadcrumbs before laying them into a pan of sizzling olive oil. The aromas wafting through the room had her insides bubbling with hunger, and the man himself had stirred a low flame through the rest of her.