"You don't have a chimney, so I had to use the front door."
"Ha ha. Funny. No really. Didn't you get my message?"
"Sure did."
"Then I'll ask again, what are you doing here?"
"I'm here for our date."
"You mean the one I canceled."
Tony leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb, shifting the grocery bags in his arms. “Yeah, about that. I'm not buying it."
"Why not?"
He tipped his head to one side and narrowed one eye at her. “Foster, come on, you're no wuss. You took me on in pool, which maybe was because you don't know me and my many talents, but still… you fight a good fight. I like that about you. But that message…” Head shaking. “That was weak."
Annabelle crossed her arms. No one, absolutely no one, called her weak. “Maybe I'm not interested. Ever think of that?"
"Not interested or not open minded? Seriously, what's the harm in one date? You got something more fun up your sleeve? Washing your hair? Doing laundry? Eating frozen food?” His brows arched. “I cannot believe you would choose a meal out of a box over a date with me. I'm good company, and the food will be awesome."
She allowed a brief smile. “I'm sure that's true."
"Then what's the problem?"
Me. “I don't think it's a good idea to get involved with another Coastie.” Not to mention the fact that she couldn't handle the way he smelled, a mixture of soap and hard work. No one had a right to smell this amazing. How was she supposed to concentrate on her job, or anything for that matter?
"You're throwing the fraternization book at me?” More head shaking. “That's a copout. We don't work anywhere remotely close to one another."
"Still, it makes things complicated."
"You've done a pretty good job of talking yourself out of this."
"Or maybe some things are better left alone.” Like trying to make the impossible work when in the end, someone would inevitably get hurt. Namely, her. Because she already felt too much, wanted too much, too soon. It wasn't just one date; it was the opening of a giant, messy, uncontainable can of worms.
"There's only one problem with all that,” he said.
"What's that?"
"You can't stop thinking about me, and I can't stop thinking about you."
She snorted.
"Tell me I'm wrong."
Well fine, she couldn't.
"I don't know about you, but I like a challenge."
A challenge? Like she was the female equivalent of Mount Everest? “Great, you're one of those guys."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Annabelle stepped toward him, planting her fists on her hips. “What happens when I'm no longer a challenge? Then you're Hit The Road, Jack, right? All I'll see is your pretty backside running for the hills?"
"Someone's a little cynical."
"Realistic. There's a difference."
Tony brought his face to hover over hers. “Lady, I'm as real as it gets."
What a cocky, arrogant, forward, domineering, presumptuous piece of work! Annabelle grabbed the doorknob. “Watch your toes, I'm closing the door."
"Not so fast.” He dug his shoulder into the closing door. “Let me guess, you've got a delicious slab of crap defrosting in your microwave as we speak."
Which was a whole lot better than the line of crap he was feeding her.
"You could eat that. Or…” He paused for effect. “You could dine on butternut squash ravioli in a sage pecan brown butter sauce, Caesar salad, pumpkin bread pudding, and… cookies."
Unbelievable. Now he was bribing her with food!
Which of course, had worked in the past. But not this time. No siree, she wasn't going to give in to that little game, nuh uh.
Wait. Had he said pecan brown butter sauce? Cookies?
"You're thinking about it."
"Stop that."
"What?"
"Reading my mind. I need to think."
Because this was no longer about a plate of cookies or a slab of delectable beef tenderloin eaten by the fire in the public safety of the Rec Center. It was about inviting him into her home, into her life, into…
Who knew where else.
"Pumpkin…” Tony waggled his eyebrows.
"You are a bad, bad man."
"Like Bad Santa?"
"Worse."
"But maybe you like it."
"Maybe."
And maybe she could entertain a possibility, for one evening at least, and enjoy another taste of what Tony Lombardi had to offer. Annabelle slid the door open just enough to let him slip inside.
Chapter Five
"Where's your knife block?"
Tony eyed the small space someone actually called a kitchen. More like a closet with a stove in it, but no biggie, he could work in any space with the right tools. What mattered was she had let him in. Now all he had to do was keep his head in the game and avoid saying or doing something stupid.
A guy only got one chance to know a woman like Annabelle Foster.
"I don't have one,” she said.
"Then what do you cut with?"
Annabelle opened a drawer, pulled out a butter knife, and handed it to him. He looked at it, raised his gaze to hers, and let out a whoop of laughter. “Are you serious? This is what you call a knife?"
"It serves my purposes."
He was going to have to improvise. Tony pulled out his keychain and used the attached Swiss army knife to slice up vegetables for them to munch on. Then he opened a bottle of ruby red Toscana, poured them each a glass, and held his up. “To the holidays."
She clinked her glass to his. “I'm not much of a holiday person."
"That why you don't have any decorations?"
She shrugged. “It seems like a waste."
Tony opened a bunch of cupboards and found a beat up saute pan on the third try. He set it on the stove, dropped in a stick of butter, and turned up the heat. Browning, it filled the kitchen with a nutty aroma. He dug out a decent sized pot, filled it with water, and set it on the stove to boil.
"I take it you love the holidays,” she said.
"Around my house, the holidays are sacrosanct. Big tree, tons of outdoor lights, gnomes on the lawn, the whole bit. What about yours?"
"It was just my dad and me, takeout Chinese food, a couple of old stockings, and a Charlie Brown tree in the window. Dad was a fan of the no fuss Christmas."
Tony added pecans and sage to the sauce, stirring slowly until it was soft and fragrant. One thing he'd learned about Annabelle, she needed the right setting to let her guard down and open up. And that was perfect, because he was the master at setting. The right food, good smells, the right questions.
"So your dad, he was a pretty straight-laced guy?"
"He wasn't sentimental, especially not after my mom died."
Tony glanced around the Spartan townhouse. Now it all made sense. Annabelle wasn't a woman who had grown up with extras, materially or emotionally. Clearly no one had ever paid her the kind of attention every woman deserved. Tony wanted to be that guy. Starting tonight.
"When did your mom die?"
"Christmas eve, the year I turned seven."
Letting the sauce rest off the heat, he turned and leaned against the counter. Annabelle was sipping her wine, staring at the floor. The puzzle was coming together. “That must have made the holidays a tough road to hoe after that."
She tipped her head slightly. “It was a long time coming. Breast cancer."
"That doesn't make it any easier, does it?"
She looked up at him, eyes uncertain. He could feel a shift in the air. She was thinking about opening the door further, giving him a few more inches. “Do you have any photos of her?"
Annabelle glanced around, looking a little guilty. “I don't have any photos.” She said it like it was the first time she'd realized it.
"Still packed away?"
She shook her head. “I never put any up in New Orleans either."
"Why not?"
"I guess it makes things easier, without all the sentiment and gushy stuff. Makes it easier to do what I do without…"