He dropped the box of condoms back into the shopping bag, torn between the desire to yank out his hair in frustration and an inexplicable urge to laugh. Jeez, some things never changed. Clearly the timing curse that had plagued them in the past was still alive and well in the present.
“No problem.” Wincing, he zipped up-very carefully- then took his Polo shirt from her. He slipped the soft cotton over his head, leaving it untucked. “But I’m gonna want a rain check.”
“Me, too.”
“All right, two rain checks.”
She laughed, and stepped into her panties. “I meant I’m going to want a rain check also.”
“Heeelllooo,” came Mrs. Trigali’s muffled voice, accompanied by more knocking. “Mallory?”
“Coming,” she called out. Then she stood on her toes and brushed a quick kiss against his mouth. “I really am sorry. I owe you one.”
“A second ago you said two.”
“Okay, two.”
“How about three?”
“I’ll think about it. Why don’t you go in the den and have a seat?”
“’Fraid sitting wouldn’t be comfortable yet. You want me to make myself scarce?”
“Only if you want to,” she said, heading toward the door. “But if you stay there, brace yourself for a barrage of questions.”
Before he could reply, she pulled open the door. The beam of a powerful flashlight arced into the foyer and he raised a hand to protect his eyes.
“There you are, my dear,” said Mrs. Trigali, crossing the threshold, her flashlight beam bouncing around before finally settling on Mallory.
“Are you all right, Mrs. Trigali?” Mallory asked.
“Oh, yes, I’m fine. I was just worried when you didn’t answer right away that you’d started the meeting without me.”
“Meeting?”
“Why, the block captains’ meeting. Surely under such circumstances we’ll be having one.”
“Circumstances?”
“Why, the blackout, of course.”
She stepped farther into the foyer and her flashlight beam fell on Adam. “Ah, I see I’m not the first to arrive.”
First to arrive? Adam thought. Oh boy, that didn’t sound good.
Mrs. Trigali moved closer to him, peering over the edge of gold-rimmed bifocals. “You must be new to the neighborhood.”
“Actually, I don’t live in the neighborhood. I’m a friend of Mallory’s.” Adam extended his hand. “Adam Clayton.”
Mrs. Trigali narrowed her eyes and gave him an assessing look his grandma Amy would have called “the once-over twice.” His lips twitched as he realized that this petite woman dressed in a crisp sleeveless blouse, khaki shorts that reached her knees and canvas sneakers reminded him of his grandmother. Her short, snow-white hair was cut in the same no-nonsense style, and she pursed her lips the same way as Grandma Amy. He figured he must have passed muster because after her scrutiny, she nodded then shook his hand. “Sophia Trigali.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“What’s this about a blackout?” Mallory asked.
Mrs. Trigali’s eyebrows shot up and her gaze bounced between her and Adam. “Didn’t notice that the lights went out, huh?”
Mallory felt a heated blush creep all the way up to her hairline and was grateful that the foyer wasn’t illuminated by anything brighter than Mrs. Trigali’s flashlight. Her gaze flicked to Adam, but he looked supremely calm and even a bit amused at her neighbor’s not-so-subtle question.
“We noticed,” Mallory said, “but figured it was just a momentary power failure.”
“Nothing momentary about it,” Mrs. Trigali reported. “Will you hold this for me, young man?” she asked Adam, handing him her flashlight.
“Sure.” He guided the light as Mrs. Trigali slid a canvas tote from her shoulder, setting the bag on the floor. Then she pulled a black object the size of a hardback book from the bag.
“My emergency radio,” Mrs. Trigali said, turning one of the dials. “It runs on batteries. Always Be Prepared, that’s my motto.”
“Actually, I think that’s the Boy Scout motto,” Mallory said with a grin.
“And smart young men those Scouts are.”
She made an adjustment to a knob and an announcer’s voice boomed, “…have confirmed that the power outage, which affects all of New York state, New Jersey and parts of Connecticut, is the result of a system failure. The exact cause of the failure is not known at this time, but authorities do not believe that foul play was involved. Officials and technicians are working to restore power, but have not yet announced any estimates as to when the system will go back on line. This station intends to return to our regular broadcast schedule, with frequent updates between dedications to keep you apprised of all the latest developments. Again, authorities believe that-”
Mrs. Trigali muted the volume and shook her head. “System failure. You can bet that’s not going to be fixed in the next few hours. That’s why I figured we’d be having an emergency block captains’ meeting.” She nodded toward her bag. “I brought my emergency kit-citronella candles, waterproof matches, three more flashlights, extra batteries, a box of crackers, some ham and provolone, a jar of olives, a loaf of semolina from Luigi’s bakery, a bottle of Chianti and some cards in case anybody’s up for a little canasta.” She shot Adam a piercing look. “You know how to play canasta, young man?”
Mallory watched Adam’s lips twitch with obvious amusement, and a feeling of gratitude washed through her for his patience with both the ill-timed interruption and her talkative neighbor. She knew damn well certain men-like Greg-wouldn’t have been such good sports under the circumstances. But his kindness and patience had attracted her from the day she’d met him.
“Yes, ma’am, I know how to play canasta.”
“Humph. You any good?”
He smiled. “My grandma Amy taught me everything she knows-and now she has a hard time beating me.”
Mrs. Trigali’s expression turned fierce. “You mean to tell me you don’t let your poor granny win?”
Adam laughed. “If Grandma Amy even suspected that I’d purposely tossed a game, she’d whack me upside my head with her purse-and that purse of hers could cause a concussion.”
“Sounds like my kind of gal,” Mrs. Trigali said with a grin. “We’re looking for a fourth for our Thursday afternoon game. She live around here?”
Adam shook his head. “South Carolina.”
She heaved a mournful sigh. “Drat. You don’t live in South Carolina, do you?”
“No. Manhattan.”
“Your grandma coming up to visit you any time soon?”
“In November. For her birthday. She’s turning seventy-five, but last time I saw her, she informed me that seventy-five is the new sixty. Based on how active she is, I believe it.”
Mallory was about to interrupt, suspecting by the speculative look in Mrs. Trigali’s eyes that Adam was about to be bombarded with a barrage of personal questions of the “are you married, what do you do for a living, how are your finances” variety, but before she could say a word, a loud knocking sounded on the door.
“Anybody home?” came a muffled masculine voice. “Don’t start the meeting without me.”
“Oh, it’s that pest Ray Finney,” Mrs. Trigali said in an undertone, her features pinching with clear displeasure. “I should have known he’d show up. Well, if he thinks he’s getting any of my ham and provolone, he’s mistaken.”
Mallory pressed her lips together to hide her amusement and headed toward the door. From the first day Mr. Finney had moved into the small ranch next door to Mrs. Trigali three months ago, they’d rubbed each other the wrong way. She complained that he made too much noise with his power tools, and he thought she was a busybody.