Cherry lane, p.14
Cherry Lane, page 14
“Did it bother you?” she repeated.
David pulled his hand from under hers. “I don’t intend to answer that because you may not be ready to handle the truth.”
There came another moment of silence. “Why don’t you tell me and I’ll let you know whether I can or can’t?” Her voice was soft, coaxing, and challenging.
David’s expression closed, as if he was guarding a secret. “I like you the way a man likes a woman.” He glanced at her and she stared back wordlessly. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to accept it.”
Devon took a quick breath. “That’s not true. I can accept the fact that you like me because the feeling is mutual. You’re definitely one of the good guys. Not too many men would be willing to do what you’re doing. Accept another man’s responsibility—even if it’s only temporary.”
“It’s not about gratitude or tit for tat, Dee. It goes far beyond my getting you to agree to come work with me.”
“In other words, you want a relationship.”
He smiled. “There you go.”
“Are you asking to become friends with benefits?”
A tense silence filled the car again. The muscles of David’s forearms hardened as he gripped the leather-wrapped wheel. “If that’s what you think, then I’ll drop you off at the nearest Charleston hotel.”
She exhaled an audible breath, her nostrils flaring delicately. “I need to know where we’re going with this.”
Turning the wheel sharply to the right, David maneuvered off the asphalt onto a grassy area. Shifting into Park, he unbuckled his belt and turned to face Devon, draping his right arm over her headrest.
He was close to losing his temper and couldn’t say what he really wanted to say. “What type of men are you used to dealing with? Just because I tell you that I like you, it doesn’t mean I want only sex from you. That’s something I can get at any time from any woman willing to drop her panties and with no strings attached.” David ignored the rush of color darkening Devon’s face. “I’m sorry if I shocked you,” he continued, his voice softer, more conciliatory, “but I find it easier to meet a woman in a bar, buy her a couple of drinks, then go back to her place for sex than to have a meaningful relationship. I’ve met some women who believe either I’m gay or there’s something wrong with me because I prefer getting to know them better before sleeping together. I’m not saying I don’t like sleeping with a woman, but it can’t always be slam bam thank you ma’am.”
Devon blinked slowly. “You prefer a platonic relationship to a physical one?”
“That’s not what I’m saying, Devon, so please don’t try to twist my words. Maybe I’m old school, but I enjoy courting a woman. We date and over the course of time we learn what we like, don’t like, and if we have anything in common. I much prefer an emotional commitment before moving onto something more physical.”
“How long did you date your ex before you slept together?”
David turned his head, staring through the windshield. “I thought we agreed not to bring up our exes again.” He didn’t want to talk about his past now.
“My bad,” Devon said. “Forget it.”
He shifted into Drive, maneuvering off the grass onto the paved road. “My bad, because I did promise to feed you.”
“David?”
“Yes, babe?”
“Please put your seat belt on.”
“Okay, Mama.”
A smile flitted across Devon’s lips when he reached across his body with his right hand and secured the belt. “I don’t think I want my child to call me mama. It sounds somewhat old-fashioned.” She held up a hand when David glanced at her. “I know you’re old-fashioned.”
“Old school,” he teased. “What do you want him to call you? Devon?”
She scrunched up her nose. “No way! My child will not call me by my name. That is much too grown.”
“Kids nowadays are grown. It’s no more Miss Sally or Mister Sam, but Sally and Sam.”
“Or worse,” Devon interjected. “I’ve heard little kids cuss in front of their parents as casually as asking for a Happy Meal.”
“That’s because they see and hear things they shouldn’t. When I was growing up I was told constantly to stay out of grown folk’s business. And if I overheard something I shouldn’t, then I better not repeat it or my grandmother would make me clean out the pigpen. She knew I used every trick in the book to avoid getting into the pen because a sow chased me after I’d picked up one of her babies. I refused to eat bacon or ham until Grandpa butchered that ornery swine for Christmas dinner.”
“You can’t blame her, David. She was just protecting her baby.”
“True, but you also don’t bite the hand that feeds you, and one of my chores was to feed the pigs.”
Devon rolled her head from side to side. She moaned softly when David’s fingers massaged her shoulder muscles. “I don’t think I could eat a pet.”
“Big Babe wasn’t a pet but food. She was ham, bacon, ribs, trotters, pig tails, hog jowls, and chitlins.”
“In other words, from the rooter to the tooter.”
“Let the choir say amen,” David drawled with a wide grin.
“Amen!” Devon sang out, her contralto resonating throughout the car.
David gave her an incredulous look. “Whoa, girl. You can really blow.”
“I used to sing in my school’s glee club and the church gospel choir.”
“One of these days I’m going to take you to the Happy Hour in the Creek for karaoke night. They used to offer prizes for the best male and female singers, but it got too competitive, so the owners did away with it.”
“So the Creek isn’t just about farms and craft shops.”
He shook his head. “No. The Creek is an interesting place to live. Of the three towns, it’s the most laid-back.”
“Should I expect folks to hold hands and sing ‘Kumbaya’?” Devon teased.
“Did you know that kumbaya is Gullah for come by yuh? Translated it literally means ‘come by here.’”
“There’s so much I don’t know about the Gullah and their language.”
“Live here long enough and you’ll begin to eat, think, act, and maybe even talk like one. By the way, do you have any Southern roots?”
“I do on my father’s side. His folks were from Tennessee. My mother is Scotch Irish and African American. My paternal grandmother used to say I was her little gumbo—a little bit of this and a little bit of that.”
“And the combination is exquisite.” The compliment was out before David could censor himself. “And I’m certain you’ll have a beautiful baby.”
“I just want a healthy baby,” she murmured.
David felt Devon withdraw without moving, aware that he had to be careful not to cross the line by delving too much into her past. He had to remind himself that Devon wasn’t a client or an opposing witness he had to examine or cross-examine. She was a woman he’d promised to protect, the woman with whom he found himself opening his heart at the risk of falling in love again once he’d fulfilled his vow to be with her throughout her pregnancy.
“I usually don’t work Saturdays, but I have to go into the office this morning to carry out the reading of a will, so you’re going to be on your own until I get back home. The fridge and freezer are filled, and if there’s anything you need, let me know, and I’ll bring it back when I return.”
She gave him a warm smile. “Thank you for asking, but I don’t need anything. I brought some knitting with me and that’s enough for me to keep busy. Knitting baby sweaters, hats, and booties goes quickly because they’re so small.”
David went still. Could she, he wondered, actually take into consideration that he’d want to be her baby’s father? He’d never slept with a woman without using protection because he knew he hadn’t been ready to take on the responsibility of becoming a father. However, with each passing birthday, the realization that he wanted a family grew stronger and stronger. The number forty then gained greater significance on his wish list, the number indicating the threshold for his personal accomplishments.
Like many men, he wanted his own biological children, yet it wasn’t paramount for him to acknowledge fatherhood. He’d known couples unable to have children of their own, and he’d had to handle the legal work for them to adopt children, and those children were loved and protected as if they shared DNA with their adoptive parents. And he’d known men who’d fathered children with a number of women only to walk away to live their lives according to their own rules. David and his father occasionally bumped heads on certain issues, yet they were of one accord when it came to family. The only time a man was excused from taking care of his family is when he is six feet under.
He winked at her. “I had to ask, Mama. Once I come back I want to start prepping for tomorrow’s get-together.”
Closing her eyes and pressing a hand to her belly, Devon smiled. “I think I’m getting used to being called mama.” She opened her eyes, meeting David’s. “Would it bother you if I called you daddy?”
“I don’t have a problem with it.” And he didn’t. He knew a lot of women who called their husbands or boyfriends daddy. It wasn’t a specific title but a term of endearment.
“Speaking of prepping food. The smaller bag in the trunk is filled with what I plan to fix tomorrow for appetizers, so as soon as we get to your house it needs to go into the fridge.”
Gripping the wheel with one hand, David saluted her with his right. “Yes, ma’am!”
By the time David exited the causeway the sun was up and Charleston had come awake with those waiting at bus stops or walking or driving to work. Devon stared at the pastel houses of Rainbow Row on East Bay Street. She recognized Broad Street from her walking tour of the city’s Historic District that now seemed so long ago. She found time in the Lowcountry slowing to almost a crawl. Two days seemed like a New York week.
David parked along the cobblestone street in front of a row house with iron balconies and Italianate cornices. She unsnapped her belt. “How old is your house?” she asked him, staring at his unshaven jaw. In his haste to get to her, he’d showered but hadn’t shaved. His relaxed-fit jeans, pullover sweater, running shoes, and stubble were a welcome change from his normal formal attire. The look made him appear much more approachable.
“It was built and expanded before the Civil War.”
“Does it have landmark status?”
David released the lever for the trunk. “Yes. Most of the houses in this district have landmark status.”
Devon waited for him to retrieve her bags and open the passenger-side door for her. Gaslight-inspired streetlights lined the brick sidewalk. She had an affinity for old homes and accompanying period furnishings, unlike her modern condo, which was filled with contemporary pieces. Rather than sell her furniture, Devon planned to decorate the house using an eclectic decorating style, mixing contemporary, art deco, and colonial reproductions.
She didn’t know what lay behind the door to the Greek Revival–style home, but when she stepped inside she found herself slack-jawed. The parlor, filled with obvious antiques, beckoned her to come and relax. Double-hung windows were tall enough to walk through and twelve-foot-high ceilings and heavy cornices supported the pocket doors that closed the space off from the rest of the house.
“I feel as if I’ve stepped back in time,” she said, her voice filled with awe.
“Come upstairs and I’ll show you your room. Mi casa es su casa, so make yourself at home.” He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze.
“You may regret saying that if I move in and stay until my house is ready.”
Bringing her hand to his mouth, he kissed the back of it. “That sounds like a wonderful plan. Living with me would lessen your risk of catching something from transient strangers.”
Devon felt as if she’d just come down with a case of foot-in-mouth disease. She didn’t want to send mixed signals that she wanted them to live together. For her, living together translated into a lifetime commitment, something she couldn’t entertain at this time. It was as if she’d placed her life on hold, and other than buying a house she wasn’t able to make any life-changing decisions until late September.
“Do you offer rain checks for sleepovers?”
“Sure. Why?”
“I’ll take you up on your offer when I have the floors done, because I won’t be able to stay in the house once the contractor puts down the polyurethane. The former owner carpeted the bedrooms, but I plan to have them ripped up. That’s when I’ll see if they need to be refinished.”
“So you know exactly how you want to decorate your home?”
Nodding, Devon said, “I have a good idea about what I want, but I intend to ask Morgan about ordering certain pieces I’d like to use in the bedrooms.”
“Once Angels Landing Plantation is restored, the design world will definitely take notice of Dane and Daniels Architecture and Interior Design.”
David led her up a curving staircase to the second story and down a carpeted hallway, stopping in front of a door near a window overlooking the backyard. “You’re here and I’m at the top of the stairs on the left. You have your own bathroom and there’s a jib door that leads out to a second-story balcony.” He set her bags inside the bedroom, angled his head, and brushed a light kiss over her mouth. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
Chapter Sixteen
Devon sat across the table from David in the kitchen with maple floors and a planked ceiling, enjoying a breakfast of fresh-squeezed orange juice, grits, scrambled eggs, turkey sausage, and buttered toast. He’d muted the small flat screen set on the countertop under a row of shelves with a collection of blue Depression glass.
“How did you put this together so quickly?” she asked him. “I couldn’t have been upstairs more than twenty minutes.”
David touched a napkin to the corners of his mouth. “I have an electric juicer, and the sausages are precooked. The grits took the longest because no self-respecting Southerner would ever make instant.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Is there a difference?” Lowering his head, David pinched the bridge of his nose, seemingly deep in thought. When his head came up, Devon noticed the slow smile parting his lips. “What’s the matter?”
“The matter is I should buy a box of instant grits and cook them for you, but it would be sacrilegious to even bring them into my home.”
“I’ve cooked instant grits,” Devon said, defending her own cooking efforts. “They’re not too bad if you put butter and eggs on top of them.”
David pointed at her plate. “Do they taste like those you’re eating now?”
“No, but—”
“No buts, Madam Counselor. It’s either yes or no.”
She decided she was going to let David sweat a bit. Of course his grits were better, but she wasn’t ready to wave the white flag and surrender. “I’ll let you know after I finish them.”
Pushing back his chair, he stood up. “I’m going to brew a cup of coffee while you…” His words trailed off when her cell phone rang.
Devon retrieved the phone she’d left on a serving cart, a slight frown furrowing her brow when she saw the name of her building’s management company. “Excuse me, David, but I have to answer this.” She tapped the phone icon, listening intently when the man asked if she was serious about selling her condo. “Yes, I am.”
“One of your neighbors wants to buy your apartment and knock down the adjoining wall to expand his.” He didn’t have to tell Devon who wanted her apartment, because a well-known artist had hinted about needing more space for a studio and art gallery.
“If he meets my price, then I can move out before the end of next month.” Devon listened, stunned when the agent quoted an outrageous figure that was nearly one and a half times the amount she’d paid for the unit. “I’m not in New York right now. So Mr. Tobin will have to give me time to come back and pack up everything.” Not only did she have to arrange to box up her clothes, books, and other personal items, but she also had to get an appointment with a Charleston-based ob-gyn and rent a storage unit in Charleston to store her possessions in until she moved into the house on Cherry Lane.
“When do you think you’ll be back?”
“I don’t know. I have some business to take care of before I return to New York.”
“I’m only asking because Mr. Tobin wants to let the workmen know when they can start. He wants to use a Cinco de Mayo theme for a May fifth showing.”
“Please let him know that although I understand his need for things to move quickly, he also has to understand that I have to put things in place before I move out.”
“I’ll definitely let him know, Miss Gilmore.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stanish. I’ll be in touch once I get back.” Devon ended the call, her eyes meeting David’s when she returned to the table. “I guess you heard my side of the conversation.”
He took a sip of coffee. “You have a buyer for your condo.”
“Yes. And he wants me to move out like yesterday.”
“What are you going to do?”
Closing her eyes, Devon blew out a breath. “He has to wait until I close here. Once I know the house is mine, then I’ll go back and sell the condo.”
Setting down his coffee cup, David rose and rounded the table, easing Devon to her feet. He put his arms around her waist, pulling her close. “You don’t need to stress yourself out about trying to be in two places at the same time. If you want to go to New York and pack up your place, then I’m willing to take care of what you need to close on the house down here.”
Anchoring her arms under his shoulders, she held on to him, savoring the heat from his hard, slim body. Tilting her head back, she studied his face, feature by feature, committing each to memory. “What would I do without you? Even though I know I need to unload the condo, I hadn’t planned to go back to New York until the middle of next month. I’ll hire a company to pack up the apartment, so instead of it taking more than a week, it’ll just be a few days. All the paperwork for the sale can be done either electronically or overnighted.”
