Identity, page 3
“A gift from my mother.”
“She’s got excellent taste. I ordered a bottle of red when I got here. I hope that’s okay. We can change it if you want something else.”
“Red’s fine. How was your weekend?”
“Productive. I did take your advice, spent a little time at the Inner Harbor.” He gave the waitress that smile when she brought the wine.
“Have you decided on what you’d like?”
“Maybe give us a few more minutes.”
“No problem. Take your time.”
Luke lifted his glass. “To a pleasant evening in good company. I really thought you might change your mind.”
“And miss free pizza?”
He laughed. “What do you like on it?”
“Anything, everything, or nothing. Pizza is never wrong.”
“You’re talking my language. Now, how was your weekend?”
“Also productive. Nina and I planted some pansies. They make me smile every time I come home or leave the house.”
“The housemate who works in a garden center.”
“That’s right.”
“You’re good friends.”
“We are.” The first real, permanent friend she’d made in her nomadic life. “It’s great having someone who gets your rhythms. She’s generally up and gone before I get up for work, and usually in bed by the time I get home from the Round.”
“That probably helps. I mean you both have your own schedules, so it adds to having your own space.”
“Yeah, so when we share that space, we enjoy each other. Is it odd not having a regular routine, neighbors, friends around?”
“Right now, this works for me.” He sat back, a man comfortable with himself, confident in himself. And she found that very appealing.
“One day I imagine I’ll want to stick, settle. But I get to see a lot of the country, meet a lot of interesting people.” The quick, dazzling smile flashed. “Like you.”
He had a good rhythm himself, she decided. Just flirty enough.
“You must like the work, and I have to think you’re really good at it.”
“I love the work. Creating systems that suit the clients. Fixing problems, making people’s lives easier, expanding their horizons. Maybe you’ll show me your house one day, and I could give you some ideas.”
“Maybe.”
He smiled again. “So, pizza.”
She ended up drinking two glasses of wine, and enjoyed every minute. He told her stories, how he’d designed the smart tech for a ranch in Butte, Montana, and watched bison graze in the field.
And he listened to her plans for a new kitchen, even offered suggestions. Ones good enough to add to her list of hopes and dreams.
He suggested the walk.
The evening breeze kicked a bit, but felt good after the heat of the restaurant. And it had been so long since she’d taken a walk with someone, had someone hold her hand.
It was nearly ten, much later than she’d planned, when he walked her to her car.
“I’d like to see you again, like this. Not that I don’t enjoy riding a stool at the bar while you’re working. But I’d like to see you again. My schedule’s flexible. I can work around yours.”
Maybe Nina had crawled inside her head, but she found herself inviting him to dinner.
“Next Monday night at my place. It’s the most open for me.”
“You cook?”
“No. I’m going to have to add that to my list of things to learn, but no.”
“Nina cooks.”
“No, but her mother does, and she’ll walk us through something if you’re willing to risk it.”
“Adventure’s my game. Is seven good?”
“Sure. Seven’s great.”
“I’ll be there. Got an address?”
She held out a hand for his phone, added it to his contacts. “I can give you directions.”
“I’m good friends with Mr. Google. I’ll still be dropping by the bar. I might even try my hand at darts.”
“Roddy’s a killer.”
“I’ll risk it.”
He leaned in then, and she’d have called it a subtle nudge. Just the right amount of nudge the way his lips met hers. He didn’t push, but made an impact. And the flutter she hadn’t experienced in a long, long time added the perfect cap to the evening.
“Good night, Morgan.”
“Good night. I had a really good time.”
“Me, too. Drive safe.”
She drove safe, though she floated a bit on the quiet rush of a good-night kiss.
And when she floated into the house, Nina, glowing from her self-care, cozy in her pj’s, waited.
“Okay, I can take one look and know this was a major success in first dates. Tell! Did he hit on you?”
“The perfect amount. I really like him.” With a happy sigh, she dropped into a chair. “He’s just easy and fun to talk to. He’s been so many places and tells a good story. He listens.”
She lifted her shoulders, let them fall. “And when he kissed me good night, my stomach fluttered.”
“What kind of kiss? Be descriptive.”
“I’m going to say soft, and just a little dreamy. No push, no blast of heat. Just easy, and effective. I ended up asking him to dinner next Monday night.”
“Whoa!” Jumping up, Nina did a quick dance. “Holy shit. He didn’t drug you, did he? Or use some sort of mind trick?”
“He’s a nice, great-looking, interesting man. That’s it.”
“More than enough. We’ll have Mama help us cook something. Or do you want me to disappear Monday?”
“No.” That came immediate and decisive. “Please, don’t disappear. I wouldn’t have invited him unless you’d be here.”
“Should I ask Sam?”
“Yes, that evens it out or something. Nothing fancy, Nina. A nice, easy dinner. Let’s stay casual.”
“Casual sexy. We’ve got this, Morgan.”
“If we don’t, we’ll get something delivered.” She rose. “I have to get ready for bed. You should, too. You start at eight tomorrow.”
“I’m going, I’m going, but I’m going to text Mama first so she can think about what we should make. I’m not going to tell you to have sweet dreams because that’s a given. See you tomorrow. Oh, I can’t wait to meet the guy Morgan Albright asked to dinner!”
* * *
Luke dropped into the bar Tuesday night. He slid right into conversation with her, and with some of the regulars. He honed his dart skills for a while—he wasn’t bad. He had his two beers, some wings.
“Got yourself a boyfriend.” Gracie wiggled her eyebrows.
“No. He’s only in town for a couple months.”
“Didn’t say lifetime lover.” As the lights blinked for last call, Gracie rolled her shoulders. “He sure is smooth. Me, I don’t trust smooth. About fifteen years back I had an almost first husband. He was smooth. So smooth he slid right out of my bed into my cousin Bonnie’s.”
“Good thing he’s not my almost first husband.”
“So you can enjoy the smooth.”
And why not, Morgan thought when he came in on trivia night. The fact that he joined in earned him some points on her personal scorecard.
She had an interesting man obviously attracted to her and, given her schedule, not much one-on-one time. Which seemed okay with both of them.
It didn’t mean she didn’t look forward to Monday night with fear of actually cooking and anxiety, due to second-date syndrome.
She flexed some time, took off an hour early from her day job. Riding her bike home in air that had softened, really, finally softened into April gave her a lift.
In a matter of weeks spring would get serious and start popping out color. She saw some of the neighborhood’s forsythia had already jumped in with their bright butter yellow, and the big willow on the corner of her block had its early green haze.
In her own yard, tulips bloomed lipstick red, and the azaleas that Nina had advised on their first garden center meeting had budded up and would pop their sweet pink in no time.
Maybe it was silly, but having them made her feel like part of the neighborhood.
She parked her bike, smiled at the pansies, and went inside where music pumped.
Obviously, Nina had beaten her home.
She tossed her keys in the bowl on the table by the door, hung up her jacket, tucked her purse inside the closet with it, then walked into the kitchen and chaos.
Nina had her hair back in a tail and wore an apron splattered with God knew. Nina’s mama had given her an apron, and sent one home to Morgan.
Bottles, jars, shakers littered their stingy counter. From where Morgan stood, it looked like some of everything made up the splatters on Nina’s new bib apron.
“I did it!” Nina’s eyes stayed wide and a little bit wild. “I did the marinade for the chops. I did it, Morgan.” She flung open the fridge. “See?”
Gingerly, Morgan leaned in, stared through the plastic wrap on the glass bowl—borrowed from Mama for this express purpose.
“I did it with these hands!”
“And it looks”—she leaned in closer, sniffed—“and smells just like it’s supposed to. Do you need to sit down?”
“Maybe. You have to do the potatoes. Having men for dinner, meat and potatoes. And since April, asparagus. And we have to cook all of that, set the table and make it nice, and make ourselves look good.
“What were we thinking?”
“Too late for that now. The table’s no problem, you’ve got that. But if you have trouble there, I can help. They’re always showing table settings on HGTV. I can do those damn potatoes. If you can do the marinade, I can do the damn potatoes. Let me at ’em.”
She donned an apron. By the time she’d scrubbed the potatoes, cut them into wedges as Nina’s mother’s recipe instructed—then fretted because the wedges weren’t the same size, and what did that mean?—it pleased her to see her apron wasn’t nearly as close to a Jackson Pollock painting as Nina’s.
She followed Mama’s instructions to the letter, and that wasn’t a snap, as, rather than precise measurements, Mama had instructed her to: Use your eyes, use your nose.
So she started. Mixing spices together in a bowl, she sniffed, eyed. Then after tossing it all together, adding the oil, she spread the potatoes on a baking sheet and hoped for the best.
She left the table to Nina, where she shined, and dived into the kitchen cleanup, where she did.
Already exhausted, she changed out of her work clothes into cropped khakis and a bright pink T-shirt, and she wondered, sincerely, how people did this sort of thing every day.
And they still had the asparagus to deal with, the rolls to warm. She donned her apron again.
Nina, looking as fresh as a spring morning, met her in the hallway.
“So just olives, cheese, some raw veggies. We’re good at that part. It’s too bad the kitchen’s so small, no real let’s-all-hang-around space.”
“Next spring,” Morgan vowed. “It actually smells good in here, Nina. It smells like we knew what we were doing.” In the kitchen, they stood hip-to-hip and stared into the oven. “It looks right, too. Are you sure it’s only, like, ten minutes for the asparagus?”
“Mama knows,” Nina said, voice solemn. “But we trim it before they get here, so that’s now. Then, say about seven-fifteen or so, we really casually start the asparagus. Which five minutes do you want, sauté or steam?”
“God. God. Steam.”
“That’s the part I want. So.” Nina held out a fist. “On three.”
“Damn it.” Morgan hissed when Nina’s rock crushed her scissors.
By seven, they had the music down to a murmur, the oven on coast, the finger food arranged.
The knock came promptly.
“Aprons off!” Nina ordered.
They answered the door together, and found two men on their stoop.
“We pulled up at the same time.” Adorable Sam in his horn-rims offered Nina a bouquet of pink tulips and Morgan a bottle of wine.
“I’ll reverse that.” Luke handed Morgan a clutch of purple hyacinths in a clear balloon vase. “Hi, Nina. I’m Luke.” And offered her another bottle of wine.
And after all the work and worry, it was easy after all.
They crowded into the kitchen and the excuse for a dining alcove with glasses of wine. It seemed to her that Luke and Sam bonded quickly—the IT guy and the more-than-casual gamer had plenty to talk about.
Hoping their luck held, Morgan dropped butter into the skillet for the asparagus.
“Nothing like a home-cooked meal when you’re on the road.” Luke gave her a casual kiss on the cheek. “I really appreciate it.”
“Let’s hope it ends up being a home-cooked meal and not a cry for help.”
He laughed. “It smells fantastic. Mind if I go wash up?”
“Sure. Hallway on the left of the living room, door on the right.”
“Ten-minute countdown about to start,” Nina announced, and Sam slid an arm around her.
“I can’t believe you guys did all this. Worked all day, then made a meal like this.”
“You haven’t tasted it yet,” Morgan reminded him.
“Worked all day,” Sam repeated, and kissed the top of Nina’s head. “And spent all this time making dinner.”
Pleased, Nina lifted her face for a kiss.
“Okay, here goes.” Morgan slid the asparagus into the melted butter, set five minutes on her phone. She stirred and shook it around, tried to use her eyes and nose with the salt, the pepper.
While she worked the skillet, Sam helped Nina take the chops and potatoes out of the oven, slide the rolls in to warm.
“Teamwork. That’s my five. You’re up, Nina.”
They shifted positions, with Morgan arranging the chops on a platter—Mama’s—and adding the fresh rosemary as garnish—as instructed.
“Sorry.” Luke came back in. “I got a phone call, had to take it.”
“No problem, we’re coming down to the wire.” Morgan looked over at him. “Everything okay?”
“Oh yeah, just a minor schedule change for tomorrow. Can I help here?”
“Why don’t you top off the wine, in case we need it.”
At the table, the cooking and serving done, Sam took the first bite. “Babe,” he said to Nina, then smiled at Morgan. “Other babe.”
Nina sampled a bite of chop. “Uh-oh. We’re good at this, Morg. Now what?”
“Home-cooked meal on the road. Ladies?” Luke lifted his wineglass. “To the chefs.”
“And to Mama. We did her proud, Morgan.”
Despite the long day, Morgan enjoyed every minute. An actual dinner party, in her home—a first that didn’t include takeout or delivery. Conversation, laughter, the occasional touch of Luke’s hand on hers.
She found it sweet the men insisted on handling the cleanup, and relaxed into the lingering after, over coffee and—bakery bought—red velvet cake.
“I hate to break this up. Tonight’s going to be a highlight of my trip. But the schedule change has me on-site at eight tomorrow.”
“Where are you heading?” Sam asked him.
“They’re taking me into Baltimore. House flipper bought a pair of row houses and wants to connect them into one, and wants it smart. It looks like I’ll need to stay over a couple days. Maybe three.”
He shrugged. “They squeezed it into my schedule the end of last week. A friend of one of the bosses.”
“Eight a.m. in Baltimore. That’s early to rise.”
He nodded at Nina. “Yeah, it sure is, and a nice challenge. Converting a couple of old row houses into a smart urban mini-mansion—while maintaining the history of the place.”
He glanced around. “I’d love to tackle this one for you. You’ve got good bones here, Morgan.”
“I think so. When that wall comes down, maybe I’ll add smart as well as space.”
“When you do, you call me. I’ll make sure I can work you in. That’s a promise. Thanks, Nina, and thank your mother.” He rose. “Everything was amazing. Really great meeting you, Sam. And I should be able to take a look at your system next week. There’s always a way to add some bells to the whistles.”
“That would be great.”
Morgan walked him to the door.
“I’ll stop into the bar when I get back. Couple of days. Okay if I text you now and again when I’m in my lonely Baltimore hotel room?”
“Sure.”
“Can I take you out to dinner when I get back? Maybe a step up from pizza?”
“That sounds nice.”
When he kissed her, just a little deeper than that first time, with his body pressed just a little closer, she thought it sounded very nice.
“Good luck in Baltimore.”
“When you’re good, you don’t need luck, but I’ll take it. Good night, and thanks, really thanks, for dinner.”
She watched him walk to his car at the curb through an April evening that had started to mist with rain.
And when she shut the door, she thought maybe, in a strange sort of way, she did have a boyfriend. Temporarily.
Nina poked out. “I heard the door close, so … I really liked him!”
“Me, too.” Sam poked out with her.
“So do I, so it’s unanimous.”
“You should invite him to dinner at Mama’s next Sunday. She’s your Maryland Mama, and she’d love it.”
“Maybe. I’ll think about it. I’m calling it a night. See you in the morning, Sam?”
“Survey says yes,” Nina said, and made him grin.
She got ready for bed. Just as she slipped in, she got a text from Luke.
Wednesday, Thursday latest. I’ll miss seeing you until then.
Even as she smiled, felt the warmth spread, she hesitated. Then shook her head and responded with the truth.
I’ll miss you, too. G’night.
When she stretched out in bed, she was still smiling.
Chapter Three
Considering its age and lack of maintenance on the part of its owner, it was no surprise when Nina’s car wouldn’t start on Tuesday morning.
The obliging Sam drove her to work, the head-shaking Larry towed it into his shop.
