Page 17 of Believe in Me

9

The foremost thought in my mind as I pulled up to the gate outside Lorenzo’s house was that I shouldn’t have been there. I had no business going to this man’s house to have dinner or hang wallpaper or cut the lawn or anything else, because I was married. I was married, albeit unhappily, in the middle of a divorce married, but married nonetheless. And that coupled with the fact that Lorenzo made all my femininity awaken when I was around him meant I should leave. Not hit the button on the intercom and announce myself or pull my car in front of his house and let Rell open my door like I just had. And I certainly shouldn’t have left work early and gone shopping and bought the knee-length, red dress I was wearing, because when I picked it out, I did so with the intention of looking sexy. I shouldn’t have wanted to look sexy for Lorenzo.

But I did.

As I sat nervously in his living room, waiting for him, I told myself for the one-hundredth time to leave. Not that I thought I’d listen. As badly as I wanted to do the right thing and steer clear of this man, I couldn’t. I was drawn to him, and I wished I knew why so I could stop feeling like I was feeling.

“Hey, I’m sorry it took me so long to get down here, but I wanted to wash up so I wouldn’t be smelling like food.”

My eyes sauntered over his tall, imposing, deliciously sexy frame, and I gulped. He wore white slacks, a white shirt, and was barefoot, his heady cologne drifting into the room with him, causing me to close my eyes and inhale deeply.

“Doc?”

At that moment, I realized he was waiting for me to respond to what he’d said. “It’s all right,” I muttered, as I eased my eyes open and settled them on him again.

He smiled, taking a seat on a comfortable-looking sofa across from the chair I occupied. “Good. You want a drink or you want to head on to the dining room? Everything’s ready if you are.”

I shrugged. “We can eat. What are we having?”

He stood and reached for my hand. “You’ll see.”

*****

We had grilled steaks, baked potatoes, and a scrumptious raspberry and baby spinach salad. The food was so good, I didn’t utter a word during the entire meal until he finally asked, “How is everything?”

“It’s so good! You cook, you write, is there anything you can’t do?”

He gave me a lopsided grin. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, let me add that you’re also gracious and humble.”

He chuckled. “And handsome. Don’t forget handsome.”

I shook my head. “Seriously, where’d you learn to cook like this?”

He took a sip of his water and fixed his eyes on me. “It’s a hobby I picked up a few years back. It’s kind of therapeutic for me.”

“I see, and how’d you learn to write so well?”

He shrugged. “God-given talent, I guess. Hey, you ready for dessert?”

“Dessert?”

“Yeah, let me go get it.”

“Wait, do you have coffee?”

“I can make some.”

“How about we have some coffee and talk about your book for a bit, give me time to make room for dessert?”

He smiled again. “Okay, Doc. You got it.”

“So you really liked it?”

I nodded. “I loved it! Read the entire thing last night. Couldn’t put it down.”

He grinned. “Phew. I’m glad. I was worried you’d hate it.”

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