Simone and I ended up at Counter Productive which despite the name is one of the better shops for anything related to cooking. I had already talked to her about what I felt the basics should be, and she patiently pared that list down by two thirds, pointing out that she wasn't planning on feeding multitudes or going into cooking as a profession.
It felt good to see her. She seemed to feel the same way, giving me a quick hug that left us both a little self-conscious. I hadn't hugged Simone before, mostly because I'd been cautious about initiating things like that. I like to hug people and with my team it's second-nature, but with women, and this particular woman it seemed better to let her start it.
Worth the wait, though. She pressed up against me and those curves fit in ways my body liked more than it should have. Caught a whiff of perfume as well and that added another layer of attraction to the process.
She pulled back and gave a shake of her head. "Figured you'd be giving me homework at some point so I'd better have the tools."
"I will and you should, so good call," I told her. "Shows initiative."
"There's a first," Simone laughed.
She liked the ride, not fussing about the top being down, and when we got to Counter Productive got out with a shimmy move that was pure showgirl. I grinned and she gave me a wry look.
"Habit," Simone told me. "Just a habit."
Once inside I steered her to the cookware sets, my eye on a nice little collection of enameled pots and pans that I knew would be perfect as a starter set. They were pricey, but worth it; Simone watched as I pointed out some of the better features of the pans, and when she didn't say anything I looked at her.
"I don't like yellow," she told me. "Not for pans anyway. Do they come in another shade?"
At that moment a clerk tottered over. Round little woman with a grey bouffant and glasses on a chain around her neck. "Just starting out? How can I help you two lovebirds today?" came out thick as molasses.
"Oh, we're not—" Simone began, but the woman continued.
"—because I'm authorized to give a thirty percent discount on everything here for newlyweds and engaged couples!" she chirped. "Just part of our store's way of helping you all start off your new life with the best products!"
Simone and I exchanged a quick glance: the set was three hundred and a discount like that would bring it down considerably. Without a word we reached an agreement; I could tell by her amused little smirk.
"Well thank you so much," I told the clerk, giving her my best smile. "The, ah, bride-to-be here wants to know if you've got this in another color."
"Oh I believe we do, yes. If I recall rightly, this comes in a brick red and a hunter green. Let me check in the back."
She headed off and Simone couldn't stop a chuckle. "Dwayne Pride you are shameless!"
"For a full set of Merveille du Chef at thirty percent off, yes—I can be very shameless," I freely admitted under my breath. "It's not exactly a lie; in theory any woman is a bride-to-be."
"Iffy," she countered, but returned to a sweet smile when the clerk came back, beaming.
"You two are in luck! I have both colors available so which would you like?"
I looked at Simone, who was having trouble looking at me. "Up to you . . . . Suuuugar," I drawled, hoping I could make her laugh.
"Oh the brick would be perfect . . . Puddin'," she countered and I had to bite my lips not to laugh. Luckily the clerk didn't see it, busy as she was with straightening the display.
"All righty then! So how are you set for potholders and towels? On top of the thirty percent discount I do have a coupon that's a buy one get one free!"
"Potholders?" Simone hadn't considered those but it made sense to get everything necessary in one trip, so I slipped an arm around her and smiled.
"If we're doing this, we might as well go whole hog . . . mon 'tite chou." I murmured. "After all, I don't want you to burn your pretty fingers."
This close it was easy to breathe in her perfume and watch the flutter of her pulse along the side of her throat. Simone's glance told me I would pay for laying it on so thick, but a twitch of her lips also showed she was having fun too.
The clerk was overjoyed. "Well we have lots of pretty themes and colors that will go with your new pots! If you'll just step this way . . ."
In the end we picked up dish towels, pot holders, a blender and an assortment of tools that included a whisk and several spatulas that made her smirk.
"So where did you two meet?" the clerk wanted to know as she toted our purchases to the counter near the register.
"The morgue," Simone answered without thinking. When the clerk looked up, wide-eyed, I gave her a comforting smile.
"That's what she calls her office," I countered. "She caught my eye right away."
"True. He even held the door for me," Simone added and I had to pretend to cough.
"Well isn't that sweet!" the clerk smiled. "Mannerly! That's so rare these days. When's the wedding?"
"It's hard to say," Simone beat me to the punch. "You know how it is when you reach a certain point in life and everything's a negotiation. Thank goodness my beau here is so patient." She said it in a thoughtful way that made me look at her.
And there was something there. I'd tried not to admit it before now but something in her smile made it clear to me that yes, Simone and I had some mutual attraction going. I smiled back, feeling both exhilarated and a little scared too. I don't scare easily but that's usually when it's about physical dangers. When it comes to emotions, I've got fewer filters.
"Well good for you then!" The clerk rang everything up and I insisted on paying, pleased with the discount and the quality of what we'd gotten.
"Such a deal—he deserves a kiss for that!" the clerk told us cheerily. I hesitated but Simone seemed to agree, and pressed a warm one just against the corner of my mouth. I closed my eyes for a second, not wanting to move.
Soft, sweet, and very much her. Oh I did like it.
We picked up the bags, thanked the clerk and headed out to the car, both of us too shy to talk I suppose. I put everything in the trunk and Simone was already in the car, shaking her head.
"So what's the price?" she asked me. "I know you're going to say I don't need to pay you back because that's the sort of man you are, Dwayne but I'm not about to accept a gift like this without some sort of compensation to you."
She had me there, and I considered the matter. "Homework," I told her. "You need to use these pans and make something for next Saturday. You're good enough and smart enough to find a recipe, make it and bring it."
"You have a lot of faith in me," Simone muttered, rolling her eyes. "A LOT."
"That I do," I assured her.
We arrived at her place just as the delivery van did; a burly man with a vase of roses looked at Simone. "Ms Hy-ver?" he asked, mangling her name enough to make me snort.
"Ee-vair," she corrected him and took the vase, signing for them with a sigh. I collected the bags from the car and followed her in, suspicious about the delivery. Color me surprised as hell when she stuffed the roses head first down the garbage disposal and turned it on, grinding the American Beauties into a bloody sludge.
"Er, not fond of roses?" I ventured.
"Not fond of them or the sender," she growled. It was the first time I'd heard true anger in her voice, which was all the more startling. "Roses are . . . overrated. My mother used to get them on a weekly basis and generally from the same type of men as this one. Men who think of them as the key to the bedroom; the passport of entitlement. Send a woman roses and she's supposed to open her knees for you . . . Bah!"
"Who sent them?" I asked. My tone must have been firm; Simone gave me a wary look.
"Dwayne . . ." she sighed. "Don't worry; he's just a pest."
"Pests have a habit of getting worse," I told her. "Was this your date?"
Simone nodded and tossed the mangled stems into the garbage can at the end of the counter. "Lyle Harrison. He's a real estate magnate. We went to the concert today and he was a bit . . ." she shrugged, "overly familiar. I made it clear I wasn't interested in him but it's obvious he wasn't listening."
"Maybe you should send the roses back," I suggested. "I think that message would be unmistakable, especially the way they look now."
She burst into giggles at that. "Decapitated. That really would do it. Still, I think it's about the particular flower as much as the man. I need to keep perspective on it all."
"Probably wise," I admitted. I helped her unpack the cookware, and then it was time to go; I was due to tackle Laurel's finances and didn't really want to but part of being a dad is doing that sort of thing. Simone followed me out into the twilight and the streetlight outside her house came on, beckoning moths around it.
"Thank you," she told me. "I had . . . fun. And I appreciated your frugality, even if it was under false pretenses."
"What Counter Productive doesn't know won't hurt their bottom line," I pointed out. "But if it helps you sleep better I'll spend the difference on good ingredients for next Saturday. Feel like Oysters Bienville?"
Simone arched an eyebrow. "Oysters sound amazing. I look forward to it, and I'll bring . . . dessert?"
"You do that," I agreed. It dawned on me that I wanted to kiss her very much, and like the moths above we were sort of drifting closer as I leaned against the car door. "Hey Simone—"
She came forward a few steps, taking my hands. "Yes?"
"If you hate roses, what flowers do you like?" I asked softly.
"Carnations," came her quiet reply. "Silly I guess but I think they smell wonderful. They're cheap and common but they cheer me up like no other flower."
"I'll remember that," I promised.
"What do you like?" She asked, looking at me with amusement.
"Me?"
"Men have a right to favor a flower," Simone persisted. "It's the twenty-first century."
"Magnolias," I admitted after a few seconds. "Very traditional for the South but there you have it. I like magnolias." I pulled lightly on her hands, drawing her to me. "I . . . I want to kiss you," I told her, feeling a little light-headed for saying it.
"And I want you to kiss me," she sighed. "Even though it's going to be dangerous."
That threw me for a loop. "Dangerous?" Our faces were nearly touching and the scent of her skin sent a flush of heat through me.
"You can't change me," Simone whispered. "A kiss . . . it turns the ignition for people like me. It's like the high board at the deep end—scary and thrilling all at once."
She was warning me but like the moths circling overhead I was caught up now, so close to what I wanted that even an admonition couldn't stop me. "Yes," I agreed, "but I still want it."
That was enough; Simone leaned forward and pressed her lips to mine lightly and that mouth of hers was hotter and more luscious than it had a right to be. Every nerve in my damn body pulsed with pleasure and I know I groaned. I couldn't stop myself from pulling her into my arms and deepening that kiss.
She kissed back; teasing me, her tongue flirting with mine in ways I hadn't done in too many years and when Simone broke away, she gave a pleased little shudder that made me throb. "D-dangerous," she repeated, licking her bottom lip.
I wanted to say the right thing to bring her mouth back to mine but just then my phone rang; Laurel's ringtone to be exact. I bit back a curse. Simone gave a sympathetic smile and waved to the car behind me as I pulled my phone out. "Go," she murmured. "It's important, I know."
"We are not done," I told Simone tersely as I reluctantly pushed away from the car door. "Not by a long shot. Saturday."
"Saturday," she agreed, and a few minutes later I was cruising up the road, listening to my daughter on speaker mode and hearing only one in every five words or so. Every now and then I licked my lips.