Always and Forever (7 page)

“Well, he has a point, doesn’t he?” she asked, examining a set of copper-plated doorknobs. “Why build from the ground up when all the hard work has already been done? You can just incorporate your ideas for your firm into your family’s company.”

“That would never happen,” Jamal said. “If you think you have a problem with this new-age green technology, just sit down and have a conversation with Lawrence Johnson.”

“He can’t be completely against it,” Phylicia reasoned. “As much as I give you a hard time, I know there is merit to becoming eco-friendly. And, again, I am not completely against it. I agreed with your decision to add a solar water heating system, didn’t I?”

He sent her a small grin.

“It was time for me to leave the family business,” Jamal continued. “My dad and I were never going to see eye to eye, and he wasn’t about to give up the reins to the company.” He shrugged. “I didn’t want to be under his thumb any longer.”

“Which takes us back to my initial question. Why haven’t you made more progress setting up
your
firm?”

Because if it failed, it would prove his father right.

He didn’t say it—hell, this was the first time he’d allowed himself to mentally voice the thought—but, in his gut, Jamal knew that’s what was holding him back.

He shrugged off her question, making him feel like a world-class coward. But he wasn’t up for this discussion. Phylicia, on the other hand, just wouldn’t let it drop.

“If you want to do it, I’d say it’s time for you to go in one hundred percent. I’m not sure what you’re looking for, but I think the house we just visited was phenomenal. On the pro versus con tally I’ve been keeping in my head, the pros far outnumber the cons,” she said. “I think you should go for it.”

“Will you be available to help me restore it?” he asked.

“There’s nothing to restore,” she said. “The house is in pristine condition.”

“Hmm...” he said. “I guess I’ll have to come up with another way to keep you around.”

Her head reared back, her eyes blinking in surprise. “I didn’t realize that was a priority on your list,” she said.

“It is,” Jamal assured her, holding her gaze for several long, heated moments.

She finally broke the connection, returning her attention to the crates of mismatched fixtures.

Jamal bit back a curse. For some reason, she didn’t fully trust him. But they didn’t know each other well enough for her to have formed a genuine opinion of him, negative or positive. Someone else had put that distrustful look in her eye—some boneheaded jackass who probably didn’t deserve to be within the same airspace as Phylicia, let alone close enough to break her heart.

That also meant
he
would have to pay for the jackass’s mistakes. As Jamal stared at her across a hodgepodge of brass knobs, he had no doubts that she would be well worth the effort.

They scored several articles to use in the restoration at Belle Maison. When they returned to the truck, Jamal popped the seat forward so he could store their finds in the truck’s cab.

“Is that an instrument?” Phylicia asked, pointing to the case he kept behind the seat.

“A saxophone,” Jamal answered.

Her eyes glittered with surprised humor. “I guess I shouldn’t be shocked, although I wouldn’t have pegged you for the woodwind section,” she said. “Percussion, maybe.”

“Is that a dig at my work with a hammer?”

“You do make more noise than the entire drum section of the Gauthier High School Marching Band.”

Jamal shook his head. “You just love giving me a hard time, don’t you?”

“It is a lot more fun than I ever imagined.” She laughed as she slid onto the seat.

“So why doesn’t it surprise you that I play the saxophone?” he asked as he backed out of the parking lot.

“Uh, let’s see. Could it be because your entire iTunes collection seems to be filled with jazz?” she said.

“Not true. I’ve got some Tupac, a leftover from my rebellious days.”

She barked out a laugh. “I’m not sure which one surprises me more, that you listened to Tupac or that you had a rebellious phase.”

“I was the quintessential hell-raiser,” he said. The look she slid his way told him that she didn’t believe that for a minute. “Okay, so I
wanted
to be a hell-raiser. I just never got around to it.”

That coaxed another musical peal of laughter from her. He would never get tired of hearing that sound.

“If you want to listen to something other than jazz, just let me know. You can give me your playlist and I’ll download them.”

“No, no,” she said. “I love jazz.”

“Really?” Jamal asked. “Now I’m the one who’s surprised.”

“Why’s that? Were you expecting me to have Tupac’s greatest hits?”

It was his turn to laugh. “No, I just didn’t peg you as a jazz lover, either.”

After a brief pause, she asked, “Have you been to any of the jazz clubs in New Orleans?”

Jamal shrugged. “A few months ago Wynton Marsalis had an exclusive performance at one of the clubs downtown. They only sold fifty tickets, so I was lucky to even get in. But I haven’t checked out any others. I’ve been too busy, first with the renovations on my house, and now with Belle Maison.”

“You live an hour away from the birthplace of jazz and have only been to one club?” She tsked. “That is unacceptable, Mr. Johnson.”

“I know,” he said with a healthy amount of shame in his voice, causing her to chuckle.

After another pause, she said, “Maybe we should go sometime.”

Jamal did a double take. “Did you just ask me out? Like on a date?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” she said.

“The hell I won’t. You just asked me out on a date!”

“Yes, I asked you out on a date,” Phylicia said with a sigh. She stared at him for several long moments, and in a voice that held more uncertainty than he’d ever heard from her, she asked, “Should I take it back?”

“Hell no,” he said.

Her lips curled at the edges, and Jamal’s mind instantly conjured that kiss he’d stolen in her workshop. He recalled the taste as if it had just happened.

“Good,” Phylicia said. Then she turned her eyes back to the road ahead.

Jamal knew he should pay more attention to the road, too, since he was the one driving, but his eyes continued to stray to her profile. Gorgeous didn’t do her justice. With those high cheekbones and elegant neck, she was
so
past gorgeous. She was stunning. Striking. Sexy.

And she’d just asked him out.

“So, what kind of date will this be?” he asked. “Are you doing this just because you want me to experience more jazz music, or is this a
date
date, as in we sit and share a meal that doesn’t come on a disposable plate?”

After a slight pause, she said, “I was hoping it could be a
date
date.”

Jamal lost a bit of the air from his lungs.

“I know I’m the one who asked for the hands-off rule,” Phylicia continued. “But when we were at Mya’s for the game on Sunday, she said something that got me thinking. We are both two single adults, in a town that doesn’t have many single adults our age. What’s wrong with the two of us going out for a night on the town?”

“Not a damn thing,” Jamal said with a smile he couldn’t hold back if he tried. “So, when will this date happen?” he asked.

“When are you available?”

“Right now,” Jamal answered without hesitation.

Her head flew back, her sharp laugh reverberating around the truck cab. “I doubt there are any clubs open right now.”

“Tonight then?”

“You want to go to a jazz club on a Wednesday night? Wouldn’t Friday or Saturday be the more traditional date nights?”

“To hell with tradition,” Jamal said. “Don’t make me wait until the weekend, Phylicia.”

She twisted a bit in her seat, turning toward him. “Okay,” she said. “I guess it isn’t unheard of to go out in the middle of the week. The clubs should be less crowded.”

“So will the restaurants.”

“We really don’t have to go out to dinner,” she said.

“If I’m taking you out on a
date
date, I’m buying you dinner. That’s non-negotiable.”

She rolled her eyes. “Will you insist on opening the car door for me and pulling out my chair, too?”

“I can do that,” he said. “I had the finer points of being a gentleman drilled into me at a very early age.” He slid a sly smile her way. “It wasn’t until high school that I learned when it’s okay not to be a gentleman.”

A decidedly wicked smile drew across her lips. “Hmm...maybe I’ll get to see both sides to you tonight.”

His stomach pulled tight, and the breath that was on its way out of his lungs stalled. Jamal was pretty sure he wouldn’t notice if a nuclear bomb erupted right in front of him, and if it wasn’t for fear of running them off the road, his tongue would be in her mouth right now.

Hopefully, he would get the chance to experience that tonight.

He pulled into the driveway of Belle Maison and Phylicia hopped out. She walked around to the bed of the truck, but Jamal stopped her before she could grab any of the items they’d picked up from the salvage yard.

“I’ve got this,” he said. “Why don’t you go home and get ready?”

“Is this your polite way of saying that I’ll need extra time to get prettied up before you take me anywhere?”

“You don’t have to do a damn thing to yourself, Phylicia. It’s impossible for you to get any more beautiful.”

Her smile turned even more wicked. And playful. And kissable.

She tilted her head to the side, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “If you’re trying to flatter your way into my pants, it just might work.” She started for her truck, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll see you tonight.”

Chapter 7

P
hil turned onto the winding road that led to Mossy Oaks Care Facility, traveling under the canopy of moss-laden oak trees that shaded the drive. She rounded a curve, and the yellow-and-white French Chateau-style building came into view. It looked more like a resort hotel than a 24/7 care facility for dementia and Alzheimer’s patients.

Phil signed in at the front desk, taking a couple of minutes to chat with Evelyn, the receptionist who made her mother homemade praline candies at least once a month. Phil was completely indebted to this staff. Just thinking about the care they bestowed upon her mother made her throat tighten with gratitude.

When she reached her mother’s room, Phil found her staring out the window at the grounds below.

“Mom?” Phil called.

Her mother turned. Sabina Phillips looked at least five years younger than her sixty-two years. She smiled, and hope blossomed within Phil’s chest.

“Hello, Agatha,” her mother returned.

Phil managed to suppress the defeated sigh that nearly escaped. She’d prayed for a rare glimpse of lucidity today.

“No, Mom, it’s me, Phylicia,” she said, walking over to her. She took her mother’s hands and led her to the small seating area, gesturing for her to take the seat that provided the same view of the grounds.

Phil often wondered what her mother saw when she looked out there. Did she recognize the people as the same residents she dined with on a daily basis, or were they strangers to her addled brain, as her own daughter had become?

Phil pulled in a deep breath and pasted on a smile.

“How are things going today?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m good. I loved the strawberry preserves you made for me, Agatha. I can never get Mama’s recipe right.”

Phil contemplated pushing her mother to remember, but decided against it. She didn’t have much time for this visit, and if she pushed too hard, her mother would likely become agitated. She would be her aunt Agatha today, even though her mother’s younger sister had died of breast cancer over a decade ago, at the young age of forty-eight.

“Did you eat the preserves the way you usually like them?” Phil asked.

Her mother’s smile took on a mischievous edge as she nodded. “Over ice cream. I spent the entire week picking up after Percy. I figure I deserved a treat.”

“Nothing wrong with treating yourself,” Phil said. “And Percy appreciates you picking up after him.”

“Oh, I know he does.” The smile turned naughty. “He has his ways of showing me.”

Okay.
They so were not going there. In these past few years, ever since her mother had begun to mistake her for her aunt Agatha, Phil had learned way more about her parents’ very healthy sex life than she
ever
wanted to know, especially since she wasn’t carrying on in the family tradition.

“You need to get rid of that no-good man of yours,” her mother said. “If Lewis doesn’t want to marry you after fifteen years, he never will, Agatha.”

“I know,” Phil answered. Her aunt’s longtime on-again/off-again boyfriend had made Kevin look like a prime catch. One thing she could say about Kevin was that he had never cheated on her, as far as she knew, anyway.

Phil hesitated a moment before saying, “I have gotten rid of him.” She bit her lower lip. “I’m, uh, seeing someone else.”

Her mother’s eyes widened. “Really? Who is he? Someone I know?”

“He’s pretty new to town,” Phil answered. “But he’s very sweet. And I really like him. A lot.”

“Oh, Agatha. I’m so happy for you. Does he treat you well?”

“So far,” Phil said. “We’re going on our first date tonight.”

Sabina sprung from the chair. “So what are you doing here? You should be getting ready for your date.” She captured Phil’s wrist and pulled her up from the chair. “You can come back later and tell me all about it. We’ll have time to chat. Percy will be in his workshop all day, doing his best to turn my baby girl into a tomboy.”

“Hey, she’s not
that
much of a tomboy,” Phil interjected.

“She’s just like her daddy. But Phylicia loves it, so I don’t mind.”

Phil’s heart became so full it hurt. “You were always so understanding,” she said, running a finger gently down her mother’s cheek. She pulled in a deep breath. “I’ll be back in a few days. We’ll have some of that ice cream.”

“Okay, Aggie,” Sabina said. “You have a good time tonight.”

Phil kissed her mother’s soft cheek. “I love you, Mom,” she whispered.

Despite ordering herself not to cry, her cheeks were soaked by the time she backed her truck out of the parking space.

* * *

“Why even bother with a bra?”

Phil twisted around, her hand still in her underwear drawer. “What’s that supposed to mean? Just because I don’t have giant pregnant-woman breasts doesn’t mean my girls can just go free.”

Pulling a tissue from the box she’d brought with her, Mya blew her nose with one hand and pointed at Phil with the other. “Jamal would appreciate your girls a lot more if they were not bound.”

“Are you taking something for that cold?” Phil asked, ignoring her friend’s base, although probably true, statement.

“Can’t.” Mya pointed to the beach ball she seemed to be hiding underneath her stylish running suit. She adjusted the pillows stacked up against the headboard, then grabbed the potato chip bag and stuffed a chip in her mouth. “Do you know where he’s taking you to eat?” Mya asked.

“I’m not sure.” Phil exchanged the light gray slacks she’d taken out for a pair of dark blue jeans. “I told him I was in the mood for seafood.”

“Oh, that sounds good,” Mya moaned. “Maybe he’ll take you to Commander’s Palace, or Galatoire’s.”

“No way,” Phil said.

“You wanna bet?” Mya asked. “Jamal doesn’t do things halfway. He’s loaded. And when I say loaded, I mean
loaded.
”

“I don’t care,” Phil said. “First of all, it’s a
first
date. It would be just plain rude to accept some fancy dinner. And, secondly, he’s currently my employer.”

“Not tonight,” Mya said.

“And thirdly,” Phil talked over her, “I don’t want him thinking that he can get payment in another form in return for an expensive meal.”

“Must I remind you that getting a little action down there would not be a bad thing for you? Unfortunately, Jamal isn’t the kind of guy who’d take advantage of you. He’s one of the good ones.”

Phil looked up and caught Mya’s eyes in the mirror. “I think so, too,” she said. She let out an exasperated breath and plopped down on the bed. “I really like him, Mya.”

“Aw, honey, that’s a good thing,” Mya said, rubbing Phil’s back. “Why do you look as if you lost your favorite toy?”

Phil drew comfort from the concern she heard in her best friend’s voice. How many times had this scenario played out between them when they were teenagers? Mya trying to ease Phil’s worries over some boy.

“I just don’t want to get hurt,” Phil finally admitted.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Mya tossed the bag of chips onto the bed and scooted over to her side. She wrapped her arms around Phil’s shoulders and gave her a sisterly squeeze. “If I ever meet that Kevin person I will kick his ass.”

Phil snorted a laugh. “You’d have to get in line.”

“Forget about him.” Mya brushed a wayward curl from her brow. “Tonight is about starting over, and Jamal is an excellent person to start with.”

“God, I hope you’re right.” Phil sighed.

“He is. Just give him a chance.”

Giving Mya another hug, Phil got up from the bed and stepped into her jeans. She pulled on a silky halter top with a ribbon of sequins that sat just below her breasts. It wasn’t her usual style, and completely wrong for October, but it was unseasonably warm this year and would probably be even warmer in the jazz club.

She slipped into a pair of superhigh heels—an impulse buy—and turned when Mya let out a high-pitched whistle.

“I cannot wait to see Jamal’s face when he picks you up.”

“What’s the big deal?” Phil asked.

“You! Look at you! You look like you belong on a damn runway. Tight jeans, a sexy top and the fiercest
do me
heels I’ve ever seen.” Mya pointed an accusing finger at her. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Phylicia Phillips. You are trying to drive that man out of his mind.”

“No, I am not,” Phil protested, turning to the cheval mirror that had been in her family for generations. She looked over her shoulder at Mya and admitted, “Well, maybe a little.”

“I know you!” Mya laughed so hard she started to cough.

Phil ran over to her and patted her back. “Take it easy, will you? Corey’s not going to murder me for letting his pregnant wife die on my watch.”

She returned to the mirror to touch up her hair and makeup. A few minutes later, the doorbell chimed, and her stomach did a double somersault.

“Ooh, I’ll get it,” Mya said, mimicking a crab as she gave a valiant effort to climb off the bed.

Phil stopped her. “He’ll think no one’s home if he has to wait for you to get to the door.” She was embarrassed at the way she nearly raced to the front door, then colossally disappointed when she opened it to find Corey standing on the other side.

“Wow.” His eyes ballooned as he looked her up and down. “Who knew
that
was hiding under those coveralls?”

Phil gave him a playful slap on the arm. Whether it was payback for his gibe, or because he wasn’t Jamal, she hadn’t decided yet. The jitters tingling along her skin in anticipation of his arrival were completely ridiculous. She’d just seen the man a few hours ago.

“Where’s my wife?” Corey asked. “She eat all your food yet?”

“I’ve still got a few grapes and some yogurt left,” Phil answered, gesturing for Corey to follow her to the bedroom.

“Hey, you,” Mya greeted him, patting the bed next to her.

Corey stopped just outside the door and shook his head. “I’m not coming in there. Too much estrogen.”

“Coward,” Mya and Phil said at the same time.

The doorbell rang again, and Phil literally jumped. So did her heart. Then it started racing triple-time.

“Oh, oh, oh! Phil’s date is here!” Mya said, clapping her hands like a five-year-old.

“Which means we should probably go out the back door,” Corey said.

Thank you,
Phil mouthed over Mya’s head as her friend waddled out of the bedroom, complaining about not being there for the big reveal.

Phil took a moment to collect herself before making her way to the foyer. She waited until she’d heard the back kitchen door close behind Corey and Mya before opening the front door. Those darn tingles instantly sprung along her skin at the sight of Jamal. He wore a lightweight sweater and tan slacks, and he looked good enough to eat.

His eyes widened. “Damn,” he blew out on a heavy breath.

“Was that a good damn or a bad one?” Phil asked.

“Definitely a good one,” he said. “You look amazing, Phylicia.”

“I think it’s because you’re used to seeing me with sawdust in my hair.” She fingered one of the loose curls that framed her face, and in a teasing voice said, “I washed it for you. You should feel really special.”

“I do,” he said with a sexy smile.

She smiled back. She couldn’t help it. After a moment that lasted way too long, yet not nearly long enough, Phil shook her head. “I’m sorry. Come on in while I grab my purse.”

He followed her, his hands in his pockets. His eyes roamed around the open living room/dining room/kitchen area. “Nice house,” he said. “Though, to be honest, I can’t picture you living here.”

“Why’s that?” Phil asked over her shoulder.

“You restore historic homes for a living. I’m surprised you can be comfortable in something this modern.”

Phil shrugged. “I doubt I’ll live here forever, but for now, it’s home.”

Jamal stopped short. “You were planning to move back into the Victorian, weren’t you?”

Yes, she had been planning to eventually return to Belle Maison, but one look at the distress on his face and Phil decided to spare him.

“You were,” he said in a pained voice.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “The house is yours, Jamal. You paid a nice sum of money for it. Believe me, I know what the asking price was.” Phil gestured for him to follow her. “Come on. I haven’t eaten since lunch. I’m starving.”

He stood there for a few more moments, that mixture of regret and apology in his eyes. If he said one more thing about the house, she would scream. But he didn’t. Instead, he walked over to the door and held it open for her.

“After you.”

* * *

Jamal sat at the Formica-topped table at Mother’s Restaurant, watching Phylicia as she bit into her sandwich. How he could be so turned on by a woman with gravy running down her chin, he didn’t know.

Actually, he did. Sitting across from him, she looked downright edible.

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind for dinner,” he commented, looking around the understated dining room that was just a step up from Jessie’s carport. “But this food proves that you should never judge a book by its cover.”

“I cannot believe you’ve lived here over a year and have never eaten a po’-boy from Mother’s,” Phylicia said. “Presidents have eaten here. It’s legendary.”

“As evident by that never-ending line.” Jamal pointed to the stream of people still filtering in. They’d waited in that line for more than an hour, but it hadn’t been a hardship with Phylicia as company.

“You were telling me about how you and Mya managed to get yourselves arrested,” he said. “We’re not leaving until I get the rest of the story.”

She rolled her eyes. “We didn’t get arrested. At least charges were never filed. Mya’s grandpa smoothed things over with Mrs. Jackson by promising to bring her fresh vegetables from his garden for a year.”

“But you stole the woman’s car.”

“We
borrowed
her car,” Phylicia said. A sneaky smile drifted across her face. “I still can’t believe we did that. It was all Mya’s fault. No, actually, it was Corey’s fault. He’s the one who went to baseball camp in Covington for an entire month and told Mya he would explode if he didn’t see her. And, like the love-struck fool she was, she went running.”