Reunion for the First Time (11 page)

“Okay. He called Monday,” Lizzie figured. So he means this weekend.

“Yes, I would be interested, Mr. Clark. Very interested, as a matter of fact.” Feeling jittery, she punched in his home phone number. She almost hoped he wasn’t there, so she wouldn’t have to be this brave. He answered on the second ring.

She swallowed. “Hi Jack. It’s Lizzie Moran.”

“Well, hi Beth. Great to hear from you. How was the trip? Charlie told me you were on assignment.”

He was talking about me with Charlie.

“I’m so glad I got this assignment, Jack. You can’t imagine the horror there. I took shot after heart wrenching shot. I pray these pictures bring attention to the situation. I know where my donation money is going for a good, long time.”

“Mine, too. Just tell me where to send checks.”

“Thank you so much, Jack. But, I didn’t call you to solicit donations. I just got your message and was wondering if you’re free tomorrow. I know it’s last minute.”

“I’m free. I was just going to watch the Bears game with Charlie, but I can TiVo it and catch a game with him next weekend.” The warmth in his deep voice encouraged her.

She grinned, pleased with her plan. “Great, come to my place around four. I’ll make dinner.”

Her words ran together fueled by nerves. She wasn’t used to asking a man out to dinner. In fact, she couldn’t remember ever asking a man to dinner.

“Are you sure you want to cook? We can go out instead.”

“I’m sure. I would much rather eat in tomorrow. I’m a good cook. You’ll see.”

“I have a cast iron stomach, so bring it on.” He chuckled, a deep bass, utterly male sound that thrilled her, making her tingle with anticipation.

“It’s a date. See you tomorrow at four, Jack.”

“By the way, what’s your address?”

She gave him the information, hung up the phone and flew into action.

****

A quick stop at the store after church on Sunday provided Lizzie with fresh, flaky rolls for sandwiches, still warm from the bakery’s oven. Their fragrance filled her home and made her stomach growl.

She covered the round, glass dining room table with a green and gold tablecloth. Scooping her famous pepperoni pasta salad into her favorite football-shaped glass bowl, not exactly Waterford, but she deemed it perfect to fit in with her dinner theme.

Heaping dishes of food were on the table, homemade potato salad, rare roast beef for sandwiches, a basil cheesecake dip surrounded by thin crackers for spreading, a spinach dip with peppers and carrots skirting it, and brats with sauerkraut.

To round off the dinner, she’d made her rival Mrs. Field’s chocolate chip cookies, and her secret recipe, double chocolate-chunk brownies. She also stocked the fridge with ice-cold beer.

The phone rang, and she checked the clock.

Perfect, he’s here. Ten minutes…

Who’s on duty at the security desk?
She picked up the phone as the answer occurred to her, “Hi Darla. You can send him up.”

“Send whom up?”

A droll Boston accent replied instead of Darla’s lyrical Hispanic cadence.

“Wallace. Sorry. I thought it was someone else.”

“Hello, Elizabeth. How are you? I’m a little disappointed that you did not return any of my phone calls.”

The disapproval in his voice made her defensive. “I was out of the country, Wallace, and you neglected to leave your phone number both times.”

“Kay has my phone number, Elizabeth, from the reunion. You could have called her to get the number.”

He had a way of making her feel like a chastised child. She had forgotten how many times he had talked down to her.

“You’re right, Wallace. I could have called Kay. But I didn’t.”

Annoyed, she let the statement hang. She checked the clock.

Eight minutes.

“Well, what’s done is done.” He sniffed. “The reason I called was to let you know that I am going to be in Chicago on business next weekend, and I would like you to accompany me to the symphony and dinner Saturday night.”

“Sure. Sounds good.”

Seven minutes.

“I hate to cut you short, Wallace, but I have to go. Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Yes.” He huffed into the phone and hung up without giving her his number.

She put the phone down and it rang again.

“Hello. Thanks, Darla. Yes, I’m expecting him. Please send him up.”

The knock on the door brought a frisky Marty on the run from a sunset-colored spot by the window. She stood by the door, wagging her whole body, and waited for Lizzie to open it.

“Hi, Jack. Come on in. Be careful of my watchdog. As you can see, she’s vicious.”

The pup collapsed, sprawled on her back and exposed her belly, begging him to pet her.

He squatted and obliged. “Fair warning. I have this effect on most women.”

“Very funny.” Lizzie laughed anyway.

He wore a black leather bomber jacket open over a gray, cashmere turtleneck sweater tucked into ebony slacks and smelled like a walk through the woods. Marty had the right idea. If Lizzie stood next to him much longer, she might want to be petted, too.

Two minutes.

Standing up he handed Lizzie a bouquet of pastel tulips, so exotic this time of the year when spring flowers were a faraway memory. He also handed her a bottle of wine. Her favorite merlot. He took off his jacket and reached into her closet for a hanger.

“Thank you so much, Jack.”

This is going to be fun.

Setting the wine bottle on the counter, she tucked the bouquet under her armpit, quickly searched in a cabinet and drew out a vase. She filled it with water, plopped the flowers in it still wrapped in cellophane, set the vase down next to the wine and kept one eye trained on the flat screen TV.

One minute.

Grabbing two beers out of the fridge, she handed him one and grasped his free hand to pull him in front of the TV just as the Green Bay Packers took the field.

Perfect timing.

****

Beth dropped his hand, “Can you hold this a minute?” He caught the beer can she tossed his way.

She unzipped the short gray hoodie she wore with her jeans, draped it on a chair and revealed a torso hugging, Green Bay Packers T-shirt underneath.

“Go Favre!” She bellowed.

Marty froze as if skewered by a lightning bolt, turned tail and ran. Jack’s gaze darted around the room, a beer can in each fist. The table bulged with super bowl party food. Beth made a football shirt look like everyman’s fantasy. And everyman’s fantasy of a flat screen TV featured the Bears/Packers game. “You like football?”

“Like it? I live for it.”

“First golf, now football. I think I’ll have to marry the girl…of course, only after she changes out of that sorry shirt and puts on the blue and orange of a real team. I’ll watch.”

“Get real. That’s not going to happen. I bleed green and gold.”

“Ugh.” He grimaced, but he chuckled with the next breath. “Watch your green and gold bleed on the field.”

“We’ll see.” Beth perched on the edge of a leather chair, bratty amusement in her pretty green eyes. Hard to believe he’d enjoy watching a game with the sworn enemy of a Bears fan.

“Where did the pup go?” Jack picked up a carrot. He swirled it in the spinach dip, brought it to his mouth and dripped creamy dressing in his cupped hand. “Mmmmm. Very good.”

“Marty hates football. I’m the reason. I’ve been known to say a few mild words at the TV during the game. Scares the daylights out of her.”

As if on cue, the ball slipped through the receiver’s hands, and she gave him a demonstration by screaming, “Catch the damn ball!”

“I’m with the dog,” Jack quipped.

“Anyway, the minute she hears the game start, she’s gone,” Beth went on in a normal voice as if the outburst never happened. “I think she has nightmares involving Hank Williams, Jr. on Monday nights.”

He arched an eyebrow, “Well, darlin’. The Bears are going to ruin your day and give you nightmares.” He grabbed a chocolate chip cookie.

Her Cheshire cat grin back at him made his eyebrow arch higher.

“We will see. We will see,” she predicted. “Would you care to place a little friendly wager?”

“You’re on. You can’t hustle me in the NFL. What’s at stake?”

“Loser, by the way that will be you, buys dinner at Malnati’s?”

“Best pizza in the city.”

“Best pizza in the country. Don’t let New York tell you different. Is it a bet?” She had her hand outstretched waiting for his decision.

“Deal.” He grabbed her hand and shook vigorously.

The first half passed, Beth on the edge of her seat for most of it, cheering. Jack sat back on a comfortable leather sofa absorbed in the game. He relaxed while she hooted and hollered at his side.

“Half time. Let’s eat.” She padded toward the table, her bare feet and red toe nail polish sensual, at odds with her all-American outfit. She handed him an oversized dinner plate, and the city lights beyond the curved floor to ceiling windows behind her haloed her body with a fluorescent glow.

“Nice apartment.” He took in the spectacular view through a bank of plate glass windows that curved around one width and length of the living/dining area in front of him.

Jack surveyed the spread on the
Green Bay
tablecloth. “This looks great. Where did you get all this food?”

A casual shrug of her shoulders. “I made it.”

“No, really, who catered it for you?”

“I’m not kidding. I made it all. Mick was the captain of the football team senior year, and Kay and I would put together a tailgate every week to feed the team and fans after the game. I had lots of practice. We had to get part-time jobs to afford the groceries.”

“This is amazing.” And this woman made him very hungry.

“Thanks. I hope you like everything.”

After filling their plates, he followed her back to the chairs. A comfortable silence punctuated by dog snores from the next room surrounded them as they ate.

“Everything was delicious. I’m stuffed.” Jack put his empty plate down on the coffee table. “Here you are in Bears country, and you root for their rivals. Do you have a death wish?”

“I’ve been a Packer backer it seems like my whole life. When I was a little girl, my dad and I watched sports together. Every Sunday we made elaborate sandwiches and stayed glued to the TV. We watched every sports show we could find. My mom appreciated the day off. She spent the day doing her nails and eating chocolates while she watched her own personal TV in their bedroom. She hated sports.

“One year the Packers were in the Super Bowl. My dad asked if I wanted to make a bet on the game. We shook hands on one dollar. It was an awful lot of money to me. When my Packers won, it was so special for me. I realized, as I grew older that it wasn’t because I won the bet, but because my dad made me feel special. Strange, but it was the one and only time we bet on a game. We still watched sports anytime we were together.”

Tears gathered in her eyes, and she shook her head.

He reached over and held her hand.

“I’m sorry.” Beth swiped at her eyes. “It’s just that my Dad died suddenly in an accident.”

“I know.” He gently stroked the back of her wrist. “Kay told me about your parents.” Having been through a similar loss, Jack could empathize.

“Oh.” The pain in her eyes swamped him. He could only imagine the devastation of losing both parents in an instant.

Then the teams ran back on the field. Beth jumped to her feet and pulled her hand free. “Go Favre!” Past sorrows apparently set aside for football fan mania.

He cracked up. “You’re adorable. I could… Go Bears!”

The game ended, and an embarrassed Bears team went back to their locker room.

Jack shook his head, disgusted. “Duh Bears. Here, let me help put the food away.”

“Wow, there’s so much left. I only know how to make this stuff for an army. Please say you’ll take some home with you.”

“I live alone and I can’t cook worth a damn—so, yes thank you.”

He carried dishes into the kitchen. “How about next Saturday we go to Malnati’s so I can pay off at least one of my debts? I still owe you a dinner after you skinned me on the golf course.”

“I would love to, but I’m pretty sure I’m busy Saturday evening. Wallace called right before you came and invited me to dinner and the symphony.”

“Wally? Here in Chicago?” He couldn’t keep the edge out of his voice.

“Yes.” She turned on the water, squirted some dish detergent in the sink. “He’s coming to Chicago next week on a business trip.”

Right. The Global Commerce Building presentation is on Friday. Dream on, Wally. That’s my baby.

“No problem.” Jack managed to speak in a light tone. “I’ll take a rain check.”

Back off. It’s Prescott she’s after.

“I’m free the weekend after that.” She widened her pretty green eyes in invitation.

Too bad, Prescott.

“Good. Okay.” He opened the closet door and pulled out his jacket. “The Saturday before Thanksgiving then. Lou Malnati’s on Wells Street. I pay. Pick you up at say, six o’clock?”

“Yep. Sounds good.”

She stood near him in the hallway as he shrugged into his coat, in her tight shirt, her hair tousled, her sparkling eyes enticing him.

“Thanks for the dinner. And the inventive refereeing.” Her hand brushed his with silken electricity as she gave him the bag of leftovers, and the sweet fragrance of her perfume made him consider burying his nose in the tender skin of her neck.

What am I thinking?

A virtual innocent and a
cheese-head
for godsake.

But Jack had never
enjoyed
a Bears defeat by the Packers, until now.

She moved closer to him, close enough for a kiss, if he wanted to take it.

Smoky flecks shimmered in her jade eyes. Jack drew her close with his free arm and took what he saw offered there intending to kiss any thought of Wally right out of her.

Unrestrained, his lips devoured hers. Jack wanted to mark her, wanted to banish her thoughts of any man except him. Instead he felt himself slip, change. It disturbed and confused him. Still he pressed deeper, wanting more, wanting her.

****

A kiss was never so consuming, a wildfire inside her. Lizzie fused her lips to his hungrily, melted in his arms, her breasts flattened against Jack’s chest. Wrapping her arms around him, her fingers lightly traced the ridged muscles in his back, thrilling at the contours.