get a bite to eat? We didn’t have any supper and I don’t know about you, but my stomach’s growling.”
She paused in the middle of opening her front door, squared her shoulders and glanced at him. “There is absolutely nothing open in Adams Landing this late on a Sunday night.”
“You’re kidding? Surely one of the fast-food places stays open past nine.”
“Not on Sunday nights.”
“Great. I guess I’ll have to settle for some peanut butter and crackers when I get to the house.”
When he walked away, she called, “Jim?”
He halted. “Yeah?”
“Want to come in and eat supper with me? I’m sure my mother brought some leftovers from dinner and put them in my refrigerator. She always loads me down with leftovers since she knows I seldom cook just for myself.”
“Lady, if you think I’m going to turn down an offer like that, you don’t know me.” He hurried up the sidewalk and was right behind her by the time she opened her front door.
She flipped on the overhead light as she entered the house, and Jim scanned the large, square-shaped living room as he came inside behind her. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to find—maybe a plain, colorless decor with functional furniture—but this warm, homey room filled with comfortable-looking chairs and a sofa and what he figured were several antique pieces surprised him. The walls were pale yellow, with wide crown molding at the top and old-fashioned mopboard at the bottom. Floral silk curtains hung over plantation blinds at the windows. Standing there in the middle of the room, Jim got the oddest feeling. He felt at home, and God knew he hadn’t felt at home anywhere in ages. What was it about Bernie’s house that made him react like this?
It’s because this house, even this room, reminds you of your grandmother Norton’s house in Mississippi.
“Sit down and relax,” Bernie told him. “Turn on the TV or the radio or put on a CD while I go warm us up some supper. Do you prefer ham or fried chicken? Since Mama served both today, I’m sure there’s some of both in my refrigerator.”
“I’m not picky. Either is just fine with me.” But he didn’t sit down; instead, he followed her through the house and toward the kitchen.
She glanced over her shoulder and stared at him. “What?”
“I’m coming out to the kitchen to help you,” he said.
“Oh.”
Her kitchen was small, no more than twelve by twelve, and a set of long windows commanded most of the space on the back wall. The room had been wallpapered in tiny, navy blue gingham checks and white curtains hung at the windows and on the half-glass backdoor. The cabinets and appliances were all white, as were the small table and two chairs situated in front of the windows.
“So, what can I do to help?” he asked.
“Get us a couple of plates and some glasses.” She pointed to the top center cabinet. “And the silverware is in the drawer directly below.” Again, she pointed. “You set the table and I’ll see what I can find in the refrigerator.”
“Okay.”
Twenty minutes later, they sat across from each other at the table, two wiped-clean plates in front of them, along with two empty iced tea glasses and a couple of crumb-covered dessert plates.
Jim leaned back, rubbed his belly and sighed. “Your mother is a great cook. If possible, that food tasted better the second time around.”
Bernie groaned. “I ate too much. I shouldn’t have eaten dessert, but I cannot resist my mother’s Mississippi mud pie.”
Jim chuckled.
“What’s funny?”
“You are,” he told her, then added, “in a good way.”
When she stared at him quizzically, he explained, “It’s just that most women won’t eat like you did in front of a man. They pretend they have these delicate little appetites and nibble at their food.”
“You’ll learn soon enough that I’m not like most women.”
“What I said, I meant as a compliment, not an insult.”
“I didn’t take it as an insult.”
“Good.”
“I can put on some decaf coffee, if you’d like.”
Jim shook his head. “As tempting as that is, I’ll pass.” He scooted back his chair, stood and stretched. “After I help you clean up, I’d better head on home. Six o’clock will roll around in a hurry.”
She stood, picked up his plate and stacked it on top of hers. “You don’t have to stay and help me clean up. It won’t take a minute to put these things in the dishwasher. You go on and get a good night’s rest. We’ve still got a murder case to solve.”
“If you’re sure you don’t need my help.”
“I’m sure.”
She walked him to the front porch, then stood there and watched him as he got in his old truck. He paused, looked back at her and waved before he started the engine. She lifted her hand and waved, a soft smile on her lips. All of a sudden, Jim didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go back to his cold, lonely duplex. He wanted to stay here in this warm, inviting home… with Bernie.
Hellfire, what was wrong with him? He wasn’t attracted to Bernie, didn’t feel “that way” about her, so why was it that he didn’t want to leave her?
Because you felt comfortable with her, as if you’d known her all your life.
He rolled down the window and called to her, “See you in the morning, boss.”
Laughing, she shook her head and called back to him, “That’s Sheriff Granger to you, deputy.”
“Thanks for supper.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And thanks for the good company.”
“Same here.”
“Sleep tight.”
“You, too.”
Damn it, Norton, go home, will you? If you keep hanging around, she’s going to think you don’t want to leave.
I don’t.
Go home. You can’t stay here and sleep on Bernie’s couch, even if you want to and she might actually let you. What would the neighbors think? Chuckling to himself, Jim put the truck’s gears into reverse and backed out of the driveway, then headed down Jefferson. Halfway to his duplex apartment an odd thought hit him. Not once while he’d been with Bernie had he thought about her beautiful sister.
Thomasina had worn a dress today instead of her usual slacks and blouse. Wanting to get into the old-fashioned romantic mood Brandon was setting for their relationship, she felt a dress was appropriate. Besides, she had great legs and she could showcase them in a just-above-the-knee hemline. Nothing too sexy, just slightly alluring. Of course, she’d had to contend with a few lascivious stares from her young male students, but she had simply ignored them.
Fingering the pearls around her neck, she thought about what Brandon might say or do when he saw that she was wearing his gift. Would he simply smile at her or would he tell her how pleased he was to see her wearing the pearls? Surely he would understand that her wearing the pearls was a sign of her willingness to begin a meaningful relationship.
She had arrived early this morning, hoping to meet up with Brandon in the faculty