under the butcher-block counter.”
She turned on the oven, then concentrated on draining the water from the potatoes and patting them dry before she placed the wedges in a plastic bag filled with an herb-and-olive-oil mixture. What she didn’t want to do was think about the tall man moving about her kitchen as if he had done it before. She placed the potatoes on a cookie sheet and put it into the preheated oven.
“What would you like to drink?” she asked.
“What are my choices?”
“You can have either water or wine.”
“Wine is good.”
“Red or blush?”
Micah halted putting steak knives on the table. “Red.”
“Come and select one.”
He crossed the kitchen and stood in front of a built-in subzero wine cellar. Dozens of bottles lay on their sides in precise rows. He opened the door, selected a Merlot and closed it quickly. If the power stayed off for any extended period of time, then there was no doubt Tessa’s perishable foodstuffs would have to be discarded.
Chapter 2
The distinctive ringing of the wall phone shattered the silence, and Tessa answered it. “Hello.”
“Thank goodness you’re home. I just turned on the television and heard about the blackout. Are you all right, Theresa?”
She smiled. Only her mother called her Theresa. “Yes, I am, Mama.”
“Don’t forget to tell her to check the windows and doors,” her father’s voice boomed in the background.
“Tell Dad they’re locked.”
There came a pause on the other end of the wire. “Your father said if the power is still out in the morning, he’ll drive down and bring you home.”
Tessa rolled her eyes upward. “My home is in Brooklyn, not Mount Vernon.” Why couldn’t Lucinda Whitfield accept that she was no longer a child but a thirty-one-year-old woman running a very successful business? “I don’t want to cut you short, but I have a client I have to talk to.”
“You’re conducting business during a blackout?”
“Yes. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You promise, sweetheart?”
“Yes, I promise.”
“Love you, Theresa.”
“I love you, too, Mama.”
She hung up before her mother could lapse into a diatribe as to why she shouldn’t have set up Signature Bridals in Brooklyn. After all, her sister Simone ran a successful floral business out of her home in White Plains. All of her life she’d fought for her independence. Her parents—her father in particular—believed a woman couldn’t survive without the protection of a husband.
Although Tessa refused to conform to their outdated views, her older sister had. Simone had married her high school sweetheart, yet the union didn’t survive their fifth wedding anniversary. Tessa smiled. What she found incredible was that Simone and her mother had perfected the role of vapid female to an art form.
Micah thought because she owned and operated her own business she had to be a liberated woman. She was liberated—not in the literal sense of the word; however, what she’d done was fight a long and at times arduous battle to determine her own destiny. And during her personal struggles she’d had to make sacrifices in order to make Signature Bridals a success.
She had sacrificed love and marriage.
Tessa turned to find Micah staring at her as if he had never seen her before. “Do you need something?”
Micah blinked as if coming out of a trance.
I love you.
Whenever he heard a woman say the three words, he usually turned and headed in the opposite direction. He was able to accept a woman’s passion and companionship until she opened her mouth to profess her love for him. It was thirty-six years and he still hadn’t accepted his biological mother’s abandonment.
Evelyn Howard had hugged and kissed him as they’d sat waiting to be seen in a large, noisy hospital clinic; she’d told him that she loved him and that he was not to move while she went to the restroom. He’d sat in the same spot for more than four hours waiting for her return. It wasn’t until a nurse noticed he’d been alone that he’d realized his mother wasn’t coming back.
He became a ward of the state of New Jersey for three years, until at age seven he was adopted by Edgar and Rosalind Sanborn. His new mother learned quickly that although he would permit her to hug and kiss him, she couldn’t tell her adopted son that she loved him.
Micah successfully camouflaged his inner turmoil with a smile. “I need a corkscrew.”
Tessa searched a drawer and gave him the corkscrew, checked the potatoes and then turned on the stove-top grill to heat up. At that moment she wished she had a battery-powered radio on hand to break the stilted silence. She did have a small portable TV/radio, but it was in the space on the top floor that was her sewing room. She wanted something—anything—to distract her from Micah’s presence.
Micah Sanborn was the first man in a long time whose presence reminded her that she was a woman, one who’d denied her femininity for far too long. She would share her dinner with him, address some of his sister’s concerns about her wedding and then escort him out the door.
Picking up a candleholder, she cupped her hand around the flicking flame. “I’m going upstairs to get the flashlight.”
“Do you want me to come with you?”
Tessa forced a smile. “No, thank you. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Are you sure you don’t need an escort?”
Her smile widened. “Yes, I’m sure,” she said as she took small, measured steps and she left the kitchen.
Micah sat opposite Tessa, thoroughly enjoying his meal and his dining partner. The grilled steaks were the perfect complement to the oven-baked seasoned potato wedges and accompanying salad. As soon as he drained his second glass of Merlot he felt more relaxed than he had in a very long time.
“Thank you for dinner. You’re a very good cook.”
She inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Thank you.”
Her cooking skills were adequate; but it was her first cousin Faith Whitfield who, as a professional chef, had become a renowned cake designer. Tessa, Faith and her floral-designer sister Simone completed the threesome that made up Signature Bridals.
The sheet of paper with his scribbled notes lay next to Micah’s plate. He moved a candle closer, glancing at the first notation. “Bridget and Seth want an interfaith service. My sister is Catholic and her fiancé is Jewish.” He ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. “Will that pose a problem for you?”
Tessa shook her head. “No.” And it wouldn’t because she’d coordinated countless interfaith marriages. “Have they selected a priest and a rabbi?”
“Seth’s cousin is a rabbi, and Bridget has requested her local parish priest be present, along with a coworker who is also an ordained minister.”
Tessa laughed. “It looks as if they’ve covered all of the bases.”
He glanced at the paper again. “She’d like you to take care of everything with the exception of food. Mom has a friend who’s a caterer.”
“What about a cake?”
Micah studied his notes, attempting to decipher what he’d written. Tessa was right. His handwriting did look like hieroglyphs. “She didn’t say anything about a cake.”
“We’ll