Flirting With Temptation (26 page)

“My favorite time of year,” she whispered.

“Henry said that he knew this golf course was the closest to Heaven on earth that he could get.”

“That’s what he said,” she agreed, remembering how much Henry loved it here.

“And then he told me about a promise.”

Gert’s chest tightened. “Promise?”

“One that he asked you to keep, if he should go on before you.”

She blinked, looked at the ground, at her pink shoes, at anything but Paul. He’d know. If she looked at him, he’d simply know.

If he didn’t know already.

“Henry’s here, isn’t he, Gert?”

She remembered the very day, sitting in the golf cart beside Henry, when he parked beneath some of the trees on the course and looked at her, then told her what he wanted. She’d not wanted to talk about it, didn’t want to think of being without him, and certainly didn’t want to discuss what he wanted to happen after he was gone.

But Henry wasn’t budging. He was stubborn, but in a good way, always resolute when it came to getting what he wanted. Looking back, she wasn’t the only one in the marriage with gumption.

On that day, he’d asked her to promise him that if he died before her, that she would bring him here, to the golf course, and let his body remain where he was happiest on earth, while his spirit soared above it. She’d known the owners of the course would never have agreed. Or they might have, but if she’d asked, and then they’d said no, what would she do?

It’d been late, late at night when she’d come to the course with the ornate urn that held her beloved Henry. She’d cried like a baby, weeping madly, as she edged her way through the darkness and fulfilled her promise.

“You’re asking Henry questions?” Paul asked again.

“I am.”

He put an arm around her. “Has he answered you?”

She worked her mouth into a smile and looked into those caring blue-gray eyes. Paul had been her rock over the past few days, and he hadn’t even realized it.

Or had he?

He was looking at her now as though he knew every emotion tearing her apart.

“He just keeps telling me to ask more questions,” Gertrude said. “Keeps telling me to come back, but he doesn’t answer the real questions I’m asking.”

“What is it you’re wanting him to tell you?” Paul asked, every ounce of sincerity in his tone. He believed her, and he didn’t think she was ridiculous for trying to get approval from Henry.

“I had heard about an old friend from high school, now living in Tuscaloosa.”

“A man?” Paul’s voice changed slightly, but Gert couldn’t define the difference.

“Yes. I asked Babette to help me find his information, his phone number, address, and all, and then I thought about trying to see him again. We’d talked at the reunions, a bit, and I thought—well, I thought it might be nice to try to reconnect.”

Paul nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“But I wanted to make sure that Henry was okay with it, you know.” She sounded so pitiful. This wasn’t her usual, confident self, the image she portrayed for the world. But this was Paul, and she could let her guard down with him. He knew her, and he cared. She could tell that now, as his arm tenderly squeezed her as she spoke. And it was so nice to share this with someone who believed her, and who understood.

“But Henry hasn’t said it’s okay?” Paul asked.

“No.”

They sat there silent for a moment, then Paul cleared his throat and sat forward a bit, making Gert turn her head to look at his face.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re thinking about seeing someone again, right, Gert? Wondering if it’d be okay with Henry if you did?”

She nodded, feeling rather miserable that she’d allowed her loneliness to bring her to this state, but very glad that Paul was with her through the endeavor.

He cleared his throat again, swallowed. “Gert.”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to say something that may make you uncomfortable, but if I don’t say it now, I may not ever find the right time, or the nerve, to say it again.”

“What is it?”

“Maybe Henry hasn’t said yes because you’re asking him about the wrong guy.”

Those blue-gray eyes were intense now, and she suddenly realized that they were looking at her, not just as a friendly kind of
I understand
look, but really looking at her.

“Paul.” She didn’t know what else to say. Paul? Paul thought of her that way? And then again, why wouldn’t he? They already knew each other; there wasn’t that need to reconnect between the two of them. They knew each other, knew their histories, knew their pasts. And they both understood that each of them had been blessed to have had love, a strong and lasting love, once in their lives already.

Could they find it a second time? Together? And would Henry want her to give that possibility a try?

“Gert.”

“Yes?”

“Ask Henry.”

She blinked, swallowed, looked back at hole sixteen, merely a few feet away. “What if he says no?”

“What do you want him to say?” Paul asked, and suddenly, his arm around her felt more warm, more intense, more right.

“I want him to say yes,” she said, and at once, the pieces fell into place. Paul. She’d come to the course to have Henry help her find someone that she could share her life with, and he’d shown her Paul.

Could it be that she’d had the man she truly needed right here, all along?

“Ask him,” Paul repeated.

She stood and took the putter from where he’d propped it against the side of the bench. Then he held out the pink ball and she took it.

Three steps and she was at the rubber square at the beginning of the lane. She bent, put the ball on the middle notch, then stood and looked at Paul. Paul, who had been here all along, and who knew her better than any man in the world, except Henry.

Henry, this is it. Let me know. A hole in one says that Paul and I should . . . see where this goes.

She brought the putter back, then forward, and hit the pretty pink ball. Maybe because of nerves, or maybe because of adrenaline, she hit it harder than she intended. And toward the wrong side. She shook her head as it banked off the left. She wasn’t meant to be with Paul either. She wasn’t meant to be with anyone. And she was okay with that, she supposed, although now she had to admit that she’d really enjoyed the last few days, on the golf course, visiting, chatting and golfing with Paul.

But the ball was moving every which way but toward the hole.

“Gert,” he said, and she turned her attention from the maddening, non-stopping ball to see Paul, standing near her. “I want more, if you do.”

She blinked. What if Henry didn’t want her to have more, with anyone? Even Paul?

“Do you?” he repeated, and she fought the urge to turn around and see where the ball had finally landed.

“Do you?” he asked again, and heaven help her, she knew the answer.

“I do.” She dropped the putter and stepped toward him, then melted into arms that had held her before in friendship, but now that held her with something more. And it felt . . . right.

“Gertrude,” he said, and he leaned back to look at her.

“Yes, Paul?”

“I’d like to kiss you now.”

Her heart thundered so loudly she could hear it in her ears, and the exhilaration of his statement made her a tad lightheaded, but not too lightheaded to answer. “I’d like that too.”

His kiss was soft, tender, experimental, testing the waters of moving past friendship. And it was a very sweet, amazing, wonderfully satisfying kiss.

He looked at her. “Okay?”

She nodded, tears in her eyes. “Yes, definitely okay.”

“Gert,” he said softly.

“Yes?”

“The ball went in.”

Chapter 17

J
eff sat on his balcony, laptop open and hands resting on the keyboard. He’d spent another day unable to concentrate on work because he kept seeing Babette, dancing like a high-dollar stripper on that stage. And then, the image that had his emotions in an even bigger uproar: Babette, her eyes glistening when he told her the truth, that any man lucky enough to really get to know her . . . only wanted more.

He’d had plans tonight, another attempt at a date with Kylie, but he’d already planned to break that engagement even before Babette demanded that he cancel tonight’s plans and come to her condo. He watched another crowd of women heading over from Sunny Beaches with all their cooking wares. He’d called Babette earlier and asked what time he should arrive, and she’d said that “everything would begin around seven.” Then, for some bizarre reason, she’d asked him to wait until eight. Now he realized that whatever “everything” was, it involved the seniors.

He grinned. How stupid had he been to think that she was inviting him down for a little one-on-one time? She’d pledged her duty to her job, and therefore to Kitty, and she wasn’t budging. Jeff couldn’t decide if he was glad that she had found the ability to commit, or if he wanted to toss it out the window and let them explore what would happen if they got that one-on-one time. No, he didn’t want time to talk about Kitty, but he did want to spend more time with Babette.

The seniors were heading over in droves now, with seven o’clock nearing. He was amazed; it was Friday night and she was spending it with the seniors. She was certainly not the Babette he knew from way back when. But there were a lot of things about Babette now that were different from when they’d been together before. She was right about her new commitment ethic; she had been successful at keeping one job for a while. She’d also survived his volleyball flirt challenge yesterday without so much as a whistle. Definitely not something the Babette of the past could’ve done. And he couldn’t forget that she’d been successful in that bikini contest, even bringing home the thousand-dollar prize.

Another group of seniors in a small huddle crossed the pathway from Sunny Beaches to White Sands, and Jeff noticed that this group was primarily male. His curiosity piqued, he powered down the computer and shut the laptop.

Then he left the balcony, put the laptop back in his computer case, and went to take a shower and change clothes. He’d noticed all the seniors were dressed up, and he didn’t want to stand out too much in his T-shirt and shorts.

An hour later, he was knocking on Babette’s door and dressed for whatever function was loud enough to resonate down the hall.

He knocked again, but knew with all that noise, music, laughing, and talking, no one would hear him. So he grabbed the knob and turned. The door opened, and he entered.

The walls practically vibrated with swing music, and Babette had pushed all of her furniture to one side to expose a makeshift dance floor. Two silver-crowned couples were using it, and they were damn good.

Jeff attempted to control his jaw, but the lone redhead in the group had already seen him. Babette waved, then crossed the room, distributing polite “excuse me’s” and “pardon me’s” as she passed through the exuberant crowd.

“Hey,” she said, breathless, and Jeff saw that she was carrying a white tray filled with hors d’oeuvres.

“Look,” she said. “I made them myself. Well, Rose, Tillie and Hannah helped. They haven’t given me free rein in the kitchen yet, but I’m getting closer.” She smiled as Jeff took one of the tiny tarts and popped it into his mouth. “Mini quiches,” she said, her dark eyes watching as he chewed.

“It’s very good,” he said, shocked.

She used her free hand to poke him in the chest. “Don’t be so surprised.” Then she laughed. “But to tell the truth, this was the fourth batch. I had way too much salt in the first one, and the next two burned to a crisp, because we got to chatting.” She was nearly screaming, since the music and chatter were so loud. “You better shut the door, so I don’t get in trouble with the neighbors,” she instructed, and he did.

“What is this?” Jeff asked, and realized that the female portions of the two couples dancing were two of the ladies he’d met the other day.

“They’re good, aren’t they?” Babette said, noticing where his attention had landed. “I had no idea Tillie and Hannah could dance like that, and I don’t think the guys knew either. You should’ve seen how excited they were when I told them we were having a mixer.”

“A mixer,” he repeated and couldn’t hold back his smile. Leave it to Babette to convert the resort into a fraternity house for seniors.

“They talked to the owners at Sunny Beaches about having them weekly, at the toddy bar.”

“The toddy bar.”

“Their pool bar,” Babette corrected loudly, since the music had kicked up a notch, or twenty.

“Jeff!” Rose scooted through the crowd dragging a tall man who appeared a little younger than she, but not by much. He had charcoal hair and a weathered face, and he appeared to be having a really good time, smiling from ear to ear as he stuck out his hand toward Jeff.

Jeff accepted the hand and shook it, while Rose scurried through introductions. “Jeff, this is Otis; Otis, this is Jeff.”

“Nice to meet you,” Otis said, and Jeff reciprocated, while Rose beamed at her new man. “You’re the one she spies on,” Otis started, and Rose promptly pinched his arm.

“Otis!”

“I just wanted to let him know that I’m going to try to keep your attention enough that you won’t have to pass your time in the spy cubby.”

Her scowl turned into an embarrassed flush. “Oh,” she said, so lightly that Jeff couldn’t hear her over the music, but her lips and her expression gave it away. She was surprised, and captivated.

“Care to dance?” Otis asked his lady.

“I don’t, I can’t . . .” Rose stammered.

“No problem. I’ll teach.” Otis nodded his goodbye to Babette and Jeff, then ushered Rose through the crowd and toward the makeshift dance floor, where Tillie and her fellow were doing some sort of twirling thing that seemed a little out of control, judging from the way the elderly spectators surrounding them started backing up.

“Oh, I hope they don’t fall.” Babette watched until the two slowed down and apparently got their bearings. “I guess I should’ve probably at least learned where the nearest hospital was before I decided to have this thing.”

Jeff laughed. “A mixer for seniors. Who’d have thought?”