Love Is a Breeze (7 page)

John pulled up in front of his building, leaving the engine running as he exited. The valet waited while he helped Brianna out. Handing her the new cane, he turned back to retrieve the packages.

“We’ll donate the crutches to a free clinic,” he said, taking her arm to steady her as she limped to the entrance aided by the cane.

Once in the elevator, he let go of her arm. The warmth lingered as a reminder of his touch. She released a long sigh.

“You must be worn out,” he said, as the elevator doors opened. “Go lie down and I’ll find the heating pad for your ankle.”

Exhausted, more from the emotional upheaval than the physical activity, she didn’t argue. Limping to the bed, she sat on the edge to remove the now dirty sock and the splint before swinging her legs onto the bed. John came in a few minutes later carrying a heating pad under his arm, a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of pain reliever in the other. He reached behind the night stand to plug in the heating pad, his head so close she could smell his after-shave. Inhaling deeply, she closed her eyes and lay back on the pillow.

“Sit up and take these,” he said, shaking two tablets from the bottle. She rose on one elbow and opened her mouth. He dropped the pills in and handed her the water. Moving to the foot of the bed, he carefully picked up her foot, gently placed it onto the heating pad and switched it on low. Her eyes closed.

CHAPTER Seven

Brianna awoke to total darkness and complete silence. It took a few seconds to get her bearings before switching on the bedside lamp. She leaned down to turn off the heating pad. It was already off, though still warm.  Noticing the packages on the dresser, she sat up, reached for the cane and hobbled over to put away the items. After putting the toiletries in the bathroom, the jeans, shirts and shoes in the closet, she returned to gather the items that needed washing and discovered an extra bag. Reaching inside, she pulled out a sundress.

Clutching the dress, she tottered as fast as her cane would allow, in search of her benefactor. Entering the darkened living room, she saw a light coming from a room in the opposite corner and headed toward it.

“What’s this?” she said, holding up the dress as if it were contaminated.

John looked up from the book he was reading.

“I believe it’s a dress.”

“I know it’s a dress. It isn’t a necessity.”

“Does everything have to be a necessity? The green matched your eyes so I bought it. We can take it back if you don’t like it”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I can’t afford it.”

“It’s a gift, Brianna. Say ‘thank you.’”

“Thank you, Mr. Sharp.”

“John.”

Brianna looked startled. “Excuse me.”

“You can call me ‘John.’ Mr. Sharp and Miss Ryan seem a little formal under the circumstances, don’t you think?”

She swallowed, then stammered, “Well, yes. I suppose it is but only here. You’re still ‘Mr. Sharp’ at work.”

John laughed. “I somehow didn’t figure you for a strict protocol type person.” He lowered his feet from the hassock and stood up. “I hope you’re hungry because I’m starved. Put the dress on while I see about dinner.”

She watched him walk to the kitchen before heading to her room to try on the dress.
He waited to have dinner with me
. A feeling of elation surged through her.

                                                              * * * *

Brianna crossed the long, narrow kitchen taking note of the tall cherry cabinets above the black granite countertops. She sat on a stool at the small peninsula bar while John heated the dinner Mrs. Miller had left for them.

“You’re not a shark – I mean, you’re much nicer–”

John faced her and raised one eyebrow. Brianna felt the blush travel up from the low ‘V’ of her neckline and settle onto her cheeks.

“I mean you’re different than you are at work.” She looked down and traced the pattern of the granite countertop with her fingernail. When she looked up he smiled.

She watched as John took dishes out of the refrigerator and set them on the countertop. He put the lasagna in the microwave. While it heated, he uncovered a mixed green salad and set bottles of dressing beside it.

“Anything I can do?” Brianna asked.

“I’ve got it,” John replied, getting plates and bowls from the cabinet followed by silverware from a drawer.

He removed the lasagna and wrapped several slices of buttered French bread in paper towels placing them in the microwave. Reaching into the wine cooler under the counter, he pulled out a bottle of red wine, then put it back in.

“Probably not a good idea under the circumstances,” he said, looking at Brianna.

“Not for me but you go ahead. I’ll just have water or juice, if you have any.”

“I do. What would you like, orange, apple or cranberry?”

“Apple’s fine.”

He poured juice into two stemmed wine glasses before serving their food.

“Where would you like to eat? Here? The dining room? How about the terrace?”

“The terrace would be lovely.” She answered. The kitchen suddenly seemed warm.

The lake caught, shimmered and reflected the moon and stars. John leaned back in his chair, captivated by the copper highlights dancing in Brianna’s hair as a slight breeze lifted the silky strands. Brianna ran a hand over her hair, smoothing the wayward curls and shivered.

“You must be chilly,” John rose and extended his hand to assist her. “I’ll clear the dishes. I’ll give you a tour of the condo if you’re feeling up to it.”

“I’d like that.”

John gathered the dinnerware and took it to the kitchen. Brianna hobbled after him. She leaned heavily on her cane as she watched him. When he’d finished, he gestured for her to lead the way through a doorway between the peninsula and the door to the terrace. He offered his hand as she negotiated the step down from the black marble tile to the silver plush carpet of the large sunken room that served as both living room and dining room.

“Did you take these photos?” She said, pointing to a group of black and white photographs on the wall opposite the fireplace. “They’re quite good.”

“I did, thank you. That’s about the only thing I had to do with this room.”

Brianna looked at him quizzically.

He continued past the teak dining table surrounded by six straight backed chairs covered in dove gray fabric.

“I had a party a couple of years ago. Kaitlyn gave me her decorator’s number. Apparently my condo wasn’t up to her standards.”

“These glass sculptures are colorful.” Brianna ran a finger over the artwork on the lighted shelves that flanked the white marble fireplace.

John picked up a blue vase, reminiscent of waves.

“This is the only piece I picked out. I bought it at a little gallery in Hawaii.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said. It was the only piece she really liked.

She glanced at the large painting above the mantel.

“I’m not a big fan of modern art but it does add color to the room.” John said. “I have to wonder what they were thinking when they painted it.”

“I imagine they were feeling more that thinking.”

John studied the painting and stroked his chin. “Okay. What was he feeling?”

“Modern art is very subjective, much more so than other paintings like a landscape or still-life. It invokes different feelings in different people. This one makes me feel the artist’s anger.”

“Really? How so?”

“His liberal use of bold red slashes– red always seems angry– at least to me. The purple lines are a transition to the blue. The purple represents confusion and the blue denotes peace. He used much more purple than blue so, I’m guessing he was more confused than at peace when he painted this.” She smiled up at John who appeared to be interested so she continued. “He used a small sunburst of yellow in that corner probably representing hope. To me he was angry but wanted peace and he had a small ray of hope so all was not lost.”

“You got all that from this?” He swept his hand in front of the painting.

“Or, it could be that he just liked bold colors or was higher that a kite.” She grinned.

John laughed.

They passed the long and sleek charcoal ultra suede sofa flanked by four white chairs. Glass topped teak tables with contemporary brushed stainless lamps completed the room. An entire wall of floor to ceiling windows with access to the terrace framed the dining area. John pressed a button on the wall. Silver silk draperies slowly moved across the windows obscuring the sparkling lake.

They continued into the den where the décor was a dramatic contrast to the living room. Walnut paneling covered the walls. Book shelves lined the end wall and another long one, broken up by an antique credenza. A large seascape hung above it.

Brianna ran a hand lightly over the frame of the painting.

“I love Winslow Homer. This is an original, isn’t it?”

John nodded. “My great-grandfather bought it shortly after the Civil War before Homer became famous.” He picked up a remote control and pushed a button. A large, flat screen television descended from the ceiling in front of the painting. He opened drawers that housed numerous DVD’s and showed her how to use the player and sound system. “That should keep you entertained while you’re convalescing.”

An over-stuffed loveseat faced the TV. A matching chair and ottoman sat at an angle. Heavy wood end tables held antique brass lamps that cast a warm glow in the room. A desk with a computer occupied the area in front of another wall of windows that could be covered by deep blue drapes.

He led her through the living room, assisting her up the step to the entry level. He pointed out the half bath and a utility room off the entry hall, opposite the kitchen, before continuing past her bedroom to a set of double doors.

He held the door open, suggesting she should precede him into the room. Another windowed wall opposite the door drew her eyes to the moonlight streaming across the king sized bed. John turned on a bedside lamp casting a soft glow. She forced her gaze away from the black damask striped duvet. Cobalt accents softened the stark masculinity of the room.  He continued into the master bath. Brianna’s eyes widened. It was nearly as big as Carly’s whole apartment. John brought her attention to a large black tub. It sat on a raised platform under the corner windows that framed the city skyline.

“I thought you might want to use this. It would help your ankle.” He showed her how to turn on and adjust the multiple jets and water temperature. “Feel free to use it anytime.” He smiled.

Brianna felt as if she could melt onto the marble floor.

CHAPTER EIGHT

After finally getting a full night’s sleep, Brianna woke early. She slipped into her robe and went to the kitchen. The condo was quiet which meant John was either not up or already gone - most likely the latter.

She found a box of Honey Nut Cheerios in the pantry and poured a bowl, adding milk. Perching on a bar stool at the peninsula to eat, Brianna opened the newspaper that lay on the counter.

John entered the room dressed in his workout clothes, a towel draped around his neck, his tousled hair falling across his brow. Brianna inhaled a mouthful of cereal and spewed it across the countertop and newspaper. John quickly crossed the room and thumped her back while she coughed and struggled to regain her breath.

“Okay?” John asked when she finally stopped coughing.

Brianna nodded. “Sorry, I kind of messed up your paper. You startled me. I thought you’d gone to work.”

“I leave for work at seven-thirty. I work out from six to seven.”

Brianna filed the information away for future reference.

John moved to the other side of the bar which made breathing infinitely easier for her. She appreciated the play of muscles in his bare arm as he took a cup from the cupboard and filled it with coffee, offering her one. She shook her head. Probably best to keep my mouth empty, she thought.

He put an English muffin - whole wheat - into the toaster while she cleaned up the mess she’d made. When the muffin popped up he topped it with fruit spread.

He eats healthy, she thought but said, “You’ve got a lot of muscles for a desk jockey.”

“Excuse me?”John turned with his muffin half way to his mouth.

Brianna blushed. “It’s just that, normally, one wouldn’t expect someone who sits behind a desk all day to have such well developed muscles. You’re in really good shape.”

“Thank you.” He leaned against the cabinet, ankles crossed, an amused glint in his eyes, and took a bite of the muffin. He licked the jam from his lips.

Brianna looked at her bowl of soggy Cheerios and pushed it away.

After John cleared the dishes and went to take a shower, she brewed a cup of tea adding cream and sugar. She sat at the breakfast bar stirring the drink and studying the classified ads.

John returned, hair still damp but neatly combed, dressed in a gray pinstripe suit with a blue shirt and blue and gray striped tie.

“Are there no affordable apartments in this city?” She looked up with a frown.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure something will turn up” He glanced at his watch. “I have to leave now but I’ll be home around six. Mrs. Miller will check on you at noon.”

“Oh. Doesn’t she work today?”

“No, she cleans and fixes meals for the week on Mondays. She works for others in the building the rest of the week. She’s married to the night security guard. Write down her cell number in case you need anything.”

Brianna scribbled the number on her napkin with a pen from the black wire desk caddy under the phone on the wall.

“There is a notepad there.” He pointed to the same caddy.

She shrugged her shoulders. “This’ll do. No need to waste paper.”

John shook his head and smiled. “See you later. Behave yourself.”

Brianna sat until she heard the front door close before she folded the newspaper and laid it on the countertop. The prospect of finding a place she could afford on her own did not look good. She glanced at the sleek, modern cabinetry with the long stainless handles that mirrored the gleaming appliances. A set of brushed stainless canisters sat next to the ceramic top stove, otherwise the granite was bare. She imagined what a few colorful accessories could do for the room. Brianna sighed. It seemed warmer when John was here.

After making her bed, she took her laundry to the utility room. She started a load and returned to her room, intending to take a shower but as she stood in front of the enclosure a picture of the large black tub floated across her mind.  She secured her hair on top of her head and headed for John’s bathroom.

Sunlight flooded the room and a quick glance at the bed revealed it to be neatly made. A door beside the dresser stood slightly ajar. Curiosity got the better of her and she pulled it open. Her jaw dropped as her eyes traveled around the room masquerading as a closet. It was huge, outfitted in teak and meticulous. Suits hung together in one section, shirts organized by color in another one, casual clothes in other sections. Built in shoe shelves, again, were organized by color and style. Tie carousels and drawers for socks and things completed the room. She backed out the door, careful not to disturb anything, and thought of her own chaotic closets in the past. She didn’t have enough to have a chaotic closet now. She closed the door and crossed in front of the dresser to the bathroom on the other side.

Brianna turned on the water, adjusted the temperature control and the jets as John had shown her. Dropping her robe onto the fluffy white rug, she carefully mounted the step up to the tub. She noticed a bottle of strawberry bubble bath that she hadn’t seen the night before. She uncapped it and added a generous amount to the rising water. Bubbles instantly grew out of the churning water, filling the tub to its brim. Brianna sank into the foamy depths and turned off the water. She placed a rolled towel behind her head and closed her eyes.

Waving a hand in front of her face as if chasing a fly from her nose, she opened her eyes. Bubbles nearly covered her head. She cleared her line of vision and saw bubbles cascading over the edge of the tub and down the steps to the floor.
Oops.
Turning off the jets and opening the drain, she struggled to stand up on the slippery surface. She looked around for something to give her some traction. Her cane was out of reach. She’d left her cell phone in her room. She would have been too embarrassed to call Mrs. Miller to help her out of the tub anyway. She waited for the tub to empty, which took awhile given the amount of foam the drain had to swallow. Finally, the water was gone. Bubbles – not so much. She shivered as she grabbed a towel and spread it on the bottom of the tub. Turning onto her knees, she used another towel to dry the rim of the tub and slowly hoisted herself up and over it. She stood there gaining her balance before attempting to reach the soggy bathrobe lying on the once fluffy white rug. It took remainder of the day to mop, launder towels and coax bubbles down a reluctant drain.

                                                               * * * *

When John arrived home, promptly at six, she greeted him wearing her one and only sundress and a smile. He returned the smile.

“I hope you weren’t too bored today.”

“No, not at all.” Brianna replied.

She followed him into the kitchen and took her usual seat at the bar while John readied another of the meals Mrs. Miller had prepared.

“I tried out your tub today.”

He removed his jacket and tie and rolled his sleeves back. “How was it?”

“Great. I loved the bubble bath. I didn’t notice it last night.”

“I thought you’d like it. I jogged to the corner drug store this morning instead of working out in the gym.”

John opened the refrigerator and ducked his head in.

“How come you’re not married or anything?” Brianna asked, while appreciating how the cut of his slacks outlined his rear.

John pulled his head out of the fridge and set the covered dish on the countertop before looking at her.

“Or, anything?” He gave her a quizzical glance.

“You’d make a great husband. I mean, you’re a good looking, rich guy. You know - a good catch.  And you certainly know your way around the kitchen. Women should fall all over themselves for a bit of your attention.”

“You think I’m good looking?” One corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

“Well, yeah. I’m not blind.”

John placed the dish in the microwave and turned it on.

“Well, I’m not rich – comfortable, but not rich.”

“Very comfortable. And, you’re not married because…?”

“I was.” He pulled the salad and dressing from the fridge and set it in front of her.

“Oh. What happened?” Brianna added the dressing and tossed the salad.

“It didn’t work out.”

“Why?”

John shrugged his shoulder. “I didn’t like her boyfriend.” A sardonic smile curved his mouth.

“Oh.” Brianna picked a cherry tomato from the salad and popped it into her mouth. “Was it recent?”

“No, about ten years ago.”

“Did she live here?”

“No.” John pulled the chicken casserole from the microwave.

“Why haven’t you remarried?”

“You know the old saying ‘once bitten....’”

Brianna inclined her head and scooped salad into the two bowls John had placed on the bar.

“I don’t want to get married,” she said.

“Really? And, why is that?”

“All my life people have made decisions for me. I want to make my own decisions.” She noticed John’s look of amusement. “I’ll admit I’m not very good at it—yet. Men always have to be in control and I don’t like being controlled.”

“I’ve noticed.” He flashed her one of his half smiles.

“You like living alone?” Brianna asked.

“It has its advantages.”

“Like?”

He set a plate in front of her. “Like not having to answer personal questions.” He tapped her nose, softening his words.

Brianna grinned, took a bite and swallowed. “I’ve never lived alone.”

“Never?”

Brianna shook her head. “Nope. I went from my parent’s to my aunt’s to Eric’s and now I’m here.”

“Except for the time you lived at the office.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Well, yes. I lived alone there but I didn’t like it.”

“So, tell me about this boyfriend that left you out on the street. Where’d you meet him?”

“We met about three years ago. He’s an assistant professor in the anthropology department at the University of Chicago. I attended a class he taught on art in ancient cultures.  He was very charming, blonde hair, blue eyes. One night he invited me out for coffee. We’d been dating about a year when my aunt died. He asked me to move in with him and the rest, as they say, is history.”

“So, what went wrong?” John looked up from loading the dishwasher.

“Now who’s being nosy?” She grinned at him. “Nothing ‘went wrong’ exactly, it was gradual—subtle. He started making all the decisions from where we went to who our friends were and even how I dressed. It was his idea”– She gave a derisive snicker. —“more of a command—that I switch from painting to graphic arts. He said I could make a living instead of being a ‘starving artist.’”

“Ahh, I can see how that wouldn’t appeal to you.” He gave her a lopsided grin.

“Right. About six months ago I decided I’d had enough and rebelled. He didn’t like that one bit.”

John laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me. But, not all men are like Eric, you know.”

“ So I’ve been told. It’s not just Eric, my father and brothers were domineering, too. But, that’s another story for another time.”

                                                              * * * *

The following morning, after John left, Brianna soaked in his tub again, without bubbles. She was amazed at how much her ankle had improved. She still limped but used the cane mostly for balance.

She curled up on the loveseat in the den and lowered the TV to viewing position. After flipping through several channels something on the Food Network caught her attention. The chef showed a chicken dish with red wine sauce he would be preparing in the next segment. An idea took shape. She grabbed a pen and small note pad from the desk top. She would prepare a special dinner for John. It was easy, the chef said, which was good because she had little cooking experience. Mrs. Miller could get any groceries she needed on Friday and she’d fix the meal Saturday night.

                                                               * * * *

When Brianna entered the kitchen Saturday morning she could see John sitting at the table on the terrace reading the paper and sipping coffee. She poured a glass of orange juice and carried it outside.

John looked up. “I’m playing golf today with Dave Anderson. I’d forgotten about it until he called this morning. Do you mind being left on your own again?”

This is perfect.
“No, not at all.”

“I should be home around five or six.”

“Great.” She barely contained her excitement.

“You seem awfully anxious to get rid of me.”

“Oh. No. You go on and enjoy yourself. Really. I’ll be fine.”

After John left, Brianna turned on the Food Network again, as if it could magically turn her into a Cordon Bleu chef. Well, a little more information couldn’t hurt. She watched and absorbed as much as she could until it was time to start cooking.