They talked a bit longer, finished their beers, and gave each other warm hugs. Then, he walked Dallas to the front door and opened it. It was a bit cooler outside now.
“I’m going to call you in a couple of days. Don’t act like you don’t see me ringing you up, as you usually do. Make sure you answer the phone.” She kissed him on the cheek and made her way down the steps toward her white Honda in his driveway.
“Give Lucas a hug from his Uncle Axel. Tell him I’ll see him soon. As far as you are concerned, trust me. I see your calls. I just choose to ignore them. Anyone else you call should do the same for their own sanity. Drive safe.”
Dallas gave him the bird, then got into her car and drove away.
Returning to the kitchen, he picked up his phone and called English back. He got her voicemail.
“Hey, Dr. Sexy. We were in the middle of a good conversation when my sister came by and impolitely interrupted us. Give me a call in the next hour or two. Otherwise, I’ll be at work and unable to answer.”
He disconnected the call, and as he was on his way to his bedroom to freshen up and take a quick snooze, his phone buzzed. It was a text message from English.
English: Can’t chat right now but want to see you soon. If your schedule is clear for Saturday night, let me know. I’d like to invite you over for dinner.
Chapter Nine
English scanned her dining room to make sure she hadn’t missed something. After all, it had been a long while since she’d had a man over for dinner. This was her sanctuary, her treasured private domain filled to the brim with Bath and Body Works scented oils and candles, garage-sale antique furniture blended with modern pieces, plush rugs, vases and linchpins from local thrift stores. She rested her gaze on her favorite centerpiece: a crystal basin from her trip to New Mexico, filled with shiny indigo, teal and violet globes.
She’d set up with cerulean square plates with hand-painted silver trim, wine glasses with white frost around the rims, and the most perfect sky-blue linens that she rarely used, given to her as a birthday gift from her grandmother many years ago. God rest her soul. She glanced at her watch and tapped her French manicured nail against the glass face. Not once had Axel been late for a date, and she safely assumed this evening would be no different. There were about seven minutes to spare before he ruined his record.
Walking away from the table, she entered the kitchen to check the fare: Heirloom tomatoes with fresh basil and mozzarella over a bed of bay leaves for decoration, dressed with olive oil and vinaigrette, for their first course. Lobster macaroni and cheese for the entrée, and a simple white cake for dessert, topped with fresh raspberries and a drizzle of melted chocolate. She caught her reflection in the kitchen sliding doors that led to the balcony, and ran her fingers through her hair to look a bit more ‘effortless.’
Sporting a simple black V-neck, long-sleeved shirt and taupe slacks, she gave herself the once over, happy she’d decided to add a few chunky silver bangles to her outfit. Just the right touch. While she debated on changing her lipstick color from the deep berry she currently wore to a more neutral chestnut brown, the doorbell rang. She checked her watch and smiled. He was exactly one minute early.
Making her way out of the kitchen, past the dining room and through the foyer, she looked out the peephole, opened the door, and took in the gorgeous man before her. And to God be the glory … because He is good, all the time. God made man, and with Axel, he was showin’ out!
From the top of this man’s head to the bottom of his black-boot-covered feet, Axel looked like a walking dark and sexy fantasy. His beard was flawlessly trimmed, and long bone-straight hair had been knocked into submission. The strands held a healthy shine, no split ends, and flowed over his right shoulder. Button-down white shirt, the top open just enough for her to see his thin gold chain, a bit of chest hair, and a peek of a chest tattoo drawn in black ink.
“Good evenin’. These are for you.” He handed her a bouquet of deep red roses, his cheeks taut from a handsome, yet slightly devilish, grin.
“Awww, thank you! They’re beautiful, Axel.” She stepped aside. “Come right in.”
“You’re welcome, 800.”
That had been the bastard’s thing, now. He at times called her ‘800,’ the number on the label of some cheap, convenience store alcohol—Olde English 800 malt liquor. She initially thought she remembered the beverage from a Billy D. Williams television ad her grandmother loved long ago, but Axel had corrected her, saying that was Colt 45. How he knew such a thing was beyond her, but he seemed to be quite well-versed in many subjects, which made him more intriguing to her.