I unpacked and arranged the last boxes of curios in the dining room then began my attack on loose ends in the kitchen, rearranging drawers and stacking my cookbook collection in an out-of the-way cupboard. The new stainless-steel appliances in my gray-and-white vintage forties kitchen hummed, waiting for me to break out the measuring spoons and learn to cook—an art Robin, Mom, and Nick executed with panache. I executed my cooking like capital punishment, yet I remained determined to master the skill. Probably not this week, but soon. Swear. I could almost taste the lemonade I planned to make with the lemons from my tree one day. Baby steps.
As I folded up emptied cartons, Stan and Angel stopped to say good-bye before they left for the day.
“Same time tomorrow?” I said.
“Nine. I have to stop at the hardware store first,” Stan said.
“And when do you think you’ll put in the tub and tiles?”
“Soon.”
“What day is ‘soon’?”
Stan scratched his chin. “Friday, maybe?”
Friday, maybe wasn’t a day either. Which Friday? They hustled out the front door before I could ask.
I carried the empty boxes out to the garage, made another check with my office service for client messages, then went upstairs to freshen up for the game. The current heat wave kept temperatures in the high seventies late into the night, so I opted for a white T-shirt, my favorite jeans, and black Converse sneakers. I added makeup and lipstick, and then bent my head to brush through the waves in my brown hair. Erzulie stretched on my down comforter, watching me dab a finishing touch of rose oil behind my ears.
“Are you hungry?” I said to my fuzzy companion.
The magic words. She meowed, hopped off the bed toward the door, stopped to see if I followed, and then darted downstairs, tail up. I found her sitting on the kitchen counter top, waiting for me to open a can of smelly delights from the sea. Erzulie let me know early in our relationship that chicken or beef was not acceptable to her palate.
Once Erzulie tucked into the sardine mush in the bowl on the floor, even the tap-tap at the front door and Nick’s greeting didn’t disturb her. Pretty amazing since Nick was Erzulie’s hero-man.
“Liz?” Nick’s rich voice echoed from the entry hall.
“In the kitchen,” I said, shaking my head for one last fluff of my hair.
Nick, tall, fit, and tanned from his recent trip to Mexico and weekends playing basketball with my brother, leaned on the doorjamb between the dining room and kitchen. Wisps of gray and sandy brown hair peeked out from under a weathered blue baseball cap with the red C in the center, his beloved Chicago Cubs’ logo. He crossed his arms over his faded navy blue sweatshirt, his brown eyes twinkling with a slow warm smile that reached into my chest and pulled at my heart.
I wiped my hands and went to him, letting the comfort of his arms envelop me. He brushed his lips on the top of my head, and then lifted my chin. Quivers feathered up my spine from his mind-swimming kiss.
With his lips a whisper from mine he said, “When do we have to leave?”
“Five minutes.”
“Not enough time.” He pulled me closer.
“Then we better stop now,” I said, catching my breath. “Or you get to explain to everyone why we were late.”
“Struck out and the game hasn’t even begun.”
I stepped back and tugged at the brim of his cap. “You wore this to our first baseball game together in college.”
“The Illini were on their way to the Big Ten Baseball Championship and Dave brought you along to see the phenom rookie pitch. What was that guy’s name? Jarret something?”
“Cooper, I think.”
“Right. The only time my lucky cap let me down. My mistake for taking you down to the field to meet the winning pitcher. I should have asked you out instead.”
“You? A big important junior dating a lowly freshman? Scandalous.”
“I had to wait years for my second chance,” Nick said.
“Was I worth the wait?”
“Endlessly. Are you ready to dine on Dodger dogs and peanuts?”
“I’m ready for anything.”
He raised his brows, grinning. “Anything? Maybe we should stay here. Your parents—”
“Would never forgive us if we didn’t show up tonight. Dad can’t wait to see you.”
“Me?”
“A fellow Cubs fanatic? I only hope he lets the rest of us talk to you during the game.”
Nick steered his red SUV onto the 101 Freeway entrance at Vineland and Riverside, driving east to I5 South with the Dodger pre-game show on the radio. The ride from Studio City to Dodger Stadium in Chavez Ravine took thirty minutes in normal traffic. We hit rush hour.