KEPT_ A Second Chance Fairy Tale(7)
11:01 a.m. Enjoy your day of veg with Mom. I’ll see what I can do.
Normally, Saturday mornings at Tryst are quiet. I don’t have Lillie’s constant interruptions or Corbin floating in and out of my office, filling me in on every last detail of his life—legal, sexual, or otherwise. It’s what I consider quiet time, an opportunity to get myself organized before the start of the next week.
Today, though, it’s been one interruption after another.
Lucy
“Dillon, stop playing in the mud or you’re going inside until everything dries!”
I’m screaming like a mother hen while sitting on my porch, watching my son and a few of the other neighborhood kids engrossed in making mud pies. It’s probably too late to slow the mess, but mud can get into some pretty interesting places if kids aren’t careful. Most of the time, they’re not.
“I don’t know what it is about dirt they find so fascinating,” Stella Shields, my neighbor and Dillon’s favorite daycare provider, wonders out loud before taking another drink of her sweet tea.
Stella’s been my neighbor for three years. She’s a tiny African-American woman who can’t weigh more than one hundred pounds soaking wet. When her kids grew up and left her nest, she moved into the apartment right next to mine.
“Dirty or not, I suppose we should enjoy them for as long as we can,” she tells me in a small whisper.
“You still miss your kids, don’t you?”
Nodding, she confirms, “They grow up so fast, Lucy. One day, they’re here, and the next, they’re out living their own lives.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Ah, don’t be.” She brushes off my apology. “I’ve made some good friends who let me spoil their kids. When I’m done, I don’t have to put them to bed, either.”
As I laugh to myself and turn in her direction, I note she’s squinting. I follow her line of sight and see she’s focused on a new, sleek, silver Lexus pulling into my second parking space.
“Now, who on earth do we have here?” she asks, as I wonder the same. “Lord, that car must have cost a small fortune.”
“He’s probably lost,” I return and start to stand.
Stepping out of his car, I note the man in question is tall, broad, and appears well-manicured.
“Think he’s looking for someone?” I ask Stella. She remains seated, her eyes still aimed in his direction.
“Hope it’s me,” she replies seriously. “He’s no Denzel Washington, but he’d do in a pinch.”
Shocked by her words, I open my mouth to say, “You’re crazy!”
Once the man’s head lifts and his gaze reaches mine, he presses forward at a quickening pace. I return to my seat and ready myself for his arrival.
After my shitty day, I irrationally assume Margret sent someone to serve me with a court order. Worse things have happened, so I’ve gotten used to never ruling anything out.
The man coming at us looks downright determined. If I’m right, he has a beautiful smile. It’s hard to tell from one hundred feet away, but as he comes closer, it’s unmistakable.
“I better get going. Seems you have a handsome caller,” Stella suggests. “I’ll head inside and wait for Denzel to call.”
Placing my hand on her arm, I stop her. “Wait, please. Don’t leave yet. I don’t know who he is.”
Her jovial expression changes at that. Stella answers with a short nod and looks back at him.
Once he’s only a few steps away, his voice calls out for my attention. “Lucy Monroe?” he inquires. His tone is knowing and a little mischievous.
Shit, I know him.
Finally, I recognize he’s the man from the night before. He also happens to be one of the men who cut short Shannan’s and my version of Coyote Ugly. It wasn’t the first rendition we’d performed, and it wasn’t entirely bad. He and that big man—Jeff, I think his name was—interrupted our routine before we had a chance to finish and indulge in our usual celebratory shot.
“Oh, my god. What are you–”
“Relax.” He smiles. “I’m not here to have you audition. I have last night’s performance on tape at my office.” He looks at Stella and winks. “Your friend here is quite the dancer.”
Stella sits back in her chair and doesn’t come to my defense. “Is that right?” She turns her head toward me and questions, “Lucy, is this true?”
I ignore her inquiry and crane my neck up to look at him. “What are you doing here?” I ask first, then follow it up with all I choose to remember. “The last time I saw you, you said I should find another venue for my ‘suited for the younger generation dance skills’.”
“And the last time I saw you, you flipped me off.”
“Lucy Jade Monroe!” Stella immediately scolds. Her head moves in his direction. I sink slightly after being scorned. “I’m Stella Shields, Lucy’s neighbor,” she introduces, lifting her hand between them.
He bends from where he’s standing, accepting it with ease, and returns, “Corbin Mercer, part owner of Tryst.”
“Tryst,” she recalls briefly, then shoots me a look of disappointment. “Little Lucy was at Tryst?”
“She was,” he replies. “Last night.”
“Huh,” Stella grinds out. “How about that?”
“She’s quite entertaining, actually. If I were hiring–”
“Stop!” I exclaim with humiliation. “I get it.”
Shaking her head with amusement, Stella stands and starts to step away. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Corbin Mercer. Thank you for keeping little Lucy here company. I’m off to get ready for a girls’ night of bingo and bridge. Saturday nights are always busy, and if I don’t get my seat, some younger generation dancer might.”
I narrow my eyes in his direction for outing me, but he only grins in response as she starts to walk away.
“Goodbye, Stella!” I holler to my treacherous friend.
“Later, Lucy,” she answers before opening the door to her apartment.
Corbin points to the chair Stella just made available. “May I sit?”
I don’t feel uncomfortable with him, so after taking a quick look around, spotting Dillon on the swings in front of us, I answer, “Sure.”
“This is yours,” he tells me, handing over the driver’s license I called Tyler for earlier today.
When I had explained who I was, I swear I heard the man snicker. He enjoyed me having to call and ask about it.
Jerk.
“My little brother said you were coming to pick it up, but never did. I thought I’d drop it by on my way home.”
“Tyler’s your brother?” I ask. Taking a quick, closer look at Corbin, I finally see the resemblance.
“He is.”
“I appreciate you bringing it by.”
He looks out toward the playground and asks, “Did you and your friend have a good time last night?”
“Until you and your friend ruined it, sure,” I flip back in a snottier tone than probably needed.
“Were you out celebrating something in particular?”
I think for a moment, but don’t come up with anything witty to say, so I just tell him the truth. “Not really. It’s been a shitty week, so we decided to go out, try to forget about it.”
Corbin looks around the small porch of my apartment. Then his gaze moves back to my son, still swinging and laughing hysterically.
“Is he yours?”
“Yeah. That’s Dillon.”
“Dillon,” he repeats, saying it as though it’s not for the first time. “How old is he?”
“Six.”
“First grade, right?” he guesses.
“Yep, this year. My little man is growing up.”
“Monster in the making, or Mommy’s little boy?” he asks with a knowing smile. I’m sensing which he must’ve been growing up.
“Mommy’s monster,” I compromise with a proud grin. “Thanks for bringing me this.” I hold up my license.
Corbin stands and walks toward the edge of the porch. He positions his hands on the railing behind him and leans his body back onto it, crossing his ankles to get comfortable.
“It was no problem. Look, Lucy, I’m sorry about what happened last night.”
“It’s okay,” I respond, and note his immediate relief. He made fun of me in front of my neighbor, though, so I won’t let him off so easy. “Shannan and I will just go back and try again next weekend.”
A look of dread crosses his face, and I have to work to hold in my laugh.
“You’re going back to Tryst?”
“Probably not, sad to say. I don’t think you or your friend, Jeff, would appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome there anytime, but maybe a little less dancing. You and your girl caused quite a stir.”
Smiling up at him as I remain seated, I answer, “We’ll think about it and let you know.”
“Do that,” he replies in jest. Holding his key fob in his hand, he studies it for a second as if in thought. “How long have you lived here?”
“Almost five years. It’s not as bad as it looks, in case you’re judging.”
Corbin’s eyes go soft. I hardly know him, but the passing look of pity or understanding is hard to miss.