Love Contract. Lisa Watson

Milán stifled a laugh.

      “You should hear her sing,” he joked. “Here, let me take that for you.”

      Milán eased out of her cardigan. Her gaze traveled around the foyer as she stood there. She noted the polished wood floor, creamy yellow walls and the profusion of plants. From what she could see, the historic bungalow-styled house was spacious and bright. “You have a lovely home.”

      “Thank you. Now let’s go find my beautiful siren.”

      Milán followed behind him to the kitchen. She watched him poke his head through the door. “What happened to ‘honey’?” he said, sweetly.

      His wife didn’t bother to look up from her task. “That’s when you answer the door the first time I ask you. Now will you get it before our guest decides to go next door for dinner?”

      “No need, I caught her before she went over there,” he teased.

      His wife turned around. When she spotted Milán, she wrinkled her nose at her husband. “You’re incorrigible.” Norma Jean walked quickly to the doorway and hugged the younger woman tightly. “How are you, Milán?”

      “I’ve been better, but I’m hanging in there.”

      “Job search going slow?”

      “Yes, but I’m hopeful something will turn up soon. Thanks for inviting me to dinner, Norma Jean. It was just what I needed. I’ve been so intent on sending out résumés lately that I’m starting to feel like a bona fide hermit.”

      “We’re happy you could make it, and don’t worry. I just know you’ll be getting a callback soon. You just have to stay positive.”

      “That’s the plan.”

      “Come in and make yourself comfortable. Dinner’s almost ready.”

      Heathcliffe handed his wife Milán’s present. Norma Jean peeked into the bag and squealed with delight.

      “Banana pudding,” she exclaimed. “Thanks so much for bringing it.”

      “My pleasure. It’s one of my favorites, too.”

      She watched Norma Jean place the dessert in the refrigerator.

      “Dinner smells delicious.”

      “Honey, let’s hope it tastes that way,” Norma Jean chuckled.

      After putting the finishing touches on her signature mashed potatoes, and sautéed whole green beans, Norma Jean opened the oven door to check on her beef roast. “Just a few more minutes,” she informed the lucky roast.

      “Can I help you with anything?”

      “No, thanks. You just relax. So, how are you liking Chicago? Are you settled in?”

      “It’s fantastic. I’m renting a loft on West Aldine. I love the exposed brick walls and timber ceilings. Still getting used to the weather, though.”

      “Lofts are pretty popular,” Heathcliffe interjected. “I prefer a place with walls that actually go up to the ceiling.”

      Norma Jean stirred her gravy and then tasted it. “I agree with Cliff, but being a designer, I’m sure you’ve already put your personal touches on it.”

      “Just about.” Milán laughed. “Jeanie, are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”

      “Not at all, honey. You make yourself comfortable.”

      “May I use your restroom?”

      “Sure.” Norma Jean turned to her husband. “Cliff, would you mind?”

      “Not at all.” He ushered Milán down the hall to the powder room.

      On the way back, the family room window caught her attention. Walking over, Milán peeked into the backyard. Flowers in an array of vibrant colors were everywhere. Suddenly, Adrian popped into her head. Milán’s expression mirrored her confusion. I just don’t get it, she told herself. How can two wonderful people like Norma Jean and her husband have such an obnoxious son?

      “That’s a mystery,” she said quietly. She shook her head in disgust. “Thank God I don’t have to deal with him anymore.”

      On cue, Adrian’s face manifested before her. Not the irate-looking Adrian, but the one that had kissed her senseless; the one whose eyes were alive with desire, whose body was smooth and hard like granite. The one that ran his thumb over her lips after he’d practically branded her with his own. Stop it, she scolded herself. He’s a playboy that delights in wrapping women around his finger.

      “Well that won’t ever be me,” she vowed. Disturbed, Milán pushed thoughts of Adrian aside. She was about to head back to her hosts when the sound of a loud crash followed by a commotion drifted down the hallway

      Milán rushed into the kitchen. “Is everything okay?” she said quickly. “I...I heard a crash.”

      “I’m sorry, dear.” Norma Jean’s cheeks turned a faint red. “I was startled and dropped a dish. I’m fine.”

      “Hello, Miss Dixon.”

      Milán whirled around to see Adrian standing near his father.

      “What are you doing here?” she blurted out.

      Before he could reply, his mother spoke up.

      “It would appear my son will be joining us for dinner. Oddly enough considering today is Saturday—and not Thursday.” She smiled serenely in his direction.

      “Yes, that’s true.” Adrian returned his mother’s wide smile. “I usually come for dinner on Thursdays.”

      “Good to see you no matter what day it is,” his father chimed in.

      “Thanks, Dad.”

      He turned toward Milán. “Imagine my surprise at finding you here.” Adrian closed the distance between them. When he leaned in, his voice was a taunting whisper. “And look...it’s not even snowing.”

      Surprise was evident in Milán’s wide-eyed stare. She was silent so long, Adrian’s parents turned in their direction.

      “Milán? Are you okay?”

      “Yes,” she said, quickly. “I’m fine, Jeanie. I just...didn’t...” She turned a baffled expression toward Adrian. “I didn’t expect to see you again, much less so soon.”

      “I have a habit of popping up where I’m least expected.”

      “That’s an understatement,” Norma Jean shot back.

      “You’re right about one thing, Mr. Anderson.”

      “Really? What would that be, Miss Dixon?”

      A tempered expression crossed her face. Milán stepped forward to speak in a voice only he could hear. “There are no snowballs to be found. What a pity.”

      Chapter 5

      Norma Jean glanced between the two of them. “Here, honey.” She handed her son the bowl of potatoes. “Adrian was just about to tell me how this all came about when you walked in.”

      Milán watched Norma Jean push the bowl forcefully at Adrian. She bit back a chuckle.

      The bowl connected with his chest. With a questioning glance toward his mother, he took the side dish into the dining room.

      When he returned, he was lightly rubbing his chest. “I was telling Dad that I was in the area showing a house to a client.”

      “Really?” his mother inquired, sweetly. “Where?”

      “Farther down on North Melvina.”

      “What a small world,” Norma Jean commented before she left the kitchen and took more food to the table.