“Just a minute,” I yelled as I got up and headed over to a mirror to make sure I looked alright just in case it was someone aside from Mrs. Dobbins.
A t-shirt and shorts with my tied my hair up in a messy bun wasn’t exactly my best look, but despite how I felt, I did look okay.
I walked over to the front door and resisted peeking through the shade before I opened it. My jaw dropped when I found Everett standing there holding a huge bouquet of flowers in his hands.
“Miss Andrews,” he said, looking slightly embarrassed. “I am deeply, deeply sorry about what happened last night. But trust me, there is a good explanation for it all, if you'll only give me five minut
es of your time to explain everything.”
Chapter Twelve
Everett
“Everett?” Vivienne said, looking quite surprised to see me standing on her porch with a bouquet of flowers in hand. “I uh, well... yeah, yeah you do have a bit of explaining to do.”
I hung my head with shame. “I cannot begin to tell you how deeply sorry I am for standing you up last night.”
“It wasn't the best way to make a good impression, I'm afraid,” she said. “And I ended up having a pretty crappy evening, I'm sorry to say.”
“Damn. That makes me feel even worse about the whole thing. Please take these flowers, and please, please just give me a chance to explain why things went the way they did last night,” I begged as I held the flowers out toward her. “It was a total disaster for me, as well, if that makes it any better.”
“Hmm, I'm not sure if it does, to be honest. But... I'll give you a chance to explain yourself,” she said and reached forward to accept the bouquet of flowers from me.
A sigh of relief escaped my lungs as she did; at least I hadn't blown the whole thing entirely.
“Come on in,” she said. “Would you like a cup a coffee? I've just finished brewing a fresh pot.”
“Yes, please, that'd be great,” I said.
“How do you like it?”
“Black, actually. No sugar.”
She smiled, and a rush of joy rippled through me at the sight of that lovely smile.
“Just how I like it, myself.”
“It's the only way to have coffee,” I replied. “None of this milk and sugar crap... that's for amateurs!”
She laughed: an even better sign. Maybe I did have a decent chance of sorting all of this out.
“Go on and have a seat over on the sofa,” she said. “I just want to put these flowers in a vase, and then I'll join you with the coffee.”
“Sure thing,” I said.
She walked off into the kitchen, and I couldn't help but stare at the seductive sway of her hips as she walked. She looked unbelievably good in those short shorts and that t-shirt. I wanted to tell her such, although, considering what I'd done the night before, I didn't think now was at all the appropriate time to compliment her on such things. Instead, I simply sat on the sofa and gently rubbed my still-aching gunshot wound. I was definitely going to leave that part out of the story, though. I didn't want her to freak out.
She came into the living room a few minutes later with a steaming hot cup of coffee, which she handed to me.
“Thanks, this smells great,” I remarked.
“It's good coffee – I’m a bit of a coffee snob. Life is too short to drink cheap coffee.”
I chuckled. “I agree fully.”
She sat down in an easy chair across from me and stared at me intently with those beautiful eyes of hers.
“So, Mr. James,” she said. “Are you going to tell me why you stood me up last night?”