Free A Love for All Seasons by Bettye Griffin

their soup bowls.
    â€œLadies,” he said, “this is my dinner partner. Alicia, this is Andrea and her friend Charlene.”
    Alicia nodded pleasantly, if a bit uncertainly. “Ladies.”
    The women’s shocked expressions at Jack’s use of their names told Jack they realized he’d overheard their conversation. “A pleasant evening to you,” he said jauntily. He removed a single from his wallet and laid it by his highball glass, then took Alicia’s elbow and escorted her out of the bar.
    â€œFriends of yours?” she asked, sounding mildly curious.
    â€œNo. It appears one of them is trying to console the other over an issue involving a man.”
    â€œWhat other kind of issues are there?” she said with a throaty chuckle.
    As they left the bar area a hostess offered to take Alicia’s coat. He stood behind her and removed it, stepping back as he handed it to the hostess just in time to see her turn around slowly. “Wow,” he said under his breath, too softly for her to hear. He’d only glimpsed her at the restaurant, of course, and at the party her loose-fitting sweater, at nearly tunic length, did much to conceal her figure, but the black pantsuit left little to be guessed at. Alicia might possess an imposing height, but she was no toothpick thin high fashion model. The short tailored jacket—she wore no blouse beneath—accentuated a cinched waist, rounded bust and lush, full hips. He liked his women curvy.
    When the maître d’ held out her chair, Jack wanted to push him aside and do it himself. “If I may say so, Mr. Devlin,” the maître d’ said, “you were absolutely correct in your description of Miss Timberlake.”
    â€œI’m glad you agree.”
    She waited until he departed, then turned a curious gaze on him. “Your description was correct, huh? Tell me, Jack, how did you describe me?”
    â€œI said you would be the most astoundingly beautiful woman to ever enter this establishment.”
    â€œWhat a sweet embellishment!” she exclaimed, obviously flattered.
    He leaned forward, his eyes captivated by the black onyx oval overlaid with ivory and gold that tantalizingly teased her cleavage. Her hair looked fuller than he remembered. He pictured her reclining in bed, her dark hair fanned out against a pastel pillowcase, waiting for him….
    A lump momentarily became stuck in his throat at that mental vision. Eventually he managed to say, “It was no embellishment, Alicia.”
    She tried to be cool from the moment she stepped inside the famed steakhouse, but his special way of pronouncing her name took her breath away. She inadvertently rolled her head back and shivered, her shoulders momentarily rising around her neck, her chest rising. “You’re very kind,” she managed to say. In truth, she’d gone through special pains with her appearance, having driven into Stamford this afternoon to have her hair washed and set. Laverne, her longtime hairdresser, made her tresses look beautifully thick, like a lion’s mane. She’d even bought new shoes, black slingbacks with a two-inch heel, to go with her suit.
    â€œHow’s your mother today?” he asked, graciously not commenting on her reaction.
    â€œShe’s good, thanks.” She opened her menu.
    As they enjoyed an appetizer of bacon-wrapped broiled sea scallops and sipped on Pinot Noir, Alicia companionably said, “Tell me about Jack Devlin.”
    â€œHey, I’m an open book, and probably not all that exciting, either. I’m originally from a small town outside Birmingham called Docena. I went to Fisk for my Bachelor’s and started working in Galveston, Texas. I stayed there seven years, then went to Houston—which is like an hour away from Galveston—for three, then back to Birmingham.”
    â€œDoes your family still live in your hometown?”
    â€œMost of them, yes. One of my