Why Not Tonight?

for who knows how long. Then there’s a good chance he may move away from New York. We’re only getting together this evening,” Mallory repeated as firmly as a whisper would allow. “And that’s it.”

Mrs. Trigali’s jaw sawed back and forth several times, the way it did when the wheels in her mind were furiously turning. Finally she nodded decisively and said, “Well, if you only have tonight, then you certainly can’t waste your time with a block captains’ meeting. As soon as we’ve gathered your emergency supplies, I’ll hustle that pest Ray Finney out of here so you and your young man can enjoy your one evening together. I’ll leave you my ham, provolone and Chianti.” She shook her finger. “Mark my words-the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

Mallory pressed her lips together to hold in the laughter that threatened to escape. No way was she going to tell Mrs. Trigali what Adam had said about that particular theory. “Thanks, but I have plenty of food and wine here,” she said.

“What kind of food? Not canned spaghetti, I hope.” A visible shudder ran through Mrs. Trigali.

“Nothing canned,” Mallory promised with a smile. “I made antipasto.”

“Ah. Excellent choice. It’s hearty and offers a selection of things to nibble on. According to Metro Chick, men like that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They spent the next few minutes locating candles, a half-dozen of which Mallory lit, along with her pillar candles, casting the kitchen in a cozy, golden glow that spilled out into the breakfast room and foyer. After putting fresh batteries in two flashlights, she and Mrs. Trigali headed back to the foyer where Adam and Mr. Finney were deep in conversation.

“Now that I’m retired, I have the time to indulge my hobbies,” Mr. Finney was saying. “Be happy to show you the shop I’ve set up in my garage any time you’d like to stop by.”

“Thanks,” said Adam with a smile. “I’ve always had a weakness for power tools.”

“Typical man,” Mallory teased, handing him one of her flashlights. “Likes anything that goes ‘vrrroooom.’”

Their fingers brushed when his curled around the light’s handle and a barrage of tingles jittered up her arm. Ridiculous. Or maybe it was more the way he was looking at her that caused the tingles.

“Not just any power tools,” he said. “Mr. Finney has a top-of-the-line, model XJ586 power saw.”

Mrs. Trigali fixed a laserlike glare on Mr. Finney. “Is that the thing you use in your garage that makes all that racket?”

“It makes some noise,” Mr. Finney said calmly, “but it’s music to my ears.”

“Then you must be tone-deaf,” Mrs. Trigali said with a sniff.

“Can’t cut the wood to make furniture without making a little noise,” he countered.

“A little noise would be fine. And a huge improvement. But we can argue about it later. Let’s go.”

“I don’t want to argue with you, Sophia-” Mr. Finney’s brows snapped down. “Go?”

“The meeting’s been canceled.”

“What do you mean, canceled? There are issues that need to be discussed-”

“Fine,” Mrs. Trigali broke in, picking up her belongings. “It’s not canceled. But it’s being relocated. To my house.” She set her radio on the small table near the door. “I’ll leave this with you so you can keep up with the blackout news.”

“But what about you?” Mallory asked.

“I have another one at home.” She flicked a glance at Ray. “Let’s go.” She headed toward the door, her flashlight beam dancing in front of her.

Mr. Finney’s confused gaze shifted from Mrs. Trigali to Adam to the radio to Mallory. “You’re not coming to the meeting?” he asked Mallory.

“No, she’s not,” Mrs. Trigali said in a tart voice from the door.

“But why…?” Mr. Finney’s voice trailed off as his gaze again bounced from Mallory to Adam. Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by a flicker of amusement. “I see.”

“About time,” Mrs. Trigali stated. “Since I’m not getting any younger, let’s get this show on the road. I don’t suppose you know how to play canasta?”

Mr. Finney turned and stared at her. “I don’t suppose you know how to play poker?”

Mrs. Trigali muttered something under her breath in Italian. Mallory wasn’t sure what the translation was, but based on the woman’s expression it wasn’t complimentary. They all walked to the door where Adam shook hands with both Mr. Finney and Mrs. Trigali and Mallory gave them quick hugs.

“Be careful,” she called from the open doorway, watching them make their way down the short cement path leading to the sidewalk. Mr. Finney gallantly took Mrs. Trigali’s arm.

“I can walk by myself, you old coot,” Mrs. Trigali said, but Mallory noted with amusement that she didn’t pull her arm away. Chuckling softly, she closed and locked the door. When she turned around, she discovered Adam stood directly in front of her, highlighted by the pale golden glow spilling from the kitchen where the candles she’d lit burned.

Before she could so much as draw a breath, he dipped his knees and scooped her up into his arms.

“Now…” he murmured against her lips. “Where were we?”

8

Saturday, 10:00 p.m.

ADAM HELD MALLORY in his arms and headed swiftly toward the darkened hallway, which he assumed led to the bedrooms. “Where’s your room?” he asked.

“This way,” she said, clicking on her flashlight and pointing with the beam. “Last door on the right.” She nibbled on the side of his neck and he increased his pace. “Give up on the sofa?”

“I thought it best to get out of the foyer and as far away from the front door as possible. I survived one interruption-barely-and even liked your neighbors in spite of their bad timing, but it’s not a scenario I want to repeat.”

“Good thinking. You know, without the air-conditioning running, it’s going to get really hot in here soon.”

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s really hot in here right now.”

“Exactly. So probably we should get these clothes off.”

“Couldn’t agree more.”

“How about first one to get naked wins a prize?” she suggested, slipping her fingers beneath the V opening at his neck to touch his chest.

“Works for me-especially since I don’t see anybody being a loser in that contest.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he heard a faint musical sound. He paused and listened for several seconds. “Did you leave that radio on?”

“No. That’s my cell phone.” She worried her bottom lip. “I should-”

“Don’t even think about it.” He started toward the bedroom again, but before he’d taken one step, another sound chimed in. He stopped again and groaned.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“My cell phone.”

She buried her face against his neck and made a noise that sounded like a muffled laugh. “We should probably answer them.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Whoever it is can wait.” He didn’t bother to add I can’t since it seemed patently obvious. He started walking again.

“They’ll just call back.”

“That’s what voice mail is for.”

“It might be my mom,” she said. “Worried about me with the blackout. If I don’t pick up, she might decide to drive over here.”

That stopped him like he’d walked into a brick wall. “Where’s your phone?”

“Kitchen counter.”