A New Foundation Rochelle Alers (read aloud .txt) 📖

“Oh no!”

“Oh yes,” Taylor said, smiling. “I didn’t even bother to look at what was written on them—I just closed the door.”

“Your ancestors probably were hoarders.”

“Either hoarders, collectors or packrats.”

Sonja was tempted to mention the museum again to Taylor but held her tongue. Bainbridge House was large enough to operate as a hotel, wedding venue and a museum. “Let me get my bag with my license so I can drive Silver Bullet to see if she purrs or roars.”

Taylor ran a hand over his cropped hair. “Please don’t tell me you just named your car.”

“Of course. Doesn’t yours have a name?”

“Yeah. QX80.”

She made a sucking sound with her tongue and teeth. “That’s the model number.”

“Well, that’s what it is.”

“Well, my new baby is Silver Bullet.”

Taylor shook his head. “Go get your bag, Sonja.”

Sonja adjusted the seat to accommodate her shorter legs, tapped the start-engine button and slowly backed out of the garage. It was a while since she’d been behind the wheel, and this was her first time driving a sport utility vehicle.

“How does it feel?” Taylor asked. He sat in the passenger seat as she drove slowly in the direction of the business area.

“Nice, even though I’m not used to sitting up this high. I think I’m going to enjoy driving on the parkways.” She came to a complete stop at a stop sign, then continued, not exceeding the posted fifteen miles per hour.

Sonja drove into the lot behind the strip mall, parking near the supermarket. The condos may have been overpriced, but for her the trade-off was convenience. She was certain to patronize the hair and nail salon, variety store, dry cleaner and restaurant.

“I’m going to the variety store to pick up some housewares.” Not only did she need pots, pans and dishes, flatware and serving pieces, but also linens, kitchen and bath towels, and a laundry basket.

Taylor nodded. “I’ll meet you in the supermarket. You said you need to stock the pantry, so I figured I’d pick up canned goods and nonperishables.”

“Okay.”

She peered into his cart near to overflowing with cans of beans and other vegetables, boxes of pasta, rice, sugar, flour, vinegar, cooking and olive oil, and a variety of cleaning supplies. “You did good.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. What’s for dinner?”

Sonja gave him a level look. “You want me to cook for you?”

“Yes. If you cook for me tomorrow night, then I’ll return the favor and cook for you the following day.”

“You cook?”

“Duh! Who do you think feeds me?”

Sonja felt as if she’d suddenly come down with a case of foot-in-mouth. She didn’t know why she’d assumed Taylor was unable to prepare a meal for himself. “All right,” she said, hoping to cover up her faux pas.

“What are you making?”

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it once we get home.”

Once we get home.

Taylor repeated the four words to himself. Had Sonja actually thought of the condo as theirs? When he was shown the two model units he’d purposely selected the one with the cheerful blue-and-white furnishings because he felt it complemented Sonja’s romantic nature. She’d admitted she read romance novels and watched Hallmark movies.

Taylor knew he’d been lying to himself for weeks. He’d almost convinced himself that there could never be more between him and Sonja Rios-Martin than friendship. Even though he’d told himself that over and over, he knew it was a lie, and he’d purposely kept his distance, hoping his feelings for her would translate into out of sight, out of mind. But even that had proved unsuccessful.

There was something about his sister’s friend that was so different from any other woman with whom he’d been involved. Sonja wasn’t reticent when it came to speaking her mind, and that meant he did not have to guess what she was thinking or attempt to interpret something she’d said. She was intelligent, poised and confident, qualities he admired most in a woman. Then there was her sensual beauty. Just looking at her, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her perfume, touching her hand or a part of her body, and the husky quality of her voice he never tired of listening to. The only thing missing was how she tasted. Taylor longed to kiss her sexy mouth with a need bordering on obsession, and it had taken all his self-control not to act on his fantasy.

“You can ring up these two carts together,” he told the register clerk.

He emptied his cart, bagging everything. And then he bagged the items in Sonja’s cart. He handed the checker a credit card. Between him and Sonja they’d bought enough food to last her for several weeks. He took the receipt and returned the card to a case in the pocket of his jeans.

“Let’s go, muñeca,” he said, grinning and winking at Sonja.

“I’m ready whenever you are, papi.”

His eyebrows shot up. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d heard Spanish-speaking girls call their boyfriends papi, and it was always said as a term of affection. Taylor pushed his cart and pulled Sonja’s as he followed her to the SUV.

“So, I’m your papi?”

“Only if you want to be.”

Taylor stopped and met her eyes. “I do.” The two words were firm, final, and in that instant he knew he and Sonja had silently acknowledged both were open to see where their friendship would lead. “What on earth did you buy?” he asked, moving the bags behind the rear seats to make room for the contents of the shopping carts.

“Pots, pans, dishes, sheets, towels, small appliances and other knickknacks for the kitchen and bathrooms. I also bought a single-serve coffeemaker and an electric kettle, because I need my coffee in the morning and chamomile tea at night.”

He gave her a sidelong glance as she handed him bags from the carts. “Do you have a problem going to sleep?”

“Sometimes. But that’s only when I’m overthinking something.”

“I hope that doesn’t happen when you begin working. I’ve told you I have a two-year timeline in which