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

little touches that make a house a home.” The supermarket had a section with plants and live flowers, and she’d selected a combination of potted ferns and succulents.

“You’ve done well, Sonja.”

She affected a graceful curtsy. “Thank you.”

Taylor winked at her. “You’re welcome. I’m going to put the case of wine in the pantry, then I’m going to wash my hands.”

“I’d also bought a case. It looks as if we have enough to last for a while.”

“Don’t forget, you’re going to live here for at least the next two years.”

“You’re right, Taylor.”

Sonja wanted to ask Taylor if she would be obligated to stay if she completed her project before the lease expired. Would he allow her to continue to live in the condo, or would she be forced to find another residence? Thinking about where she would live in a couple of years meant she was projecting. She hadn’t even begun working, and now she was planning her future once her tenure with the restoration ended.

Opening a drawer under the countertop, she took out a bibbed apron and slipped it over her dress. The rice was done and so were the beans, and she’d placed them in the warming drawer. Meanwhile the timer on the oven indicated the chicken needed another twenty-five minutes before she could remove it and allow it to rest before carving. She retrieved the platter with a variety of cheese and fruit from the lower shelf of the fridge and set it on the breakfast bar.

“Wow! It’s like a work of art.”

Sonja’s head popped up as Taylor returned to the kitchen. “One can do wonders with cookie cutters.” She’d cut strawberries, cantaloupe and honeydew into stars, balls and triangles, and cheese into balls and cubes, alternating each and placing them around a small cluster of white, red and black seedless grapes.

Taylor moved closer to her. “They look too pretty to eat.”

“Pretty or not, we have to eat them or they’re going to spoil.”

“Have you taken a picture of it?” Taylor asked.

She laughed softly. “No. I have no desire to become a food blogger.”

“Well, you should start, because once I concoct my dishes I’m going to upload them to your phone.”

Sonja gave him a sidelong glance. “I thought we weren’t going to compete.”

“It’s not a real competition. I just want to keep track of the dishes because I don’t repeat one too often.”

“If it’s not real, then it must be fake. Real or not, wannabe Wolfgang Puck, it’s on. I just want to warn you that I come from a long line of incredible cooks, and when my dishes beat yours I don’t want to see any tears.”

Taylor cradled her face. “I never figured you for a trash talker.”

Sonja felt his breath feather over her cheek, his mouth mere inches from hers. She’d been totally unprepared the day before when he’d kissed her. It had happened so quickly that she did not have time to react. “What are you doing, Taylor?” Her query was a whisper.

“Something I shouldn’t be doing.”

“And what’s that?” Her voice had dropped an octave.

A hint of a smile tilted the corners of his mouth. “Deciding whether I should kiss you. If I do, then that negates our promise to be friends.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then I will spend the rest of my life wondering how you taste.”

Sonja lips parted in a mysterious smile. “How long do you expect to live, Taylor Edward Williamson?”

His smile did not slip as his eyebrows lifted slightly. “Probably ninety-five or maybe even one hundred.”

Going on tiptoe, she brushed her mouth over Taylor’s. “I’m not going to let you wait—” Her words were cut off in midsentence when Taylor deepened the kiss, caressing her lips until they parted under his. “How do I taste?” Sonja whispered.

Taylor groaned deep in his throat. “Yummy.”

“Just yummy?”

“Nah, sweetness. Delicious.”

Resting her palms against Taylor’s chest, Sonja eased back, breaking off the kiss. Taylor said if he kissed her, then their promise to remain friends would no longer be valid, but what he hadn’t known was that she wanted more than friendship. Although she’d vowed, once her divorce was final, that she would never become involved with a man with whom she would work closely, Sonja was no longer a vulnerable starry-eyed coed who had succumbed to her erudite professor. She wasn’t that twenty-year-old wooed by a much older man and married to him at twenty-one. What she hadn’t known after their living together for four years was that she would have to plan her escape, and then wait another two years of court appearances with escalating legal fees for her to obtain her freedom.

That was then and this was now. She’d achieved her career goal and was now a part of a team responsible for restoring a historic house she predicted would be written about and photographed for architectural and travel magazines. Her becoming involved with Taylor would be very different from her involvement with Hugh, because she was ready for a mature relationship where they could relate to each other on equal footing. And she had no intention of marrying Taylor, because their relationship had an expiration date. Two years.

“You’re going to have to let me go so I can check on the chicken.” Although her voice was steady, normal, it wasn’t the same with her heart rate. It was beating so hard and fast she could feel it against her ribs.

Taylor pressed a kiss to her forehead before releasing her face. Sonja exhaled an inaudible sigh as she walked to the oven and opened the door. The roaster had turned golden brown. She inserted a digital thermometer into the thigh to monitor the bird’s internal temperature. To allow the skin to crisp, she had periodically basted the bird in its own juices during the roasting process until it was close to doneness. The thermometer registered 170 degrees. Sonja added another twenty minutes to the timer. The temperature needed to read 180.

She turned to find Taylor staring at her. “It’s going to be a while