Yesterday had been special from the beginning. Mornings are a time of anticipation, but yesterday morning had been pregnant with promise from the moment she’d opened her eyes. That little intuitive voice, which comes as standard equipment off the female production line, was telling her that her life was about to change big time. Her thoughts returned to this time yesterday.

She remembered the sunbeams glinting off the hood of her little vintage Mercedes convertible as she drove north on the Bayshore Freeway to San Francisco International Airport where she was a supervisor at one of the major rental car agencies. You know, the one that tries harder. The morning commute traffic had been as erratic as ever, but somehow it hadn’t fazed her as the smell of salt air drifted in from San Francisco Bay and assaulted her nostrils. The freeway had been clogged with trucks and cars darting in and out of her lane, but she was removed, cosmic, totally at one with the universe…a zen state of mind.

She remembered how well everything had gone from the earliest hours as she readied for work. . . cheeks blushing on their own, eyes bright, no dark circles to conceal, her dress clinging and flowing in all the right places. Breasts perky. Stomach flat.  It had all started out so absolutely perfect.

Trying to get up to speed, she was shuffling through the morning paperwork when she looked up into the most mesmerizing pair of soft green eyes she’d ever seen. She hadn’t been sure whether it was his deep tan or the wavy dark hair framing his oh-so-handsome face which made those eyes so compelling, but she did remember she had found it impossible to look away those first few seconds. His eyes scanned her face. Then his gaze met hers and their eyes locked for just a second. Electric!

He was the handsomest man CJ had seen in a long time, and she’d met a smorgasbord of men in her line of work. If this one hadn’t been so breathtakingly gorgeous, her heart wouldn’t have been in her throat and her palms wouldn’t have been so moist.

The first thing she’d noticed about him was the way he was dressed. Well put-together. Casual, not careless. He was wearing straight-legged Levis with a silver belt buckle, black leather jacket with black T-shirt underneath and black leather cowboy boots. His shades hung from the neck of his T-shirt. The second thing she noticed was that he wasn’t wearing a wedding band. His only jewelry was a silver tank wristwatch with black leather strap. And he filled out his Levis in a way too heart-stopping to be ignored.

Then came the smile.

Wide grin.

Full lips.

Perfect white teeth.

Sam Elliot-type moustache.

High cheekbones.

Eyes that came alive when he spoke.

Deep voice. A kind voice.

"Well, good morning. I’m Tom Dellarico. I’ll bet you have a car reserved for me."

When he handed CJ his paperwork, she had caught a drift of his scent. Just the slightest hint of Aramis cologne. Coupled with his man-scent, it filled the space around them. Heady sensation.

Would her life have turned out differently had she not had that moment of bravado? So unlike her and, yet, a moment in time that just might change her destiny.

With head down, leafing through the paperwork, she immediately found the form with details of his rental car reservation. She silently thanked her crew for keeping such accurate records and putting them in chronological order. She’d be sure to remember this when she did their performance evaluations.

"Yes," he’d said with a hint of a smile, all the time gazing into her face searching for answers his mind was busy asking. "It’s always been pleasure before. This time it’s business."

Okay, she thought, now what do I say? She was so out of practice at this flirting business.

He saved her when he straightforwardly said, "You know, I’d like very much to take you to dinner tonight. Do you like French food?" he paused for just a second. He had quiet authority and oodles of charm. "But I guess I should find out first if you’d even consider going out to dinner with me."

Would she consider it? Yes, yes, yes! Whoa, her little voice whispered, your life is calm and predictable now, and this is not the first gorgeous man to cross your path. What’s more, you know next to nothing about him. Careful, be careful.

Little voice be damned. She returned the bold intensity of his look, as her heart did a quantum leap into her throat, and answered, "Yes. Yes, I do like French food. Very much. I work until five. Would you like to pick me up here or would you rather I meet you somewhere?"

She remembered back and wondered if her voice had cracked when she’d said that. She hadn’t felt as brave as she hoped she’d sounded.

Tom said, "I’ll be here at five then. I’m looking forward to this evening. My trip just got a whole lot better."

Thus began her affair with Tom Dellarico. A man who would touch her life as no man before and no man since. A man such as every woman should have at least once in her lifetime.

Tom arrived promptly at 5 o’clock to pick her up. Only moments before CJ had rushed to the ladies’ room to freshen up her make-up and do a fast fix on her hair. The thought that she was actually primping for him made her smile. It had been a long time since she’d cared this much.

Tom had changed into a pair of black, flawlessly-engineered chinos that hugged his flawlessly-engineered buns. A crisp, white band-collared shirt was now underneath the black leather jacket he’d worn earlier. The top three buttons of the shirt were undone showing a tanned chest and just a few sexy chest hairs. He’d exchanged the cowboy boots for a pair of Italian loafers. It was enough to make her you-know-what twitch.

They drove south on Highway 101. Just south of Burlingame, Tom exited off the freeway and turned onto Highway 92. Within sight of the San Mateo Bridge, Tom pulled into the parking lot of a high-rise glass and steel office building. At that point, CJ wondered if this was some kind of joke. He had, after all, promised her an evening of French food and been specific about that. So far, Paris seemed light years away. However, the parking lot was well lit and crowded with some very upscale vehicles. That was a good sign. Tom found a parking space between a silver Audi and a very shiny, very new, very hot black Mercedes 450SL.

Tom parked and came around to her side of the car and opened her door. He helped her out of the car and put his arm protectively around her waist as he guided her to the glass double-door entrance, through the plush lobby with overstuffed couches and lush potted plants, to an elevator. The lobby was vacant except for a security guard behind a large oak counter. Tom smiled and nodded slightly to the guard as they passed. The guard smiled and returned Tom’s nod. No questions asked. Did they know each other, she wondered.

Once inside the elevator, CJ looked sideways at Tom to get a clue what was going on. He was looking straight ahead and smiling.

Just a minute, she asked herself, was that a smile or a sneer? Holy Mother of God, she thought, what have I gotten myself into? Now she was full of questions. Why was there a security guard in the lobby, and why did he only nod at Tom and not ask for some ID? Obviously his presence meant it was a secure building, so why did he let Tom enter with only a nod?

She felt herself involuntarily take a step backward in the elevator. Suddenly the elevator stopped on the top floor. Tom waited for her to step ahead of him. When the door slid open, she saw the reason behind his smile…Paris was here!

As they stepped from the elevator, there before them was a beautiful, charming restaurant not unlike the exclusive little restaurants found in the Eiffel Tower. She was to learn later that it was a members-only club and perfectly on the up-and-up, and Tom was a charter member. She was embarrassed by her earlier suspicions.

While Tom spoke to the maitre d’, she looked at the bank of windows on the opposite side of the room and saw the night lights of San Francisco sparkling on the distant horizon. Hushed conversation and the tinkle of crystal wine goblets set a tone of elegance. Massive arches decorated with gold gilt dominated the decor. The effect was cozy, elegant and made her feel safe. The maitre d’ beckoned, and a waiter promptly appeared.

"Your usual table, sir?" he asked Tom.

Tom smiled, nodded and they were led to a high-backed leather upholstered corner booth facing the open room and the bank of windows beyond. The waiter handed them each a menu, smiled politely then moved away. Tom slid across the seat until he was beside CJ.

"I call this my French connection. Do you like it?"

"It’s incredible. The view is spectacular. I can see why this is your favorite table. I had no idea there were such places as this."

The menus were in French, but her high school French classes had not prepared her for this. No matter. Coq au vin was her favorite French food. Tom ordered Coquilles Saint-Jacques a la Parisienne, scallops poached in wine for himself and the chicken dish for her.

Would she ever forget last night? Sipping premium French wine from crystal stemware glasses and exchanging bits and pieces of personal history, they were hardly aware of the busboys and waiters bustling quietly in the background as they enjoyed their meal. The other diners talked and laughed softly. Tom and CJ had eyes only for each other. Such a lovely memory.

CJ had asked, "Are you from up north originally?"

"Is that what brought you out here? A promotion?"

"Well, that and other things," he took a sip of wine. "A change of lifestyle. Being single, my life pretty much centers around my career, so when this opportunity came up I figured what the hell have I got to lose? What about you? Did you grow up around here? I figure a classy lady like you from someplace like Hillsborough."

"No, actually I’m a country girl. I grew up on a ranch up north in the Napa Valley. My sister and I inherited the ranch when our folks passed away. But we were in way over our heads managing it, so we eventually sold most of it to a developer. We kept a twenty-acre parcel that the original ranch house sets on. I don’t know, we just couldn’t part with that. Too many memories. It’s a smaller, more manageable operation now. It’s also our little slice of sanity."

"So, how did you end up in the big city," he asked.

"People. I found myself all alone and craving. . . ," she paused and shrugged her shoulders, "I don’t know, interaction with others. People. So I moved down here to the Bay Area and bought a condo, bought the car of my dreams and invested what was left. So now I can work a job where I get to be around exciting people all day long."

He chuckled and took her hand, "You mean to tell me you don’t meet a few flakes?"

"Sure, but on the other hand, I got to meet you." Her smile dazzled.

CJ wanted to know everything about him. Take it slow, she’d silently reprimanded herself, stick to safe subjects.

"So what do you think of the Trailblazers chances this season?" Ohmigod, she thought, did I just have a brain to mouth disconnect?

She smiled at his anecdotes and laughed at his jokes. He was only too happy to keep her smiling and laughing. It was clear they enjoyed each other’s company.

CJ’s condo was in a four-story brick colonial style building. Condos in the back on the upper floors had a view of San Francisco Bay from their verandahs. CJ’s condo was in the back on the third floor. Lots of view.

It was a quiet, established, residential neighborhood with full-grown elm trees lining both sides of the street, their branches intertwined overhead created a canopy of foliage. The sidewalks were root-eroded and small front yards with fuchsia and hydrangea bushes fronted the modest single-family homes which sat well back from the street. The homes were somewhere in the thirty-to-forty-year-old range. Some had front porches. Most had detached garages. Many had flower beds bordering the sidewalk leading to the front door.

The property on which CJ’s condo community sat had once been an olive orchard. Some of the original full-grown trees still remained, which helped the newer building blend into the neighborhood. Because of limited space, parking was in an underground garage. It was dark as Tom pulled into the garage and found a empty parking spot near the building’s elevator.

It was the eighties; and women of all ages were experiencing independence on a grand scale, including sexual freedom. CJ had made a conscious choice to be celibate. But it was not for that reason she hadn’t rushed headlong into having mad, passionate sex with Tom that first night. She had a secret.

That did not mean the air wasn’t charged with electricity. The chemistry between them could have melted steel. Instead she’d snuggled into Tom’s arms as they sat on her couch and talked into the wee hours of the morning. Sharing personal tidbits, kisses, personal histories, hotter kisses, trivia, hotter still. . . deeper kisses.

It had been a long, long time since CJ had felt a human touch her like this. It made her realize she was starved for a man’s warm, loving touch. So she had relaxed into his arms, enjoyed his rubbing of her shoulders, his snuggling his nose into her neck, the depth of his warm, passionate kisses.

Remembering this now as she snuggled her face into the pillow, she imagined she smelled his scent, felt his warm body next to her; but, of course, he was not there. He had left a few hours ago with a sleepy promise to meet her for lunch today.

On second thought, this can’t possibly be a dumb thing, she decided. Sometimes you just have to take a chance. After all, who can explain the mysteries of love? And she was feeling very much like "in love" this morning. She would face her dilemma later.

Yawning, she got out of bed, put her feet into her slippers, stretched and headed for the bathroom.

She stared closely at herself in the oval mirror over the bathroom sink, searching for any morning-after puffiness. No need to worry. Her large almond-shaped eyes were aglow in all their cinnamon splendor.

She was smugly proud of the reflection staring back at her this morning. Thick, tousled, auburn hair surrounding high cheekbones; clear, luminous skin and full lips that she had detested for longer than she could remember. . . until the day she learned that most men were turned on by an ample mouth on a woman. No injections would ever be needed on this mouth.

She’d often wondered what her face would look like when time had taken its toll. In the meantime, she had decided to take good care of it and hope it did well by her. Maybe even appear in a few men’s dreams. She could think of one man in particular.

Sushi, her ever-present shadow, had followed CJ and the sun’s beams into the bathroom. Sushi had been sitting in the doorway cleaning herself while CJ had been in the depths of self-analysis but now jumped onto the counter top and watched as her mistress squeezed brightly-colored toothpaste onto her toothbrush. Sushi reached out and tapped CJ’s hand with two quick little gentle taps as if to say, "Hey, good morning! Pay attention to me."

CJ slipped her index finger under the kitten’s chin, stroked a couple of times and said absentmindedly, "Hi, precious. How’s the rat race?"

It seemed to satisfy the little kitten’s need to be recognized, and she hopped down off the counter and sat in the sun once more basking in its warmth.

"Sure, kiddo," CJ said as she walked out of the bathroom past Sushi, "Easy for you to sit there all fat and sassy, taking in the sun, but I’ve just had my life turned upside down. What am I gonna do now?"

Tom had arranged his day so that he would be back at the airport in time for lunch. They agreed to meet in the terminal coffee shop on the upper level. Now, as CJ entered the coffee shop, she spotted Tom sitting in a booth near the windows watching the planes take off and land on the distant tarmac. He looked up as she approached and smiled that dazzling smile. It made her heart beat faster. God, she thought, I’d almost forgotten what this felt like.

She was still feeling a hot glow from last night, and his smile told her he was feeling a tingle in all the right places, too. He stood up, squeezed her hand and gave her a light kiss on the lips. She sat down, and he handed her a menu and signaled the waitress to bring her a cup of coffee.

After they had given the waitress their lunch order, Tom got up and came over to sit beside her in the booth. "I don’t want to share our conversation with anyone else in the restaurant. Besides," he teased, "It gives me an excuse to touch you again."

They ate their lunch with lots of eye contact and very little small talk. When the table was cleared and the waitress had refilled their coffee mugs, they both relaxed and leaned back against the cushions.

"CJ, I’ve got meetings the rest of the day, and, as you know, I’m scheduled to fly back to Portland tomorrow; but I’d like to have dinner with you again tonight. Can I pick you up right after work, or do you want to go home and freshen up? I could pick you up at the condo at seven."

CJ was still smoldering from last night, but suddenly she felt a bit uncomfortable. Too much? Too fast? So her response was evasive as she replied, "What time are you leaving tomorrow? I’d like to see you off."

Would he guess the reason for her hesitation?

"My flight is scheduled for take-off at noon. I’m not sure what the big guys at corporate will do with the information I bring back from this trip, but I’m fairly certain I’ll be back within a couple of weeks. If so, can we get together?"

Much relieved, she sighed, "I’d love it."

He was so cool and unflappable, it was little wonder she was so strongly attracted to this man. How could she not be? He was not a player. He was real. And, she thought that had gone out of style.

"You’re really a beautiful woman," he said.

"Thank you, but I think being with you has a lot to do with it. When I’m around you, I feel like I’m blushing all over," she whispered into his ear, hoping no one would hear what an absolute fool she was making of herself over this man. She felt his hand which had been resting on her thigh under the tablecloth begin slowly stroking back and forth sending a sudden warmth through her.

Tom was philosophical about her earlier evasiveness, but it didn’t change the fact he had every intention of pursuing her. She had stirred something primal in him.

His whisper was hoarse and insistent in her ear, "Back to the question. What time tonight?"

"Tom," she answered, suddenly wanting desperately to retreat to her former solitary comfort level, "I’m sorry but I can’t see you tonight."

Should she tell him she didn’t know if she was ready for a relationship?

That she was scared spitless?

Conflicted.

That she hadn’t had a date in a gazillion years?

She really did want to see him again.