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“He’s here!” Henry shouted.
Oh, no. “I’m not ready! Tell him...let him...”
She was trying to pull up her fishnet stockings when her boy’s voice carried down the hall. “Hi, my name’s Henry. Nice to meet you. Mama says you’re a pilot.”
“Your mama?” His voice was so deep and rich that it sent shivers up her spine. In a good way. Too bad he was surprised she had a kid. Oops. Didn’t she mention that?
“Help yourself to a beer in the refrigerator. Henry can show you where the costume is,” she called out. “If you feel like slipping out the door, now would be a good time.”
“I’ll wait. You don’t have to hurry,” he said.
Wow. He was sticking. That was a good sign. It was ridiculous how happy she felt about not being alone again tonight.
“Nice place you have here, Henry,” he said.
Oh, now he was just being kind. Her place was tiny and old. The Harpers had built the cottages for the townspeople way back in the 1800s. The houses were lined up next to each other, so close that she knew what her cousins were watching on TV next door. Most of them were two-bedrooms with a small living room, minuscule kitchen and a covered porch. They were designed to house workers and their families. Nothing fancy, nothing beautiful. She’d spruced hers up with paint in muted sunset shades. The walls were covered with happy pictures of Henry and birds.
“So, have you flown your plane to lots of places, like, um, Mexico? Or Los Angeles?” Henry asked.
Those were the two places her son had been studying in school. Julia smiled and finished rolling up her stockings.
“The plane I flew today isn’t mine. But I used to fly fighter jets in the Air Force,” he said.
“Really? That’s so cool. Ever been to ’Ganistan?” Henry asked.
“Afghanistan?”
“Yeah, that’s it. My daddy died there.”
Julia gasped and then covered her mouth. Who told Henry that? She hadn’t given him many details about his dad’s death because...well, she couldn’t. To this day, she found it brutally difficult to talk to him about the way his father passed. She quickly pulled up the stockings.
“I’m sorry.” The man sounded sincere. “I was there. I can tell you that every single man and woman fighting in Afghanistan is a hero in my book.”
“Mama says he was a great man. The only guy she loved.”
She pressed her hand to her heart. She was happy Henry listened to her, occasionally, but this conversation had to be a tad awkward for her date.
“Give him the costume, Henry!” she called out.
“Okay. Here. Let’s try this hat thingy on first. Cool! Now the eye patch.”
“How do I look?”
“Perfect! Like a real pirate.” Henry sounded proud.
“Jack Sparrow? Dread Pirate Roberts?”
“Those are fake. We need a real pirate name. What’d they call you in the Air Force?”
Julia’s ears perked up. What was his real name?
“Captain.”
“That’s it! Aye, aye, Captain.” Henry giggled.
Not helpful.
She stepped into the flowing red skirt with the impossibly long slit up the side—hence the reason for stockings. The shirt was white and off the shoulder. She bent over, adjusted her breasts and looked in the mirror. She looked like a harlot. No, that wasn’t it, she looked like Julia Espinoza pretending to be a harlot. Too much like herself to be truly incognito. Shaking her head, she applied the dark red lipstick. Nope. Still Julia. Well, there was nothing else to do but to add Tía Nona’s long, blond wig.
Did blondes have more fun? She’d find out. She was desperate for a little fun for one night.
She came out to find a yummy pirate on her front porch, bending over the lizard cage. She had a great shot of his backside, which looked pretty darned good in those black slacks. He wore a cream-colored shirt and had Henry’s bright yellow pirate bandana on his head. Holy mama.
“What do you think?” She held her breath.
He rose. His eyes—or rather eye, since one was under the patch—was blue and held her gaze with intensity. Slowly, he took her all in, starting at the lacy off-the-shoulder, bosom-lifting blouse, down her red skirt to the fishnets and red stilettos. Then all the way back up again.
The look he gave was pure heat. Goose bumps ran up her arms, shoulders, and danced in her scalp.
“I like your real hair better.”
Not a blond man, huh?
“Okay. But would you recognize me in this?” she pressed.
He wasn’t looking at her wig. He was gazing at her lips and she had the feeling he wanted to kiss her.
“Always.”
She swallowed. She’d just met the guy and yet something inside her that had been dead for years woke up, uncoiled and pleaded for his lips.
Geesh, the harlot costume was getting to her.
He turned back to the lizard’s cage and spoke to Henry. “Old Man Harper only sees what he wants to see. We’ll trick him.”
She stepped closer. “So...we’re calling you Captain.”
“Apparently.”
“What does that make me? Wench? Swabbie?”
He touched her arm. All her senses focused on that warm hand on her skin. “You are my first mate.”
Oh, my.
“Ready?”
No.
A hundred times yes.
Maybe.
Oh, God. Am I doing this?
She bit her lip and nodded.
She kissed Henry on the cheek and he quickly wiped the kiss away. “Mama! Not in front of people.”
Just then Tía Nona hobbled her way onto the porch. “What’s going on here? Another party? Oh, Julia, my skirt fits you well, but careful on the blouse. Your treasures might
