The Fall in Love Checklist

by Sarah Ready

  “Oh, right.” I say, remembering her ex’s outburst in the hospital. “Pencil neck blamed his inadequacies on you. Classic.”

  “We were waiting for marriage.” She crosses her arms over her chest and scowls at me.

  “He was incapable,” I say.

  “Just because we didn’t pork the pie doesn’t mean he couldn’t get it up.”

  “Pork the…? Pork the what?” I start to laugh.

  “Pork the pie.” She scowls at me. “It’s a phrase. It’s a term for sex.”

  I can’t stop laughing. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about kinky sex,” she says. She stamps her boot in the sand. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about pie. I love pie.”

  “This isn’t funny.”

  “Apple pie. Pumpkin pie. Pecan pie. Mmm. Peeecan pie.”

  She covers her face with her hands. “I’m not talking about this.”

  “Now I’ve heard of porking,” I continue. “And I’ve heard of pie. But I’m not sure how they come together.”

  She peeks at me between her fingers. Then her eyes narrow and she throws up her hands. I’m still laughing, I can’t help it.

  “Peeecan pie.”

  Dany advances on me. She’s spitting mad. Her finger pokes in my bare chest.

  “That’s enough,” she says. “Just because you go porking pies all over the bakery—”

  “What?” I laugh.

  Her finger shoves into my chest again.

  “And think that’s the only way to achieve sexual satisfaction. By sprinkling your little pecans in every pie around—”

  Her finger jams my pectoral muscle.

  “Little?” I sputter.

  “—around town. Well I have news for you. I’ve had more satisfaction than you can ever dream of, buddy. Slot A and Tab B are only two pieces of the recipe and if that’s all that’s in your mix, then I feel sorry for you. So…so, there.”

  She waves her hand in the air and gives me one final jab.

  I stand and stare. Completely speechless.

  Wow. What a woman.

  She whips around and yanks her cardigan over her head. Then her tank top’s gone. She has a little band around her chest. She tugs that over her head.

  Her back’s poker straight. She bends over, kicks off her boots and socks. Then she pulls down her wool slacks.

  I let out a long breath. It hurts to let it out because I feel like I’ve been holding it my whole life. The curve of her back, how her hair brushes along her naked shoulders, the way her stomach curves in then flares out at her hips, and those dimples, those taunting dimples at the base of her spine…she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

  Her fingers settle at the top of her lace-trimmed panties. Everything around me, the castle ruin, the trees, the sunset, it all disappears. All I see are her fingers pulling at her panties.

  Then she looks over her shoulder.

  “Turn around,” she says.

  “Uhh…umm,” I can’t talk.

  “Turn around, little pecan.”

  I huff in mock offense and turn my back. “I’ll show you little. I’m coming in after you’re in the water.”

  “Mmmhmm,” she says.

  I hear a splash. I whip around. Her panties are in the sand next to her clothes.

  “Dang,” I say.

  Then she surfaces. Water drops run down her face. Her hair is wet and smooth. She shakes the water from her head.

  “Oh, that’s cold,” she says.

  My pants are off in a flash. I push them to the sand. Then dive in with a splash.

  “Ahh!” she shrieks.

  I come up and she splashes water at me. “You cretin. I’m trying to enjoy my sunset skinny dipping in p-p-peace.”

  Yeah, the water is what you’d expect from a lake in late springtime. Freezing.

  I swim closer to her.

  “Don’t look,” she says. She tries to cover herself with one arm while still treading water.

  “At what?” I ask.

  “You know what.”

  I make a grab for her, but she kicks out of the way. “I’m looking,” I say.

  She glares at me and I think I see the sheen of tears in her eyes.

  Not okay.

  “You’re beautiful,” I say.

  She tries to swim away, but I grab her.

  “Look at you,” I say.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that line before.”

  Sure, it’s what her ex said in the hospital.

  “No. I mean look at you.”

  The sun is dipping beneath the trees on the other side of the lake. The water shimmers like liquid gold. It shines over her, coating her in a warm, gleaming aura.

  “Look,” I say. I slowly draw my hand across her collarbone.

  She looks down. All the water drops on her chest sparkle like golden orbs. They glint in the setting light. Her shoulders are narrow and delicate. Her collarbone forms an elegant vee beneath the soft bend of her neck. Her chin dips as she looks at her chest. It rises and falls with her breath.

  The raised scars are pink and red. Her flesh is mounded beneath it. The dying sun sends a cleansing light over her.

  My fingers drift over her heart and circle there. It beats strong beneath the pads of my fingers. “Look at you,” I say again.

  She lets out a shuddering breath and a tear falls and drops into the lake.

  “I see strong. I see brave. I see survivor. I don’t see anything to hide,” I say.

  “Thank you,” she whispers.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I lean forward. I’m going to kiss her. Even though I told her I wouldn’t. And even though I told myself it was a bad idea to fall in love. It’s too damn late.

  “Jack,” she breathes.

  “Yeah,” I say.

  My mouth is an inch from hers. I want her so much.

  Then there’s a crashing sound from the shore. I jerk my head toward the sound and freeze. No way.

  Then a man shouts, “Get your hands up. Get out of the lake with your hands up.”

  Dany shrieks and ducks under water. My hands spring into the air.

  It’s the police. There are two uniformed officers at the edge of the water.

  Dany comes up from underwater and slowly raises her hands in the air.

  “Come out of the water with your hands up. You folks are trespassing on private property.”

  “Oh nooo,” says Dany.

  “I thought you said you knew the owners,” I say to her, out of the cops’ hearing.

  “I do. It’s the Boremans’. I figured it was okay.”

  “Clearly not okay.” Then the name sinks in. “Wait a minute. Your ex owns this property?”

  I stop and look at her.

  “Out of the water,” the officer says.

  “His parents.” She grimaces.

  We’ve reached the water’s edge. There are two officers. One is older with an excellent gray handlebar mustache. The second is young with red hair and freckles. He’s looking down at my manhood and smirking.

  “It’s cold,” I say. I refuse to be embarrassed. That lake was like ice.

  The redhead snorts. Handlebar shoots him a quelling look.

  “Get dressed, son,” the senior officer says.

  Neither is looking at Dany. She’s throwing on her clothes as quickly as possible.

  “S-s-sorry,” she says. “I know the owners. It’s a a a mis-misunderstanding.”

  Both officers avert their eyes as she talks. Dang, she sounds cold.

  I put on my clothes in hurry.

  “The owners called and reported trespassers. We’re going to have to take you both in.”

  “But I know the owners, it’s not a a p-p-problem.”

  “Sorry, miss. We’re just doing our job,” says the redhead. He flushes cherry red when he looks at her.

  They escort us to the cruiser, read us our rights, and duck us into the back seat. W
hen the door slams shut, Dany closes her eyes. Her hands shake in her lap. Not okay. When in doubt, cheer her up.

  “Remind me, was going to jail on your list?” I ask.

  Dany’s eyes open and she scowls at me.

  “Check?” I wink.

  A small smile appears, then it grows even bigger. Hallelujah. Job done. She’ll be alright.

  But still, it’s going to be a long night.

  23

  Dany

  * * *

  I get up early to make amends. I run out for coffee and donuts. Chocolate filled long johns, cake donuts covered in cinnamon and sugar, apple fritters, and huge cups of blacker than black coffee. When Jack stumbles into the kitchen, bleary eyed with hair sticking up straight, I hold out the box of donuts as a peace offering.

  “Would you care for a thank you, you’re amazing, please don’t hate me for getting you arrested donut?” I ask.

  Jack rubs at his eyes and looks down at the offering. His lower lip forms a pout. “You didn’t get sprinkles,” he says.

  I laugh and set the box on the kitchen table.

  “Coffee?” I ask. “It tastes like diesel fuel scraped off a rusty lead pipe.”

  “Mmmm,” he says. “I take it with sugar.”

  I open the sugar jar and measure a liberal spoonful into his cup.

  “How was your night?” I ask. I stir the sugar into the coffee and breathe in the sweet, bitter scent. Then I hand the cup over.

  I got home after a short visit at the station. The Boremans were adamant that they wouldn’t be pressing charges against their favorite lady in Stanton. Mrs. Boreman even took me aside and told me it was her dearest hope that Shawn and I would patch things up soon. Such a misunderstanding, she’d said. I sigh.

  “How’s the coffee?” I ask.

  Jack has his eyes closed and is taking a long drink. He pulls the cup away from his mouth and looks at me.

  “I’d add jail cell toilet disinfectant to your description of its taste. Brings back the memories. Good times.” He smiles and takes another gulp.

  I didn’t hear Jack come in until four in the morning. He must have had a different experience at the station than I did. Apparently, he made it to a cell. I wince at the thought.

  “Sorry. Donut?”

  He chooses the cinnamon and sugar cake donut. I grab the long john and take a fortifying bite. The chocolate and mass of sugar sends a wonderful jolt through me.

  “Are they pressing charges?” I ask.

  “No. Your ex wanted me to sweat it out a bit.”

  “Oh,” I say. That sounds like Shawn. He never did like to share, even if what was being shared didn’t belong to him.

  “Did he say anything?”

  Jack shrugs. He pops the last of the donut in his mouth and brushes the sugar from his hands. “The usual. Stay away from the girl. Blah blah blah. I have the world’s thinnest wiener blah blah blah. I don’t know how to please a woman and I feel so inadequate blah blah blah.”

  I laugh and roll my eyes. I’m not sure why Shawn cares, since he never contacted me since the kiss-off, but I like Jack’s rendition of the confrontation.

  Jack grabs the apple fritter.

  “You know. Any time you want to get me to do something, lay a trail of donuts in front of me. I’ll be all yours.” He takes a big bite of the fritter. “That’s good.”

  I sip my coffee and watch as he enjoys the sugar.

  When he’s done I gesture at the jeans and T-shirt I borrowed from Sissy.

  “Well, I’m ready to uphold my end of the bargain. Put me to work, boss.”

  Jack has been tackling my list with me like a champ. It’s time I helped him with his renovations.

  “Alright,” he says. He downs the rest of his coffee.

  I stand and notice he’s looking at me with a strange glint in his eyes. It reminds me of yesterday, the moments before we were picked up for trespassing.

  “Um, about yesterday…” I say. I shake my head.

  He raises his eyebrows.

  Exactly. What about yesterday? I’m not sure, myself.

  “I, um, appreciated it.” I finish lamely.

  Wow, Dany. Real stellar with words.

  “Anytime,” he says.

  We stand in the kitchen. A round wooden table and the remnants of donuts between us. And a whole lot of stuff not being said. I would’ve kissed him if we hadn’t been interrupted by the police. In fact, I may have done a whole lot more. I wanted to. That scares me.

  Jack clears his throat. “I’ll give you a tour around the place. Tell you all that I’m doing.”

  “Okay,” I say perkily. Glad for the chance to get moving out of the pregnant tension in the kitchen.

  We walk through the finished living room to the library. It’s a small, cozy room with built-in bookshelves, wall sconces and a corner fireplace. The dark wood paneling needs polishing, and some of the shelves need replacing, but the room is charming.

  There’s also an unfinished half bath tiled in 1950s shell pink, a mud room, and Sissy’s bedroom and en suite bath.

  Next, Jack leads me to a covered porch off the back of the house.

  I stop at the doorway and hold my breath. It’s stunning. I slowly run my finger down the trim. The velvet brown wood is carved with flowers and vines. The porch has thick wood floor planks and wood beams. There are two ceiling fans turning in the breeze. Two rocking chairs, a wood bench, and a low coffee table. A few empty ceramic pots line the wall.

  “I didn’t know this was here,” I say.

  Jack gives me a small smile.

  “It’s purposely hidden away. A sort of secret room. It opens to the back garden.”

  I walk through the porch and open the screen door to the back yard.

  “Oh, wow,” I say. “Wow.” It’s small, maybe a quarter acre. But it’s the most beautiful little garden I’ve ever seen. I walk hesitantly over the grass.

  Jack follows. “The garden is the reason I bought this place.”

  “Really? I thought you were into buildings.”

  He shrugs. “I am. I saw this place in winter. I knew I could renovate the house. But the garden. It was dead, or hibernating, brown and gray. But there was this anticipation.”

  “Like it was holding its breath,” I say.

  “I wanted to see what happened when it came to life again.”

  A queer feeling settles in me.

  “What do you think? Did it meet your expectations?” I ask.

  But I don’t wait for an answer.

  I walk over a gray stone path that winds through the yard. There’s a low ground cover between the stones. It’s sage green with tiny white star-shaped flowers. Rough barrel-sized boulders are strewn about the yard anchoring the landscape. Leaf green slender stems of lilies and irises bend in the shade. The spring bulbs are blooming. Grape and candy pink hyacinths, fat-headed red tulips, the last lingering creamy yellow daffodils. The herby ground cover is spongy soft under my feet. The garden smells like thyme, sweet blossoms, and sun-warmed soil. Something in the back corner catches my eye.

  I weave past a miniature grove of flowering trees with a grassy mat underneath.

  There’s a thick trail of ivy. Hidden periwinkle blossoms peek out at me. In the center of the ivy stands a stone angel. She’s maybe three feet high. Her wings are spread wide, ready to catch the wind and fly. She’s glancing toward the sky, longing rapture on her face. The ivy binds her feet.

  My chest tightens looking at her caught there, tied to the earth.

  I prod at the vines tightly roped around her feet. Then I carefully pull the ivy away. After the clinging vines are cleared, I brush off the dirt. There. I feel better. The knot in my chest loosens.

  I stand up and wipe the dirt from my hands. It’s caked under my nails and in the creases of my palms. I shrug. When I turn, I see that Jack is watching me.

  I ignore the searching look on his face.

  “A lot of weeds back here,” I say.

  It’s tr
ue. Amidst the blooming beauty of the flowers there are three times as many weeds, climbing and spreading and choking. Another year or two and they’ll suffocate the flowers.

  “Maybe you can help?” he asks.

  I look at him in surprise. “I’m not a gardener,” I say.

  “Really? You looked like one just now.”

  Something inside me perks up. The one part of my childhood home that I truly loved was the gardens. As a girl, I learned all the scientific names of the plants. I longed to go out and dig around in the dirt. There’s something about the beauty and the mess that draws me.

  “This project will take more than one gimpy amateur. But I’ll do what I can.” I smile at him.

  “Good.” He nods. “Good.”

  I feel like I’m doing something forbidden. Something wonderful.

  I let my face open into the wide smile that I’m feeling inside. I’m giddy.

  Maybe this is something I can be passionate about.

  When I’m out of the ivy and back on the grass I spin in a circle. I let my arms hang wide and I spin and spin.

  When I stop spinning the whole world’s tilting. I sink to the cool herby ground cover.

  “I’ll clear out the weeds. They’re masking the beauty,” I say after the world stops spinning.

  Jack settles down next to me and lies back.

  “It exceeded them,” he says.

  “What?” I ask.

  “The garden. You asked if it met my expectations. It exceeded them. There’s more hidden in its depths than I realized.”

  My breath catches. “Are we speaking in metaphors again?”

  Jack chuckles. He turns toward me and rests on his elbow. “I was going to kiss you yesterday,” he says.

  My stomach dips and the world tilts again.

  He watches me, his eyes ask for my response. I lean my head back and look at the clouds drifting through the sky. Finally, I gather enough courage.

  “I was going to let you,” I say.

  24

  Dany

  * * *

  I glance over at his face. It’s hard to take a breath. His face is smooth and expressionless, but his eyes, a storm is starting there.

  He reaches out and runs a hand over my cheek.