“Happy tears.”
I rest my hands on top of his.
“Good,” he says softly.
“Do you mind being one more minute late? I just ... I want to kiss you.” I lean forward.
“Becca James, you mean to tell me you want to air our dirty laundry in front of The French Laundry? Oh, the irony.” He smiles.
“Shut up and kiss me, McNeil.” My hand slides into his hair. I grasp it, pulling his mouth to mine. Ray deepens the kiss with the slip of his tongue. I get lost in it, his smell, his touch, and ... the sounds that escape his throat.
“Baby, we have to stop.” Ray says, sounding somewhat on the edge as he pulls away.
“Okay, okay.” I try to catch my breath. “Let’s go.” I turn to open my door.
“Becs, wait,” he says, and climbs out. Coming around, he opens my door.
“Mr. Cleaver.” I nod and smile.
“Mrs. Cleaver.” He grabs my hand and helps me out. “Christ, what you do to me, baby.” He rests his forehead against mine.
“Back atcha, McNeil.” I nudge his nose with mine before sweeping his lips quickly.
“Come on.” He grabs my hand and pulls me away from the car. He shuts the door and locks it as we head into The French Laundry.
“Hi. Reservation for James,” Ray tells the maître d’. I give him an odd look.
“Mrs. Becca James?” Christophe asks.
“Yes.” I smile.
“We have a lovely table waiting for you. Please, let me take your coat.” He walks over to help me.
“Thank you.” I smile, but it fades when I catch Ray studying him intently. We follow Christophe’s lead. “Knock it off, he’s gay,” I whisper in his ear.
“He doesn’t seem like he is.” His jawline twitches.
“And you would know this, how?” I ask with concern before I laugh. Yeah ... I just visualized him as the construction guy in the Village People. “Is it fun to stay at the YMCA, Ray?”
“Shut up.” He chuckles. “Smartass.”
“Claudette will be with you in a moment. I will let Thomas know you are here.” He places a menu card in front of us.
“Thank you, Christophe.”
“Who’s Thomas?” Ray asks, looking over the menu.
“Thomas Keller ... the owner.”
“You know him?”
“Well, we’ve met a few times. Grayson was the one who really knew him. He frequented his restaurants and worked with him for research on his character Clive in Winter’s Baby. The character was a world-renowned French chef.”
I smile as Thomas approaches our table.
“Thomas!” I stand up with my arms outstretched.
“Becca, so good to see you!” He matches my excitement as he hugs me. “Finally. After all these years, you finally made it in here!” He holds me at arm’s length.
“I know. I’m sorry, Thomas.” I sigh. “But, alas, I’m here and ready to eat for three.” I rub my belly.
“Twins?” he asks, his eyes wide.
“Yes,” I answer. “Thomas, I’d like to introduce you to my fiancé, Ray McNeil.” I hold my hand out to Ray, who stands and shakes Thomas’s hand. They exchange pleasantries, talking about the sites we’d like to visit and whatnot.
He turns back to me, then lowers his voice. “I’m so sorry about Grayson, Becca. He was a good man ... a great man!”
“Yes, he was,” I agree. “Thank you.”
We talk for a few more minutes before he heads back to the kitchen.
“Recommend anything, Becs?” Ray resumes looking over the menu.
“Whatever catches your eye, babe. Thomas is a culinary genius; anything you order is going to be one hundred percent better than your expectations.” Myself, I want to eat everything on the menu!
Claudette arrives, giving us a well-rehearsed, detailed description of tonight’s specials. The words parade from her mouth so romantically, you can envision the love affair between the entrées and sauces that complement them.
“Baby?” Ray is gentlemanly, allowing me to order first. No one but me would know there’s another part to his gesture—the part that says, I have no idea what she just said or what I would like on this menu. His wide eyes confirm my thoughts.
“Thank you, Claudette. It all sounds lovely. I will have the pan-roasted breast of squab with Swiss chard.”
“Very good,” she says, then looks to Ray. “And you, sir?”
He looks down at his menu.
“Why don’t you go with your first choice, sweetie? I bet you’ll love the pot-au-feu.”
Ray looks up. “She’s right. Pot-au-feu it is. I’ll have a Coke and she’ll have ginger ale.” He hands her the menu. She nods and walks away. “Christ, I feel like I’m five.”
“It’s the sauces throwing you off.”
I smile as I grab my phone and open Google.
“What are you doing?” He scoots his chair closer to me.
“Looking up ‘squab,’” I whisper, trying not to laugh.
“You don’t know what you ordered?” Relief underscores his smile.
I playfully wince and shake my head, then look at the screen. My heart sinks. Four-week-old pigeon. I instinctively rub my belly. Ray looks over my shoulder.
“Silver lining, babe ... it’s not fish.” He hits the circle on my phone to close the app. “So,” he says, his mouth close to my ear. The back of his hand caresses my cheek gently, hypnotically. “When will you write about this weekend?”
“This weekend is still happening.” I kiss his finger as it traces my lips.
“Becs, when you describe what my touch does to you ... what your body experiences ... Jesus, baby.” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to push the thought away. “Well, I think you know firsthand how that affects me.”
Yep, completely recall him trying to bang me into next week when I returned from my shower! I gasp and turn my face to his as his hand slides up the inside of my thigh. Our backs face any eyes that may scan over us, and the length of the tablecloth conceals his naughty behavior. Finding relief in this, I gradually part my legs for him and look up to meet his stare.
“Was it hot for you?” I barely whisper, using his description of choice.
He exhales through pursed lips. “It always is, baby.” Our breath becomes unsteady as the memory of this morning comes back to both of us.
One minute, I was walking out of the bathroom at a carefree pace, wrapped in my towel. The next, Ray forced me onto my back and stripped me naked. The mattress dipped as he knelt in front of me, aggressively pulling my legs apart. My initial panicked reaction dissipated when I saw his expression was full of desire. His member saluted me in a rock-hard stance. Before I could take another breath, Ray lifted my hips in the air and rammed into me deep and hard. My neck arched back so violently, I swear it could’ve snapped in two.
His pounding was relentless, unforgiving. My hips remained in the air, keeping me at an angle that allowed him to engage me at the deepest and fullest capacity. I had nothing to use for leverage. Because of my protruding abdomen, I couldn’t reach him. I had no way to help him reach the place he wanted. Then again, he seemed to be doing fine on his own. I could barely handle the task of remembering to breathe. Instead, I encouraged him with my whimpering moans, then my pleas as I felt myself begin to climb. Ray’s teeth clenched together hard and his nose scrunched up. His next thrust was the magical one—the one that released me. I tightened around him greedily to savor it.
“Becca!” His voice was an aching roar as he came undone. I’m pretty sure everyone at the inn is very aware of my first name now.
A burst of laughter from the table behind us brings my focus back. Ray rubs my belly, a pertinent expression on his face. I crook my head and furrow my brow as I try to figure him out. His eyes come back up to catch mine. “I’ll be gentler tonight.” His voice is soft and low, so only I can hear him.
“Yes, that was a bit rude, McNeil,” I tease.
The corners of hi
s mouth curve up and his eyes take on a playful look. “You have no idea how rude I wanted to be.”
He palms my cheek as he leans in for a kiss. Claudette comes and places our salads before us.
“Thank you.” I smile, immediately giving her my attention.
“So, Grayson never brought you here?” he asks before taking a forkful of salad.
“Um, no. We wanted to, but plans for a long weekend here always fell through.”
“Well, next time we come, we’ll make sure you’re in a condition to enjoy the wineries.”
“That may lead me back to this condition,” I say, nudging him.
“Probably,” he says with a wink. “I’m glad he didn’t bring you here,” he adds. “It can be ours.”
“We have a lot of things that are ‘ours,’ babe.” I rest my head on his shoulder and hug his arm.
“Yeah, we do. It’s just being here in California. It’s silly, but I feel like the whole state is Grayson territory.” He looks over at my plate and nudges me. “C’mon, eat, baby.”
I sit back up, reclaiming my fork. “I think Grayson felt the same way in New Hampshire. He was very aware of your presence there. That’s why he shuffled us off to California.”
“But Becca, that wasn’t real,” he says.
“It was real!” I snap at him.
“I know. I mean, I wasn’t really there in the flesh.” McNeil backpedals carefully.
“Well, he’s not really here in the flesh, so it’s the same thing.” One point: Becca James.
“Okay, baby.”
Ray sighs and looks away. I know he’s rolling his eyes. Luckily for him, Claudette brings us our sorbet. He plays with it a little after his first bite.
“So,” he says, looking back to me, “I was thinking we could go do something that’s ‘ours’ after this.”
“What’s that?” I take my last bite.
“It’s a surprise, as long as you’re up for it.”
I shrug, pushing my sorbet dish away.
“Don’t be mad at me, Becs.” He tucks my hair behind my ear and slides his hand down to rub my back.
“I’m not.”
“Hmm ... well then, what caused your drastic change in mood?”
“I don’t know. Hormones,” I point out.
“Yeah, I’m not buying it. But at least dinner’s coming.”
He nods as Claudette and a runner come our way. They clear our dishes and replace them with masterpieces that look and smell divine.
“Do you want me to share in your guilt and take the first bite of yours?” He leans over. I cut into it and feed him. “Wow,” he says, his mouth still full.
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.” He shakes his head. I take a bite and it melts in my mouth. We sit in silence, enjoying our meals. The mood lightens—well, mine does—as we chow down.
Ray eats off my plate when he finishes his. Honestly, I don’t know where he puts it all! I place my fork on the table and let him have the last bite.
“Making sure I have room for dessert?” I tease.
“Of course! Always looking out for you, babe!” He kisses me. “So, back to the inn after here?”
“No. We’ll go out.” I smile, grabbing his hand. Claudette comes back to take our order.
“We’ll have the chocolate cake with red-beet ice cream and toasted walnut sauce, and the vanilla-bean roasted figs with wildflower-honey vanilla ice cream.”
My mouth waters as Ray speaks.
I turn to Ray. “I don’t even like beets, but I’ve heard it’s delicious.”
“Sounds interesting. You’re being very brave with your choices tonight,” he says.
“Ray?”
“Hmm?” He swirls the spoon in my coffee around.
“Thank you for this weekend. This has been a wonderful day; this getaway is just what we needed.” I take my cup from him.
“It’s nice just focusing on us, isn’t it?” He rests his head on his propped-up fist. He studies me as I drink my coffee.
“Mmm-hmm,” I agree. “What?” I ask after a few minutes of him staring at me.
“I’m going to be fighting for your attention again in a few months, once these guys are born.” His fingers graze my belly.
“Oh, stop it! You’ll still have plenty of attention.”
He shakes his head as I try to convince him.
“McNeil, you’ve never had difficulty getting my attention. If anything, my senses go through the roof when you’re around. It’s pretty hard to ignore.” I lean in to rub his nose with mine before kissing him.
“I think I read something about that somewhere.” He looks up at the ceiling quizzically, acting as if he’s trying to retrieve exactly where he read it. I smack his chest playfully. We break at the sound of Claudette placing dishes on the table.
“Sorry. Thanks,” I say once again.
Half an hour later, we head back out to the car. Snow blusters around, all bark but no bite.
“You sure you’re still up for going out, Becs?” he asks as he climbs into the driver’s seat.
“Yes, it’s only eight o’clock.” I turn up the heat.
“Okay. Well, we won’t stay long.” He starts up the car and plugs the address into the GPS. “I have a song for you that I keep forgetting to play.” He grabs the iPod and searches.
“What is it?”
“‘Who’d Have Known’ by Lily Allen. I think you’ll find it very fitting for us. Actually, I think it may have been written for us.” He smirks and hits play. We head back to Washington Street. Within a minute, the chorus hits and I can’t help but giggle. Ray laughs with me. He’s right—this song was written for us. Within ten minutes, we pull up to a pub.
“You’re taking your pregnant fiancée to a pub?” I look at him like he has five heads.
“Yep,” he states before getting out of the car. He comes around to let me out. As we walk toward the pub, I see the sign for karaoke.
“We haven’t done this in a while.” I look up at him.
“No, we haven’t.” He squeezes me to him as we walk in and find a table near the stage area.
“I’ll get us some drinks,” Ray says as I take a seat. A woman is singing “Respect” by Aretha Franklin—and not doing a very good job of it, either. Several minutes later, Ray makes his way back to our table. “Sorry, it took forever to get the bartender’s attention.” He hands me my drink. “Ginger ale and cranberry,” he says. I take a swig as he sits. For the next twenty minutes, we watch people sing, then comment on their performances.
“Next up, we have Ray!” The DJ announces. I look over at Ray. I didn’t realize he’d even put in for a song. He smiles and runs up.
“I’d like to dedicate this to my beautiful fiancée, Becca,” he announces into the microphone before “Hey, Soul Sister” by Train comes on. As he starts singing, my smile grows so big, it could swallow my face.
As usual, Ray gets the room going with him. He’s got a great voice and not a shy bone in his body. I almost go into hysterics when he sings about us having a game-show love connection. The faces he’s making are classic Ray. I laugh again when he sings about us being gangsta and thumbs his nose at me. This song is so us. Christ, I love the hell out of him!
When he stops, stares directly at me, and sings, “I want the world to see you be ... with me,” my eyes well up.
He continues parading around the stage and this overwhelming feeling of completeness comes over me. At this moment, I know for sure we’re going to have a good life together. We have endured so much and still have so many obstacles to overcome. And we will overcome them all. Together.
As long as he’s by my side, I can overcome anything.
January 16, 2015
“Is it on?” I ask, walking into the family room.
“Yeah, c’mon, baby.” Ray places his left foot on the floor and pats between his legs on the sofa. I hand him his beer and my wine, then pull the coffee table close so we can set them down on it.
&nbs
p; “Sorry. If I didn’t fold those clothes, I would’ve been buried tomorrow.” I sigh and sit where Ray indicated. He wraps his arms around me. I turn my head up to him for a kiss. I refocus onto the TV and Ray hits play. Barbara Walters appears on the screen for a special segment of 20/20.
“It’s been nine years since the tragic death of the young and talented international best-selling author, Grayson James,” Barbara starts. “Tonight, we will talk with his widow, Becca, about her life since that devastating day in December 2005. This is Becca’s first interview about her husband, his life, his death, and the novel they wrote together ten years ago, which she’s finally brought herself to publish. Take a look as we travel to Becca’s home in New Hampshire.”
The picture goes dark, then comes back to Barbara and me sitting in the office of the newly renovated part of the inn.
“Becca, how old were you when you met Grayson James?” Barbara asks.
“I was just barely twenty-two.”
“So young. How did you meet?”
“Well, I was working part-time at a Barnes & Noble when he came in for a signing.”
“Was it love at first sight?”
“Not exactly. I mean, I found him to be extremely handsome, but quite irritating.” I giggle.
“A lethal combination?”
“Apparently it was for me.” I shake my laughter away.
She inquires more about our meeting. Our courting.
“So persistence definitely paid off here.” She laughs lightly.
“Oh yes, Grayson was a very persistent man.”
“Within a year, they were engaged and married.”
They show pictures of our wedding, then some of us at different functions and traveling to promote his books.
When I interviewed Grayson in 2001, this is what he had to say about his relationship with Becca.”
It switches to their old interview.
“Why so many number-one best sellers? Where do these ideas come from? What’s your inspiration?” She fires off a round of questions as if she knew they all had the same answer.
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