The Short, Hot Summer

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  He glanced up and down the Main Street again, vexed. Surely it couldn’t be difficult to find Mamie among the handful of buildings that made up downtown. She couldn’t have strayed far from the inn, because there didn’t exist a far from the inn. It was only a matter of deciding which of the local establishments she’d chosen for her escape—or rather, her errand, he reminded himself. As if he believed that.

  Ultimately he found her at the first place he checked, namely Fern and Moody’s directly across from the Bide-a-Wee. She was sitting alone at a table in the very back of the restaurant, perusing a menu that sported a pen-and-ink rendition of what appeared to be a pig wearing nothing but a chef’s hat and a large grin. In his hand, the millinery-bearing porker held a sign that read, if Preston wasn’t mistaken, COME ’N’ GET IT!

  Well, all right, then. He would.

  “That must have been some errand you had to run,” he said as he folded himself into the chair opposite Mamie’s, taking some small satisfaction in the way she nearly leapt out of her skin when he did. Her eyes, when she met his gaze, went wide with panic, but immediately softened with the smile that curled her lips.

  Good, he thought. He didn’t mind scaring her a little bit—after all, why should he be the only one? But he wanted that fear to be overshadowed by the prospect, however iffy it might still be, of pleasure.

  “You’ve been gone for hours,” he added. “No wonder I found you sitting in a restaurant. You must have worked up a big appetite.”

  “I, uh…” she began articulately. To that, she added a very eloquent, “Um, that is…” She followed that up with a resounding, “Ah, actually, I mean, um, well, see…”

  Preston held up a hand to stop the elegant flow of words. “You don’t have to explain,” he told her.

  “I don’t?”

  He shook his head. “Believe it or not. I know exactly why you did what you did.”

  That seemed to worry her a bit. “But—”

  “Besides,” he interjected before she could regain her equilibrium—he didn’t want her to have hers back until he had his back, too, and he didn’t see that happening anytime soon. He glanced down at his watch before continuing, “According to my schedule, if we have our dinner now, we’ll still have plenty of time for the really important things I have penciled in for later.”

  “Important things?” she echoed. “Penciled in for later?”

  He nodded, hoping the fact that she could only mimic what he was saying meant she was really nervous. It would help a lot if she was as uncertain about what the evening ahead held as he was.

  “Really important things,” he corrected her, noting reluctantly that now he was the one doing the mimicking. Hmm. “For example,” he added with a grin, “I can’t wait to show you what I have planned for nine forty-five.”

  Seven

  At 9:42 that evening, Mamie found herself exactly where she had been the night before, in her porch swing, with Preston sitting beside her. But this time he was sitting a lot closer than he had been the night before, and this time, he had one arm draped along the back of the swing behind her. The rhythmic back-and-forth motion and the musical creak-jangle accompaniment weren’t nearly as comforting as they had been the night before, and there was an awkwardness between them that hadn’t been there before. Worst of all, this time she and Preston were barely speaking to each other.

  Oh, their dinner conversation had gone just fine—they’d chattered like magpies all through that. Not about anything in particular, but about everything under the sun. She’d learned things about Preston she never would have suspected. Not that she was surprised he was voted “Prettiest Eyes” in his high school senior class superlatives, but she never would have guessed. She also heard snippets of essential childhood information, like that his dog was named Foley, that Twister was his favorite game, that he unscrewed his Oreos before dipping them in his milk, that he listened to his radio and read by flashlight long after his parents went to bed, and that he never quite got the hang of the clarinet.

  Mamie, in turn, had revealed a number of her vital statistics, too. She told Preston all about her cat, Mick, that she was an absolute whiz at Clue, that she preferred her Oreos intact while dipping, that Butternut always got lousy radio reception after dark, so she had no musical accompaniment herself while she read by flashlight after her aunt Gert went to bed, and that she was never very good on the piano. And, of course, there was the fact that she was voted by her senior class “Most Likely to Succeed.” But then, there were only fourteen people in her senior class, and all of them were voted something.

  All things considered, it turned out she and Preston had quite a few things in common, after all. Funny how stuff worked out sometimes.

  And funny that their conversation had stalled the way it had the minute they sat down on the swing. ’Course, that might have been on account of how Preston was sitting so close, she conceded. Or it might have been on account of how he asked her not to turn on the porch light, because he wanted to watch the lightning bugs in the dark. Or it might have been on account of how the night sky was so littered with stars and a fat, full moon just right for lovers. Or it might have been on account of how she found herself feeling about him just now.

  Because here she sat, all alone in the dark with a man she realized she couldn’t keep telling herself she didn’t know and had nothing in common with. Even having met him such a short time ago, she realized she knew Preston pretty well. Knowing him only made her want him all that much more. And wanting him, she knew, was impossible. As much as they had in common, there was no way a man like him could ever be happy in a place like Butternut. As much as they had in common, there was no way a woman like her could ever be happy in a place like New York.

  Oh, sure, she wouldn’t mind visiting a time or two. It would be very exciting. But she couldn’t imagine sharing a town with millions and millions and millions of people. New York, she was sure, was noisy and fast and tall and bright, and probably it went on for miles and miles until forever. She’d grown up in Butternut, which, granted, did go on for miles and miles, but those miles were filled with cows and corn and horses and hay, not millions of people. It was neither noisy nor fast here. It certainly wasn’t tall or bright. It was slow and peaceful and languid and cozy. Mamie just couldn’t handle living her life any other way.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  The question stirred her from her reverie the same way a cannon shot might have. She snapped her head around so fast she almost lost it. She heard Preston chuckle, saw the soft smile that curved his mouth and warmed his eyes, and felt the dance of his fingertips as they skimmed along her bare upper arm.

  Oh, boy, she thought. This was getting interesting.

  She remembered other hot summer nights sitting on this very porch swing with handsome men she knew well and cared for a lot. She remembered how those other hot summer nights ended up, too—even hotter. Now her heart hammered rapid-fire against her rib cage. Back then, what she felt for those men when she ended up steaming up the sheets with them… Well, back then, she fancied herself in love. But what she felt back then was nothing compared to what she was starting to feel for Preston. She was already all worked up, and all he’d done so far tonight was touch her a few times. And not even in any of the important places.

  Not yet, anyway.

  “Nothing,” she lied in response to his question. “I wasn’t thinking about anything.”

  He chuckled again, and the low, lusty sound wrapped itself around her like a comforting blanket. Dang. Just what she needed. Something else to make her feel hot.

  The fingers brushing over her upper arm skimmed higher, to the opening of her sleeve. Slowly, he traced the outline of the yellow fabric, firing off little detonations along the way, tiny explosions that reverberated deep in her belly. Mamie swallowed hard, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to look at his face. Instead, in the pale blue patch of moonlight, she watched the way his blunt-tipped fingers moved along
the sun-darkened skin of her shoulder.

  “You sure didn’t look like you were thinkin’ about nothin’,” he told her, dropping the g on two of the words to imitate her drawl.

  She wanted to smile, but was too nervous. “Then what did I look like I was thinking about?” she asked. Somehow, she found the courage to brave a glance at his face, just in time to see his smile fall.

  “Actually,” he said, “you looked kind of troubled about something. What’s wrong?”

  Instead of answering, Mamie pushed her toe against the porch and set the swing into easy motion again. Back…forth…back…forth… Creak. Jangle. Creak. Jangle. Pretending the answer didn’t matter, she asked, “What’s New York City really like?”

  He sighed in response, and somehow she got the impression he didn’t want to talk about his hometown. In spite of that, he replied, “It’s big. Busy. Alive. There’s so much energy there, so much life. So many people, of all different kinds. Performing all kinds of jobs and roles. There are a million sounds, a million sights, a million things to do at any given moment. It’s hard to describe unless you’ve been there. Or else,” he added, sounding a bit hesitant. “Or else…go there.”

  She smiled sadly. “No chance of that.”

  He smiled not at all. “Why not?”

  She shrugged. “I dunno. I’m not much of a city person, I guess. I don’t think I’d be comfortable in a place that big, with that many people around.”

  “You might like it more than you think.”

  She gave the concept some consideration before finally shaking her head. “No. I’m happy here. This is the kind of life I want. The kind I need.”

  Why was she telling him that? She wondered. It wasn’t like that was something he would need to know.

  She glanced at his face again, not out of curiosity over his reaction, but because he began to strum his fingers lightly up and down her upper arm again. This time, when he reached the edge of her sleeveless blouse, for the tiniest of moments, he ducked his fingers beneath the fabric. At the sight of those darting fingers, Mamie’s breath caught in her throat. She inhaled deeply and willed her heart rate to slow down. She’d almost succeeded when Preston said something that made her pulse leap right back up into triple digits.

  “You could come back to New York with me…for a visit, I mean.”

  His voice was low when he said it, and his gaze was fixed not on her face but on the fingers playing about the opening to her sleeve. Mamie told herself to say something—anything—in response, if for no other reason than to be polite. But before she could utter a word, he hastily continued, still avoiding her gaze.

  “I mean, you said yourself you don’t have any bookings here at the Bide-a-Wee. You could come up for a week or so. I’d be happy to show you the sights. It would be fun.” Now, finally, he did meet her gaze. “For both of us.”

  Mamie swallowed hard. “Where would I stay?” she asked. “I can’t afford a hotel up there. They probably cost a hundred dollars a night.”

  He smiled. “More like three hundred. At least.”

  She gaped at him. “Three hundred dollars a night? Just for a hotel room?”

  “Well, they do have the facilities right there in the room,” he told her. “You don’t have to go down to the end of the hall.”

  She smiled back. “I’ve heard that such places existed, but I didn’t know it was true,” she said playfully. “Imagine. A bathroom right there in your hotel room. Modern conveniences. What will they think of next?”

  He held her gaze a moment more in silence, then told her, “You wouldn’t have to stay in a hotel, Mamie.”

  She wasn’t sure where she found the strength to do it, but somehow she managed to say, “No?”

  He shook his head and dropped his gaze back down to her shoulder. Once again, he started the slow…maddeningly slow…oh, she wasn’t sure she could stand it, it was so slow…to-and-fro movement of his fingers over her bare flesh.

  “No,” he replied. “You could stay with me.”

  Mamie inhaled another deep breath and released it as evenly as she could—which, ultimately, wasn’t very even at all. “I could, huh?”

  He nodded. “If you want to.”

  Oh, she wanted to, she thought. She wanted to real bad. The offer was so tempting. But it would be the height of foolishness to accept. “Thank you,” she said softly. “But I can’t.”

  The fingers skittering along her arm faltered for a moment, hesitated, then began to move in that maddeningly slow way again. To make matters worse—or, rather, better…maybe—the arm he’d stretched along the back of the swing dropped and landed, not surprisingly, across her shoulders.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “’Cause…’cause I belong here…in Butternut.”

  He looked up, fixing his dark gaze on her face, something that made her glance ricocheted to a point over his shoulder. She found herself staring at a big daddy longlegs, caught in a slice of moonlight, who had affixed himself to the wall of the house.

  As if from a great distance away, she heard Preston say, “It wouldn’t have to be forever, Mamie.”

  She nodded slowly. “I know, Preston. That’s the problem. It wouldn’t be forever.”

  “Oh, Mamie…”

  Something in his voice, something husky and uncertain and needful, made her turn her attention back to his face. When she did, her breath caught in her throat, because for just the merest of moments, she saw something in his eyes she dared not hope was true. Just as her amazement turned to astonishment, he dipped his head to hers. For a tiny second, he hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure what to do. Impulsively, Mamie helped him, tipping her head up to his, meeting him—almost—halfway.

  His mouth covered hers in a slow, easy kiss, exploratory and tentative, as if he wanted to take his time figuring things out. Mamie was content to let him do it. She wanted to take her time, too.

  The fingers on her arm grazed up over her sleeve, along her shoulder, and past her collar, to caress the delicate indentation at the base of her throat. The skin-to-skin contact caused a whir of electricity to spiral through her torso, puddling in her belly before spreading lower still. Her fingers went exploring too, curling around Preston’s warm neck and threading into his silky hair.

  It felt so good to touch him. It had been so long since she held a man this way, so long since she wanted to hold a man this way. So long since any man had come close to making her feel like a woman.

  So long.

  She skimmed her thumb lightly over his rough jaw as she lifted her other hand to tuck it inside the collar of his shirt. The skin she encountered beneath was smooth and damp and alive, seeming to shiver and shimmy everywhere she touched him. The more she touched him, the closer their bodies came together, until Preston roped one arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him.

  Then things really got interesting.

  The lips that grazed hers so softly seemed to lose focus for a minute, because she felt them skimming along her cheek, her jaw, her temple, her forehead, before moving down to her throat. She drove her fingers more insistently into his hair, pulling him closer still, then tilted her head to the side, to facilitate his exploration. She sighed with contentment and something else—something she couldn’t quite identify. When she did, she inhaled a great breath of him and was immediately intoxicated by the heady, masculine scent that filled her nose and lungs.

  Dizzy from the sensation, she dropped her hand to the top button of his shirt and, without thinking about what she was doing, freed it from its binding. The next button quickly followed, then another and another, until she could shove her hand beneath the fabric and find more of him to investigate. Impatiently, she opened her hand over the center of his chest and felt his heart pounding wildly beneath her palm. She felt the bunch and dance of solid muscle beneath her fingertips, felt the dark hair tangle around her fingers, as if trying to trap them there forever.

  It was with no small surprise that Mamie realiz
ed she wanted to be there forever. Holding Preston. Forever. Kissing Preston. Forever. Making love with Preston, too.

  Forever.

  Before she had the chance to think about that, he returned his mouth to hers and kissed her again. But where before he’d brushed his lips over hers with a gentle rhythm, now he was more insistent. More passionate. More demanding. More…more everything. Mamie willingly gave him all he asked for, then commanded even more for herself in return.

  She opened her mouth under his, and he instantly took advantage by thrusting his tongue inside to taste her. As he deepened the kiss, she felt his fingers working feverishly at the buttons on her blouse, quickly unfastening them one by one by one. When he freed them all, he began tugging her shirttail from her shorts, then he cupped his hand over the lacy confines of her brassiere, palming her breast expertly before raking the pad of his thumb purposefully across the peak.

  Mamie gasped at the blatant, oh-so-erotic, liberty, but instead of urging him to stop, she arched her body forward, more completely into his grasp. Preston uttered a low, predatory growl and moved his hand higher, pushing the strap of her bra down over her arm until her breast spilled free of its confinement. He covered it with his hand again, more possessively this time, filling his palm with her, weighing the plump flesh as he stroked and caressed it.

  It was almost more than Mamie could bear. She threw her head backward, ready to give him everything he demanded, everything he wanted, everything she needed to give him. Then she remembered they were sitting on her front porch, and although they’d never bothered to turn on the light overhead, they were still on public view to anyone willing to look hard enough to find them.

  At the realization, she leapt up blindly from the swing and, without explaining her actions, fled toward the front door. The screen slapped against the jamb behind her as she raced toward the stairway, then echoed the sound when Preston followed her. He caught up with her at the foot of the steps, curled his fingers around her bare upper arm, and pulled her back toward him. Then he dipped his head to hers and captured her mouth again, in a kiss that commanded a response. Then Mamie was in his arms again, right where she was before, right where she wanted to be forever.