Changing Lanes

by Vining, Season

  “So, what’s your favorite thing about living here so far?” Lane asks before taking another bite.

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “It’s all just so completely different than home. I love everything. The scenery, the people, the absolute grandeur of this place. Sometimes I’m overwhelmed and lonely and I think, ‘What have I done?’ and then someone in this town does something incredibly sweet and thoughtful and I know that I made the right decision.”

  “So you’re happy here?” he asks.

  “I am.”

  “Especially with your orally skilled neighbor?” he asks, one eyebrow raised higher than the other.

  I grin. “Yes, oh humble one, especially with that. Though I’ll warn you now, my mother mentioned coming for a visit. And I don’t think you’re ready for that.”

  “Well, maybe we can do a prep course or something,” he says, chuckling. “Though I’ve never had a problem with mothers, for the record.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you just charm the hell out of them, don’t you?”

  We finish our lunch and I end up giving Chap the last of my sandwich. Lane points out all the noteworthy spots around the lake, saying we can tour the shore when it’s warmer. “Hamilton Bay is across that way, but you can’t see it from here,” he says. “What are you up to tomorrow?”

  “Oh! I’m heading over to Kennedy’s bakery. She’s going to give me a lesson in baking.”

  “That’ll be fun,” Lane says.

  “Maybe I’ll bring you whatever I make.” I rethink that offer. “If it’s good. If not, then I’ll just bring you something Kennedy made and tell you I made it.”

  “Well, you’ve blown your cover now.”

  “Nope,” I say. “I’ll never tell.”

  “I think I could coax it out of you,” he says, reaching over and tugging on my loose braid.

  “I’m not sure I like your cocky attitude, sir.”

  “It’s not cocky,” Lane says, moving closer. “It’s confident.”

  And just with a tilt of his head and the low baritone of his voice, he has me feeling sex-crazed all over again. This feeling is so foreign, but energizing. I never want to let it go. But I force myself to push that down, because I want whatever this whirlwind that surrounds us to be more than just sex. I want to hold onto him. I want to know his dreams, his goals, and how he takes his coffee. I want to know every dip and curve of muscle and tan skin on his body. I want to know the dirty thoughts he has when he thinks of me and the what’s in his head when he masturbates. For now, I keep it PG.

  “How did you end up with Chap?” I ask.

  Lane looks to his dog, who is fast asleep in the sunshine again, and back to me. “Believe it or not, he’s a rescue. I know people pay big money for this breed, but apparently someone abandoned him and two other dogs in a vacant house. Chap was skin and bones when he was found, but the vet nursed him back to health. I happened to go in the day he was put up for availability and it was love at first sight.”

  I smile at the way he talks about his dog. I’ve always said you can judge people by observing how they treat waiters and dogs. Just by the smile on his face and the fond look he gives Chap, I can tell that he’s a good guy.

  “What’s your favorite thing about living here?” I ask him this time.

  Lane stares up into the blue sky dotted with fat white clouds and closes his eyes. “This, right here. This peace and silence. The sunny days and the cold, wintery ones too. The leaves in the fall and the mountain roads when the snow thaws in spring. The feeling of this small town life, like everyone is family.”

  I exhale, not realizing I’d been holding my breath while he spoke. “Wow. You make it sound so amazing.”

  He turns his head toward me now. “It is amazing. You’ll see. And I can’t wait to be the one to show it to you.”

  15

  “NOW THAT YOU have your ball of dough, we need to roll it out,” Kennedy says, handing me a large wooden rolling pin. “Watch how I do it.” I see her sprinkle a little flour over her dough, place her rolling pin on top and work it back and forth, smoothing it into a flat, almost uniform circle. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, but you want the same thickness throughout, or else it will bake unevenly.”

  I pinch some flour between my fingertips and toss it onto my ball of dough. It looks like a pile of snow. “Maybe a little too much?” I ask. She nods, but motions for me to continue. I try to rock my rolling pin back and forth to smooth the dough, but it seems tough. This should have been the first red flag.

  Standing on my tiptoes for more leverage, I use all my strength to press down and push forward. The pin slips over the dough and rolls all the way to the back wall, taking me with it. I hear Kennedy laugh. When I stand up, I am coated in flour and there is a distinct impression of my boobs in the dough.

  “Well, that’s interesting,” I say. “They look much bigger in dough. Maybe I should just bake it like that and give it to Lane.” I mime presenting it to him. “Here. Eat my boobs.” We both crack up while I dust the flour off my face and chest.

  “Let me help,” Kennedy says. She stands behind me and places her hands over mine on each side of the rolling pin. “Now keep the pressure nice and even,” she says. We roll it back and forth a few times together until I get the hang of it. “There, you’re getting it.” She steps away and watches me work.

  “I thought we were about to have a ‘Ghost’ pottery moment.”

  “A what?” she asks.

  I stop rolling and look at her. “The movie ‘Ghost’? Patrick Swayze, Demi Moore. She’s making pottery. He sits behind her and turns it into this big sexy thing? Is anything registering here?”

  Kennedy shakes her head. “Sorry. Never saw that one.”

  “And here I thought you were trying to seduce me,” I say with a grin.

  “Stella, if I were trying to seduce you, you’d know it.” She gives me a wink and starts cleaning up around us.

  After we get the pies in the oven, we turn and assess the damage. Every surface of Kennedy’s kitchen is covered in flour. I dust my hands off over her sink before wiping them on my apron.

  “I think I have flour up my nose,” I say, sniffing.

  Kennedy laughs. “Stella, I’m not even sure how you managed to get it everywhere.” I wipe down the counters while she sweeps the floors. “But hey, we got them in the oven. Now it’s just a wait and see.”

  “I told you I’m no good at this,” I say, washing my hands and drying them on the seat of my jeans.

  “Well, that’s why you’re here, right? Did you enjoy the process?”

  I lean against the counter and cross my arms while she leans on her broom. “I like hanging out with you,” I say with a smile. “But still, all the measuring and having to get things just right, it’s really not me.”

  “Then what is you?”

  I shake my head and slide my lips sideways on my face. “I’m not sure yet. That’s what I’m trying to find out. That’s weird, right? To be 38 years old and unsure of who you are?”

  Kennedy sets her broom aside and approaches me. “I think everyone has their own unique journey for a reason. This is yours. It sucks that it left you unhappy and hurt and wondering about your identity, but how amazing that you get a second shot at it, right?”

  Her positive attitude sparks a bit of hope in me. I can see that I should appreciate the lessons learned in my former life, because they taught me something. And they led me here.

  “Let’s get some coffee,” she says. “I’m so tired.” When we’re each seated at a table in the front of the bakery, our hands wrapped around warm mugs, Kennedy asks the question she’s been dying to. “So how are things with Lane?”

  I can’t help the grin that comes over me. The idea that his name alone can create so much joy gives me hope and worries me at the same time.

  “Things are good. Great, actually,” I answer.

  “So, why the worry line?” Kennedy says, pressing her thumb between my eyebrow
s. I relax my face.

  “Because I am worried. I worry that this is some sort of infatuation, because I’ve never felt anything like this before. It’s like a rollercoaster of thrills and fears all rolled up into one almost relationship. I worry that it’s purely physical attraction bringing us together. And while I’m flattered that someone like him would want someone like me, I don’t know if my heart knows the difference. I worry that if I open up to him, that things could go very wrong. I worry that I might be the biggest scaredy cat in the whole world and that will lead to missing out on someone like Lane Holder.”

  Kennedy reaches across the table and takes my hand in hers. She gives me a sympathetic smile like she’s been in my shoes before. But that’s just who she is. “You’re justified in your worries. But I can tell you that Lane is worth it. We all grew up together, I am a year older than him. He’s always been the same guy he is now—kind, generous, smart, dangerously good looking. You don’t have to worry about him being genuine. If he says that he wants more, believe him.”

  I nod and look out the window at the sunny street littered with red and orange leaves. “I know I’m in my head too much about this. Marley says I live in my romance novels, waiting for that perfect guy. And maybe that’s true, because I’ve already had the villain.” I look at Kennedy now as she sips her coffee. “So what do you do when you actually find the hero?”

  “You hold onto him and throw yourself in. Nothing amazing ever happened to people who were too scared to take the chance. And you’re a dope lady. You deserve this.”

  “I’m dope?” I ask with a chuckle. She nods. I sit up taller and sip my coffee, letting it warm me from the inside. “That’s right. I’m dope as fuck. Let’s just hope my pie is too.”

  _______________

  As soon as I get home, I send Lane a text asking if he wants some pie. He responds saying he’ll be over in a few minutes. I check myself in the mirror, dusting the last of the flour from my cheek and adjust my messy bun. I consider changing into something else, but his knock echoes through the house before I can get upstairs.

  “Well, that was fast,” I say, swinging the door open and waving him in.

  “I mean, you said pie. Soooo…” Lane plants a kiss on my lips and moves past me, Chap right on his heels.

  I bend over and scratch between his ears. “Hey, buddy.”

  “Uh, Stella,” Lane says from behind me. “Anything you want to tell me about your baking session with Kennedy today? Things get a little frisky?”

  I stand and turn. “What?” Why?”

  “You’ve got white handprints on your ass. It’s like a HOLD HERE sign.”

  I laugh. “That’s just me trying to clean up. I made the biggest mess. Guess my hands weren’t clean when I dried them on my jeans.”

  He steps closer now and wraps his arms around me, placing a hand on each ass cheek and lifting me up. My legs squeeze around his waist as Lane pins me to the door. I wait for the kiss to come, the one that makes my toes curl. But instead, he lowers his mouth to where my neck meets my shoulder. I can feel his hot breath fanning across my skin.

  “Mmm,” he growls. “You smell like cinnamon and apples.” Lane’s lips press against my neck.

  “So, you’re saying you want my pie?” I ask with a grin.

  He chuckles and places another quick peck on my lips. “I’ve had your pie. I love your pie. And I’ll always want that pie.”

  Even with the joke between us, the look in his eyes sets my body on fire. “How about the one made of apples first?” I ask, dropping my legs and sliding down his body. When my feet hit the floor, I head to the kitchen with both Lane and Chap following.

  Cutting us each a slice, I serve them on these colorful-patterned plates that I’ve been dying to use. Lane pulls the milk from the fridge and pours us each a glass. We meet at the table. I watch him closely as he digs right in, moaning as he chews the dessert.

  “This is so good,” he says. I smile and take a bite myself. “Please tell me this is the one you made and you can recreate it every week.” Lane scoops another bite into his mouth.

  “Sorry,” I say with a shrug. “Baking is not in the cards for me. This is Kennedy’s. Apparently I mixed up the canister of salt and the canister of sugar. My pie tasted like a saltlick.” Lane frowns, but keeps eating. “So, we’ll be purchasing our baked goods. Sorry, babe.”

  The nickname slips from my lips so naturally that at first I don’t even notice. It’s not until I see Lane grinning that I realize what I’ve done.

  “Is that weird?” I ask. “Is it too early for nicknames? I mean, I’m not sure what we are to each other, if we’re anything. And I don’t want to push you when I don’t even know what I want. And I still pinch myself every day knowing that you want to be with me.” I slap a hand over my mouth to stop the rambling. “What the fudge is wrong with me?”

  While I’m trying to keep the atmosphere light after my word vomit, Lane’s expression is completely serious. His gaze pins me in place and I can’t read him well enough to know if he’s angry or turned on.

  “Babe,” he says. “We are definitely something. If you don’t want to define it, that’s fine with me. But for the record, you’re mine and I’m yours. Clear and fudging simple.” His lips twitch, but remain a solid straight line. “I don’t know why you don’t see yourself how I see you, but there is no need for pinching.”

  “But I—” Lane holds up a hand to stop me.

  “I swear if you say one more self deprecating thing, I’m going to put you over my knee.” I raise an eyebrow in challenge. “Get upstairs.” I sit staring, the sexual energy and tension booming between us. “Now,” Lane demands.

  I let out a little squeak and abandon my pie at lightspeed. Lane chases me up the stairs and into my bedroom. He wraps his arms around me from behind and moves me to stand in front of my full length mirror. One hand lifts and holds my chin gently, turning my face toward my reflection.

  “Keep your eyes there,” he says. I follow his instruction without question. My eyes scan the way he wraps around me and how his hands move over my body. “I’m thinking your ex-husband trained you to feel a certain way about yourself and I’m here to undo that.”

  I look at the ground, a bit ashamed by his words, because nothing has felt truer and it makes me weak and angry. “You’re right,” I say, my voice just a whisper between us.

  “Eyes up, Stella.” My gaze snaps back to the mirror. “The woman you see is not only beautiful on the outside, but on the inside too. She’s smart and funny. She’s a great friend. She’s creative and kind. She’s stronger and braver than she gives herself credit for.” His hand slides beneath my shirt and skims across my stomach. “This woman is so sexy, it’s effortless. Her smile lights up the room. Her laugh can make me forget my name.” His fingers dip into the waistband of my jeans and trace along the edge.

  “Lane.”

  He releases me and walks to the mirror, turning it to face my bed. Then, he grabs my hand and pulls me over to the edge of my mattress, making me face the mirror again. With no words spoken between us, he pulls my shirt over my head and tosses it aside. Next, he unbuttons and slides my jeans down. I kick out of them and watch the way he looks at me. It’s like a hunter on the prowl, his focus so zeroed in that there is nothing else in existence.

  Lane’s hands move to unclasp my bra and I let it fall away. When he drags my panties down, he places a heated kiss just below my navel. Goosebumps spread across my skin like a wildfire. I am now completely naked and having to keep myself from raising my hands to cover my body. Lane moves behind me again and sits on my bed. He pulls me back with him so that I’m seated between his legs.

  “Look at yourself, Stella. Look with new eyes, with mine. See the woman that exists, not the one you’ve buried beneath self doubt. She is stunning.”

  He watches me as I scan my own reflection. I still see a stomach that isn’t as flat as I’d like it to be and thighs that are full, but I also see the curve of my
hips leading up to a narrow waist. I see breasts that still look young and perky. I see my smooth skin, the line of my neck, and the way toned calves lead down to my ankles.

  “Now touch yourself,” he says.

  Now I see my own terrified expression reflected back at me. “What?”

  Lane takes hold of my right hand and slides it up my stomach, cupping my breast. I suck in a breath and release it as his fingers move over my nipple. He guides my hand down to between my legs, gently prying my knees apart. “Touch yourself for me, Stella. I already know how sexy you are. I want you to know it too.”

  “I’ve never,” I start.

  “Shhh,” he says. “It’s okay. It’s just us.” My entire body blushes as I slide my middle finger down my slit, coating it in my juices. I move to my clit and as soon as I press against it, my body sags against Lane’s. “That’s it,” he says, a low growl in his tone.

  I lay my head back against his shoulder and whimper as I move my finger faster. Little, breathy whimpers escape my mouth and I try to close my eyes, but Lane nudges me.

  “Watch, Stella. See how fucking beautiful you are.”

  I force my eyes open and focus on my reflection. My hips rock in time against my fingers as Lane sits and watches me with such intensity, I feel like I could fly.

  “What are you thinking about, Stella?” he says against the shell of my ear.

  “You,” I breathe. “Only you.”

  My pace increases and with his eyes on me, I know I’m close. “Look at the way you move, baby. Look at your body and your curves and the sweet pout your lips make when you’re close.”

  “Oh, god!” I scream as my orgasm rips through me and I can’t help but squeeze my eyes shut as my body convulses. I slump against Lane, my chest heaving from the intense experience. He grins and places a kiss against my neck, before pulling my fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean.