Shine Your Love on Me

by Jean C. Joachim

  Harry began collecting money to pay for the food. He said it was too expensive for so many people. Each person kicked in five dollars. Some brought wine along. Slowly, the regular crowd at the senior center dwindled on Friday nights. No one said anything, but those who remained questioned why their friends all seemed to get sick at the same time.

  Miriam Grand, the director of food and entertainment at the senior center, asked a few people, but no one gave Brooke away. Ms. Grand was heard questioning aloud what had happened to her Friday night dinner crowd.

  Ruth and Brooke drew the line at fifteen guests. They served buffet style. Pres uncorked and served the wine.

  “My own personal sommelier,” Brooke cooed into his ear as she copped a feel of his butt.

  “Making a pass at the help?” Pres gazed at her with hot eyes. “You can uncork my bottle anytime, pretty lady,” he whispered.

  “You’re getting pretty good at this,” Nan said, taking a salad bowl from Brooke’s hands.

  “It’s a challenge.”

  “We’ve got a regular café kinda thing going here. I love it. Thank you, sweetheart.”

  “Happy to do it, Nan, and the standing ovations don’t hurt one bit.”

  The last Thursday in July, Brooke met Pres at the park at ten for their late-night walk. He looked uneasy, jumpy, as they strolled side-by-side.

  “I’m going to L.A. Sunday,” he blurted out.

  “L.A.?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got a meeting with a couple of producers about two of my pilots. My agent set it up. This could be big.”

  “Fantastic!” Brooke swallowed, hoping the lump in her throat would disappear. L.A. You’re going to L.A.?

  “It’s not a done deal or anything. They just want to talk. But Max said they were interested in options for both shows. Even if they don’t produce anything, they pay you well for the option.”

  “Congratulations. If they decide to do the pilot, will you have to go to L.A.?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How long will you be gone?” Brooke moved into the shadows, happy to have her expression masked.

  “I don’t know. Could be a couple of days. Could be longer.”

  “Oh.” She shot him a small smile. “You’ve been waiting for this.”

  “Max said they read the treatments because I’d sold a script already. They didn’t even care who bought it, just that I’d made a sale.”

  “Well, then. That’s good, right?”

  “I have a favor to ask.” He stepped closer to her.

  She turned to face him.

  “Will you take care of Buddy while I’m gone?”

  “Of course. I love Buddy.” At his name, the sturdy pug came over and licked Brooke on the leg. “He’s family.” She took a deep breath. If I have Buddy, he has to come back, right?

  “You’re okay with this?” he asked.

  “With what? Buddy?”

  “Me going away.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Liar.

  He stiffened, pulling away from her. “Pardon me. I thought you might be a little…uh…sorry that I’ll be gone.”

  “But you’re coming back, right?”

  “Right.”

  “No biggie.” Liar. Turning from him, she blinked rapidly, forcing her tears back.

  “Oh. Hey. Okay. I guess you just think of us as fuck buddies. I didn’t expect that.”

  “Fuck buddies?” Her voice rose an octave, and her tight rein on her temper slipped. “I never…fuck buddies? How dare you say that?” She spread her feet wide, hands on hips, and glared at him.

  “You don’t seem to give a damn whether I’m here or not. Just good for warming the bed.”

  “How can you say that?” Her control burst. Tears poured down her cheeks. “How can you say that?” She sobbed, turning away.

  Pres dropped his leash and pulled her into his embrace. “That’s better. Much better.”

  “I never…you bastard,” she said, crying and pounding on his chest. “You think of us as fuck buddies?” She raised her tearful face.

  “No, no, I don’t. I just thought. I mean…when you didn’t care that I was going. I think of us as much more.”

  “How could you use that, that term? I love you, and you say that to me.”

  Pres tightened his grip on her. “You love me?”

  “You’re an idiot, you know that?” She shook her head.

  “Say it.”

  “No.” She scowled at him.

  “You love me?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised.”

  “I’m shocked. And happy.”

  “Good. That makes one of us. Fuck buddies. I should kick you where it hurts.”

  “I’m sorry, Brooke. Really sorry. I love you, too, kitten.” He kissed her wet lips.

  She broke from him and hid her face in his chest. “You love me?” The words were muffled.

  “Hell, yeah. Can’t you tell?” He drew her closer.

  “Why? Because you want to grab me all the time?”

  “I don’t. I don’t. Well, maybe some of the time. Okay, a lot of the time. Because I want to be with you all the time.”

  They clung to each other in silence until the dogs started to bark. It was late.

  “Stay tonight,” he whispered. She nodded.

  They walked the pugs back. Pres waited on the sidewalk while Brooke dropped Freddy and Ginger off. When she returned, he draped his arm over her shoulder.

  “Well? What did Ruth say?”

  Brooke giggled. “She said, ‘it’s about time’.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The smell of fresh coffee and the soft tap, tap, tap of computer keys woke Brooke up the next morning. The sheet had been pulled up to cover her chest. Buddy was snuggled up against her. She opened her eyes to sunshine and stretched her arms. A grin planted itself on her face and wouldn’t leave. After petting Buddy, she rolled over. She spied Pres, wearing nothing but shorts, sipping coffee and sitting at his computer. She glanced at the clock by the bed. Six forty-five.

  “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

  She yawned. “I like you in nothing but shorts.”

  “And I like you in nothing.”

  She giggled, threw down the sheet, and padded naked to the bathroom. Pres turned to whistle at her, making her laugh. The face of a happy, satisfied woman stared back at her from the mirror. The night had been glorious. Wrapped in Pres’s arms, she had dozed, only to wake, find him there, smile, and fall back to sleep cuddled up to him.

  Career had always taken precedence over men in her life. Did she want to get married? She hadn’t decided. But she had made up her mind to become president of an ad agency someday. Now, everything was turning around. She found creative satisfaction in the kitchen, sexual satisfaction in Pres’s bed, and emotional satisfaction all around, especially with him. With his unassuming, low-key manner, he seemed the perfect fit for a type “A” like Brooke.

  She shoved thoughts about Los Angeles out of her mind. We’re meant to be. He’ll be back. He’s not staying. Just for a meeting. She loved seeing him every day, walking with the dogs, talking, laughing. She could tell him anything, and he didn’t judge her. He was the total opposite of all the men she had dated before. Mr. Anti-corporate America. Still, she loved him.

  He handed her a mug of coffee when she came out. A T-shirt of his was laid out on the bed.

  “I know it’s way too big, but you can wear it like a dress.”

  She slipped the white shirt over her frame and joined him. Standing behind him, she massaged his shoulder with one hand and held her cup with the other while she read.

  Pres pulled his laptop closed. “No way. No one reads this yet. It’s not ready.”

  She leaned over to whisper in his ear. “You were right. I loved spending the night.”

  “I woke up, thinking I was dreaming, to find out it was real. You were there.” Pres picked up his laptop and carted it to the living room. He kissed her cheek. “Now, it’s work
until I walk Buddy. Plop that tempting body over there.” He gestured to a comfy seat across the room.

  “Breakfast?” Brooke rooted around in his fridge. “God knows how old these eggs are. Let’s try ’em.”

  She whipped up scrambled eggs. Curling into the overstuffed chair, she pulled out her list for the week. She read it over while she ate. Peeking over the paper in her hands, Brooke stared at Pres. He was totally focused on his computer screen, typing away. She’d never seen him so intense. He’s always so laid back. His six-foot, two-inch frame was folded into the large chair. A crease formed between his eyebrows, and his mouth hung open a tiny bit as he wrote. Brooke liked this side of him. He’s creating. It’s sexy. She sighed and returned to her task.

  * * * *

  On Monday, Brooke leashed the pugs and went to Bess’s house, armed with a list of questions about cooking. Miranda uncorked a bottle of Cabernet, and Bess placed her stroganoff casserole on the table.

  “Is Whit eating with us tonight?” Rory asked.

  “He’s having dinner with a college friend.”

  Miranda turned the attention to Brooke. “So, what’s going on with you and your new guy?”

  “Nothing. He’s gone to L.A.”

  “How come? Weren’t you two… on the verge of moving in or something?”

  “Or something…” Brooke toyed with her food.

  Bess squeezed Brooke’s arm. “Hey, lady. What’s up?”

  “I don’t know. He’s out there for meetings on his pilot scripts.”

  “That’s good, right?” Miranda asked.

  “I guess. If he makes a sale, he might have to move there.”

  “What about you?” Rory asked, taking a forkful of beef, dripping in sauce.

  “I don’t know. We didn’t talk about it.” Brooke refreshed her wine.

  “Do you want to?” Bess asked.

  “I don’t know. I love him, but his life seems to be in flux right now. So is mine. How can we get together when we don’t know where we’re going?”

  “Can’t you plan to go, wherever you go, together?” Miranda asked.

  “I guess. He hasn’t asked. He wanted me to be upset that he was leaving, but we didn’t discuss anything else. I don’t want to think about him moving to L.A.”

  “Couldn’t you go with him?” Bess asked.

  “Can’t leave Nan. She’s almost eighty. I’m all she has.”

  “Except for that group at the center, from what you’ve said,” Bess said.

  “You mean those crazy people?” Brooke laughed. “They’re her friends. But I’m family.”

  “You’re having fun with this dinner and a movie thing, aren’t you?” Miranda asked.

  “I didn’t think I’d like it at all. But her friends are a hoot. And they love my food.”

  “Go with the flow. You’ll know more about what to do in a few months,” Rory advised.

  “I have to. No other option. I don’t see how I can make a career out of what I’m doing, but I love it. Is that bad?”

  “How about you coming on my show as a guest? We could cook something together. Maybe you could even invite some of the gang from the senior center,” Bess said.

  “Oh my God, that would be fabulous!” Brooke pushed to her feet. “Can you do that?”

  “It would be a great program. Cooking for the more experienced palette, say. Or some such. I bet the producer’d love it. A different kind of program.”

  “If you could do that, Bess, I’d be so grateful.”

  “That’d be great. I’d watch,” Miranda said. “And so would my mom.”

  “You’d watch no matter what because you’re my friend.”

  Miranda gave her a hug. “Yep. Got that right.”

  The women cleared away the dishes while Bess pulled out half of a huge, coconut layer cake.

  “Holy crap! Look at that. I didn’t think I had any room left, but this…I’ve gotta have some of this,” Rory said.

  “You’ve got to teach me this one,” Brooke said.

  “Hold on, ladies. One at a time!” Bess chuckled, slicing off healthy pieces. Rory prepared coffee while Miranda passed out the cake and Brooke retrieved forks. The room was silent as the women ate the delectable confection. Lip smacking was the only sound to compete with the snoring of the pugs.

  “Have you spent a weekend with Pres yet?” Rory asked.

  Brooke shook her head because her mouth was full of cake.

  “Maybe you should. That’s one way to know about a guy,” Miranda said.

  “Hell, yeah! If you can’t stand him for a weekend, then you know what to do,” Rory said.

  “I know! Why don’t you use our house?” Bess piped up.

  “What?”

  “The stone house in Rye? Whit’s owned it forever, and I decorated it last Christmas. Remember?”

  “I do,” Brooke said.

  “It’d be perfect. We’re taking Dumpling and Homer to a bed and breakfast upstate the second weekend in August. Why not go then?”

  “If Pres is back by then, that’d be great. I’ll ask him. Thank you, Bess.” Brooke hugged her hostess.

  “No problem. A shame for the house to be idle during the summer. It’s right on the beach.”

  “And we’ll expect a full report,” Miranda said, sipping her coffee.

  “Including details. Don’t leave anything out,” Rory said, wiggling her eyebrows as she cut another piece of cake.

  “You guys are the best. What would I do without you?” Brooke misted.

  “Fortunately, you’ll never have to find out,” Miranda said.

  A yawn, a snort, and two snores interrupted the women. The pugs stood up, stretched, and then trotted over for their nighttime treat.

  A whole house to ourselves on the beach. How romantic. Brooke smiled as she washed dishes and handed them to Miranda to dry.

  * * * *

  Seven o’clock on a Saturday morning, on the New England Thruway, Brooke rolled down the window in Pres’s dad’s chocolate brown Bentley. The sunroof was cracked open, and the breeze cooled them, despite the August sun.

  “We didn’t have to come in a Bentley,” she said.

  “I’m not trying to impress you. Honest. The rental places were all booked. It was dad’s car or nothing. You wouldn’t want to miss this, would you?”

  “Absolutely not! It’s going to be the perfect weekend to be at the beach.” She smiled, warming his heart.

  “And a whole house to ourselves.” And all night together two nights in a row.

  “We can walk around naked.”

  “You read my mind,” he snickered.

  “Tell me about the meeting. We’ve been so busy.”

  “It went well. There are two producers. Interested in different pilots.”

  “You’ve got two pilots?”

  He snorted. “Two? I’ve got five.”

  “Five?” Her eyebrows shot up.

  “Only three are any good.”

  “So, one producer was interested in each pilot?”

  “That would be too neat.” Pres maneuvered the car into the left lane to pass. The highway was almost empty.

  “So? Tell me.”

  “Both are interested in both.”

  “What happens if they both want the same one?”

  “I’m not sure. Max said something about bidding, or the first offer, or something. Hell, I’d be happy to option one to one producer. That’d be huge.”

  “Looks like you stand a good chance.”

  “Maybe. From your beautiful lips to the Man above.” Pres squeezed her fingers with his for a second before returning them to the wheel. And if I make decent money, we can make this permanent.

  “Would you move out to L.A., then?”

  “To write the series? Don’t know. No clue. I’ll cross that bridge when, and if, I come to it.” Would you come with me? Probably not. If I ask, and you say ‘no’…

  Brooke chewed a nail.

  “Let’s not worry about anything.
Let’s enjoy this time together.”

  A bark from the backseat interrupted. Buddy was sitting up. Freddy and Ginger were asleep. Nan agreed, tearfully, to let the dogs have a romp in the country. So they had taken them along. He wanted to bring the pugs so Brooke would have someone to snuggle with in the morning while he worked.

  “Buddy agrees. Okay. I’ll stop. It’s just…”

  “Just…stop. Come on. I’ve been looking forward to this since I got your text. All I want to do is eat, swim, relax, and make love. Not necessarily in that order.” He glanced at her.

  She leaned over and kissed his cheek. Buddy barked again. “Okay, I’ll be laid back.”

  “You’ll be laid all right.” He chuckled.

  Brooke swatted his shoulder, but couldn’t keep a grin from her lips. “You’re bad.”

  “How about some music?”

  Brooke turned on the radio and trolled around looking for the best station. They turned off the highway then left on Midland Road, following the directions from Whit. When they pulled up in front of the cottage, Pres gave a low whistle.

  Pots of blooming pink and white impatiens hung from hooks on the dainty front porch. Tiger lilies still bloomed along with Black-eyed Susans in circular areas designated for wild flowers. The lawn was neat, and the flagstone walkway had been swept. The house was looking good.

  “This is great.” He took a deep breath of air and smelled the salt from the Long Island Sound.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Once inside, they marveled at the fabulous decorating job Bess had done. The place was cozy and inviting. Brooke went into the kitchen with two bags of food while Pres unleashed the dogs. Along the way, she stopped to crack open the French doors. Then, Pres climbed the stairs with their luggage. Brooke put down several bowls of water for the pugs. She was putting away the perishables when he joined her.

  Pres circled her waist with his arm, leaned in, and kissed her. “This place is gorgeous.”

  “Bess did a great job.”

  “Let’s get to the beach as soon as we can. I’ll make some coffee. We can take it with.”

  The dogs trotted through the house, noses to the floor, sniffing. Brooke filled the coffee pot then went upstairs. Pres poked around, opening cabinets and drawers, when his attention was drawn by the clearing of a throat. He looked up, and his pulse took a giant leap.