The Knock

by Emme Burton

  “What time is it? It’s a school night,” I ask and state in rapid succession, trying to gather my thoughts and interact appropriately.

  Shane looks at his phone, holds it up for me to see and makes an exasperated face. “It’s only seven thirty”

  “Uhm, OK, a short one.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got to go.” Mitch steps away from the drafting table.

  The boys turn on their heels and shout their goodbyes over their shoulders as they leave the room.

  “See you Tuesday!” Van adds.

  Mitch yells after him, “Don’t forget to practice.” He gets no response.

  The minute the boys are out of earshot, Mitch and I break into spontaneous laughter.

  “Busted!”

  “Oh. My. God!”

  Chapter 8

  Van has had seven guitar lessons.

  Mitch and I have had seven kid-chaperoned meals, six long conversations, one dance, countless random touches and more than one interrupted almost kiss. I think I may explode.

  He’s probably figured out that it’s always Taco Tuesday and Spaghetti Thursday at our house, because those are the only meals I’ve served to him. I really need to mix it up. I also need some “alone time” with Mitch.

  Today is the eighth lesson, and yes, I am counting.

  At quarter to five, there’s a knock on the door. I’m not quite used to Mitch not using the doorbell. A knock on the door has become less terrifying, but I must admit, unless everyone I care for is right there with me, I still flinch internally.

  Shane and Van tear past my studio, screaming “Mitch!” and “He’s here!”

  The next thing I hear is a loud ruckus in the kitchen and the word “burgers.”

  I pad down the hall in my bare feet, slipping my computer glasses on top of my head as I go.

  Shane meets me in the hallway and starts pulling me toward the kitchen. “Mom, Mom, look! Look what Mitch brought!”

  When I round the corner, there are bags from Five Guys on the counter. Van and Mitch are setting the table. The actual table, not the island. They stop what they’re doing, lift the napkins and plates they’re holding in their hands above their heads and shout, “Surprise!”

  I laugh aloud. “Wow! This is unexpected. So, I’m guessing no Spaghetti Thursday?”

  Mitch finishes setting the place setting he had started. “I thought we could mix it up. I figured we should eat now while the food is still warm. Van and I can have the lesson afterward. I hope that’s OK?”

  “Perfectly. I’m not going to argue with anyone making—or in this case, delivering—dinner. And we’re sitting at the table, I see.”

  “I think it’s nice for families to eat at a table,” Mitch says with a nod.

  As Shane and Van bring the bags of food over and place them it on the plates, Van whispers, “Now he sounds exactly like Dad.”

  My heart cramps a little. It is just like something Donnie would say. I’m both pleased and a little sad. I wish we’d had a few more dinners at the table with him, but I’m also so touched that it was Mitch’s idea to do it now.

  ***

  When Van and Mitch head upstairs for the lesson, Shane and I clean up the kitchen in no time since it’s mostly throwing away the bags, wrappers and cups from Five Guys and slipping the plates into the dishwasher. I have about thirty minutes until the lesson is over and I’d like to spend a little time with Mitch. Alone.

  I look down at my jeans and T-shirt. This won’t do at all. I don’t feel very attractive. I was in “work mode” when Mitch arrived, so I wasn’t thinking about how I looked, even though I do tend to fix my hair and put on more makeup on days I know he’ll be coming over. I head to the master bathroom, run a bath and slip in. My phone is propped up on counter so I can see the clock. I don’t want to get too comfortable and fall asleep, but I want to wash off the everyday pressures of the day and get relaxed before I ask Mitch to stay for a while.

  I only stay in the tub for ten minutes but it’s enough to relax and reset. I towel off quickly then go into my closet to find something to wear. Something that doesn’t scream work or Mom. Something pretty. I pick out my nicest bra and panties and settle on a pair of soft black leggings, a black cami and a long, silk, button-up tunic in a blush color, just slightly deeper than my own skin tone. I leave the top four buttons undone, revealing a wee bit more skin. I remain barefoot but dash a little color on my toenails.

  While I wait for Van’s lesson to be over, I curl up in my comfy club chair in the bay window of the dining room. It occurs to me that I haven’t sat here in weeks and weeks. I haven’t obsessed as much about Donnie. I haven’t missed him as much. Part of that is because I’m focused on my work, but I acknowledge that Mitch is really the impetus. Is my new obsession. It’s how I am when I’m around him and why I want to pay more attention to how I look and feel.

  Down the hall there is movement and noise.

  “Bye, Mitch. See you, Tu-OOOes-day.” Van’s adolescent voice cracks as he says goodbye.

  “See you, bud.”

  I hear an “oof” like someone being surprise tackled and Shane’s sweet voice thanking Mitch for dinner and Mitch telling him what an awesome Lego landspeeder he has. Mitch is phenomenal with my boys.

  I watch anxiously for Mitch to appear in the kitchen. After a few more goodbyes, I see him standing next to the kitchen island and looking around. Looking for me?

  “Posey?” He raises his voice a bit. He is looking for me.

  “In here.” I wave at him from my perch in the bay window. The lighting is dim with only one floor lamp in the corner next to me.

  Mitch squints and then smiles. “There you are.”

  “Do you want to hang out a bit? Have a beer? It will be your prize for bringing dinner.”

  “I don’t need a prize. It was my pleasure. And yes, I’d love a beer. I subbed today at Sunview High. I didn’t know teenagers talked so much when you don’t want them to and so little when you do.”

  Oh my God, he worked all day, got us dinner and then taught a lesson. He’s probably exhausted. I know I would be.

  I uncurl my legs to get up and get the beers, but Mitch stops me.

  “Don’t get up, I’ll get the beers and come over there. You look really comfortable.” He opens the fridge and pulls out two Pabst Blue Ribbons, in bottles. “PBR in a bottle. Hmmm… hipster—”

  “But classy,” I say, finishing his sentence.

  Mitch pops the tops and walks over to me with a beer in each hand. He hands me mine and then presents his bottle to clink.

  “Cheers!” The soft clink fades.

  He sits on the ottoman directly in front of me and then scootches it a bit closer. I lean toward him when he places his hand first on the arch of my foot and then slides it up to my knee. His eyes follow his hand. Mine do, too. My stomach flips and all the hairs on my body stand up. It’s like my body is craving his touch all on its own.

  When his caress stops at my knee, he lifts his head and I raise mine to meet his gaze.

  “Hi,” he says in a low, direct voice.

  “Hi.”

  “I’ve been waiting all day to see you. Alone.”

  “Me, too.”

  “We need to meet here more often.” Mitch waves the beer bottle in his hand around in a circle to indicate the small quiet space.

  I smile because he used a pickup line. “Much more often.”

  I take a sip of my beer and set it down on the table next to me before wiggling my fingers between the fingers of his hand. The one cupping my knee. I rub my thumb along his.

  “Posey, do you know why I come to your house two times a week?”

  “Of course. To teach Van guitar.”

  “That’s part of it, but, I mean the real reason.”

  “Spaghetti Thursday?”

  Mitch guffaws. “Ha! No, and not Taco Tuesday, either.”

  I shake my head “no,” but, really, I know.

  Mitch lifts our hands, points one of his fi
ngers, brings it up and presses it right above my left breast over my heart. “You. I come here for you.”

  Warmth floods my upper body. I’m sure my chest and shoulders flush and my breasts tingle. Wow, just a single touch of his finger and I’m on fire. His eyes never leave mine. I’m caught up.

  “Oh.” It’s the only sound that escapes me.

  Mitch continues, “I’d knock on your door every night if I didn’t think you’d get sick of me.”

  Mitch releases my hand, and I slide mine down to his wrist while he reaches up and places his hand on my shoulder.

  We move toward each other, so close that I have to tilt my head up to look at him. My gaze moves from his eyes to his gorgeous lips.

  “You’re welcome here anytime.” I husk out in a voice low and full of want.

  “I hope you’re serious, because I intend to take you up on that offer.”

  I can’t stand staring at his lips and not feeling them on mine, so I rush into him, into his waiting arms.

  He scoops me up right to his chest. Our lips crash and tangle. A manifestation of our long pent-up desire. Somehow, Mitch maneuvers himself so that he’s sitting in the chair and I am sitting in his lap, cradled in his capable arms.

  I immediately wish we had done this sooner. What had I been waiting for? Why? That was easily answered. Guilt over Donnie. And fear. And one more thing… Mitch’s age.

  I pull away panting. Mitch’s smile is huge. “Is this OK?” I ask.

  “OK? I’ve been waiting four weeks, twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes to kiss you.”

  Come on! Is he for real? “That’s pretty precise.”

  “I may be off by a minute or two. No, really. You opened that door last month and I knew. I knew someday I’d be kissing you. The way you looked, smelled, your eyes and your kids. I mean, they are great kids. I was taken in by everything about you.”

  “I had on cutoffs and a messy bun.”

  “You looked perfect to me.”

  “You’re saying all the right things.”

  Mitch cups my face in his hands and kisses my eyelids, my cheeks and finally my lips. First, gently biting my lower lip and then crashing into both. I reciprocate with equal fervor and open to Mitch’s tongue sweeping across mine in long, panty-drenching suckles. We continue for long minutes.

  I haven’t made out in a very, very long time because after you sleep with someone, you rarely make out like hormonal teenagers anymore. God, I love making out.

  I find myself straddling Mitch, his hands under my silk shirt, palms on my sides with his thumbs grazing under my breasts, just barely touching them. His erection is firm and present, and I thrust my core against it through the barrier of our clothing.

  This will become more than making out if it continues much longer. And the kids are right down the hall. I reluctantly press my palms flat on Mitch’s chest—his chest that is as firm as that other part of him beneath me—and push away. Our lips stay locked until I’m too far away and the kiss is finally broken.

  We are both “ran a 5K in record time” out of breath.

  “Mitch.”

  “Posey.”

  “I don’t want to stop, but I think maybe…”

  “Yeah, I know, too fast.”

  “It wouldn’t be right…” I tilt my head toward the boys’ rooms.

  “Oh, it would be right. It would be so right.”

  I sigh, frustrated, and then giggle. “I know, but—”

  “Yeah, I don’t want to rush this, but if I have to go…” He gives me a big, sad panda frown.

  I frown right back. “You do.”

  “If I have to go, I have two questions. I’m going to ask one now and one later.”

  “OK.”

  “Go out with me Saturday night? I’m in a new band. We have a gig. I’d love if you’d go with me and then spend some more time with me—alone.” Mitch’s eyes sparkle with anticipation.

  He wants to spend more time with me.

  “I’d love to.”

  We slowly disentangle ourselves from each other and the club chair. When we’re both standing, I look down at “my spot” in the chair. I don’t think I’ll be able to think of it as a place to be sad again.

  After he gathers his guitar and bag, I walk Mitch to the door. We linger. He kisses me long and slow while pressing me against the doorjamb. I watch him walk away, appreciating the way his back muscles strain against his T-shirt and how his hips move with each stride. I don’t go inside until he blows me a kiss before ducking into his truck. I mime catching it and hold it to my chest.

  OK, I admit it. That was corny. Mitch blowing a kiss and me catching it. It’s something that never would have happened with Donnie. He was a serious guy who didn’t show his emotions easily.

  But you know what? I love it. Mitch’s openess. I love every silly, corny, honest thing Mitch does, because it makes me feel alive again after years of feeling defeated and cynical.

  I’ve come so far in two years since I moved to Sunview.

  I am finally beginning to look, if not feel, a bit like the old Posey. The one that capably ran her world and a couple other people’s.

  No, I am not the old Posey.

  I am a brand-new Posey.

  Chapter 9

  One of the reasons I moved to Sunview was because my parents lived close by. Let me rephrase: the only reason I moved to Sunview is because I couldn’t make a decision on my own after Donnie died and my parents had retired in the next town over from Sunview and insisted I move closer to them. I’d be living there, except Sunview has a better school district. They found this house. They moved me down here. They kept me sane in the beginning.

  They live just close enough that I feel like I have a support system and just far enough away that it’s pretty impossible to “drop by.” Really, I have nothing to complain about, they always text or call before they come over. Plus, they’d take any opportunity to come stay with the boys.

  I called my mother first thing Friday morning.

  “Mom, could you and Dad come stay with the boys tomorrow night? I know it’s short notice.”

  “Well, sure honey. What’s going on? Something at work?

  “No, I’m actually going out to see a friend’s band and then go on a date with him after.”

  “Really, sweetheart? That’s so good. Who is he? How do you know him?”

  “His name is Mitch. He’s actually Van’s guitar teacher.”

  “Oh, yes, you’ve mentioned him.”

  “The thing is… he’s young. Younger than me. A lot younger than me.”

  “I’m older than your dad by three years.”

  “Yeah.” I hesitate. “This is a bit more than three years.”

  “How much more?”

  “Uh… I’m not really sure.”

  She’s silent on the other end of the call for a moment, then effusively says in a voice high, bright and full of hope, “I’ll be happy to meet him. I’m just so thrilled you’re going to something other than a work or school meeting.”

  I swear I can hear her smile.

  ***

  I’ve torn through my closet and come up with an outfit I think will work for tonight. Skinny jeans, leopard boots, hoop earrings and a black cold-shoulder top.

  Mitch’s band is playing at a bar down at the beachfront. I don’t know much about it except he said it was called Snapback. Sounds like a sports bar. I hope I’m not overdressed.

  I’ve just finished putting on my mascara when the doorbell rings. The door opens followed by a huge ruckus of excited voices—my mom, my dad and both the boys—all talking at once.

  “How can you grow that fast in one week?”

  “Van, how’s guitar going?”

  As I walk down the hall, I make out Van’s answer.

  “Mitch is teaching me how to play Pink Floyd and Zeppelin and—”

  “Hey,” I call to them as I reach the kitchen. From the foyer, four heads swing to look at me. Four pairs of eyes look me
up and down and then up again. Four mouths open in surprise.

  My father smiles broadly and walks to meet me with arms outstretched. “Posey, sweetheart, you look beautiful!” He puts his hands on my shoulders.

  “Thank you, Dad.”

  My father pulls me in for a hug—a hug full of meaning. He’s so happy to see me in something other than a long gray cardigan and sweatpants, I’m sure.

  My mother joins him. She reaches up to touch my hair above my ears. “You cut your hair. It’s adorable.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  The boys have come in with them and chirp, “Whoa! You look so pretty, Mom.”

  It’s like a Posey appreciation party in my kitchen.

  The sudden knock on the door causes me to jump. I don’t think it will ever be a sound I’m comfortable with, even if I’m quite sure of who is doing the knocking.

  The heads and eyes swing away from me and to the door.

  “I bet that’s Mitch,” I say, solving the mystery of the hand at the end of the knock.

  Van and Shane scramble to the door, pushing and shoving to be the first one there.

  Van opens the door and he and Shane take their turn greeting him with the oh-so-cool handshake and bro-hug combination. Shane lingers in hugging Mitch. My heart pounds a bit harder. Shane had just turned eight when Donnie died. He didn’t get enough hugs from his dad. Not nearly enough.

  The boys flank Mitch and “escort” him to my parents and me.

  Mitch’s eyes lock onto mine. If he’s aware there’s anyone else in the room, he’s not letting on. When he’s directly in front of me, he whispers, “Wow! Posey. You… you look amazing. I mean, you always look amazing, but you look… Wow!”

  I blush from head to toe.

  Mitch leans down and kisses my cheek. He’s still acting as if we are the only two people in the room. For that matter, I am, too.

  My father clears his throat. “Ahem.”

  It’s that subtle cue that pulls my attention from Mitch’s gorgeous, scruffy face, sexy eyes, hair… lips.

  “Oh, my gosh, yes, Mitch, these are my parents, Charles and Caroline Spence. Mom, Dad, this is Mitch Morgan. He’s Van’s guitar teacher…”

  “And Posey’s date tonight.” Mitch finishes the introduction. “It’s great to meet you both.” He shakes my mother’s hand, and I swear she sighs. Then he shakes my dad’s hand and pulls him in for a hug, like he did with the boys. My father’s face opens in surprise, and then he breaks out in a huge grin. I hear him guffaw once.