Learning at 40 (Lakeside Cottage Book 2)

by L. B. Dunbar

  The thought gives me pause, and a deep ache presses at my ribs.

  “Fuck it.” I rip open the seal of my envelope and pull out a notecard similar in size to the envelope just like Mason’s. Also like Mason’s, mine has one line, and I curse Ben as Mason did at the cryptic words given to me.

  Fly in love.

  Just what the fuck does that mean?

  + + +

  Later that night, I’m staring up at the ceiling, wondering what Ben could possibly mean in his message to me. He must have meant fall in love and simply misprinted his words. Still, the statement feels damning as he knew my relationship with my ex-wife was not inspired by love. It wasn’t even close.

  Ben and Anna were in love, though.

  The love of my wife is the greatest gift I ever received, Ben once said to me. It means more to me than birthdays and Christmas, and even this disease cannot take that blessing from me.

  They were the very definition of the term. Under love in the dictionary, it reads: tender kisses, meaningful stares, and happily ever after. For an example, see Ben and Anna Kulis. Only, even their happily ever after has been ruined.

  Suddenly, laughter filters up to my room. The window is open, the distant sound of the lake waves a melancholy harmony to my mood. The pleasant echo of giggles feels invasive. I want to lie here angry with Jeanine for cheating on me, marring my hopes of marriage and family. I want to lie here upset with Ben for dying and leaving cryptic notes I have no hope of fulfilling or understanding. I just want to lie here in peace.

  Another trilling laugh flies up to my window, and I hastily hoist myself off my bed before rushing for the window. Gazing outward, I see who I assume is River dancing in her yard. Her hips sway. Her arms rise. Her head tilts backward once again. She spins in a circle, giggling to herself as if soaking up the darkness while relishing the moonlight. She’s wearing another one of those nearly see-through dresses. The wide collar topples over one shoulder and down her arm.

  Her twirling brings her closer to a large chaise lounge in the grassy portion of her yard, and she knocks into the wood base, tumbling down to the cushion. Her laughter grows louder.

  Is she drunk?

  For some reason, my lips curl at the possibility. Awkwardly, she scoots upward on the chaise, resting her back against the angled portion. Her arms stretch over her head. Her legs straighten a second before her knees bend. As her head lolls to the side, one arm lowers, lifting the hem of her dress.

  In my head, I’m the one lifting that sheer fabric. I’m the one sliding my hands over her summer warm skin. It’s me slipping between her legs. Kissing her inner thighs.

  I should turn away from the window. I should stop watching, but everything about her mesmerizes me. Her hair glows once again in the dim light cast into the yard from the house. Her bare legs are exposed in the dark. Her hand disappears between her thighs.

  Apparently, I’m a voyeur because watching her please herself pleases me.

  Leaning a hand against the window trim, I lower my other hand to the stiff length tenting my shorts. The heel of my hand presses along my hard dick, and I groan as I observe her head roll against the cushion. Her knees spread wider. Her now-lifted dress pools around her hips, but I’m too far away to see anything sacred. There’s no mistaking where her fingers touch, though.

  My imagination takes over again as I envision her with pretty pink lower lips, swollen and dripping with anticipation. I intend to French kiss her there, curving through those folds and lapping at her sticky sweetness. She’d taste delicious, like a summer peach.

  A sharp hiccup travels to my open window, and her head tips back on the chaise.

  That’s it, honey. Let me have a lick.

  My mouth salivates. My hand hastily slips under the elastic of my loose shorts. Within seconds, my palm wraps around my rock-hard shaft while I fist my other hand on the window casing. I should stop looking at her, but I can’t. I continue to imagine it’s me between those bent knees and spread thighs. It’s me sipping and nipping at her, and she’s losing her mind. She’s soaked and dripping, leaking down her inner thighs as she clenches against my tongue. Her legs quiver, and her breath catches. She’s on the edge, and I work myself—squeezing, tugging, jerking my dick harder than I’ve done before. She’s effervescent, and I want that glow to spill over me. I want her otherworldly essence to coat my tongue.

  Then she opens her eyes, sits upright, and looks directly at my window.

  Shit.

  Did she hear me? Did I say something out loud? Did my ragged breathing travel down to the yard?

  Good God, I can’t seem to quit working my dick with my fist. I can’t see her eyes, but I’m certain they are looking up at me, knowing I’m here at the window, watching her get off. The thought tips the cup, and I spill over, pouring into my fist and covering my fingers in a liquid mess. My chest heaves and swells. I can hardly breathe. Though I work out religiously, I feel like I’ve never spent a day in the gym. My knees shake. My heart races, and I close my eyes for only a second.

  When I open them, she’s gone. Her yard is dark, and my breath hitches.

  Did I imagine it? Was she not out there? Had I seen a ghost in my head?

  What have I done?

  Quickly, I turn away from the window and press my back against the wall just to the side of the casing. Tipping my head back, I bang it ever so slightly against the plaster. My hand is a sticky mess, and I’m breathing so loud, it’s like I’m announcing I’ve run a 5K in under ten minutes.

  Rolling my shoulder against the wall, I tilt my head only enough to peer back into the yard once again.

  Did that really happen?

  Unfortunately, there’s no mistaking what I hold in my hand and what covers my fingers. I’m guilty regardless, and then I see a form just outside the sliding glass doors next door. The whiteness of the dress gives her away despite the dark night, and for the briefest second, I wonder if Ben sent her to me again on the night his cryptic message was given to me.

  Just as quickly, I dismiss the thought, not believing in such voodoo or diddle-le-do or love—flying, falling, or otherwise.

  3

  [Zack]

  The following day, I’m in a mood and determined not to think about my mysterious, sexy neighbor or Ben’s message as I stare out the window of my bedroom in the early morning hours. Was he kidding me? Ben knew Jeanine and I were never lovers but a moment of insta-lust. A one-night stand led to two babies nine months later. We hardly even liked one another after we were married, and sex was a rarity of treating one another as an available vessel more than a passionate partner. I’m too busy to fall in love—or fly in it—and now I’m even busier with two rambunctious boys.

  Today, the guys—three of the four points in our compass—have plans to go golfing. We invited Calvin and Bryce to join us even though it won’t be the same with the younger set instead of their father. Mason will need to be on his best behavior, but he’s been living here for a year, so I’m hoping that means either he’s tampered his inappropriate comments around the teens, or they’ve come to accept his reckless behavior.

  Either way, I’m looking into the yard next door once more. I can’t seem to pull my eyes away from the house at this angle where I can see the old tree fort and recall all the games played back there. Images fill my head of being chased by my brother, hitting golf balls off the cliff with my father, and helping my mother in her garden.

  Movement in the yard catches my eye.

  It’s her. River. Or at least the woman who has haunted my thoughts since the night of Ben’s funeral. Is she an angel or a demon sent to torture me like she did last night? Then again, who can I blame but myself? I didn’t look away. I didn’t stop myself, and I’m actually angry when it isn’t exactly her fault.

  With bright golden hair that glistens in the sunlight, whoever she is, she’s the woman I feel a strange magnetism toward. Once again, she’s covered from her neck to her feet in a long, flowing dress. Then she do
es the damnedest thing. She removes the dress and lays on the chaise lounge in nothing but her skimpy panties. She might as well be naked. With her hair spread out around her head, her toned body and ample breasts are on display, and I’m instantly hard as a fucking rock.

  My hand grips the window casing like I did last night. My fingers dig into the wood as I take a shaky breath. I’m paralyzed by the sight of her, or maybe I’m just desperately horny.

  “What are we looking at?” Logan’s voice at my ear should startle me, and it does, but I still can’t pull my eyes from the glorious sight.

  “Her,” I croak like a pre-pubescent teen.

  “Dude,” Logan mutters beside me. Reaching into his shorts, he pulls out his phone.

  “Don’t take a picture,” I snap, turning my head to him.

  “I’m not taking a picture. I’m not even looking, but Mason has to see this. He’s missing out.” Logan’s fingers move fast over the screen, and I can almost here him telling Mason to haul ass up here.

  “Don’t call Mason,” I snap, reaching for Logan’s phone. Swiping it quickly out of his hand, I glare down at the device, but the message has already been sent. Within seconds, we hear Mason thundering up the staircase.

  “Fuck,” I hiss, not wanting Mason to see the naked beauty in the neighbor’s yard. Angel or demon, she’s my angel or demon, and I don’t want to share her with them. For the briefest second, I have that strange thought again that Ben sent her to me. Quickly, I shake the notion and turn toward the door, prepared to intervene when Mason enters the room.

  He hardly crosses the threshold when Logan announces, “Dude, you need to see this.”

  Body primed with legs spread and hands on my hips, I’m determined to block Mason’s view, and I twist my head in Logan’s direction where he’s staring out the window. “I thought you said you weren’t going to look.”

  “I’m not. I’m just checking out the shrubbery.” He chuckles as Mason passes me.

  “Fuck,” Mason groans. “Nice shrubbery.”

  “Don’t fucking look at her shrubbery,” I snap, racing up behind my friends and squeezing myself between them, equally ensnared by the shrubbery of the neighbor.

  “But she has nice bushes,” Mason states, his eyes glued to the yard next door. Logan snorts.

  “Quit looking at her bush,” I demand, and Logan starts to lose it, his laughter loud and vibrating.

  Mason keeps a straight face as he says, “Her trimming is exceptional.”

  “You can’t even—” I stop. The heat in my face counteracts the chill up my spine. She’s removed her skimpy panties, leaving nothing to the imagination. So Mason and Logan can fully inspect her landscaping technique.

  A hand of mine shoots out in front of each of them, covering their eyes as if they were my seven-year-olds.

  “Daddy, why can’t I looky?” Mason pouts while Logan continues to guffaw next to me.

  “We are not looking,” I state as my eyes return to the naked vision, glistening in all her glory in the sunshine.

  “What aren’t we looking at?” Calvin’s teenage voice comes from behind us, and all three of us turn in unison.

  “Nothing,” we choke out in various pitches.

  “Is River naked again?” Calvin questions without a hint of chagrin.

  “How do you know the neighbor is naked?” Mason questions. His tone sobers a bit.

  “We’re only allowed to landscape her on certain days.”

  Logan coughs into his fist, unable to contain himself while Mason slowly grins.

  “What do you mean you have certain days you can landscape her?” I bark, my voice cracking as though I’m the teenager in the room.

  Calvin shrugs. “We trim her bushes.” Logan completely loses it, bending forward at the waist and choking on laughter while Mason chuckles, shaking his head. A moment of pride crosses his face, and then his expression straightens.

  The clarification reminds me that Calvin works for his late father’s local landscaping company. Ben inherited this one from his father while he had his own in Chicago, where he and Anna had lived since they married.

  “And you know she’s naked how?” Mason states, his voice sounding a bit authoritative, which surprises me. Looking over at him, I’m dumbfounded at his demeanor. He looks upset, but he can’t be serious. He was just gawking out the window at her like the rest of us.

  “She told us.” Calvin speaks in the well, duh manner only teens have mastered, ranking right up there with the word whatever. Thankfully, I don’t have direct experience with this attitude as my boys are young, but I’m certain they’ll be perfecting that tone and enunciation before they reach ten. Such overachievers.

  “She didn’t want us to accidentally show up when she was sunbathing,” Calvin clarifies.

  “Sunbathing?” I choke. She certainly looks like she’s bathing, all glistened up and in the nude while soaking up the sun’s rays and absorbing the heat on her skin. My skin feels equally hot, and I want to slippery slide all over hers. A shaky hand comes to the bridge of my nose, pinching it. I close my eyes a second.

  “Okay. Are we golfing or what?” I demand, my voice sharper than normal.

  “Golfing,” Calvin mutters, spinning on his heels and leaving my room.

  “I wonder what kind of landscaping they have on the course,” Logan begins, placing a hand on my shoulder and squeezing it. “Because you, my friend, are in a serious need of a hole in one.”

  It’s Mason’s turn to laugh out loud, and he high-fives Logan over my head.

  Sometimes, I hate these two.

  4

  [River]

  “What’s going on here?” The rough masculine voice startles me from my position kneeling beside the flower beds along the side of my yard. When I moved in, the run-down house was in need of a good cleaning, but the yard was worse. It’s been a labor of love to get the outside under control. My goal is to restore these gardens to their original glory.

  My hands are covered in dirt as I twist at the waist and face a grumpy, growly gorgeous man. Dressed in khaki shorts and an untucked pink dress shirt, he looks uptight for someone wearing such semi-casual attire.

  “Hello,” I say, ignoring his rude tone and offering a bright smile. Kindness soothes the toughest moods, my grandfather would say. Standing, I brush at the mix of grass and soil caked on my knees. My hands are hopelessly dirty, nearly black. Holding them up palm out suggests I’d reach out to shake his hand, but it’s probably not a good idea. What’s also not good is how this yummy man is glaring at me. His eyes roam my body before drifting to the two boys up in the tree fort, and it gives me a moment to observe him.

  His hair is dirty blond and a bit longer on the top than the sides. His cheekbones are edgy cliffs, and his light eyes are hard. A bit of shadow covers his jaw, accentuating a lush mouth that could dazzle if he smiled. He’s not dazzling at the moment, though. He’s scowling.

  “I assume these two belong to you.” Keeping my voice light, cheery even, I nod toward the tree fort. I offer another smile before turning to face the boys who have climbed the rickety wood ladder and found their way into the tree fort in one of the solid old maples. Uncertain who they were at first, how they wandered into the yard, or where they belonged, I decided to hang outside to keep an eye on them. They weren’t easily deterred from leaving the tree fort that didn’t belong to them, but they eventually told me their names. They said they were on vacation next door, and their dad knew where they were. If I thought it strange that a man would let his two boys wander uninvited into my yard, I let it pass. They weren’t causing any harm, and it was nice to see little ones enjoying that ancient platform in the tree.

  “Get down from there,” the man snaps at the boys, causing me to flinch before he turns back to me. Another scowl instantly forms on his sculpted cheeks. “They shouldn’t be up there. It isn’t safe.”

  He’s probably right, but I’ve been up there myself in the past year, and it held me. Those boys can�
�t weigh more than a hundred pounds collectively. Plus, I don’t know why he’s angry with me. His boys wandered into my yard.

  “They haven’t been a bother,” I remark, still keeping a smile plastered on my face.

  “That’s not the point.” His sharp retort startles me, and my kindness meter wavers. I’m used to grumps, those who overreact, and overall grouchy people, but I normally have a handle on why someone is this way before they give me attitude like this stranger is giving me. Have we met before? What am I missing here?

  “What is your point?” I teasingly demand, placing my hands on my hips and cocking one to the side. I do not like his tone, nor do I appreciate the way he’s glaring at me as if I did something wrong. Still, my smile only falters a little bit. “Are those your boys or not?”

  “They aren’t yours,” he barks with an implication I’m not liking. His eyes are fixated on me for the blink of an eye. Literally, he blinks and looks away, scowling even harder as he growls again. “Trevor. Oliver. Get down here.”

  “What’s the problem?” His surly tone toward his boys concerns me, and so does the glare he returns to me. Is there something on my face? Dirt smudged everywhere shouldn’t be enough to disgust him. It’s obvious I’m gardening. Then I take another sweep of his body. His impeccably pressed shirt suggests he’s never done a day of hard work in his life. A little dirt on his face might do him wonders. He might even smile.

  “The problem?” Hothead snaps. “Do you always let little boys play in your yard?”

  I realize it might seem strange to let two little boys play in my backyard when I don’t know them, but they wandered here. It’s not like I lured them in. They were enjoying themselves, and I rarely hear such easy banter and innocent laughter from children. Normally, it’s hard-pressed and not easily earned in my line of work. The sound of children laughing has a priceless value. Staring at his spiffy clothing, I’m not certain this dad appreciates the gift he has in two healthy children scampering in a tree fort. Plus, if these are his boys, he’s the one who lost them.