by Holly Kerr
My frown transforms into a smile. “I didn’t much like him either.” I offer my hand. “Dean Coulson.”
The man’s liver-spotted hand has a surprisingly firm grip. “Eli Cullen. He won’t be coming back?”
“Not if I can help it.”
Mr. Cullen keeps one hand on his cane as he leans over to scratch Cappie’s ears. “She’s a nice girl.”
At first I think he’s referring to the dog. “She…ah, you mean Flora.”
Mr. Cullen straightens with a grimace. “She doesn’t think I like her, but I let her read my newspaper. She doesn’t think I see her, but I do. She takes it right off my front step. Reads it, then folds it nicely and puts it back.”
I fight back a laugh. “Does she really do that?”
“I’d make a stink if I didn’t think she was a nice girl. You make sure to treat her better than he did.”
I step onto the grass as Mr. Cullen shuffles along the sidewalk. “Of course.”
“Good. I’d best be off for my date now.”
Mr. Cullen looks like he’s pushing eighty. “Did you say you were going on a date?”
The older man winks at him. “You don’t think it’s just the young lads like yourself that like the ladies, did you?”
“Uh…I guess not. Have fun.” I watch him head to the curb where an Uber pulls up.
Mr. Cullen reminds me of Mrs. Gretchen.
Flora is still in the bath. Still naked.
After a thorough search of the kitchen, I find out that Flora really doesn’t cook. Doesn’t, or can’t—I’m not sure which. There’s an assortment of takeout menus in a drawer as well as a variety of canned food and cereal boxes in the cupboards and fresh fruit and eggs in the fridge, so I guess big meals aren’t her thing.
There isn’t even any pasta, except two boxes of Kraft Dinner.
Afton and Bryce and I would sit with heaping bowls of the unnaturally orange mac n’ cheese on our knees and watch bad movies until the adrenaline of the game would wear off enough for them to sleep.
I find a pot big enough for the pasta and fill it with water. Where was Afton now? Still playing with Buffalo? He was a funny guy from the Dominican Republic, a great second baseman.
After the surgery and breaking with the organization, I stopped following the team, didn’t watch any games. I lost touch with my friends because I couldn’t handle the jealousy of hearing about their successes when I couldn’t share them.
Plus, Evelyn had convinced me it was a bad idea to keep in touch.
As the water begins to boil, I pull out my phone. I don’t have a contact for Afton, but I find one for my old pitching coach.
“Should I?” I ask Cappie, lying in the middle of the kitchen, forcing me to step over him. “What should I say?”
Should I even bother?
Without waiting for the dog to reply, I type a quick text to my old coach and press send. “We’ll see what happens.”
Flora’s footsteps sound on the stairs as I give the pot a last stir.
“You did cook,” she says. The amazement in her voice makes me smile. “Kraft Dinner?”
“And I made it special with cut up hotdogs. There were some in the freezer.” I spoon pasta into a bowl and hand it to her. She’s wearing red flannel pants and a black tank top, her wet hair pulled up on the top of her head. I picture her in the tub with her hair pulled up like that.
She smells amazing.
I clear my throat to rid the bath image from my head. “You’re much cleaner. I’ll go up after I eat.”
“Cut up hot dogs. I do feel special.” When she moves past me to the fridge, I glance at the flower tattoo visible on her shoulder.
I held her hand when she got the tattoo last month.
“It looks good,” I say, running a finger along her skin. “No infection?”
Goose bumps dimple her shoulder. “None.” She pulls a bottle of ketchup out of the fridge.
“Do you have mayo?”
“Why would you want mayonnaise?”
“Trust me and try it.”
With bowls of the unnaturally orange pasta and cold beers, I follow Flora into the living room. “I met your neighbour,” I say settling onto the couch. “Mr. Cullen. He likes you.”
Flora makes a face as she sits beside me. “No, he doesn’t.”
“He said he wouldn’t let you read his paper if he didn’t like you.” I watch as Flora’s face drains of colour.
“He knows about that?”
I can’t help but smirk at her reaction. “Sees you do it almost every morning.”
Flora slaps her hand against her forehead. “Oh my god! He must really hate me!”
“Actually, he doesn’t. He thinks a lot of you.” Because Flora is still agog with my Mr. Cullen news, I grab the remote from the table before us. I had set up the movie while she was still in the tub.
“He can’t.”
“He does. Do you know he has girlfriends?” I aim the remote at the television and push play. After a moment, the Star Wars theme booms into the room. “I’m starting from number four.”
“Okay. But Mr. Cullen? Plural? As in more than one girlfriend?”
“Well, he was going on a date.” Cappie crowds against my ankles and I reach down and scratch him. “I want to be like him at that age. I wonder if I should introduce him to Mrs. Gretchen?”
I take a quick break after Alderaan blows up to take a shower. I’m about to put my sweat-soaked clothes back on, when Flora knocks on the bathroom door.
“I have these, if you want to wear them,” she says, her eyes fixed on my face like she doesn’t want to look at my bare chest. “They were Thomas’.”
I raise an eyebrow as I tighten the towel around my waist. “You’re giving me his clothes to wear?”
“At least they’re clean. Might be a little small, but you’ll smell much better.”
I take them reluctantly, but have to agree with Flora. And although the boxers and shorts are a little tight, it’s better than wearing my dirty stuff.
I’m afraid I would rip the shirt, so I don’t even try it on. It takes a little bit for me to get comfortable sitting bare-chested on the couch with Flora but after I catch her sneaking a peek a few times, she gets back into the movie.
I decide Flora is my favourite person to watch Star Wars with. Even after watching the movies forty-seven times—I know this because she has a piece of paper in the case detailing where and when of each viewing—Flora reacts to the action on screen like she’s watching it for the very first time. She recites lines, makes fun of Luke, and still looks sad when Obi-Wan is killed.
She’s perfect.
Even Princess Leia in the gold bikini can’t compare to Flora tonight.
But all good things must come to an end, and by the end of the third DVD, I lose Flora. During the Battle of Endor, her head begins to bob. I don’t say anything, but when her blond head continues to pitch forward onto her chest, I touch her arm.
“Go to bed, Flora,” I murmur.
“Hmm? No bed, we’re watching the movies…”
“We’ll finish them tomorrow.” Before she can argue, I turn off the movie. “Go to bed.”
“I’m so comfortable here,” she protests, stretching out onto the cushions. “Can’t I stay here with you?” Her eyes flutter shut then pop open to gaze at me.
She’s so cute.
“It’s better if you’re in your own bed.” Leaning over, I scoop her up in my arms, loving the way she instinctively nestles against my chest.
“Come too?” Her breath is warm against my neck.
I hadn’t gone so far as to plan where I’d be sleeping that night. M.K. is at Clay’s, for some anniversary meal and I want to give them as much space as I can. Staying with Flora would give them a night without hearing me barge in the door. “If you want.”
The click of Cappie’s paws follows me to the stairs. “I’ll come let you out in a minute.” The dog stands at the bottom with a reproachful expression on h
is face as I carry Flora upstairs.
Her room is exactly what I expected.
The curtain hasn’t been pulled closed so a beam of moonlight shines through the crack. A few photos are stuck into the frame of the mirror. A table in front of the window is full of plants and a vase on her dresser heaped with flowers.
The room smells like her.
I set her on the bed without waking her. “I need to figure out how to tuck you in.” Carrying a woman to bed seems easy in theory, but what am I supposed to do with the fuzzy socks? And she’ll get cold without the covers.
My heart lurches as I stare at Flora. Her face, always so full of emotion, expressions chasing each other, is still and quiet for once.
I’m in love with her.
Chapter Twenty-One
Flora
I open my eyes to the darkness and feel someone beside me in the bed.
At first I think it’s Cappie, somehow grown longer and without the breathing issues. But then an arm brushes my arm as I shift. A swatch of moonlight creeps into the room from between the curtains, enough for me to see the red hairs on the arm hanging over my hip.
Dean.
The confusion and concern vanish. Dean is here—with me. But how…what…?
I consider my body and decide nothing untoward has happened. I’m still dressed in my tank top and pajamas, the flannel making me uncomfortably warm under the covers. I vaguely remember falling asleep on the couch and strong arms carrying me up the stairs.
He carried me upstairs.
I relax against him, feeling safe and comfortable. Warm. His body curls around me, strong chest firm against my back, his hips…
I shouldn’t be thinking of his hips.
I listen to his breathing: in and out, deep and even, with a slight rumble that suggests he might be a snorer. I don’t mind if he snores, even if he snores as loud as a dump truck. I can’t think of anything that can ruin this moment, even if he suffers from sleep apnea.
It might be nice if it was a bit cooler.
It feels so nice to have Dean to hold me.
But I’m so hot with him in the bed!
I can’t stand being too warm when I’m sleeping. Thomas used to hate that I had to keep the window open a crack in the winter. I usually sleep in an old pair of shorts or just my underwear, but of course Dean didn’t know that when he tucked me in. I’m not sure I’d feel comfortable knowing that he took my pants off.
I’d want to be woken up for that.
I wait as long as I can, first wriggling enough to stick my foot, still wearing the thick fuzzy socks, out from under the covers. That does nothing to cool me off, so finally I carefully lift Dean’s arm enough to slide out from under, and set it gently on the bed. Then I crawl out, and yank my pants off, with the socks coming off as well.
I stare at him with a silly grin on my face. His head is on my pillow, my duvet covers his long form.
I wonder what he’s wearing.
I lift the covers. It’s too dark for me to tell. Moving slowly and carefully, so I don’t wake him up, I slide back into bed, lifting his arm and draping it over my hip.
He smells good.
He’s perfect for me.
The realization hits me then. I know Dean is special, I know we have unbelievable chemistry together. I know he’s a great guy. But this—this feels right.
“I love you.” I mouth the words but feel a frisson of fear as I form the words. Is it too soon? “I love Dean.”
This is different than anything I’ve ever felt before, so very different from what I had with Thomas. My love for Thomas had been an outline of my life, a simple tracing. With Dean, he colours in all the parts.
I love him.
I shift carefully, taking Dean’s hand that hung limply over my hip and pulling it to my chest. I hug it like a child being comforted by a stuffed animal and fall back to sleep.
~
The next time I wake up, sunlight is streaming into the room.
Sometime in the night, Dean rolled to the other side of the bed, but I can still hear his breathing, so I know he’s there. I turn to face him, looking at him like it’s the first time.
His eyelashes are long but blondish-red so they seem to vanish before they brush his cheeks. I hold a finger close to his cheek, wanting to touch them to make sure they’re real.
That’s when Dean wakes up.
“What the—?” Dean gasps, blinking at my finger about to poke him in the eye.
I yank my finger back. “Your eyelashes.”
“What about my eyelashes?”
“They’re nice eyelashes.”
“Is this like the thing you have for my beard?”
“Maybe.” Dean closes his eyes. “Are you going back to sleep?”
“I’m letting you look at my eyelashes.”
“I’m done with those.”
A smile creases his face. “Is there anything else you’d like to look at?”
He’d taken off his T-shirt to sleep and sparse red hair decorates his chest. Freckles are scattered over his shoulders, and his forearms. I have an urge to touch them, touch him, to run my hand along his chest, his arms, feeling the muscles bunch and flex.
I lift the covers to check what he’s wearing. “You’re a boxers man.”
With a sleepy grin, Dean mirrors my action. “You had pants on when I put you to bed.”
“I got hot. I get hot a lot. I can never last the entire night in pants. Not that you’d know that because we’ve never slept together—well, I guess we did, but I didn’t have time to really put on pajamas, not that I really had any, other than…” I trail off, thinking of the lacy nightgown I had bought for my wedding night with Thomas.
I had spent what should have been my wedding night with Dean.
“You’re the first man I’ve had in this bed,” I blurt.
Dean blinks, more awake now. “Thanks for telling me that.”
“I got a new bed after Thomas left. This one is more comfortable.”
“It is pretty comfortable.”
“I got the pillow top on both sides of the mattress so it was really hard to find sheets that had deep enough pockets…”
I’m lying in bed with a man for the first time in months and I’m talking about a mattress?
“Are you going to kiss me?” Dean asks suddenly.
“How—what?”
“I can tell when you’re nervous and I thought maybe you were going to kiss me. I’m kind of sick of waiting.”
“I—you are? I think I’m still asleep,” I whisper as he moves closer.
“No, you’re not.” And his lips meet mine in a kiss that is soft and sweet and tender.
And then it isn’t so soft and tender but hungry and demanding and I stop analyzing and just enjoy it.
~
He’s gone when I wake up again.
The bed feels unbelievably cold and barren as I stare around with disbelief. We…he…
He left.
Just like Las Vegas. We had sex, but then he leaves me asleep in the bed. My stomach is hollow with disappointment, tinged with anger.
And then I see the note.
There’s a half a page of newspaper on the bed, secured by the book that had been on my beside table. And he left a pink coneflower on top of the book. I pick it up, unable to stop smiling even as I cringe at the massacre Dean did on the stem of the flower.
Then I read the note. Coffee. Took Cappie. Back soon.
He cares about my dog.
And that’s when I know Dean fits perfectly into my life, like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle hiding under the box.
Dean
Flora meets me in the kitchen, once again dressed in her pajama pants and tank top. I decide I like her in pajamas. “You’re out of bed.”
“You took my dog out.”
“I like your dog. And he had to pee almost as much as I wanted coffee.” I hand her a cup, still steaming. “I only found instant in your kitchen. I’m not a coffee snob
, but I can’t handle that. It’s not M.K.’s. Starbucks was closer.” I’m babbling as much as Flora does when she’s nervous. “I didn’t want to be gone too long in case you lost my note.”
That’s why I hurried. I couldn’t stand the thought of Flora waking up and thinking I left her again.
“I didn’t lose your other note, I just didn’t find it.” She holds her cup with both hands and looks at me with big green eyes. “Thanks for letting him out.”
“I thought if you got up, you’d get dressed and then you’ll get something to eat and start your day and I wasn’t ready for that.”
“You don’t want me to start my day?”
“I was hoping you’d still be in bed.”
“Oh.” She drops her gaze and my heart drops into my stomach. “Are you okay with this?” she asks.
“Okay with what?”
“This. Me. Me in bed.” She gestures to herself. “With you.”
“Are you?”
“I asked you first.”
I set down my coffee before taking hers out of her hand. Then I pull her against me, feeling the cool skin of her bare arms, smelling her Flora scent. I pull her even closer, lifting her off her feet as she winds her arms around my neck.
It feels so good with her.
I hope she feels it too.
“I’m good with it,” I finally whisper into her hair.
Her body relaxes as she sighs. “Me too.”
We stand in her kitchen, coffee cooling and Cappie lapping at his water bowl like he’s never had a drink before. I’d be okay staying like this all day but Flora kicks her foot. I set her down but don’t let her go.
“What do we do now?” she asks into my shoulder. “I sound like M.K.”
“She does say that a lot.”
“It’s her thing. But what happens now?”
I pull away enough to look at her. She’s smiling, a bit nervously, but the expression in her eyes tells me everything I want to know.
“I’ve got a few ideas. Are you going to talk about all this with M.K.?”
“Maybe. I think she’ll approve.”