Jon
JON LOOKED AT the clock and wondered when Molly was going to arrive. He was looking forward to seeing her, even though he wasn’t sure how he’d react. The parting hadn’t been bad, just confusing.
He also still hadn’t gotten over the mess of emotions from the trip he’d just gotten back from. He hadn’t put away the laundry and CD’s he brought back, and they sat in his living room, almost like an open wound. That, plus the awkward parting, left a huge weight on his shoulders.
But when he opened the door, Molly’s bright, happy expression chased most of that away. He thanked God, the city streets, and the winter dusk for all of it. She kissed him, the cherry taste of her lip gloss chasing away the awkwardness of a two A.M. departure.
“Hi,” he said, finding something in her eyes to be excited about. “Missed you.”
He did. He hadn’t brought her a gift this time; they’d exchanged a series of e-mails and text messages in the darkness of his lonely Austin night. He did, however, send her his hybrid hot cocoa recipe. He hoped she appreciated it as much as he appreciated having her on the other end of his texts and e-mails.
“Glad you’re back,” she said as she broke the kiss. “So happy to see you.”
He wasn’t going to focus on the fact she hadn’t said she missed him. She’d said she was “happy” to see him, and he’d try to be okay with that. Instead of focusing on the hard parts, he ushered her into his apartment. “Glad to be back. “ Then he stepped away, turning toward the pair of boots he’d left by his mat. “Any other client issues?”
“It’s been fine,” she replied. “A few clients did have issues, but they were small and fixable. Thankfully.”
“I’m glad,” he said and smiled. Didn’t mention how horrible the trip to Austin had been, tried not to think about it. But it was easy to look at the bright smile on her face, fall under the spell of her green eyes and maybe shove Austin out of his mind for a while. Again.
“Do you have an agenda?” he asked as he tied his boots and headed toward the front closet. “Or are we open?”
“I have a general agenda,” she replied. “Nothing specific. Things we need and a question about where to get them.” She paused as he pulled his parka out of the closet. “I’m pretty open.”
He nodded. “Sounds good,” he replied. “I like that.” Then he put on his parka and checked his pocket for gloves. “You ready?”
She nodded. “Absolutely.”
So he grabbed his wallet and his keys and ushered both of them out the door, locking it behind them.
Molly
MOLLY HADN’T DECIDED what bakery she wanted to order the cake and the pastries from. There were so many different bakeries in Manhattan that she’d always been confused when looking at her options. Jon said that his sister had owned a bakery, so she figured he’d have some insight into which one they should use.
“So,” she said as they headed out into the garage. “Any ideas?”
He smiled slightly, shook his head and sighed. “About?”
She wondered if she’d managed to tell him what they were up to today, then realized she probably hadn’t. “Sorry. Dessert is on the agenda for today, so I wanted to know your feelings about cakes.”
She didn’t expect him to be anything but honest, even if it meant he had no idea.
He shrugged; apparently today was a day where gestures trumped words.
Yet as she thought about it, there was something about Jon’s mood and the way he spoke that she hadn’t seen before. He’d always been upbeat, and even as he smiled today, she could see something was different. So she had to ask. “Are you okay?”
“I guess. This trip was hard.”
Which if she actually had been paying attention to anything other than a rapid beating of her own heart upon seeing him, she probably would have noticed. But she didn’t. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said. His tone was breezy, but she could hear the . . . pain? Anguish? No. But something.
“I’ve gotten so used to these trips being easy, fun, and generally amazing, so when something like what happened comes up, I’m not prepared.”
She wanted to ask him what happened but didn’t want to pry. He seemed like he was a private person, hiding his feelings behind the shield of his job. “I’m sorry,” she said before realizing she was repeating herself, despite the fact that he said she shouldn’t apologize. “I feel bad. Call it the empathetic sorry. I wish it were better.”
The genuine smile he gave her was reward enough. “Thanks,” he said, his voice sounding a bit clearer. “I needed that. Now, what were you asking me?”
She laughed, recognizing a change of subject when she heard one. “Cakes, desserts,” she said. “What are your opinions?”
Another bright, genuine smile from Jon was his response. Now, they were getting somewhere.
“There can be only one,” he said as he took her hand. “But I have to warn you, my sister takes no prisoners.”
She laughed. “Okay.” She smiled back at him. “I think I’m ready.” At least she hoped so. She wondered what his sister’s bakery would be like. Then she decided that if his sister was as focused on baking as he was on music, it would be amazing indeed.
Jon
THE DRIVE DOWN to Stars and Icing Forever was quick and easy; there was even a good space in the parking lot near the store. Jon hoped that going into the shop would be easy; he wasn’t really sure what to expect. His sister Naomi had her moods, but also had her best friend and co-owner Serena to even them out. He even wondered if either his sister or Serena would be in the shop this afternoon, then decided it didn’t matter.
“Okay,” he said as he and Molly stopped just outside the shop. “This is it. They make everything, I think.”
“You think?” she wondered. “She owns this place? Wow.”
He turned toward Molly and saw her standing as still as a statue, wide eyes focused up at the sign, her mouth in the shape of the perfect O.
He knew what the sign looked like, of course. Silly cupcakes that were painted red, white, and blue. The blue and white six-pointed stars on the corner, and the dash of Hebrew certifying the place was kosher, by no fewer than ten different organizations. He knew all of those little details as if they resided on the back of his hand.
He also had to remind himself that Molly didn’t. She hadn’t seen Stars from the beginning and couldn’t really know it was his sister’s passion project come to life. To Molly, everybody else in the city, and possibly the entire country, Stars was the holy grail of baked goods. Especially after the cake Naomi had made for the press conference/party announcing the creation of the label he worked for.
He smiled at her, and when she didn’t really, he squeezed her hand. “You still with me?”
“Give me a minute,” she said as she took a deep breath.
He nodded, then told her, “It’s going to be okay.”
“I know,” she replied, a small smile moving across her face. “That’s what scares me.”
He laughed, then herded her toward the entrance of the shop. “Here we go,” he said as they walked in. The smell of the place always hit him hard, no matter how much he braced himself. It hit him now, the smell of pastry, as he made his way into the loud and busy bakeshop.
“Do we need to take a number?” she asked, her voice soft and full of awe.
He thought about it, then decided it would probably be better if they went to see if Naomi was there; she usually yelled at him if he didn’t. So he shook his head. “No,” he said. “Not tonight.”
She gasped. “Wow. We . . . don’t need a number. Wow.”
He gripped her shaking hand, grinned, and headed up to the front counter.
“You need a number, dude,” the young woman behind the counter said.
Jon didn’t recognize her, but that was okay; he didn’t keep track of the people his sister hired. More importantly, as far as he was concerned it was awesome that she needed to hire more people in order to handle her still growing business. He was extraordinarily proud of what his sister had accomplished. “Is Naomi here?” he asked nonchalantly.
“Who’s asking?”
“Her brother,” he replied, smiling. “I know she’ll kill me for not letting her know in advance that I was coming, but tell her I have a surprise for her.”
“She has a brother?” The young woman turned to the person standing next to her.
He didn’t recognize her either.
“Naomi Adelman has a brother?”
As if the confirmation from her coworker wasn’t enough, Jon himself nodded. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his driver’s license, before putting it away and taking out his card case. He passed a card each to them. “Here you are. Confirmation.” he said, smiling, then said to the first counter woman, “It’s fine if she’s not here or she doesn’t want to see me because I’m an idiot. Tell her I said she was right about Austin.”
The woman nodded and walked, leaving the counter, and someone else moved up and took her place.
Jon brought Molly to a chair near a door at the back of the shop.
“Well,” a very familiar voice said moments later. “I still love you, you big dork.”
He got up, and grinned as he hugged Naomi. “Love you, big sister.” He took a step back and looked at her, trying to place the shade of blue she’d dyed her hair. “Blueberry muffin?”
Naomi rolled her eyes, as he expected she would. “Muffins? What?” she said indignantly.
He raised an eyebrow; his sister’s inability to choose a shade that wasn’t food related never surprised him.
“It’s crumble,” she said, “but yeah, I could see it as a muffin.” And then she turned, met Molly’s startled eyes. “You, I presume, are the surprise?”
“Molly,” she said softly. “I’m Molly and I’m—”
“Overwhelmed by my brother’s inability to act like a human being when other people are involved?”
Jon rolled his eyes as Molly laughed. “Yes,” he said, throwing as much sarcasm into the tone as he could. “My loving sister.”
“Yep. The bitch lives in Forest Hills.”
The expression on Molly’s face made him wonder if he’d get out of the bakery alive. And maybe made him think he might not want to.
Molly
JON’S SISTER NAOMI was a hoot. She was sweet, wonderful, and did not bat an eyelash when she sat down to discuss the wide variety of pastries Molly wanted for the party.
“You want both sufganiyot and gulab jamun?”
Molly nodded. “Is that possible?”
Naomi’s smile made Molly grin with excitement. “Serena—my partner in pastry—has been dying to play with those lovely doughnut variations, so you’ll get them. Which means,” she said as she turned to Jon, “Mom’s finally going to get her teigelach for Rosh Hashanah next year.”
Jon’s eyes suddenly shone as bright as his sister’s; it was obvious the two of them loved their mother. “Oooh. So we all get to benefit from Serena’s pastry experimentation. Excellent.”
Finally, despite Jon’s desperate and consistent attempts to interrupt, Molly had finished her order. “So that’s the list,” she said, checking it a second time before taking a deep breath. She felt good, but now wasn’t quite sure what to do. Dinner, maybe? Except she didn’t want dinner; she just wanted more pastries.
“So,” Naomi said, breaking into her thoughts. “Do you guys want to sample or did you just come in to order? ’Cause I need guinea pigs.”
She wasn’t sure how to answer Naomi; there were many words that wanted to come out of her mouth, most of them wrapped up in awe and praise. And maybe a concern as to whether she was being serious or not so much.
“Feed us,” Jon interjected, his hand sliding into place around hers.
Cute boy with suddenly perfect timing? She would have declared her adoration then and there if she wasn’t so terrified. His hand in hers was a calming physical reminder of his presence, and she was more than grateful.
“Please.”
Naomi looked between her and Jon, the expression on her face hopefully veering on the protective side as opposed to the angry sister side. “You’re translating for her already, hmm? Very interesting, Jonny boy. I like that.”
“Thanks,” he managed.
Molly couldn’t help but giggle, and yet as she saw the blush fill his cheeks, she wondered.
“Um . . .”
“Oh don’t worry, you boring silly pants loser,” his sister teased, “this is how things happen when it goes well. At least I think. I hope.”
Molly found it interesting that the implication that they were dating didn’t scare her. In fact, it made her excited.
Jon
AFTER SHE’D STEPPED away from her weird combination of mama bear and giggling Gertie, Jon was pleased that Naomi fed them. A lot. New pastries, old favorites, savory experiments, and sweet classics. She plied them with enough hot cocoa (including one batch Jon was sure she’d spiked), lemonade, water, and tea that he felt he was going to float away. He was sated.
More important to his sanity than the food was watching the effect Naomi had on Molly. She giggled, smiled, and relaxed. His sister plied her with sugar, of course. But Molly’s happiness made him gleeful, and he needed that. Even if some of big sister’s stories came at his expense.
Now, as Molly sat close enough to him to touch beneath the table, it felt more than comfortable. It felt perfect.
“You’re lucky I didn’t bring out the cute baby Jon stories,” Naomi noted, her baker’s hands barely affected by her steaming cup of tea. “But that will happen later if my brother doesn’t screw it up.”
Jon rolled his eyes as Molly looked at him, a bright light in her eyes.
“Really? There are baby Jon stories?”
“Of course there are baby Jon stories,” his sister said, her tone indignant. “There are always stories of baby siblings doing something cute or adorable or pouring flour all over themselves in an attempt to look like frosty the snowman.”
On any other night, in any other situation, he probably would have yelled at his sister. Yet tonight her insistence at bringing up old and embarrassing stories didn’t bother him at all. And he was smart enough to see the difference instantly. It was Molly. Seeing her upset had hurt him, and he wanted to give her things to laugh at, and things to smile about. He also figured that after the crazy, horrible trip he’d taken, he needed some life-affirming silliness that only situations like this could give him
But the expression on his sister’s face deserved some kind of answer. So he shrugged his shoulders and took another swallow of tea. “Fine, whatever,” he said halfheartedly. “Sticks and stones and all that nonsense.”
He saw his sister’s eyes go back and forth between him and Molly. Then Naomi rubbed her hands together and stood up. “Well,” she said. “That was lovely, but it is late now and I need to either get back to work or close the place down for the night. And you two need to get home.”
He looked at his watch, not entirely surprised that it was later than he’d expected. “Thank you, Naomi,” he said as he got up to hug her.
“Love you, too, you little brat,” she returned gleefully.
“Thank you so much,” Molly said. “This was amazing.”
“Welcome to the family,” his sister, the ogre, replied. “Well, at least thank you for letting me meet her first, even though it’s probably not what or when you intended. She paused. “Wait. Is this for the swanky building you moved into after Mom threw a hissy fit?”
He nodded. “Um . . .”
Molly laughed. “Yes,” she replied. “And, for what it’s worth, you’ll fit right in.”
“Excellent,” Naomi returned gleefully. “See you guys at this party?”
Jon, out of words, nodded. “Absolutely.”
Molly
MOLLY WAS THRILLED. Despite the cold, she felt like she could fly. “Oh my God,” she gushed, her voice almost a delirious rasp.
Thankfully, Jon seemed level-headed. The adorable man wasn’t acting like the best thing in the world had just happened. That was probably because to him it hadn’t. After all, it was meeting his sister that had her so star struck. And the fact that he seemed comfortable with her euphoria made her even happier.
“Oh my God,” she said again as she squeezed his hand. As if she’d forgotten the rest of her vocabulary, and every single tone that didn’t reflect awe.
Once again, if it were possible to eat Jon’s expression with a spoon, she would. It was patient, sweet, and happy in its own way. It made her want to kiss him. Then she realized she could. So as the door of Stars and Icing Forever closed behind them, she did. Her back to the door, she stood up on her toes and put her lips on top of his, letting her tongue explore his mouth. All she could think about was how he tasted, how he felt against her. She felt warm, happy, and light.
Until he broke the kiss, reminding her of the winter cold, her heavy jacket, and the dark night.
Yet she couldn’t be angry about it; he looked so sad, she couldn’t do anything but brush the errant strand of hair out of his face and smile back up at him. “We should head back,” he said, his voice full of regret.
Except heading back didn’t have to be bad. In an effort to capture the happiness bubbling up inside of her, she grabbed his hand and began to skip. Which was difficult, because he was laughing, and taller, and it was icy, but they managed to skip together. She did not ask him how (or why) he’d learned to skip; the smile on his face was answer enough. By his side the winter wind didn’t seem as chilly. Like experts, they managed to avoid the patches of ice that turned the sidewalks of midtown into a death trap.
Jon was also smiling again. It turned his face into a work of art. She wanted to explore it, sketch it, something, so she could reproduce the moment anytime she wanted to. It was a glorious smile, the kind you couldn’t make without being genuinely happy. She hadn’t put it there, but she wanted to keep it there. She wanted to make him feel as reckless as she did, and desperately wanted to continue giving him something to smile that way about.
So right in the middle of the street, mere steps away from the parking lot, she kissed him. She ignored the whistles from bystanders and the snarls from people who had to move around them. She focused on the way he tasted and how comfortable he felt against her. Her hands rested on his scarf, then his cheeks. It felt amazing.
She wanted to . . .
He squeezed her hand as he broke the kiss.
“I heart you like this,” he said. “I really—”
“Heart, hmm?” She grinned, tried not to laugh as she squeezed his hand. “Think I could light you up like a menorah.” His blush was adorable, yet it made her wonder whether she’d gone too far.
“Let’s put it this way,” he said. “I don’t think finding afikomen is going to be difficult . . .”
And immediately, as playfully as she’d been, he was able to mix his metaphors and follow where she’d taken him. Which made her kiss him again, this time damning her gloves to the other side of the planet, wishing she was standing on a beach instead of the cold city sidewalk, dreaming of pulling her fingers through his hair, not her gloves just above his hat.
“Mmm,” he replied. “My place is closer.”
“One floor?” she wailed against his cheek.
“Come on,” he said, before dropping an unexpected kiss on her lips. “Let’s get to the car.”
His intentions were clear and she nodded, taking his offered hand in hers
“On three?”
She nodded, and then, on his signal, as fast as they dared, hand in hand, they raced across the icy streets to the car. They stopped at the passenger side and he kissed her quickly before he opened the door for her. Now, she felt his hands cupping her butt above her coat. She felt the urgency in the kiss, but knew he was desperately trying not to pin her against the car or anything that she couldn’t get out of.
But then he let her go, his mouth separating from hers, the loss a bitter taste on her tongue.
“Do we?”
“Upstairs,” he said, sighing even as he rubbed his face with his hands in what had to be defeat. “Otherwise I won’t be able to drive.”
“Fair point,” she returned, knowing full well what he meant even if he hadn’t been clear about it. She was also glad he felt the loss of their physical parting as keenly as she did. The last thing she wanted was to feel like this and not have it reciprocated.
But she discovered that she wasn’t alone in her agony as she watched him take the long way toward the driver’s seat, behind the car and not in front of it. She watched each careful step he took till he got around to the driver’s side. Then she watched him open his door and get in.
Then it was her turn, and as she settled in and closed the door, she took a deep breath, rubbing her arms even as she found it colder inside his car than she’d been outside it. She found herself hoping, even praying, that they wouldn’t hit traffic, a fuller than normal parking lot, or any other obstacles that would obscure the path between this car ride and his apartment. The faster they got there the better, she decided, as he pulled out of the space.
Jon
THIS WAS THE kind of night Jon hated having brought his car. He wanted to hold her on the subway, kiss her as it sped along the tracks and through midtown then up to their stop. He wished he could have held her hand and ran with her up the stairs and along the street, through the bitter cold and into the building, kissed her again as the doorman looked on, scandalized.
Instead, he had to drive, and focus on the crazy midtown traffic. He had to steal glimpses as she sat in the passenger seat, too close and yet too far away. He had to let the music he chose set the tone and the mood, let the lyrics save the place for his words and his hands.
She smiled. He liked the look of that smile, the focus in her eyes.
“Hmm.”
He held his breath and tried not to drive too quickly through the streets of the city; there were lights, cars, crazy pedestrians with a death wish, and buses that had to get where they were going, drivers of horrible looking cars be damned. All of them were an obstacle to him touching her. He hated it. Wished there was some kind of transporter or something that would save him the effort.
Yet when he finally pulled into the parking garage, he was grateful. Except he had to remind himself that the journey wasn’t finished. He still had to get to his space and park in a way that didn’t destroy his car. So he forced himself to breathe, to steady his hands and drive safely. Ten and two on the wheel, inhaling as he turned into his space, hoping he didn’t have to adjust too much. He needed to find the lines and not cross them.
He set the parking break and pulled off his seat belt.
Then he felt her hands on his arm and turned toward her. He put his lips on hers. Her fingertips finding purchase beneath his scarf, on the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. He leaned in over the emergency brake and the console, his fingers questing under her hat.
She tasted of the herbal tea his sister had given them and the sugary pastries she’d eaten afterward. He’d regretted not being able to lick the powdered sugar off her nose, but this . . . this kiss, this powerful moment, was no time for regrets.
“Mmm?”
He tried not to focus on the sound but on the moment and the feel of it.
She pulled him closer. “You with me?”
She sounded out of breath, which was a good thing, but it took time (and her tongue) away from his mouth. “Yeah,” he murmured against her lips. But then he realized . . .
She pulled back even farther. “Upstairs?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
Molly
THIS TIME WHEN she kissed him in the elevator, she didn’t give a damn who was watching. She could barely force her fingers away from the zipper of his coat before he began to move it down the track. His hat fell away easily, and she let her fingers luxuriate in the silken perfection that was his hair.
His mouth felt strong and powerful against hers; he didn’t hide from the kiss this time, didn’t seem to take a moment to remember himself or his surroundings, like he had in the car. She liked him like this, liked the way his mouth felt against hers. Almost as if by their own accord, her hands found the zipper of his coat, then buried themselves beneath it, wrapping themselves around the waist of his pants, brushing against the softness of his flannel shirt.
He let her push him against the elevator wall, and it took almost a Herculean effort on her part not to jump up, grab his shoulders, and put her legs where her hands had been.
But she didn’t. And when the elevator bell sounded, he kissed her cheek.
“Your place?”
“My floor,” he murmured into her ear.
Then he lifted her, easily and calmly, into his arms.
She grinned up at him as he carried her out of the elevator and into the hallway. She also tried to remember the last time someone had lifted her, held her in this way, then realized this was a first.
“I like the way this feels,” she said, luxuriating in his unexpected strength.
“You like it?” he asked, his eyes as excited as the smile on his face.
“I heart it,” she returned as they reached his apartment.
Jon
“NOW WE’RE GETTING somewhere,” he said as he attempted to reach for his keys. “Heart, hmm?”
She nodded. “Heart.”
“I think this is one of those moments where I wish I’d paid the money for the security system that lets you open your door with the touch of a button.”
“One of those moments?”
He found himself laughing, although he understood the reason for the tease. “One of those, yeah. You know. When your arms are full, from grocery shopping or something like that.”
“Something like that?”
He laughed, but then, with the expression on her face, he realized he had to clarify. “You know, this is the first time I’ve done this. I mean carried a girl that I might—”
“A girl?”
“A girl . . . a woman that I might heart.”
She laughed, and he loved the sound of that laugh. “Might heart?”
“Might.”
And then she kissed him against the doorway, and the force of her lips on his felt like fire. It was perfect.
“I’d have to heart someone who I was bringing in here, you know,” he said. “To my own private mess.”
After punctuating his words with kisses, he proceeded to carry her across the threshold, laying her across the horrible futon that sat, like the eyesore it was, in the middle of his living room.
“I’d have to heart someone who was bringing me here,” she replied, her voice holding a hint of wickedness, of excitement.
He watched as she took off her coat, letting it join the one he’d managed to remove. Then she kneeled and reached up, grabbing his scarf and using it to pull him down toward her. Their lips met in the middle, the feel of them so powerful and strong.
His shirt was flannel, buttoned, and came off easily. Her dress and tights joined it shortly as her hands made short work of his pants, his questing fingers meeting the wet silk of her panties.
“Oh God,” she moaned in a voice that made him reckless.
Molly
HE EXPLORED HER beneath her panties, searching for her clit. His fingers were agile and gentle, and she wanted more of them on her. But the touch of his fingers deep inside of her made her want to scream. His fingers knew what they were doing, and she grabbed at his shoulder and cried out against him.
He kissed her shoulder, then she watched him stand. She had no choice but to marvel at the sight of him; his body was beautiful. Like a runner’s; tight in all the right places, muscular but not the overly huge muscles of someone who lifted weights. He was perfect, and much stronger than she’d expected beneath the heavy clothing they had to wear.
“Be right back,” he whispered.
She nodded, and wondered where he was going. Then she remembered that their apartments had the same floor pattern, so he was either headed to the bathroom or his bedroom. She grinned, anticipating what would happen when he came back. She wanted more of him.
She watched the halls, the walls, and then her mind started to wander toward the apartment and what it would look like with just a little love. It was a blank canvas; maybe she’d suggest some darker colors on the walls, put some comfortable furniture in the living room that he could fall into if he was too tired to make it to his bedroom . . .
The sound of footsteps against the wooden floor of the hallway echoed across the apartment. She sat up, trying to see who it was, then smiled, remembered that it was only the two of them before relaxing at the prospect of his return. Reality, she decided, was much sweeter than her daydreams.
“Welcome back,” she said as he slowly got back onto the mattress, brandishing the condom he’d gotten like a flag.
“Miss me?” he murmured as he settled back in to join her, ripping the condom open and putting it on.
“Yes,” she replied, grinning. “I definitely did.”
Now that she knew what he could do with his hands, she didn’t want preamble. She was already wet and ready. That meant there was no obstacle between her and her desire to have his dick inside of her, making her come in the same way his fingers did.
“I need you,” she murmured.
Thankfully, he understood what she meant. There was no more foreplay, just entry. She was ready for him. He wasted no time; he was big, ready, and she knew he’d fit inside of her like a glove. And he entered her slowly, pushing past her resistance, before she felt him settle, her body moving to fit around him.
She felt his hands grip her shoulders, and found herself drawn to the graceful curve of his hips. She looked up at him, put her hands around his waist and moved with him as he rocked back and forth. The wave, the feel and the motion and the . . .
“Oh . . .”
“Right with you,” he grated, his words a gasp. “I . . .”
And then she felt it, the tightening and the sudden loosening. Magic, perfection, and the best kind of exhaustion. The grip of his hands tightened on her shoulders, and she heard the moan that came from deep inside his throat. And then, as they both lay exhausted on the mattress, she smiled at him and kissed his sweaty cheek.
Molly
SOMEWHERE IN THE darkness, Molly heard Jon’s voice
“Tea?” he murmured.
“Mmm . . .”
He kissed her forehead, got up and headed out of the living room. She, watched, transfixed, as he maneuvered around his kitchen, using a hot water thermos she hadn’t noticed before to fill two cups. He was so comfortable in his kitchen, moved around it so well. She wished she could move half as well around her entire apartment.
But there he was, and when he returned with two cups of tea, she took hers carefully in both of her hands and sat with her back against his chest, one of his arms wrapped around her.
“I like this,” she said.
She heard the rumbling of his chest before she heard him speak. “I do, too. Think I could get used to this.”
She smiled, feeling the slight heat of blush on her cheeks. “Yeah.”
“Wish I didn’t have to go,” he said. “But I have a few more hours in this mess.”
“Where to this time?”
He put his cup down and carefully pulled her closer. “Nashville. They’re thinking about opening another office down there, and they’ve got a really good Jewish music scene.”
“You been?”
“No. Not yet. They tell me it’s great, though.”
“Mm. Mess?”
He laughed, and he turned, so she could see the look in his eyes. “Yeah. Mess. I’m starting to think I should, at some point soon, start to put some effort into making this place seem more like a home than a frat house.”
His face was all contemplation, dreaming of the future. The model she’d been playing with earlier popped back into her mind unbidden. Like she needed any help to start playing with spaces. There was a reason she did what she did, after all.
“I see the wheels turning,” he said, kissing her forehead. “I absolutely see those wheels turning. And maybe, at some point soon, when I’m home for a bit longer than twelve hours, we can discuss it.”
“It’s not my fault I see furniture and colors when you see music,” she quipped. “So come on, you know I’m going to ask.”
He nodded. “Yeah. I do know you’re dying to ask.”
She looked up at him, and she could see the wheels turning in his eyes.
“And it probably might help to talk it out with you before I actually go ahead and do something.”
He’d said the last grudgingly, as if he really didn’t want to.
“It’s fine,” she said. “We don’t have to do this now.”
He laughed and kissed her forehead, snuggling closer in to her. “You said the magic words, you know. You said this for you is like music for me. So come on. Ask me.”
She shook her head and sighed. “So what would you do?”
He shrugged, sighed. She could see his words weren’t going to come easy. Finally, he smiled. “I guess the first thing would be to make this an actual living room, you know? Get a sofa that matched the vibe of coming in here, with people or myself. Something that I could listen to some tunes on. A bookcase or something.”
Her mental model got a bit more detailed. Dark colors, comfortable couches, like she’d thought of, a stereo and a cabinet with space for CDs or whatever sound system he wanted. Maybe a TV on the wall.
“Then I’d turn my bedroom into an actual bedroom instead of storage. A nice bed, place to put stuff. Not picky. A desk for the second bedroom. Really turn it into an office.”
The mental model expanded from a room to the whole apartment. She allowed his words to shape it; a smaller stereo system, desk space, folder space in the second bedroom. Comfortable carpeting, maybe space for a fridge. And then a bed, dresser, and a table for the bedroom. Another TV on the wall in the bedroom?
She thought a bit more, then opened her eyes to see the look on his face. “I’m sorry?”
“It’s fine,” he replied, smiling back at her. “I opened the door for a reason.” He pressed a kiss to her temple, smiling back at her. “Go on, where are we now?”
She had more ideas in mind, but this was going to be his place when he got around to it, his idea. Which meant she had one more question to ask him. “Any colors?”
This was the one that seemed to catch him off guard. He shrugged his shoulders, then settled back in. “Don’t know,” he finally said, trailing off as he looked around the room. “Maybe blue, white. I’m an Empires fan.”
“Empires?”
“New York Empires. Semenov, Emerson, that new guy, they call him lucky seven?”
She tried to look interested, tried to muster a degree of understanding, at least.
“Hockey?”
She shook her head. “No . . .”
He raised an eyebrow, as if to say that of everything they’d talked about, this was the thing he was most surprised about. “You’re not interested at all?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. Not really.”
He nodded, squeezed her shoulder then closed his eyes again. “Colors, right? Um . . . blue, white, red? Maybe?”
Her fingers itched for paper, pen; some way to transcribe the model from her head onto paper. Maybe a sketch?
But instead of giving her a pad, he took her hand in his. “I like this.”
“Me, too,” she said, kissing his cheek. “A lot.”
He took her teacup, and she watched as he brought it toward the kitchen, leaving it on the table. She watched as he walked back to where she lay on the bed, all long legs and hips that swayed. She watched in happy anticipation as he climbed back onto the futon, curling up next to her. She put her head on his chest.
“I leave in a few hours,” he whispered. “But for now, we’re perfect.”