Chapter Seven

After several strong cups of coffee—that triggered a caffeine hangover—Beth read through and revised the two scenes she’d written during the night, and add another scene to the draft. She’d thought of a dozen different meet-cutes for her two protagonists, and eventually wrote the scene, but she was already unsatisfied with it. In California, she’d been part of a romance reading group, but never a writing group. She wondered whether she should try to find a group here. Writing in insolation sounded good a year ago, but the downsides were already emerging. How did she know if what she was writing was any good? Connie had offered to be a beta reader, but only once a book was written.

She searched online and didn’t find a local group, but she found a group in Albuquerque with a website announcing they were having an online presentation the following weekend, by an author she recognized, and it was on creating compelling meet-cutes, so she signed up to attend it. When she’d bought this house, her number one requirement was good internet access. Luckily, this rural road had been wired for cable many years before, and the cable company offered high-speed internet.

So far, in her two days here, the service had been reliable. She’d had no trouble getting online, and the streaming of shows and movies had been decent. She shouldn’t have any trouble attending an online meeting. The internet also meant her smart phone could now use her wireless network for most of her requirements since cell reception was weak this far from the nearest cell tower. She’d programmed her phone to use the Wi-Fi after breakfast. She didn’t want to miss any calls or texts.

Her thoughts kept straying to Chris, their date, and that goodnight kiss. She didn’t remember her body responding quite that way to a kiss before. Of course, she’d read about such kisses and physical reactions in romance books, but had wondered whether they were exaggerations created to enhance the fantasy in the books. Apparently, they were not.

Still, was Chris the spark intensifying her desire, or was it the idea of being with someone new, someone so unlike any other men she’d known, someone so masculine? She’d never kissed a man with a beard before and she discovered it was a huge turn-on for her. While his beard was surprisingly soft, his lips had been even softer. Almost like a metaphor for Chris: rough on the outside, but soft on the inside. The guy had helped raise a kid he hadn’t planned on having, even with a woman he clearly didn’t like or trust.

Better than soft on the outside and cold and mean on the inside. Her ex hadn’t been cruel, exactly, but as the years progressed, he’d been increasingly indifferent. Increasingly selfish. They rarely fought, but that was a credit to Beth’s decision not to engage in petty arguments.

She had been a little cold herself. As she thought about it, whenever Kyle had started in on her, trying to instigate a fight, she’d repressed her own anger, modulated her temper and did her best to deal with him in the same manner she’d handled her high school students when they were acting out. Usually, after only a few minutes, Kyle had shaken his head and left to be somewhere else—the study, work, the bar on PCH not far from the house. When he returned, they’d acted as if they had not had a disagreement.

Not that Beth didn’t want to fight; it was that she didn’t want the fighting to devolve into name-calling and insults. Since that was Kyle’s fallback strategy whenever he couldn’t convince her to agree with him about something, she’d done her best to shut their disagreements down logically, using a calm, no-nonsense demeanor. She thought it was better to avoid arguments altogether than to tear each other down, using words like weapons. In fact, she’d become so sensitive to the early signs of a conversation derailing towards a fight, she’d learned to employ evasive strategies of her own simply to sidestep the problem.

But couples are supposed to fight, at least once in a while. Still, she did not regret refusing to engage in damaging and unkind behavior. She’d been lucky to grow up in a home where disagreements were addressed fairly and compromise was the norm. If she was ever going to be in a relationship again, disagreements would have to be handled like they’d been in her family growing up. She’d tried to impose the approach on her marriage, but had ultimately failed. Did 30 years of engaging in dysfunctional fighting affect her own skills? It was one thing to take an aloof position when it was with students, a position of superior knowledge, and another to do so with another adult.

She wondered how Chris would handle disagreements?

She and Chris were older, more mature. If they continued to date, she knew they’d eventually disagree on something, especially having lived such different lifestyles. She made a conscious decision to pay attention to how Chris behaved when they had a disagreement. If he got mean or controlling, she’d cut off contact. The beauty of being older, of starting fresh, was she would set boundaries she’d never set when she was younger. She knew herself, and what she wanted from her relationships with people now. She knew she didn’t want to be with someone who used disagreements to strike out and hurt others. She’d rather be alone than have challenging relationships.

It was the same with friends. She’d lost friends over the years as interests changed and as she changed. Life felt short and precious, and she didn’t want to spend a day of it in the company of someone she didn’t enjoy being around. Plenty of people were nice, but it didn’t mean they had enough in common to be around each other. She thought about one friend from work, Shelley, who’d actively tried to talk her out of her plan to write romance novels because they were nothing more than fluff. Shelley didn’t understand Beth’s love and appreciation of the genre, since they were both college-educated and well-read in the classics. In truth, lots of romance readers were college-educated, as were the authors who wrote. At least a few of her favorite authors had advanced degrees in history and English.

She smiled, thinking about how Chris had been open to the idea she wanted to write romance novels. Of course, he told her he’d barely made it through high school, so he wasn’t likely to have been turned into a literary snob like many of her friends with college degrees were. That brought up another concern of hers, though. One thing her ex and she had shared was a love of reading. Granted, Kyle read nonfiction business books for self-betterment, while she read novels. But they kept a regular habit of reading together over the years.

On holidays where they spent time on beaches, they had filled the time with their companionable reading. It had been nice to have a partner who was content to read alongside her while soaking up the sun and sipping cocktails. If she dated someone who didn’t read, then when would she read? She liked to read in the late afternoons and early evenings.

She gave herself a mental slap. She was getting ahead of herself. She didn’t have any intention of seriously dating, much less living with or vacationing with a new partner soon. Her time was her own, and no one had power over what she did or when she did it. The divorce had been like a weight lifting off her shoulders.

Despite both having busy careers, she’d taken care of most of the day-to-day life tasks like cooking, housecleaning, laundry, and paying the bills. She even managed the maintenance of her own car, getting it serviced and filling it with gas. They didn’t pay for house-cleaning, but they paid for a landscaper to do most of the weeding. Kyle actually did very little. He justified her doing most of the work related to the home on the fact she had a less demanding job. He often worked ten-hour days. It was a point of contention since she often spent her afternoons and weekends grading papers in her home office. She’d done her prep work on Sunday mornings while he golfed. Another thing on the list added to their mutual resentments. Taking care of only herself now was far less time-consuming than taking care of the two of them.

So, if Chris didn’t read much? Not really an issue. He’d been a great conversationalist at dinner, managing the back-and-forth sharing of stories. He was intelligent and thoughtful. His stories about being a builder had been interesting and only made her like him more. Over and over, it became clear he was someone with integrity, someone who liked to do a good job at a fair price. People hired him again and again based on the quality of his work. Besides, he’d brought up the idea of her reading to him. She wondered how many paragraphs she could get through reading a sex scene before he jumped her. Okay. She could work with the idea.

She got up from the desk and stretched. She was still tired from skipping a full night’s sleep. She wouldn’t trade sleep for writing next time. She wondered if an afternoon nap would wreck the upcoming night’s sleep, then decided a half hour would be enough to refresh her without triggering another night of insomnia.

She stripped down to her underwear, and since the house was warm, she crawled into bed without putting on her pajamas. She didn’t set her watch alarm because she didn’t expect to rest for too long. She dropped off in minutes.

A firm knocking on her door roused her out of deep sleep. As she opened her eyes, she noted the light in the room implied the hour was approaching sunset. Shoot. She’d slept much longer than she’d planned. She threw off her covers and grabbed a silk robe before going to see who was at her door. She had a strong suspicion she knew who it was. She peeked through the peephole and, yeah, it was Chris.

She checked her image in a mirror she had by the door and finger combed her hair, which was looking a bit wild. Then she made sure her robe, which had a modest lining, was in place and tied tight, before opening the door.

“Hi,” she greeted Chris.

He looked her over, his eyes running from the top of her uncombed hair, down over her bare face, down the V of the floral robe’s collar, down, down past the knee-length fabric, and over her bare legs and feet. When he looked up at her eyes again, the heat in them could have started a fire in her kiva fireplace. Her nipples tightened and no amount of fabric lining was going to camouflage her reaction to his perusal. His knowing grin stretched across his face, his teeth gleaming white from underneath his beard. Little Red Riding Hood wouldn’t have mistaken him for her grandmother with that devilish face. She sucked in a deep breath.

“Hi to you, too. I brought dinner. I hope you haven’t eaten.”

She’d only had a bowl of soup for brunch, and the aroma coming from the sack he carried started her stomach growling.

“I guess that answers my question,” he grinned. He tipped his head expectantly.

“Oh, of course, come in.” He distracted her with his ardent gazes in ways she’d never thought she’d experience outside her fantasies.

She led him into the kitchen and gestured to the table.

“Go ahead and get comfortable. I’ll go throw on some clothes.”

He set the food down on the table and caught her hand to draw her to him.

“Wait. I need a hello kiss.”

He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her slow and deep. His lips were so soft and tender, a heady contrast to the rougher texture of his beard. She was breathless when he pulled his lips away. He looked flushed himself.

“You don’t need to get dressed on my account. You look perfect to me the way you are.”

Beth laughed, self-consciously. “You might not mind, but I wouldn’t be able to relax.” Because she’d be thinking about him sliding the robe off her shoulders and kissing her between her legs.

“Okay,” he told her, giving her another, softer kiss on the lips. “But don’t go to trouble on my account. Anything you put on will be fine.”

Beth hustled out of the room and into her bedroom. Deciding to take him at his word, she slipped back into the oversized t-shirt and black yoga pants she’d been wearing earlier. She debated putting on a bra, but she hated wearing them, so she abandoned that idea. The t-shirt was baggy enough to obscure the outlines of her breasts. She swept her hair up into a messy bun and slipped into a pair of fuzzy slippers with bunnies on the tops, a silly gift from her sister on her last birthday.

When she went back into the kitchen, she discovered Chris had found her plates, utensils, and a couple of wine glasses, and set the table. He was opening a bottle of chilled white wine he’d taken from her fridge.

“I hope you don’t mind I’m opening this bottle?”

“Not at all. You brought the food, I’m happy to supply the wine. What did you bring us?”

“The best BBQ in central New Mexico. A buddy of mine owns a rundown shack of a restaurant you’d never want to eat at, but the takeaway is excellent.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to eat there?”

“There are only a few tables, and the last time I ate there, I left with a splinter in my ass from the rotting wood bench I sat on outside.”

Beth moaned in pleasure at the smells as she unpacked the large brown paper sack with takeaway containers. It looked like enough food for a dozen people. Popping the lids revealed short ribs, brisket, polish sausage, coleslaw, baked beans, potato salad, mac ‘n cheese, corn muffins, and peach cobbler.

Beth set out the containers in a row on her countertop.

“That must have been a challenge to remove a sliver in such an inconvenient place, all on your own. Or did you have someone help?”

“I wasn’t asking any of my friends, that’s for damned sure. I had to sit on a pillow and drive down to my sister’s place in Albuquerque and ask her to remove it. She’s a nurse, by the way. But it was still embarrassing. I’m sure she’ll be telling that story till the day she dies. Hell, she’s my younger sister, so she’ll probably tell it at my funeral.”

She laughed. The fondness Chris had for his sister was clear in his warm voice.

“Are you planning on inviting anyone else to dinner? This is a lot of food.”

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got a little of everything. Regardless, it all makes good leftovers.”

Beth added serving spoons and forks to each item, then accepted a glass of wine from Chris as they loaded their plates and sat down to eat.

“If I hang out with you, I’m going to get very fat,” Beth said, taking a bite of tender brisket, then moaning at the way it felt apart on her tongue.

“You could afford to put on a few pounds and still look damn good.”

She speared a bit of potato salad and pointed her fork at him. “You say that now, but once the weight’s been gained, then it’s all, ‘You should have a salad tonight, honey’ or ‘How many steps did you walk today, dear?’”

Chris reached out and caught her hand, pulled it over and ate the potatoes off the fork.

“Or you make a habit of eating the food on my plate, so I won’t,” she teased.

Chris swallowed. “Is that what your ex did?”

Beth tilted her head at him, contemplating how much she wanted to reveal about the type of personal criticism she’d tolerated in her marriage.

“Let’s say portion control and regular exercise were frequent topics of discussion in our house. Needless to say, the topics bore me to death, now.”

Chris shook his head. He might not have always treated women like fragile, precious individuals, but he’d never cared whether women were physically perfect or meeting some standard of ideal beauty. He liked women in all varieties, and as long as he’d been enjoying himself, he hadn’t bothered to even think about their weight. Since he never wanted a girlfriend or wife, he’d never associated women as someone representing him. If women were happy with their looks, then so was he. If he avoided a woman at the club, it wasn’t because of the way she looked; it was because she seemed unhappy, clingy, or acted like a bitch.

He was serious about Beth’s weight as well. She could carry more if she wanted, and still be healthy and attractive. Of course, she was a knock-out, slender and fit, with smooth, thin legs. He wasn’t so clueless he didn’t know she was thin and well kept. He figured she wouldn’t be interested in him if he let himself gain too much weight.

He knew women liked his body, and what he could do with it…or at least what he’d been able to do with it in the past. But he was no gym rat or athlete. His body resulted from hard physical labor. Moving all day. Lifting, carrying lumber and supplies, hammering, sawing, drilling. Tearing down walls and building new ones. He didn’t do as much labor as he used to, but he did enough to maintain his muscles. Working in construction was hard on the body, and he had developed arthritis. Sore muscles didn’t recover as quickly as they once did. His left knee gave him trouble once in a while, but otherwise he was in good shape for his age.

He watched Beth eat with gusto. She’d loved the food last night, too. Someone once said they didn’t trust someone who didn’t enjoy eating. He was of a similar mind. Life was for enjoying and living, and that led to aging. Truth was, they weren’t in their 20s anymore, or even their 30s, and whether or not they stayed thin, they both showed their age—wrinkles, physical aches and pains, gray hair. Truth was Beth was a knock-out, but he didn’t think that was the thing making him rethink his priorities and his lifestyle.

He’d been mulling on it all day. It was a coming together of several events: age, experience, his health, a little loneliness, and Beth herself. The lifestyle he’d maintained for decades had grown unfulfilling.

Now, he wondered, had he kept that lifestyle for so long because it suited him, or because no woman had ever made him long for something different? Why hadn’t it happened sooner, with a local woman who would have been…easy? Who would have dropped everything to be with him? For whom he’d have been a step up in life, a prize?

Instead, here he was, courting this sophisticated woman who was so far out of his league he didn’t have a clue why she was letting him spend time with her. She was educated, financially independent, devoted to her own interests.

He looked around, noticing how settled in the house already looked. Decorated. The furniture and appliances were top end. The chair he was sitting on wasn’t purchased at some strip mall furniture outlet, like his own had been. The hutch along the dining room wall looked to be an antique, 17^th Century French, if he guessed correctly. Through the opening into the living room, he could see the artfully arranged pieces, all looking expensive and comfortable. He could swear he’d seen that couch in a fancy architectural magazine a few years back.

He might be a successful contractor, working in the real estate industry, but he couldn’t afford $10,000 sofas. And he sure as shit didn’t collapse into them at the end of the day in his dirty work clothes, or put his feet up on that hand-carved wooden coffee table. He looked down and noted, with relief, that the kitchen table wasn’t fancy, and though it might have been expensive, part of its value came from the oak’s worn grooves and countless stains, acquired over years and polished into a rich patina. It might even have come with the house. He’d been inside a couple of times when Pearl was alive, but that was at least two years ago.

“Is everything okay?” Beth interrupted the silence he realized had grown uncomfortable.

He took a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine.” He took another bite of his brisket.

“You looked like you disappeared there for a moment,” she laughed, sounding nervous.

He shook his head and gave her a grim smile. “Thinking about stuff.”

She took a sip of wine. “What stuff?”

“How different our lives have been.”

“Does it have to be a bad thing?”

“No. Sitting here in your house, though, made me realize how out of my league you are.”

“My house makes you feel like I’m out of your league?”

He gestured at the antique hutch. “How much is that worth?”

“I don’t know. I inherited it from my great aunt when I was twenty. It wouldn’t be in my budget these days.”

“Okay, what about that couch?” He pointed through the room opening towards the living room.

She smiled at him. “It’s true. The sectional is from a design house. But I bought it secondhand at an estate sale five years ago and had it recovered. I paid five grand for it then spent another two to get it redone in that fabric. It was back when I was employed, and married to someone who made lots of money. Again. Today, it would be too expensive for me to buy. Not new, anyway.”

Chris looked down and took another bite of his coleslaw, pondering her explanations, thinking about her outfit from the previous night. Thinking about that authentic silk robe she’d been wearing when she opened the door. He hadn’t grabbed her like he wanted to because he was sure he’d snag the material with his calloused fingers.

“I know it looks like I’m high maintenance,” Beth said, defensively. “And I have been in the past. It was expected of me, and in the circles where I ran. I can’t change that about my past. And I will not give up beloved pieces of furniture or clothing I already own because I couldn’t buy them today. I’m grateful to have things that will last my lifetime. I’m grateful I don’t need to buy much. The appliances for this house were my last big spending splurge.”

Chris started to speak, but she cut him off.

“I’m not going to change who I am, or start buying my clothes at the warehouse store. I may have made huge changes in my life, retiring early, moving to New Mexico, trading teaching for writing, but I am not rejecting the woman I’ve been for decades, either.”

“Shit, no, I didn’t say I wanted you to do that,” Chris groaned. “This is about me, not you.”

“So, tell me what the issue is. For you.”

Chris studied her for a long minute.

“We can’t be friends, Chris, if you think I think I’m somehow superior to you, either financially or intellectually.” The fact she outclassed him on every level, but didn’t acknowledge it surprised him, something that didn’t happen much these days.

His humor returned. “What about physically?”

She lifted her eyebrows and deliberately ran her gaze over his face, his broad shoulders, and his muscled arms.

“I’m definitely not superior to you in that way.”

Instead of grabbing her and hauling her across the table into his lap, he took a bite of the mac ‘n cheese, chewed for a moment, and then swallowed the rich, cheesy bite with a swig of wine. He should have sipped it. Fuck that. Beth was the first woman in 30 years he’d imagined on the back of his bike. He’d specifically never let any women ride behind him because he’d seen how the club women had placed a ton of meaning of getting behind a guy on his bike. They could be as bad as the guys treating people like territory they owned. Riding with a guy was like a stamp of ownership, both ways, really.

Somehow, he knew instinctively Beth would feel right on his bike. He’d be proud to have her there, her long legs hugging his hips, her arms around his waist. Inside, he yearned to put a stamp of ownership on Beth. And let her put one on him.

“I’m not interested in being friends, Beth.”

She looked down at her plate and moved the food around. They’d both eaten their fill for the moment.

“I’ve thought about it, and I prefer to be friends.”

His heart stuttered and closed up. Then she looked up at him with a shy smile.

“With benefits.”

Chris went hard as a rock. Apparently, one of his health issues was no longer a serious concern. Not while Beth was around. He could get turned on even when he was in danger of getting his heart broken. When she’d opened her door wearing a robe, he’d struggled to walk into the house without adjusting himself. He’d carried the bag strategically, and spent most of the time she was changing clothes, thinking of non-sexy things to rein in his response to her. And if she thought that baggy t-shirt hid the fact she didn’t have a bra on, she was fooling herself.

“What do you say we store this food in the fridge and I show you why I bought that fancy sofa and then had it shipped all the way here from California?”

Chris stood up so fast his heavy wooden chair nearly tipped over. He felt like a teenager home alone with his first girlfriend. No, that wasn’t quite right. He suddenly realized his whole life he’d sought out sex because he’d been horny. But here and now, Beth was the one making him hungry for sex. The drive wasn’t anonymous; it was directly tied to the way Beth made him feel and to the ideas he was having about her.

Beth stood as well, and quickly, without taking much care, they closed up the food and packed it into the fridge.

Chris went to the sink and quickly rinsed his face and beard, wiping himself dry with a paper towel. BBQ and beards were a messy combination.

Beth topped off their wine glasses and carried them into the living room, where she set them down on coasters.

When she noticed him making note of the coasters, she explained, “Got to take care of the things I’m not willing to pay to replace, right?”

He kicked off his work boots and tackled her to the sofa. The deep, wide, heavenly sofa. She shrieked and laughed. They tussled for a moment as he reached around to knock off her slippers. Bunny slippers. The woman was sweet as sugar. They should have been a turnoff, but apparently, he found fuzzy slippers sexy. Then, she was under him, her legs spread to make room for his hips, and their faces inches apart.

“So, Beth, what benefits are you interested in adding to our friendship?”

She stroked his beard with her fingertips, sliding them through the hair and sending shivers down his neck.

“We could start with kisses.”

“I like that idea. A lot.”

He moved in and brushed his lips against hers a couple of times. The passionate kiss from the night before rushed into his mind, and he pressed for her to open to his tongue. She did, and he dove in, tasting wine, salty BBQ and Beth. He pushed his cock against her pelvis, seeking contact that would make her as turned on as he was. She rocked up into him, then hooked her outside leg up around his back and locked their bodies together.

Propping himself up on his left side, Chris caught hold of the bottom of Beth’s t-shirt and yanked it up. She helped him by lifting her arms and pulling the top completely off, flinging it to the floor behind her. Chris stopped to appreciate how clear and soft her skin looked. He ran his hands across her skin, traced down her neck with the tips of his fingers, down over her collarbone, and down between her small, pert breasts.

“Jesus, I know I keep saying this, but you’re gorgeous.”

He cupped a breast and she arched up into his hand. He played with her breast, appreciating its firm shape and pink-tipped nipple. They sat high on her chest, considering her age. He dipped his head and took a nipple into his mouth, laving and sucking on it before nipping it and earning a cry of surprise and then a moan. He moved onto the other breast, giving it the same attention until her nipples were hard as little pebbles.

“This feels like more than kisses.”

“Am I going too fast?”

She moaned. “No.”

“Good.”

Rising on his knees, Chris put her legs together and, grabbing hold of the waist of her black knit pants, he tugged them, along with her underwear, clean off her. He gazed with appreciation at her naked body, spread out under him. Pale, smooth skin that felt like silk as he ran his hands greedily over it. Not the body of a 20-year-old, no. More delicate, softer, more fragile. Something that made him want to take care of it, protect it, treasure it.

“Um…I’m uncomfortable being naked while you still have all your clothes on.”

“If I get undressed, this is going to become much more than about kissing.”

“Isn’t it already?”

“Not really. Because I’m still only planning to kiss you all over.”