The girl is gorgeous as she stands in the doorframe, stammering.
“Um weird. I wonder how it got into your backyard,” she says as a blush covers her cheeks.
My eyebrow quirks.
“Want to invite me in so we can talk about it?”
For a moment, I’m afraid Margot is going to say no. After all, it’s dark now and I’m a huge, muscular man whom she doesn’t really know. We only met formally this afternoon, so I can understand why she doesn’t want to let me into her house.
But after biting her lip, she nods.
“Come on in,” she says, stepping back to let me into her kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you a drink?”
I step in and the curvy girl closes the front door behind me. Suddenly, a golden retriever whizzes like a streak of lightning through the kitchen before jumping on me excitedly. His tail is wagging up a mile and his doggy face smiles with pure joy.
“Hey boy,” I say while petting his head. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Margot looks exceedingly embarrassed.
“Buster, down,” she commands. “Ignore him. He gets excited whenever someone new comes over.”
I laugh and look around as Buster gives one short yelp and then disappears into the darkness once again. The setting is very homey. In fact, this house is exactly like mine except it’s much shabbier. That’s to be expected. When I was on the market, I was only looking at homes in triple-mint condition because renovations are such a drag. I didn’t want to move into a new home, only to be immediately saddled with dust clouds and construction workers clomping about in their heavy boots.
But Margot’s house has definitely seen its share of wear and tear. The wallpaper is a faded floral print, and the furniture looks spindly and outdated. In fact, the wooden kitchen table has scratches all over it, and the kitchen chairs look like they’re made of a cheap aluminum with plastic seats and backs.
“I’m sorry my place isn’t nicer,” she hedges while grabbing a glass from the cupboard. “I’m just renting, but it’s all I could afford.”
I nod.
“No this place is nice,” I say sincerely. “You’ve done a good job with it.”
My sentiment is real too because the house is spic and span. There’s no dust or grime anywhere, and Margot’s hung up cheery prints on the walls. Plus, the curtains at the kitchen window look to be homemade, with their scalloped edges and lacey sashes.
“Um, I like to craft sometimes,” she says, seeing where I’m looking. “I sewed those curtains using my grandma’s old Singer sewing machine,” she says ruefully. “I wasn’t sure that that thing even ran, but lo and behold, the foot pedal worked and I was able to put together those curtains.”
“They’re really nice,” I remark. Then I look at her more closely. She’s wearing jeans and a top, but something about the top makes me ask, “Do you sew your own clothes as well?”
Margot blushes again while handing me the glass of water. Our fingers brush momentarily and shivers go down my spine. Holy shit, she’s hot. I can’t wait to see what happens if even that small touch causes me to go hard.
She nods before smiling at me hesitantly again.
“I do. I’m surprised you can tell,” she says. “Most people, much less guys, never notice.”
I let my eyes roam over her ample figure as she quivers before me. Wow, her breasts must be Double Ds at least and her wide hips swing attractively as she goes over to the fridge. But then Margot pauses.
“Oh shit, do you want a beer? I meant to offer you that option, but then I got you a water instead.”
I laugh.
“No, it’s okay. I had three beers at the block party, so I’m good for the night. Water hits the spot.”
She smiles and then comes back over to sit in the chair opposite mine. I can hardly tear my eyes away from that giant bosom, her breasts cushioned just so within the scoop neck. Margot is exactly what I need right now, and hopefully I can literally charm her pants off tonight.
“So yes, this top I actually made myself,” she admits, looking down at the purple t-shirt. “It’s kind of ironic because you can buy t-shirts from Costco or Walmart for about five dollars, but I like making things myself even if it ends up costing more.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say sincerely. “It fits you really well.”
This is true because the purple fabric hugs those Double Ds without being vulgar, and the décolletage shows off her big breasts without giving everything away. Small cap sleeves highlight her arms, and then the fabric tapers and skims her middle.
“Oh thanks,” she says, blushing again. “A couple of my friends have asked me to make t-shirts for them too, but I always say no. It really is cheaper to go to Walmart or Costco, even if you have to drive to get there. And I’m always afraid that after I make something for someone, that they’ll see it and hate it. You know how these things are. Buying something off the rack is sometimes way easier than making something custom.”
In fact, I have no idea because I’m not really into clothing or design, but I smile in what I hope is a friendly manner.
“Yeah, I can see why that might be. Costco and Walmart are so good at keeping down prices that it’s incredible. I know what you mean about costs too. Sometimes I pack my lunch for work, but it’s actually cheaper just to go out and buy a meal sometimes. When you factor in the cost of the ingredients, plus all the time it takes to make a sandwich, sometimes it’s easier just to buy everything ready-made.”
Margot throws her head back and laughs, giving me a glimpse of that slender creamy throat as her brown curls bounce. Wow, this woman is really beautiful. How did I get so lucky?
But then she grows serious once more.
“Yeah, so about Buster’s handkerchief,” she begins hesitantly. “My dog actually has a couple handkerchiefs that he wears. He’s has a really silky coat, and I think it makes him look cute,” she admits.
“Where is Buster now?” I ask while making conversation.
She looks around the kitchen and then peers into the darkness of the living room.
“Buster. Buster!” she calls. “Where are you? Where did you go?”
There’s the scrabbling of doggie nails on hardwood and then the large, playful golden retriever reappears in the doorway. Again, he’s got a big doggie smile on his face and his eyes take in the scene with unabashed joy.
“Heya,” she greets as he rushes her while panting. “How are you, Buster? Where’d you go? I haven’t made formal introductions yet. This is Dane Jones. He lives down the street from us.”
Buster turns to look at me, his tail still wagging up a storm. Then he comes over and puts both paws on my knee and yips once.
“Down Buster,” says Margot sternly. “We don’t do that. Down.”
But I merely laugh and run my hands over the retriever’s silky fur.
“No, it’s okay. He’s friendly, which is part of the reason why I like goldens so much. I used to have one as a kid,” I confide.
“Oh really? What happened to him?” asks Margot.
I shrug and then smile.
“Bruno died after fourteen years with my family. But it’s okay. That’s a long and happy life for a dog, and we consider ourselves the lucky ones who got to know him.”
“Oh you’re a dog person!” exclaims Margot joyously.
“I definitely am,” I admit. “But yeah, Buster’s handkerchief was in my back yard. Care to explain how it got there?”
Margot looks totally flustered again.
“Well, I think I had in my pocket for a while, and maybe it fell out and then the wind blew it into your backyard,” she says in a rushed voice. “Yes. Like the balloons at the block party today. They’re probably being blown all over the neighborhood right now, and tomorrow, you might find one or two balloons stuck in a tree in your backyard.”
“I see,” I say slowly, nodding my head as if pretending to consider it. “I suppose there’s no way Buster got away, is there? Maybe he likes to eat rhododendrons? We have some of those in my yard.”
“Oh no,” says Margot stoutly. “Buster doesn’t run away like that. He likes his doggie bed just fine, as well as the ready food and water here. He didn’t escape.”
Dang, this girl isn’t even taking the out I’m giving her. As a result, I decide to be upfront.
“Margot, I know how that handkerchief ended up in my backyard. And I think you know too. We both know, in fact, because we locked eyes on that fateful day.”
Margot gasps then, her face going scarlet.
“Oh shit, you did see me,” she whispers.
“I did,” is my growly reply. “The question is: did you like what you saw?