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He peeked over at me, the sideways glance filled with mirth. The first I’d seen from him in a few days.
“They are…boisterous,” he commented, then forked up a cherry tomato from the helping of cherry tomato salad Grandma had insisted on making. It was her specialty. “Good God, this is delicious,” he said after chewing and swallowing.
“Ain’t it just? It’s the dressing she coats the peppers, tomatoes, cukes, and summer squash with, oh, and she tosses it with love.” That made him smile full on, and it was a glorious thing. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about me but I ain’t really had time what with the family here and underfoot all the time.” I took a bite of lasagna, had a small taste orgasm, and then swallowed. “So the other day I was talking to Ma, and she told me that I get intense when I find something or someone that I like.” He paused in eating, a chunk of yellow squash halfway to his mouth. “Careful you don’t drop that on them pink Ralph Lauren shorts of yours. That imported olive oil is a bitch to wash out.”
“The shorts are J. Crew. The polo is Ralph Lauren,” he softly corrected, pulling the bite of squash off his fork with care.
“I knew that. My outfit is all Target, the men’s section,” I answered and got a small snuff of amusement. “So back to me. Us, I guess. I like you.” I looked right at him. God he was a pretty man. Stole my breath every time I caught his profile. “I know we got some differences.” He raised both brows and nodded as he chewed silently. “But those are just things on the surface. Like music and clothes, things like that. Maybe I don’t know which fork to use for salad or what wine goes with feta cheese, but I do know I like you a lot. And if I’m being pushy about us together, then I apologize. I don’t mean nothing by talking about vacations next year. I mean, sure, I’d love to take you home and show you off. You’re the fanciest, prettiest, sweetest man I ever met. Folks back home would be stunned to see a mook like me with such a fancy fellow. But I don’t want you to think that because I want to see you on my arm in a year that means that you got to be there, you know?”
“I think so,” he responded after dabbing at his mouth with his napkin.
“Good, okay, good. So when I get to be yammering along about driving to Flushing or having you stay in my ma’s house, it’s just talking. I like to talk. Sometimes I think maybe I talk to cover up when I’m feeling strong stuff or to impress people. When I was young, all I had was my fists and my mouth to keep me from being picked on. Then I found hockey, and I had a knack for the sport. I know I ain’t no Mario Lemieux or nothing, but I skate good and can score, and I got spunk. Short guys…we got lots of spunk. So yeah, if I get to talking about shit that freaks you out, just tell me to shove a sock in it.”
He let go of a long breath then turned slightly—there wasn’t much room to move in this sporty car of his—taking care to keep his plate balanced.
“There are several things that I would like to clarify, please?” I bobbed my head as I chowed down, my sight on him when it wasn’t on getting food into my pie hole. “The first being that I do not find discussing a future with you upsetting. It’s more that I have spent so much time telling myself that no man would wish to be with someone who would be a burden—”
“Okay, I shouldn’t interfere, but I got to. You need to stop using that word. Burden. Hell, Henri, there ain’t no such thing as a burden when you love someone.” He gaped at me. “Not saying that I love you or nothing. I mean, I like you a lot, and I think that could be love if we water it good and add fertilizer like my aunt Mona does to her zinnias every year. I used too intense of a word. There ain’t no such thing as being a burden when you care about someone. Ask my grandmother about taking care of my grandfather when he was fighting lung cancer back in the day. So no more burden talk, capiche?”
His eyes grew dewy. “I understand, yes. And you’re right. That word is now stricken. The worry still remains though and try as I might, it lingers. I know,” he hurried to say as I opened my mouth again, “I know it’s silly, but there it is. So, my jittery emotions are not about being with you in the future, far from it. To think that a man would wish to be with me for years is…” His blue eyes darted around the tidy garage. Did Barney dust in here? I bet he did. “Well, it is more than I could have hoped for. Also, I would be proud to be your boyfriend next summer. I think it would be me showing you off if the truth be told. Oh, and if I cannot use the B word anymore then you are not to use the M word to describe yourself. A mook is someone who is stupid or incompetent. You are neither. You’re earthy, jovial, sexy, witty, a bit loud, but wholly loveable.”
It took all I had not to pitch my dish aside and climb that man like a jungle gym.
“That’s a deal,” I said instead, my breast filled with fuzzy feelings.
“Ah, yes, well, I’m not saying that we’re in love, obviously, but I am in deep like with you. Also, lust. I lust after you badly. I cannot get you out of my mind. Even when I am doing business, there you are in my thoughts, spread out on my bed, asking me to take you to places that only lovers dare to go.”
“Okay, if you keep talking like that, I ain’t going to have nowhere to set my plate because the boner I’ll pop will make it be like one of them circus plate juggling acts.”
He laughed warmly, leaned over, and stole a genteel kiss that held all kinds of carnal promise.
“I’ll behave, but just know that sometimes it will be hard for me to accept that you care for me as much as I care for you. Though I am working on it, so be patient. I tend to be moody at times, so if I withdraw, know that it is not you.”
“Oh, I’m sure it will be me on occasion. I can be a right pain in the ass at times. Even my mother, who thinks I’m the best thing since sliced bread, tells me I’m a pain in her ass now and again. If I get too het up over us, let me know.”
“I will, I promise. So, when we are done eating, would you like to perhaps talk about paint colors for this beauty?” He tipped his head in the direction of the hood of the Cabriolet.
“Yeah, I would love that a lot.” I leaned over to kiss his lips. They tasted of olive oil, basil, bocconcini, and a future that neither of us had expected but seemed to be just over the horizon.
Chapter Fourteen
Henri
There is a popular saying among seafaring people that I’d heard a thousand times but never thought to apply to anything outside of boating. I am truly a dunce.
Jimmy Dean is quoted as saying that you cannot change the direction of the wind, but you can adjust your sails to reach your destination.
Maybe I tend to be too literal as my papa was. Obviously so, for I was sure Mama would have gotten the true meaning of that quote much faster than the men in her life. Lying in bed with Philip at my side as the sun broke over the tree line on a new day, I knew that it was time for me to open the sails of my heart wide and embrace the winds of change.
The house was quiet now, his family having returned to their homes, leaving my staff exhausted. It had been a busy ten days. Well, most had left. His mother and grandmother had decided to stay longer to see the area in depth. The local hotels where the overflow had stayed were most likely catching their collective breath, much as my staff certainly was. I was pleased to have the two grand dames here. Both were kind, outgoing, hearty women who loved Philip almost as much as…
And this was where I tended to lose my grip on the rudder of change. Yes, I could admit that I had found Philip attractive for quite a few years. Yes, I could confess to using our class differences and backgrounds to keep the pull I felt to the scoundrel at bay. What a fool I had been. Locking myself away in the chalet, pretending to be living a rich, full life when, in fact, I’d been a hermit, frightened of being hurt, scared of change, terrified of sailing into strange waters if I were keeping with the nautical theme. Philip was the brave one. I ran my hand over his bare hip, eager for the feel of his skin even though we had made love last night. Just the brush of my fingertips over his flesh had my cock throbbing.
My body had found a safe haven. Philip, the chattering imp with the sparkling eyes, was a port in the storm. Cliché, yes, perhaps. Litigate me.
“Sue me,” Philip said around a yawn.
“Oh, sorry, I did not realize I was speaking aloud,” I said, dropping my lips to his shoulder to taste the morning light on his skin.
