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Every step of the way, the only person who believed in me was my dad. He was the only one who never asked for anything in return, never made me feel like I owed him anything. Even when I became successful, he was always just supportive and proud and protective, no matter what.
That was the driving force behind where I wanted to give him the best I could. Full time staff. A companion who plays games with him, talks to him, spends time with him and takes him to and from appointments just to make life easier for dad. I want him to be happy and cared for because he's the best dad in the world. Of course, in the beginning it's been nearly impossible to get him to accept my gifts, much less use them. But now he seems settled in and happy with his life.
“Deborah did tell me about square dancing on Wednesdays.” He's still stroking his chin and under his joking exterior, I sense he is trying to make a decision between the women. Of course, he's not too serious and there's no real rush. He’s just having fun and living life to the fullest.
“Yeah, but which is better, homemade flan or square dancing?” I mean, I know which I would choose personally, but I have no idea what he'd prefer.
“You’ve done it. You've gone and asked an unanswerable question.” He glares at me, but the expression is playful, not serious.
As I listen to him talk about how much fun he has from class and how many times he’s won at bingo, but the prizes weren’t anything to write home about, my phone vibrates.
“Oh, go ahead and answer it,” Dad says with a dismissive flap of his hand as I pull my phone out of my pocket. “I need more coffee anyway.”
With that, he stands up and makes his way toward the kitchen, no doubt to pester Peter, the guy who pretty much waits on him hand and foot while being a companion. Peter is one of my favorite people - he’s so good to my dad.
As I watch my father leave the room, I glance down at the message. It seems like the standard how are you doing? message, so I put my phone back in my pocket, prioritizing my father for the moment.
But as the moments tick by, I grow more and more curious about what's going on with her, so I pull my phone back out. I’m doing great. Visiting with my father. How are you today?
My father walks back into the room, and I put my phone away. “So tell me more about Betty and Deborah. Which one do you like better?”
When I’m finally on my way home, I check my phone again. There's a new message from Moira and my heart skips a beat as I sit in the driver’s seat, parked in front of my house.
Can we meet up today?
I smile, remembering how much fun we had last time we saw each other. We'd laughed, talked, kissed... almost more. Until Cynthia barged in and ruined everything. My ex-wife is quickly becoming the bane of my existence, and I still have no idea why she's trying to insert herself back into my life.
As I think about how Cynthia had called Moira low class and asked if I got her from Club Red, I wince. The joke is on Cynthia; I'd first met her at Club Red and took her home. It's weird to hear her say that as if it's a bad thing now. Of course, knowing Cynthia, it's just her way of projecting.
After that little blowout and Cynthia had left, Moira had walked up behind me, given me a hug, and when I turned to face her, rose up on tiptoe to kiss my lips.
She told me that she should really get going and I wanted to apologize to her for all of the drama. I’d felt guilty, embarrassed, angry, and violated. How dare Cynthia let herself into my home? And how dare she pass judgment on anyone else in my life after what she'd done to me?
That sounds great. When and where?
As I send the text, nervous anticipation has my hands feeling damp. I can't help but wonder what she has in mind. Does she want to discuss the app? Does she want to talk about Cynthia and the last time we met up? Maybe she just wants to talk... or something more.
Before she can respond back, I get out of my car and hurry into my home ready to shower and change. I clean up in record time, get out of the shower, put on cologne and dress in slacks and a button-down shirt. I want to impress her, but I don't want to overdress. I check myself in the mirror and nod. Not too bad. I hope she likes what she sees.
I see she has sent another message and I read the words, my heart slamming. When you’re free. My place. Then the words are followed by her address.
Well, I'm free now, so I might as well go. With that, I grab my keys and my wallet and head out the door. I can't wait to see her again. Even if all she wants to do is talk sharp and discuss the app I'm building for her, I'm still going to enjoy her company. And if she wants to do something else, well, I'm game. Because everything about Moira drives me crazy, her scent, her voice, that look she gives me...
The trip to her place is a blur, and before I know it, I'm taking the elevator up to the twenty-fifth floor. Hesitating before her door, I take a deep breath and knock. She pulls the door open and smiles, stunning me with her bright red hair and beautiful blue dress that matches her eyes. She might be the most gorgeous woman I've ever laid eyes on. I don't care how many women flirt with me; I only have eyes for her.
“Hi, Michael.” As she says the words, she leans in and kisses me softly on the lips. Desire surges through my blood as I wrap my arms around her neck and kiss her back. She smells like Jasmine and vanilla and tastes like some forbidden whiskey, honey, and mint. And she feels like heaven in my arms, like she was made for me, like she belongs there.
All too soon, she pulls away, takes a step back and gestures for me to follow her inside. I do, without hesitation. As we walk through her penthouse, I’m greeted by a minimalist, ultra-modern look. Everything seems to be in shades of cold white, gray, or silver and windows cover entire walls, giving a beautiful view of the twinkling city around us. I sense that minimalistic approach to the inside is to give the maximum attention to the busy world outside, and I discover I love the balance of her style. Several pops of deep blue draw my eye. An abstract painting that evokes a deep sense of longing and smallness that takes up nearly an entire wall, a beautiful four-foot blue vase that rests in a corner, some candles, and so on. The whole place looks like it belongs on a magazine cover for lives of the rich and famous, though it would be the most understated, elegant look I’ve ever seen on a cover.
“Your place is amazing.” I can't help but notice that hers is the antithesis to my home. Everything in my house is heavy, dark, vintage, Victorian. Everything in here is sleek, modern, and bright. I hope that's not a hint of incompatibility.
“Thank you. I'm glad you're here.” She walks up so close that we're nearly toe to toe as I gaze out over the city, enjoying the warmth her words lends my chest. I'm glad too. Even though the gaze is incredible, I'd much rather be looking at her and I turn my attention to her eyes.
She glances at my lips and I kiss her. She responds eagerly, opening her mouth and deepening the kiss. A little moan escapes her throat as her tongue meets mine. My hands find her waist and I pull her closer, needing to feel her body against mine.
She breaks the kiss and whispers softly, “Do you want to see the bedroom?”
Of course, I do. She seems to sense my silent answer, and takes me by the hand, leading me back and deeper into the penthouse.
