at home. The image of the two of them in the park, shooting hoops, flashed through her mind. She’d heard
Bryant’s voice calling out praise and encouragement. She’d heard them laugh. Surely, their relationship seemed happy enough.
She gazed at her plate. The most important thing was to keep the channels of communication open. She took another bite of the spicy nua pad prik.
It was a little disconcerting how easy it was to forget about Paul when she was talking to Bryant, how easy it was to think other thoughts and feel other feelings, how easy it was not to think of Bryant as a father, but to see him simply as a man who was charming and interesting and who disturbed her heart-rate dangerously.
‘Why did you become a school counselor?’ he asked.
She laughed. ‘I think it’s the way I grew up. I have a super mother and all my friends used to love to come to my house and talk to her about their problems.’ She took a drink of her wine. ‘And I like kids. I don’t think there’s a deep, dark reason.’ She longed to know whatever he was willing to tell her about himself, but she found out little really personal information apart from the fact that he had grown up in the district where his parents still lived. His sister, married, now lived in Philadelphia and had two children, one a son Paul’s age.
She told him she’d decided to try the city life after having grown up in the Maryland suburbs and that working at the Olympia International School had afforded her that opportunity. She told him she was an only child, that her father had died when she was seventeen and that her mother had remarried and now lived in Rome with her Italian businessman husband.
They walked home through the crisp evening air. The pungent scents of fall were all around. She was filled with an odd excitement. The streets were crowded with people—people walking home after eating at one of the many little neighborhood restaurants or seeing a movie, or people just taking an evening stroll with friends and mates. She liked the liveliness of the place, the many little shops—bookshops and spice shops and art shops and galleries and delicatessens.
He opened the front door and they stepped into the hall.
‘Thank you very much for dinner. I enjoyed it!’ she said, meaning it.
‘I enjoyed it too.’ His blue eyes looked into hers and it was suddenly hard to breathe. He leaned against the wall and observed her and she felt herself grow warm under his regard.
‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘something is going on between us.’
ZOE could not deny it. Something was going on between them—something elemental and instinctual that had nothing to do with reason or logic. Her heart was racing, her whole body tingled with anticipation’Yes,’ she said huskily.
He pushed himself away from the wall. He stood very close. She stared at his chin, afraid to meet his gaze, afraid of what he might read in her eyes. This was crazy. She felt like a nervous teenager rather than the mature woman of twenty-nine she was. She knew what she wanted. She knew what he wanted. He was so close she could feel his body warmth, smell the clean scent of him, feel his breath brush across her cheek. With her heart throbbing, she raised her eyes to his.
Everything fell away—the small entryway with its faint smell of floor polish, her worries about Paul, time itself. His eyes mesmerized her, drawing her nearer.
She felt his arms surround her, saw his face bend towards her and then his mouth was on hers-warm and urgent.
Her whole being reacted to this kiss, wild tumult everywhere inside her as a storm of need swept over her. A soft moan escaped her and his kiss intensified. She kissed him back with a hungry passion that came from somewhere hidden deep inside her.
Finally, reluctantly, he released her mouth and with his arms still around her he leaned back against the wall again, her body resting against the length of his, her face against the warmth of his neck. His breathing was ragged, as was her own, and Zoe closed her eyes, not moving, trying not to think. Thinking would spoil everything. She wanted to feel, only to feel.
Then, gently, he put her away from him and looked into her eyes. ‘It’s a good thing I’m not eighteen,’ he said softly, a note of humor in his voice.
Her reason came back. And with it acute embarrassment. Sexual desire had its time and place and this had not been the time and place, surely. She hardly knew this man. It wasn’t in her nature to lose control so totally, so quickly.
‘I think I’d better go up,’ she said with difficulty,
wishing she could die on the spot. She had acted like a love-starved nymphomaniac. ‘Thanks again for dinner.’ She tried to be dignified as she walked up the steps, but her legs felt like rubber.
‘Goodnight, Zoe.’ His deep voice floated up behind her, intimate, knowing.
‘Goodnight.’
Soon after, she lay in bed, unable to sleep. She thought of Bryant on the floor below, also in bed. At least, she assumed he was in bed. Was he thinking about her, wishing he had swept her straight into his apartment and taken her to bed and made passionate love with her?
She should not flatter herself. He was probably sitting on his sofa reading some report or other, contemplating the state of the infrastructure of some poor Third World country.
Then again, maybe he was taking a long, cold shower. She groaned into her pillow. What was the matter with her? Never in her life had she felt so totally bowled over by a man. It was terrifying. She wasn’t sure how to handle it, what to do.
Well, one thing she did have to do: try to hold on to her sanity, not to let matters progress too fast so she’d lose control. A real relationship took time to develop and she wasn’t in the market for something fast and fancy.
She pushed her face into the pillow. What she wanted was something solid and long-term. What she wanted more than anything was to find a soul mate, someone for the long haul. A man to build a life with, a man to be the father of her children.
Behind her closed eyelids was the image of a man with blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes.
She did not see or hear from Bryant in the next few days, which was a relief of sorts, even though she had expected it. He had told her during their dinner that there was a week-long international convention in town which meant he’d be busy till all hours.
Although she didn’t get a glimpse of Bryant coming or going, what she did notice was a young blonde woman in the hall one afternoon with a grocery store paper bag clutched against her chest. She had a key and was trying to get into the Sinclair apartment.
‘Hi!’ she said cheerily, and gave Zoe a white-toothed smile. She was in her early twenties, Zoe guessed, and she had a fresh prettiness.
‘Hi,’ said Zoe, and started up the stairs, only to hear the sound of something dropping to the floor and a muffled curse. She glanced down. The girl had dropped the bag and the contents had fallen out.
Zoe went back down. ‘Let me give you a hand.’
‘Oh,
