that should be at attention is at attention,” he countered, with a smile. He had no interest in starting a conversation at the moment.
She dragged her fingers down his cheeks. “I don’t get to see these dimples often enough.”
“When a clock is ticking on a relationship, there’s not much to laugh at.” He surprised himself admitting such a thing out loud.
She kissed him, tenderly, chastely. “Let’s go to bed.”
They blew out the candles, set their bowls in the sink, turned out the lights. In his bedroom they got naked, slipped under the covers and held each other close.
“This is just about sex, John,” she said finally. “We can’t have more than that.”
“I know.”
After they made love, she fell asleep. He studied his ceiling for hours, as if the answers to his problems might be written there.
All he saw was that it looked very much as if an Elliott woman would break his heart, after all.
In the morning, her head on a pillow next to John’s, Scarlet watched him sleep, his hair mussed, his beard shadowy. She’d slept until nine, not waking once. She couldn’t remember a night when she’d slept so well.
Her eyes stung. Anything in life she’d wanted badly enough, she’d gotten, had worked hard enough to get. But no matter what she did in this relationship, she couldn’t win.
Betray. Her grandfather’s word echoed in her mind.
She eased out of bed, donned John’s robe and headed to the kitchen. She hunted for coffee and filters, then fixed a whole pot, not knowing how much he drank in the morning, or if he drank it at all.
At the front door she looked out the peephole to make sure the coast was clear, then grabbed the Sunday Times from the hallway. She finished up the dishes from the night before and checked out his refrigerator for possible breakfast food, finding eggs, cheese and English muffins.
At about ten o’clock she heard water run in the bathroom. Curled up on the sofa, she was enjoying her second cup of coffee and the Times travel section. A few minutes later he emerged, unshaven but with his hair combed. He’d put on the T-shirt and boxers from the night before. She’d been afraid he would come out in khakis and a preppy sweater or something, dressed for the day.
He stopped in the doorway. A slow smile came over him. “Good morning. How’d you sleep?”
“On my side, mostly.”
His smile widened.
“I slept really well,” she said, moving her legs so that he could sit beside her, facing her. “And you?”
She offered her mug. He took it, then leaned over and kissed her, deeper than a peck but not an invitation to more. He sipped from the mug, resting his hand on her thigh, rubbing it through the fabric.
“I slept great, thanks. So, what do you usually do on Sundays?”
“If I’m at The Tides I go to church with Gram and Granddad. If I’m in town, I’m pretty lazy. Read the paper. Go for a walk. Have a late breakfast somewhere. Do some sketching and sewing. How about you?” There was so much she had yet to discover about him. She knew his body. She knew his scent, his touch, his laugh. But nothing about his routines, his likes and dislikes. His passions.
“I don’t think any two Sundays are the same for me. I play racquetball sometimes, or golf, depending on the season. Visit my parents sometimes. Work at home or even in the office occasionally. Go for a drive. Would you like to go for a drive?”
She wished she could say yes. “Probably not a good idea, John.”
His hesitation was barely noticeable. “Right. Well, breakfast, then. I’m pretty sure I have the makings for omelets.”
“Do you cook?”
“A little. You?”
“Salads and eggs. And I reheat brilliantly.”
“Took a master course in that, did you?”
She recognized the conversation for what it was—avoidance. They were painted into a corner. Don’t get too close, learn too much, enjoy too thoroughly. Sex and inane conversation were apparently all they could have. They had to otherwise resist.
“Maybe I should shower,” she said. “Then we can fix breakfast together. Then I’ll go home.”
We can’t spend the whole day with each other. The words hung over them as if in neon lights.
“How about we shower together?” he asked, standing, holding out a hand.
Later, she argued against him driving her home. She could take a cab. He didn’t think she should be seen wearing what was obviously an evening dress at noon. On the drive to her house he held her hand. She didn’t pull away.
“Can we get together during the week?” he asked as they neared her house.
“Definitely. Let’s talk later and compare calendars. It’d have to be at your place,” she added. “Granddad seems to like being unpredictable these days. I never know when he’s coming to town.”
“Okay.”
They had shared a long goodbye kiss before leaving his apartment, yet she hungered for another.
“Did you expect it would be this complicated?” he asked when they pulled up around the corner from her house.
She nodded. “I’m pretty realistic about most things in life.”
“Are you having regrets, Scarlet?”
“None.” Yet.
“Can I ask a favor of you?”
Her heart fluttered a little.
“If I can arrange a private consultation with my tailor, would you come along and help me choose some new things for my wardrobe?”
“Will you promise not to argue about my choices?”
“No.”
She laughed. “Well, okay. That’s fair.”
“I’ll call you later.”
The long day loomed before her. She almost wished she’d taken the chance and gone on a drive with him. “Have a good day,” she said, then looked around, not seeing anyone she knew. She opened the door.
He just watched her, apparently as tongue-tied as she by the necessarily banal conversation, then he drove off. She walked around the corner. Someone was sitting on her doorstep. She could see fabric through the railings but that was all. Then the person stood, not looking in her direction, as if giving up.
“Aunt Finny.” Relieved it wasn’t … well, almost anyone else, she waited as Fin met her on the sidewalk.
“I
