Starting From Scratch (20 page)

Ponds.”

“Oh, my God.” Elena laughed that sudden sharp laugh

and I couldn’t help but smile at the sound. “Steve is all

Max ever talks about. You need to bring him over.”

“Ah, so you’re just using me for my dog, is that it?” I

teased.

We were close. Very close. I could smell the wine on

her breath, and again, that musky, very subtle perfume that

I was coming to think of as
her
scent. I attempted to show

some tact as I inhaled it deep into my lungs.

“Oh, no,” she said, her voice throaty. “I was thinking of

using you for much more than that.”

e fact that we were sitting was a blessing. A short

woman cannot, in any way, shape, or form, be nonchalant

or subtle about kissing a woman who’s taller when they’re

both standing up. It’s just not smooth, nor is it suave. You

have to get up on your tippy toes and hope you don’t fall

over before you reach her lips, and she sees you coming a

mile away.

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So sitting was good. She looked at me expectantly and

I knew in an instant that she was letting me make the

moves this time. And I appreciated it.  e tip of her

tongue peeked out to wet her lips and that was all the

prodding I needed. Closing the gap between us, I pressed

my lips to hers, taking great pleasure in the tiny little gasp

that escaped her.

From there, it was all softness and warmth, which

gradually became heat, well on its way to fire. Our wine

glasses miraculously moved to the coffee table without

spilling a drop, our mouths never leaving each other’s. I

wanted to touch every part of Elena, and at the same time

wanted to go as slowly as possible. My body was aflame

and everywhere she touched me I felt tiny little landmines

explode under my skin. My fingers acted of their own

accord, deftly unbuttoning her camp shirt while my tongue

was deep in her mouth, exploring her, delving into her,

giving her a sample of what the future might hold for us.

Only when I felt her hands cupping my backside, her

palms sliding up and down my bare thighs, did I realize I’d

maneuvered myself so I straddled her lap, suddenly,

magically taller than her, in command and in control and

absolutely relishing it.

Her bra was white lace and somehow seemed terribly

appropriate. It only made her skin look darker, more tan, a

deeper bronze. When I pulled back to look, the sight of

her stole the breath from my body. Chest heaving, eyes

dark, lips swollen, blouse hanging completely open and

displaying small, round, lace-covered breasts. I could barely

hold back my groan of arousal.

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“My God, you’re beautiful,” I whispered, and

wondered if I’d ever meant anything so sincerely in all my

life.

I took her mouth with mine once again, running my

fingernails up the heated skin of her stomach. She

squirmed beneath me, grabbed my head, fisted her hands

in my hair as she pushed her tongue into my mouth,

threatening to pull control of the situation right out from

under me like a braided rug. I was having none of that and

I let her know it by dipping one hand fully inside the cup

of her bra. I kneaded a handful of flesh firmly in my palm,

groaning as I felt the hardened pebble of her nipple

pushing into my skin.

I had no idea how many times the little-boy voice

called “Mom” from upstairs before it reached my ears.

Elena heard it first, of course, and wrenched her lips from

mine, holding me away from her mouth by my hair, which

she still had clasped in her fingers.

“Wait,” she whispered, and had to say it a second time

to get my attention.

Both of us sat still, the only sound in the room that of

our uneven breathing, me sitting in Elena’s lap, my hand

still inside her bra, and my own panties uncomfortably

damp. Seconds ticked by and I thought we might be home

free.

“Mommy?” Max’s voice came again, louder this time,

and it had the effect of cold water being thrown on us. Our

eyes met and Elena’s were filled with apology as I

extricated my hand. Clumsily, I rolled from her lap and

flopped into a sitting position on the couch. Elena stood,

buttoning her shirt as she headed for the stairs. Max called

her again.

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“What’s the matter, honey?” she said as she climbed.

Leaning my head back against the couch, I blew out a

frustrated breath and tossed my arm over my eyes. How in

the world had I forgotten about Max? What the hell was I

thinking, practically undressing Elena in her own living

room when her son was just upstairs? He could have

walked right in on us; we certainly wouldn’t have noticed.

What was the matter with me? I was acting like a teenage

boy on his first date, jumping at the first opportunity to get

into her pants. Didn’t I have more control than a fifteen-

year-old?

I was still irritated with myself when Elena came back

down. Before I could utter a word of apology, she beat me

to it.

“I am so sorry,” she said, her voice barely above a

whisper. “He had a nightmare.”

“Poor little guy,” I said. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.” She waved a hand at the stairs. “But it’s

going to be a while before he gets back to sleep, so…” Her

voice trailed off and she waited for me to catch up, which

took longer than it should have.

She wanted me to leave.

“Oh.
Oh.
Oh, okay. Sure. No problem.” I stood, feeling

a little jittery and kind of stupid, unable to comprehend

exactly how, not three minutes prior, I’d had Elena’s breast

in my hand and now she was quietly ushering me out the

door.

“I’m really sorry, Avery,” she said, still keeping her

voice down, telegraphing to me that she didn’t want Max

to know somebody else was in the house.

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I matched my volume to hers. “It’s no big deal. I’m

fine.” In truth, I had no idea how I felt. Everything had

happened so fast.

“Mom?”

“I’ll be right up, honey,” she called over her shoulder in

the direction of the stairs. Looking back at me, she

promised, “I’ll call you.”

“Okay.”

She grasped my chin and gave me a quick peck on the

lips.

And then I was on the front stoop.

e door clicked shut, but my head kept spinning.

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“What’s the matter with you? Are you getting sick?”

Grandma laid her hand against my forehead, then each

cheek. “You’ve got dark circles under your eyes.”

As always happens to me when something is on my

mind, I slept like crap. No matter how sandpaper-like my

eyelids became as I lay in my bed the previous night, my

mind just wouldn’t give me peace, replaying the evening

over and over, my body repeatedly turned on, then shut

down, until the sun began to peek over the horizon and I

finally forced myself downstairs for much-needed coffee.

“Too much chocolate before bed, Grandma. I didn’t

sleep well.” Not the whole truth, but not a total lie either.

e empty container of Ben & Jerry’s New York Fudge

Brownie in my kitchen garbage can could attest to that.

“You’re sure? Maybe you should go see Dr. Garber.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Drink your tea.” Grandma brushed my hair away

from my face in a gesture so sweet it almost brought tears

to my eyes. She was never a touchy-feely person when I

was growing up, but once I moved out and began living on

my own, for some reason she became more so. She hugged

me hello and goodbye, touched my face, straightened my

Georgia Beers

clothes. It freaked me out when it first started happening,

simply because it was so…
not her
. But it wasn’t long before

I grew to like it. Who doesn’t like to be touched by

somebody who loves them?

She looked at me with such worry in her green eyes

that I almost blurted out the entire story of my previous

night, from beginning to end. Deciding that might be too

much for her, I patted her hand.

“I’m fine, Grandma. Really. e ice cream did me in. I

just need a nap and I’ll be good as new. Stop worrying.” To

change the subject, I asked, “Hey, how’s Mr. Davidson?”

A pretty pink tint blossomed on her cheeks and she

glanced down demurely into her empty teacup.

I feigned a gasp. “Grandma! What have you been up

to? Have you been a bad girl?”

A playful slap caught my upper arm. “Stop that,” she

scolded me. “We’ve just had dinner together.  at’s all.

He’s a very nice man.”

I grinned at her as she spoke, and for a split second

she looked young again. And happy. “I think that’s great.” I

took my cup into the kitchen, preparing to head home.

“Maybe the three of us can have dinner together some

time. en I can tell you if he gets my stamp of approval.”

Grandma’s laugh was musical, like the higher, tinkling

keys on a piano, and it echoed in my head long after I’d

closed her door behind me and was driving myself home.

My mother may have been cold and unfeeling, but I loved

my grandmother with all my heart. I tried hard to

remember the last time she’d had a date. Obviously, at

eighty-five years old, she wasn’t exactly playing the field.

But I wasn’t stupid and I knew she sacrificed a big chunk

of her social life by raising me.

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I vaguely remembered a man when I’d been in

elementary school. Jim? Joe? Something with a J. I think

Grandma saw him for quite a while, but she was very

discreet. He never stayed over, not that I was aware of, but

he took her to dinner a few times a month and they spent

some evenings together. At the age I was, of course, I was

all absorbed in me, me, me, so I probably paid little

attention. To this day I can’t pinpoint when he stopped

coming around.

When I was in college, there was a neighbor who lived

across the street and a couple houses over from Grandma’s,

Mr. Samuels. I was pretty sure he was sweet on Grandma

and she seemed to like him quite a bit, too. I never asked

for any details and she didn’t offer any and I felt a little

funny prying into her love life, so I left it alone and just

assumed. Mr. Samuels passed away a year or two after I

moved into my own place. Grandma never said anything

other than what a shame it was, but she was quieter than

usual for several months.

And since then? Nobody that I could recall…until

Mr. Davidson.

I was still grinning about the whole thing when I

pulled into my driveway and let myself into my house. So

what if Grandma was eighty-five? Did that mean she

didn’t deserve to have somebody to love?

“Of course not,” I said aloud to Steve as I ruffled his

ears and kissed the top of his head. He yawned.

I love Sundays. Lazy, relaxing Sundays. My favorite

day of the week. I always began with a visit to see

Grandma. But after that, the day was mine. I could read a

book for the rest of the afternoon. I could tend to my

houseplants, maybe arrange some flowers outside,

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depending on the season. I could go to a movie or rent

one. I loved not having to be anywhere at any time.

Sundays were mine.

is Sunday in particular my mind was not going to

sit idle, and I decided I needed something to occupy it.

Steve was basking in the periodic sunshine on the back

patio, so I headed upstairs to the second bedroom, which I

used as an office. On Friday, Tyrell had given me the bare

bones of our next big project—redesigning the logo and

tag line for an existing beverage company in the area—and

I made myself comfortable at my desktop and worked on

that for a while, sorting through colors, shapes, and ideas

to see if anything popped up at me. I settled on a cool lime

green/bright orange color combination, but the design

itself eluded me. I gave up and headed downstairs for a

something to drink.

ough gray with ominous clouds moving quickly

overhead, the day was warm and had warranted the screen

door instead of the glass one. As I descended the stairs, I

thought I heard murmuring coming from the back yard. A

sight that would have made me groan three or four weeks

ago instead brought a smile to my lips. Max knelt in the

grass, wearing denim shorts and a Spongebob Squarepants

T-shirt. He had one arm draped over the short fencing,

and he scratched the top of Steve’s head. Steve, of course,

was loving every minute of it and soon rolled over to offer

up his belly for a rub. Laughter bubbled out of me at his

antics; I couldn’t believe he’d let a six-year-old win him

over so easily.

Without stopping to consider why I was happy to see

the boy, I slid the back door open.