The Beginning of Always (33 page)

“Yeah,” I called up. “Do you want me to come up to help you—”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Sandra and Bill crashed into the room and I gave an internal groan. They were a pair of puppies following my every move. Sandra was fumbling with her camera, checking the film and nudging Bill frantically. “Wait! I want to take a picture of when they first see each other!”

I was just about to turn to tell her to quit it when soft footfalls came down the upstairs hallway. I glanced up … and time stopped.

Florence’s long brown hair was curled in soft waves to spill over her bare shoulders. Her dress was simple, silk that clung and flowed over her body in a blue that accentuated the color of her eyes. She was barefoot and wore minimal makeup.

Florence’s pink lips curled in a shy smile as she came to the foot of the stairs. She stopped on the last step, elevated slightly so she was just half a head taller than I was. Florence was the only thing on my mind, in that moment, in this room. Her smell enveloped me and I struggled to find words.

She took my breath away.

Several seconds passed. “My God,” was all I could get out.

“You like?” She ran her fingertips lightly up my arm, and even through my suit jacket, every inch scalded.

“I love. You’re beautiful, Florence.”

She blushed, a cute rosy tint coloring her cheeks. “Thank you,” she whispered.

I just had to touch her. I softly ran the back of my fingers against her cheek, and her face went just a touch pinker. I wanted to feel her skin, to caress those soft angles, those pillowy lips. I wound my fingers around the back of her neck, bringing her gently to me. Her eyelids slipped down and her lips parted. Just as I was about to kiss her, a snort came from behind us.

Florence’s eyes flew open and I froze. Sandra gave a small choked gasp, sniffling wetly and loudly. The waves of pride exuding from Bill were strong enough to knock me front-side over.

“William,” Sandra whispered baldly. “Oh, Bill, just look at them.”

“Baby, that’s love right there,” Bill announced to the room. “Young love, young love.”

“You remember when you took me to prom your senior year?”

“How can I forget?” Bill’s voice took on an impish tone, his words laced with implicit meaning. “That was a night I couldn’t ever forget. Those memories kept me warm those long weeks on the Gulf drilling rigs.”

A slapping sound echoed and Sandra scolded, “Bill! There are children present!”

Bill laughed uproariously and I pretty much wanted to kill them since they had done the same to the mood.

Florence laughed lightly and wound her arm around mine. “Hi, Mr. Blair, Mrs. Blair.” She craned her head to one side and grinned at them over the edge of my shoulder.

“Hey, Princess!” Bill boomed back.

“Oh, darling, you’re a vision. Gorgeous,” Sandra cooed. Her sentence was followed with several quick snaps of her camera lens.

“Thank you,” Florence said. She tugged at my arm. “Come on, babe, I need help with my dress. The back won’t zip all the way.” And she pulled me upstairs.

“Don’t mind us,” Sandra cried after us. “We’ll be heating up dinner! I brought lasagna and rolls!”

As I started a breath to tell her for the umpteenth time we weren’t eating with them, Florence answered before me. “Thanks for bringing dinner, Sandra. We’ll be down in a minute.” And Sandra’s beaming face was the last thing I saw before Florence dragged me around the upstairs corner to her room. She gave a little giggle as she pulled me into her room, planting a light kiss on my lips. I followed her mouth when she tried to pull away, refusing to give up her taste. I wound my hands around her upper arms, pinning Florence up against the wall, scalding desire beginning to flood my veins. She opened her mouth, welcoming me in, and our tongue entwined.

Thoughts about tonight and the possibilities crowded for mental space with my body’s immediate need for relief, for connection. My hands traced down Florence’s body, stroking over her hips and those luscious curves her dress highlighted so well. My palms circled and cupped her ass, then pulled her roughly towards me so our bodies pressed together. The idea of tonight and my best-laid plans became dim in my brain, and the idea of just staying in her room suddenly seemed extraordinarily sensible.

“Babe,” Florence mumbled against my lips.

“Mmm.”

“Your parents are downstairs,” Florence said with difficulty. I grinned against her lips and started hitching up the hem of her skirt, pulling it over her thighs.

“Alistair!” Florence pushed me away with a laugh and after a momentary struggle, I gave up with a sigh. She rested her forehead against me, and I wound my arms around her shoulders, bringing her close.

We stood like that, intertwined with each other, for several minutes. My hard-on was slowly taking care of itself and I reminded myself that it was still early and there was a lot to look forward to that night. Impatience warred within, but waiting was necessary.

If there was anything I could say I was good at, it was waiting.

“What time is it?” Florence finally asked. She readjusted her stance to press her cheek against my collar, her eyes gazing up at me. I raised my wrist to bring my watch into view.

“Four fifty-two,” I answered.

“We should get going. Doesn’t the prom start at six?”

I shrugged, all nonchalance. “Doesn’t matter if we’re late.”

Florence turned her back towards me and swept her long brown hair over one shoulder. “Can you help with the hook on the top? I can’t get it in the eye.”

I fingered the edge of the zipper, tracing a finger along the exposed skin beneath her dress. As I followed the smooth indents of her spine, Florence shuddered lightly at my touch. That small act, that involuntary physical reaction to my skin against her, it twisted my heart.

A sudden sadness washed over me.

That grief and loss I had been waiting for for months, it had arrived.

Tonight was the beginning of the end, the night that heralded the start of change. Florence wouldn’t just be a mile down the road from me. We wouldn’t ever have those restless summer evenings out in the woods, or the winter afternoons hiding and keeping warm in the barn. She wouldn’t be at school, at home, around the corner, always close by, always near. College didn’t scare me; I was eager and excited to leave and explore what was beyond the highway that fringed and connected St. Haven. I needed to get out from under the crippling suffocation of this small-town life. I wanted more, yet for the first time, I realized just how content and fortunate I truly was.

I wasn’t a naive fool. What Florence and I had amounted to small-town teenage romance. Perhaps the fact that we’d known each other since we were kids, that we were the only two houses for five miles—perhaps those were the only reasons how and why we’d ended up together. When I left for college and when she would for hers, we’d meet other people, see new sights, discover that life was grander and more generous than we’d ever given it credit for.

Maybe she’d fall out of love with me. Maybe I’d lose her. Maybe I’d hurt her. Maybe I’d grow tired of the constant pull, that insistent reminder of what remained here for me. For the first time, I considered the fact that my love, the love and lust and passion and need I knew for her now, would hold me back.

But as I thumbed her skin softly, as I felt that smooth texture and caught an edge of her scent … I couldn’t imagine a life without her. My logic and rationality, that ever-persistent pest of maturity, reminded me that I’d meet other girls, women who would prove to me that life could exist without Florence, that I had yet to experience the bounty of what the world would hold. But my heart, my burning heart that was no longer my own, it too reminded me exactly what was at stake.

“Alistair?” Florence’s questioning voice shook me out of my musings.

“Sorry,” I answered, finally finding the small zipper and tugging it up. I met the eye with the hook, and then glazed my fingers down her arms. “Okay.”

Florence peeked at me over her shoulders, a bit shyly, her eyes hooded in secret. A small smile played along her lips, and I promised myself to forget my worries and concerns, and just enjoy the night. Enjoy her company, relish the experience.

“So Sandra made lasagna?” Florence stepped away from me to fetch her purse and overnight bag. I had told her to pack a change of clothes.

I flopped back on her bed as she went into her bathroom. I grunted at the thought of Sandra.

“I already told them we were going to town for dinner, but it’s like talking to a wall, they just totally ignore you. She insisted on bringing the food, so maybe Nic can eat it tomorrow or something.”

Florence emerged from her bathroom, toothbrush, and a bottle of lotion in her hands. She threw them onto the bed next to her bag, and then sat down next to me.

“Let’s eat with them.” Florence canted her head at me and smiled. “They’re going to miss you.”

“But I made a reservation at Pompeii.” It wasn’t that I didn’t want to eat with Bill and Sandra, it was just … well, I didn’t want to eat with Bill and Sandra. Tonight was supposed to be special. I wanted it to be special, and my definition of special was not eating dinner at the Reynolds house with two overly eager adults who might or might not be talking about the first night they’d banged.

Florence leaned forward and rested a soft palm on top of my knuckles. “I’ll call and cancel. We can eat there any other time.”

I wanted to say we could eat with Bill and Sandra any other time too, that I had saved up money from the last month’s barn job in order to take her to a nice restaurant, that I had a plan and I wanted this night to go perfectly. But as Florence gazed up to me expectantly, I struggled to find the words. I struggled to tell her what tonight meant, what I was looking for, what I needed to happen. I wanted her to be happy, I wanted tonight to be perfect, because if it was to be just a memory, I wanted it to be ideal.

So I simply nodded and said, “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

She smiled. “Yeah,” Florence said quietly, slipping her fingers to twine in between mine. “I’d like that very much.”

And I lightly brushed her hair from her face and leaned down to kiss her.

“I’ve got to give them credit, they really fancied this place up,” Florence said. I circled my arm around her waist and pulled her closer to me while considering the surroundings.

The junior class really had transformed the city hall into something … a little less sterile. The theme was some insanely cheesy Shakespearean reference and there were floral garlands and twinkle lights stretched all along the ceiling. Pulsating strobe lights and a smoke machine highlighted the dance floor, where small groups of people were grinding on each other.

I immediately searched for the nearest exit sign.

We navigated through the crowd and sat down at one of the many empty tables circling the dance floor. There was a pre-prom dinner, so some plates were still scattered about the tables, cocktail shrimp tails cast aside. I regarded this entire scene with the least bit of interest I could muster. But Florence bobbed her head up and down with the music and I kept my mouth shut.

“Want to take a picture together?” Florence pointed at a side door that led to the hallway. A short line had formed there and with the intermittent flashes of camera lights and the way the girls were preening her hair and touching up their makeup, that was most likely where the formal photos were being taken.

I grunted in response at this scene. “Where we hold each other at arm’s length and smile awkwardly?”

“Come on,” Florence teased. “You can’t graduate high school without a bad school dance picture. It took me long enough to get you to one of these.”

“Why break a perfect record now? Besides, Sandra captured enough awkward poses to keep her scrapbooking until the next decade.”

After we’d come downstairs, Sandra and Bill had harassed us throughout dinner and followed us with camera flashes all the way from the door to the car. Florence had gotten nervous because she was worried they’d see her overnight bag in the back, which I had snuck out of the house earlier, while Sandra was busy with Florence in the kitchen.

Both of them thought there was an all-night lake trip after the prom and that we were going with a bunch of friends. Bill should have known better; he was aware I didn’t have any friends, much less people I’d willingly subject myself to an all-night lake trip with.

Florence tugged at my sleeve. “Let’s dance.”

“I don’t dance.”

“Not even tonight?” Florence’s voice took on this adorable whine. She tugged harder and peered up at me, tilting her head and batting her eyelashes at me in that way she knew drove me crazy. I groaned and crashed a heavy palm on the top of her head.

“One dance tonight, choose wisely.”

“Ten.”

“
Ten?
” I said incredulously. “You’re insane, no way.”

“See, this is the place where you compromise. You say ‘just one’ and I’ll barter you down from ten to a compromise.”

“Is this where you’re trying to get me to five dances and you’ll be satisfied?”

Florence nodded enthusiastically.

“How about we bypass all the back-and-forth and just go with five?”

Florence popped a hip out and hooked her fingers against her waist. “Why, Mr. Blair, you are giving up way too easily. I thought you were the big-shot town negotiator. After all, no vendor shortchanges Blair Farms as long as you’re around.”

I caught Florence in a head lock and pulled her towards me. She squealed slightly and tried to push away, but I brought her close and rubbed her cheek against mine.

“Don’t let anyone hear you say that. I have a reputation to uphold.” I nipped her neck and Florence struggled futilely, digging her fingers underneath my jacket in a vain attempt to tickle me.

“What, a reputation for bullying? Let me go!”

I pressed my lips against her and kissed her hard before releasing her. “Consider this a freebie,” I growled.

Florence flew back, her hands on my chest to create distance. She laughed, the sound tinkling above the bass of the heavy music.