Page 20 of Another Round
Retro. Damn, that makes me feel old. “How do you even know it? You weren’t even born yet when it came out.”
“My mom. I love to listen to all of the music from when she was still recording.”
Well at least we can have that in common. Once we’re back to the farmer’s market, I hold the basket and offer my arm to help her down and guide her to the cashier. Earning the infamous eyebrow raise when she insists on paying for the produce in her belly as well as in her hands since, according to her, it was her idea and her treat. Although I disagree, I’m impressed she’s forging her own path and not letting me always take care of her. Despite how much it’s ingrained in me and I want to.
Seventeen dollars later, which means she paid a whole hell of a lot for the atmosphere since she did all the work gathering and lugging the fruit back, she’s smiling and ready to head to the winery. We walk across the black pavers, past the ice cream stand, to the café. Perusing the offerings with the scent of roasting garlic making my stomach growl.
“Do you want to try this one?”
She holds out a semi-dry white for me to inspect. The blue label spackled with bright yellow streaks. “Whatever you want, love. I’m not having any this time.”
Pink dots her cheeks and she cocks out her hip, balling her free hand into a fist against her side. “You always make me feel like a lush.”
I raise my shoulders and tilt my head, pinching my face in agreement. Implying I think she is with my sharp intake of breath. “Well…”
“Hey!”
Hopefully my smile reveals the truth. “I’m kidding. You’re at a winery so you should drink some wine.”
“Okay.”
Her frown conflicts with her verbal agreement, and she sets the bottle back inside the chiller. Guilt floods through me, so I grab the Riesling and march up to the register with her on my heels. “We’ll take this please plus the chicken alfredo flat bread pizza.”
My cock twitches in the confines of my pants like a damn teenager when she slides her hand around my waist. Resting her palm on my stomach and her cheek on my back.
“Thank you.”
So much gratitude for so little effort. So much fucking reaction from so simple of a touch. So much will power so I don’t caress her in return. I focus on the dark-haired lady tapping her long burgundy fingernail on the screen to enter our order. Grateful for the counter between us so she can’t see me shifting my position from the pressure straining my jeans. “I just want you to have a good time.”
“I am.”
“Me too.”
Performing math calculations in my head has never been so difficult. I finally manage to pay the woman and collect Evie’s drink and our numbered card to slide in the gray metal stand at the table she selects on the patio. The strains of a harmonica accompany us as we sit down. Pretty good cover of Blues Traveler for a group that’s supposed to be just background entertainment.
“They even let you cut down your own Christmas tree here.” She looks up from the flyer taped to the blue laminate. Her exquisite face glowing and gorgeous from the image of a smiling family lugging their spruce through the snow. “I’ve got to show this to my mom. She’d love doing that.”
Christmas. She’ll be gone for months by then. I’ll be alone again. I already miss her, and she’s sitting inches from me.
“This place is so great.” She snaps a photo and taps on the screen, her nimble fingers flying across the tiny keyboard in a blur. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you, but how did you end up living here if you’re from England?”
Such an innocent question. No malice or insinuation implied. Only genuine curiosity. That I hate facing. Or spoiling her enjoyment of the day. “My wife was from here. Her parents requested she be buried here so I wanted to be near their graves.”
Even though I’m not allowed to fucking visit them. Of course I omit that part. More details she doesn’t need to hear. I’ve caused enough damage to her enthusiasm with the answer. Her face lining with sympathy as she slips into the chair next to me instead of across from me and lays her head on my shoulder. Wordless with her consolation this time. Gentle fingers wrapping around my bicep in a comforting side hug.
Now we look like one of those cutesy couples who can’t keep their hands to themselves. Too wrapped up in each other to notice the rest of the world. But I don’t really give a damn right now what anyone else thinks or says. I like her touching me. I like me touching her.
“Do you ever go home to visit sometimes?”
I never go anywhere anymore. Until you. “It’s been a really long time. I should probably go back sometime.”
“Take me with you if you do. I’d love to travel abroad.”
In a heartbeat. But you’re leaving in August and I’ll never see you again. The way it should be. “I’d love to take you, but I’m worried you’d be too much trouble.”
My teasing works as intended, and she laughs. Shaking me along with herself from her merriment. “You’re just worried you wouldn’t be able to keep up with me.”
Now I’m the one to chuckle from the absolute accuracy of her statement. “God’s truth to that.”
