Page 17 of Until Now
Maxen
This might be an alternate reality. Dominique is one of a kind, and it’s hard to explain how I know that. It’s not information gathered from long conversations. We’ve only had a few. It’s not the passage of time spent in each other’s company. We were introduced ten days ago. Seven have been spent apart. But I’m going with my gut and my dick. They both have arrived at the same conclusion.
I don’t want this woman to fall through the cracks. She makes me feel more. More myself. Like I’ve been missing a limb, and she’s suddenly showed up with it. That’s what I’m left with from the hours of thinking about why I’m drawn to her so strongly.
And now we’ve kissed, and it lived up to the fantasy. Oh yeah, every fucking thing confirms the pull. I want it all. Going slow with Dominique might be the best approach. But fuck that plan. I want to remove everything that is in the way of me making love to her.
I need to remember what I want. More. So, to that end, we need to talk. I’m going to learn more about her if I can tear myself away from fantasizing about our future sexual escapades. That thought seems to be taking up lots of my time.
There’s a touch of vertigo happening here, and my world feels literally rocked. Her parted lips and the beautiful green of her eyes make a great picture. A man could get lost in them. What’s the power she has over me? Whatever it is, I am going to surrender without a shot fired. Take it all, babe.
“Let’s spread out the blanket and get to our picnic,” I say, attempting to control myself by moving away from the nuclear reactor that is her mouth.
We unload the supplies and unroll the blanket. Working together, we place it in the open space under the Birch’s shade. That’s where we sit, facing the sea of hydrangeas. I get out the cider and the lunch I bought at the deli this morning.
“Has every man you ever kissed told you you’re a great kisser?”
She chuckles and dips her chin in a shy gesture. “Every man? There haven’t been that many to categorize.”
“That’s hard to believe. I’d guess they line up for the chance to get to know you. Your husband must have been a fool to divorce you. Or did you divorce him?
As she takes the plastic cup I hand her, her expression changes, and I can’t quite read it.
“I’m not divorced. I’m a widow. It’s been nearly a decade now.”
“Sorry. Shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.”
“It’s not a raw subject to talk about anymore. Ten years softens the grief.”
“He must have been very young. Was he ill?”
“No. It was an accident. He was walking across the street to help a woman who was changing her tire. He got hit by a teenager texting. That was the random undoing of our lives.”
“How horrible.”
“Yes.”
“And you had Bing to care for. Did your family and friends help?”
“That was the saving grace. My brother, sister, and parents did everything they could possibly do to help me. When Robert died, I was still in school, and they made sure I finished. They were Bing’s babysitters and my rocks.”
“Do they live here in Smyrna?”
“My parents live in Paris, France now. They retired there a few years ago.”
“How exotic. Why Paris?”
“That’s where they met. My father rode through Europe on his Harley when he was in his early twenties.”
“Really?”
“He met my mother in a café where she worked.”
“She’s French?”
“Oui. Hence my name.”
“What about your brother and sister? Where are they?”
