Page 127 of Grown-Up Second Chance

He maneuvered himself closer and cupped my face with his hand. “Very, very beautiful.” Then he kissed me.

I was afraid to move into it. What if he broke it off again?

But he was the one who deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing at my lips until I relaxed and let him in. I kissed hungrily, starved for this for so long. Long slumbering parts of my body awoke. My nipples hardened and desire built in my belly.

When he pulled back, it was gentle.

“I do want more of this, Di. I promise you I do. Is it so bad that I want to wait?”

On its surface, it was a reasonable request.

But …

“Yes.” I crossed my legs at the ankles and propped myself up by leaning against my hands. “We’re not being driven by hormonal impulses we don’t understand. We care a great deal for each other, don’t we?”

“Of course.”

“Is it the church?” I asked. “Do you believe having sex with someone who isn’t married to you will condemn you to one of Dante’s circles of hell?”

“No,” he scoffed. “Although, Father O’Brian would be very disappointed that we were even discussing it.”

“Father O’Brian. I haven’t thought about him in a long time. He terrified me with his loud voice and those beads that rattled whenever he walked.”

“Definitely pre-Second Vatican Council,” Joe said. “I think he almost had a heart attack when some of those changes were announced.” He plucked a blade of grass and twirled it around his fingers. “Seriously, though, it’s not Catholicism that’s stopping me.”

He placed the blade of grass into his mouth and chewed the end.

“Then what?”

He chewed for a bit longer, then shook his head.

“I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

“Then when?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look, Joe,” I said. “I know you had an almost perfect marriage with Patti, and I imagine your love life was perfect as well, but I didn’t and mine wasn’t. In the last five years of our marriage Larry almost never touched me at all. Do you know how that feels, Joe? Do you know how it feels?” My voice came out in a whisper as my throat tightened with shameful memories.

At one point I’d been on my knees begging him—begging my husband—to please, please make love to me.

I turned away and pushed myself to standing.

“You’ve got to understand. This is important to me. Is it a dealbreaker? I’m not sure. It may be. Thanks for dinner.” I walked away from the river, leaving him there to listen to the frogs compete for their territory.

Jug-a-rum. Jug-a-rum.

~ ~ ~

We didn’t say anything about our conversation when I joined him early the next morning for our planned hike. We were well-practiced at not discussing deep feelings.

After driving to the trailhead, we gathered our gear—water, hats, phones, camera—and walked a short distance to where the main loop began. Joe suggested we take the left-hand route which followed a boardwalk around to the top. Although it had staircases, it avoided the steep steps that led two hundred feet straight up to get to the top.

“This way goes past the pond,” he said. “If we walk quietly, we should be able to see something, even if it’s only a deer.”

We walked through some fragrant-smelling juniper trees. Joe’s hand motion slowed me as we approached the pool.

I swallowed my gasp. Nearby, the anticipated white-tail deer, plus a mama and baby bighorn sheep, were lapping up the shaded water. Joe pointed, and I saw the bandit face of a raccoon as he washed some food he’d gathered.

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