Love's Awakening (19 page)

“I guess so.”

Oliver placed Caleb back in his stroller. “I’m nervous.”

“About what? The hike?” Celia’s voice was soft. Husky.

“Yes. And, uh…Erin’s staying with me Friday night a week from now.”

“Wow! That’s great, Oliver.”

“I’m not sure what to do, but I’ll figure it out. I’ll let Erin take the lead.”

“You should tell your grandmother about Erin and Paul.”

“So she has another problem?”

A bemused smile curved Celia’s lips, and Oliver could resist her no longer. He pressed his mouth to Celia’s, let Celia part their lips, let Celia’s tongue caress his.

“What was that for?” Celia asked afterward.

“Drunk on fresh air.”

Celia kissed him again.

“I’m sorry I’m an idiot,” Oliver said.

“Shh. You’re not an idiot.”

“I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Join the club. I’ve been avoiding you too.”

Oliver cleared his throat and looked into Celia’s eyes. “I want, uh, I’ve been wanting—I’m a little tired of, uh, I’d like to see you, Celia. All of you. Naked.”

“Y-yeah,” she said. “That would be nice.”

“Really? You want to do it?”

Celia wet her lips. “Yes, I do.”

*****

None of the rooms at the lodge had a TV. Or a phone, although there were a few banks of pay phones. The lodge emphasized getting away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Cellphone reception was poor. The rooms did not have refrigerators either, and Celia had brought a small one to keep Caleb’s milk in.

Celia put Caleb to bed and joined Oliver and Shirley on the back deck. They sat on a wicker couch with Shirley in between Celia and Oliver. The couch cushion was so thin it did no good, but to offset that discomfort, they had a gorgeous view of the lake, and above them, the smooth silhouette of Flat Top.

Celia, Oliver and Shirley were silent, but around them, frogs croaked, fireflies lit up, an occasional deer wandered by, and once in a while, a child shrieked. Overall, it was calm. Peaceful.

Shirley broke the silence. “Oliver, what do you look for in a woman?”

Celia stirred. She had been falling asleep.

“What?” Oliver asked, sounding puzzled. “What do I look for in a woman?”

“That’s correct.”

“I…gosh, Grandma, I don’t know.”

Shirley chuckled. “Try to answer.”

Celia curled her hands into fists. Shirley didn’t suspect about her and Oliver, did she? Well, maybe a little. Anyone would wonder, but wondering didn’t necessarily mean Shirley put true stock into her notions.

“Nothing specific,” Oliver said thoughtfully, and Celia stared at the Flat Top silhouette. “I try to avoid preconceived ideas.”

“You can do better than that,” Shirley pressed.

Oliver sighed. “I really don’t know, Grandma. Maybe honesty, okay? Humor. Kindness. An open mind. A spark of, I don’t know, drive. I’m not like Dad. I don’t like fancy stuff. And…I don’t know. There’s either a spark or there isn’t. Hey, Grandma. What do you look for in a guy?”

“Hmm. I’d have to say art.”

“Art?”

“Art. Creativity. Soul. Do you know how your grandfather and I met?”

“No.”

Celia closed her eyes to relax into the story. “I was seventeen years old and at a street fair with my best friend. Your grandfather was there with his father but not to have fun. They were working. They did drawings, like portraits. Not caricatures, just portraits, beautiful portraits. If you paid five cents extra, they did the drawings in color.”

“Granddad draws?”

“Beautifully. He’s drawn many pictures of you, Oliver. He has a little book at home in Rhode Island, a pocket notebook type with blank pages, and that’s the Oliver book. Anyway, my friend, Marjorie, thought your granddad was cute. I thought his ears were too big, but I humored Marjorie. We sat individually for our drawings. Marjorie fussed about her picture, but when I looked at my drawing, I…” Shirley inhaled a dreamy, tremulous sigh. “He’d
seen
me. He’d
understood
me. Captured me. He’d drawn the real me. I went back the next day and asked his name.”

“Why didn’t Granddad—I mean—his drawings? Why didn’t he hang them or...? Why did he work for your dad’s company?”

Shirley snorted. “He was a poor boy and wanted to impress his new father-in-law. Turning down my father’s job offer would not have been smart.”

“I guess.”

“Richard never realized how good he was. Plus he was scared to try. To
really
try.”

“That’s sad,” Celia said.

“Yes,” Shirley replied. “Absolutely. So, what about you? What do you look for in a man? Obviously, you like older men.”

Celia grinned. “Well, I married an older man, but I don’t have a type. Whatever happens happens. Were you surprised when you found out how young I was?”

“Of course,” Shirley said. “But you can’t control love.”

“No,” Celia murmured. “You can’t.”

“I…Celia, Oliver, can we go back home tomorrow afternoon? I don’t like being away from David.”

“Sure, Grandma,” Oliver said. “If that’s what you want.”

“This place is nice. Peaks of Otter. Really nice. I appreciate you both thinking of me. But I need to get back home.”

*****

Flat Top was touted as a strenuous, three-mile round-trip trek. The September morning was about sixty-five degrees and would feel much hotter after Celia and Oliver got into their hike. They wore shorts and T-shirts. Their plan after the hike was to shower, eat at the lodge and head home. Celia liked hiking—the sweat, the outdoors, the sheer determination of pressing ahead, focusing only on moving.

At the top, green mountains surrounded her and Oliver—and the fifteen or so other people scattered about.

“There’s the lodge.” Oliver pointed toward the hotel and the lake.

“They look like toys.”

“We’ve come a long way,” he agreed.

Have
we
really?

“I didn’t like sleeping in the other room last night,” Oliver said.

Celia laughed. “I should’ve snuck in to be with you, huh?”

“Yeah!”

A dream had haunted Celia last night. The same dream every night since Monday, actually. The endings varied, but the beginning and the middle stayed the same. She and Oliver were at a beach, lounging in the sand. Oliver wore red swimming trunks, and Celia wore a black bikini. “Time for more sun block,” Celia said.

Oliver undid Celia’s top, and she looked down at a pair of luscious breasts. No moo-moo boobies, and Oliver gently kissed each nipple. “On your stomach,” he said.

“Mmmm.” Celia rolled over.

Oliver kissed her back and squeezed a trail of sun block on it. Sometimes, when Celia rolled back over, Oliver was David, grinning, grabbing Celia, sticking his tongue in Celia’s mouth. “Can’t you kiss?” David would growl.

Another ending had Oliver being Shirley. She would still kiss Celia, be just as hostile. Sometimes the person turned out to be Lori. The person never was Oliver.

Out of the corner of her eye, Celia studied Oliver. He was drenched in sweat, and the washcloth he pressed to his forehead made hardly a dent. Celia’s chest constricted. For a minute, she was breathless, and her whole being hurt. Unfortunately, this was not their time. Their time would never come. They would get naked. They would make love.

Still would not be their time.

“Take your shirt off if you’re so hot,” Celia pointed out.

“Nah. You couldn’t handle it. Too much stud in one package. You’d go blind.”

Celia elbowed him in the ribs. “I could handle it. Try me.”

Oliver searched her face. Ran his tongue over his lips. “Hey, Celia. How about… how about tonight? Come be with me tonight.”

Celia pressed her lips to Oliver’s warm mouth. “Tonight it is.”

Chapter
Seventeen

“Oh, Lord.” Janet’s jaw dropped when Celia walked down the steps that night. “You look amazing. I want to dry hump you to kingdom come.”

Celia laughed and twirled around. She wore the black dress and was beginning to like her breasts exactly the way they were. Their voluptuousness. The dress was perfect for fucking with clothes on, if she and Oliver decided to backtrack and go that route.

Celia’s body was already reacting. Imagining Oliver mounting her on the loveseat, or her mounting Oliver, her moaning, rocking her hips, coming, coming, coming. The sweat on Oliver’s forehead, on his neck.

Celia’s mother had a date, so Celia had tried to find a neighborhood baby sitter. She could not on such short notice. Oliver could come to the townhouse, but Celia would rather not risk Caleb crying. She also wanted some time to herself after sex. Besides, all-night lovemaking if Oliver came to the townhouse might be too emotionally perilous. So, last resort: Janet. Celia hated lying to her best friend. Had told Janet on the phone that she had a blind date set up through someone she kept in touch with from the temp job.

“I’ll be back by eleven,” Celia said. She was due at Oliver’s apartment at eight.

“Does this mean you weren’t too crazy about Donald? I thought you liked him. He really liked you.”

“I did. I do. He’s wonderful, but I’m exploring the sea.”

“Scuba dive safely.”

Celia grinned. “I will. Call the cell if you need me.” She gave Janet a hug. “Bye.”

Depersonalize
the
experience
as
much
as
you
can.
You’ll
be
fine.

*****

When Celia laid eyes on Oliver, her resolve to be steely and impersonal jumped a train and chooed off. Because Oliver looked miserable. No, not miserable. Nervous. A volcano of nerves primed to erupt.

Celia did enjoy Oliver’s sharp intake of breath and the gaze that struggled to stay above bust level.

“You can look,” Celia said teasingly.

“I’m a gentleman. An underdressed gentleman.” Oliver indicated his jeans.

Celia leaned in for a quick, feathery kiss on Oliver’s cheek, a kiss that she hoped did not mask her nervousness too much. She wanted to convey to Oliver that they were in this together.

“I’m nervous,” Celia said. “Really nervous. You’re so…I want to impress you. I don’t know if I will.” Celia remembered the stretch marks, the milk that might leak.

Oliver grunted. “All I can think about is you comparing me and Dad and what if I’m not as good as—” He stopped abruptly, pink flushing his cheeks.

“All I can think about is you, you, you. Nothing else. No one else,” Celia said. “Please believe me.”

Oliver searched her face. Believing her, but his scrutiny was impaling. Erotic, too.

“I…I have candles.”

“Candles are good,” Celia said, but she felt like someone else had lassoed her tongue and talked for her.
We’re
actually
going
to
do
this.

Oliver got candles from the kitchen and led Celia into the bedroom. His blinds hung down, and the room was semi-dark. Oliver set the candles on his dresser and lit them. They created hot, leaping orange flags.

“Cinnamon,” Oliver explained. “Not the most romantic, but all I had. Thought I had more.”

“I love cinnamon. Cinnamon’s romantic.”

Oliver clapped his hands together with a vigorous efficiency. “Anyway, do you want the lights off? Would that make you more comfortable? Do you want to wait until it gets really dark outside?”

Celia swallowed. “No, maybe the lamp on to start with.”

Oliver tapped the lamp on to its lowest setting and turned the main light off. “What do you like?” he asked.

“What do I like?”

“In bed. What would you like me to do?”

“Surprise me,” Celia said. “If it helps, I’ve liked everything you did so far.”

Oliver reached for her. Slipped his hands up Celia’s arms, ever so slowly, and then Oliver’s lips were on her neck. His breath tickled, and his mouth was soft, soothing. He left a series of slow and shivery kiss-nibbles. Gooseflesh rippled across Celia’s arms, her legs, her stomach.

She moaned.

Her stepson, of all people, was kissing her neck, had asked Celia what she wanted.

No
surprises.
Clothes
on.
“O-Oliver, I really enjoy, uh…I don’t know what’ll happen if you play with my nipples. I don’t nurse anymore, but milk might leak.”

Oliver drew back and grinned impishly. “I bet I’m cute with a milk mustache. Milk does a body good.”

“If you had a milk mustache, I could lick it off.”

“Hell, yeah.” Lust deepened Oliver’s reply.

Clothes
on.
Clothes
on.
Celia wrapped her arms around Oliver’s waist, enjoying the feel of his hard stomach. “Are your legs tired?” she asked. “You’ve been running through my mind all day.”

Oliver groaned. “Jeez, that’s terrible.”

“Lots more terrible where that came from. If I could rearrange the alphabet, I would put U and I together.”

“That one’s a little better.”

Clothes
on.
Celia hated her level of apprehension. She really wanted to please Oliver. Liked Oliver so much. Wanted to convey how much she appreciated Oliver helping her.

But she would try her damnedest to convey the sentiment with her black dress on. “What do you like?” she asked Oliver. “What do you want
me
to do?”

Oliver tilted her chin up so their gazes hung together. “I’m sweet on you,” Oliver whispered. “You know that, right?”

She smiled. “Ditto.”

“Do you like alien probes?”

“My favorite,” Celia said enthusiastically. “Even more than a hot rod up my ass.”

“You’re in luck. I own several alien probes.” Oliver kissed the tip of Celia’s nose, then her eyelids and then her earlobes. “I like you. I like you a lot, Celia. I like kissing you. I like being with you. I love your smile, and I will love whatever we do. Alien probes, stun guns, grenades, space invaders, green goo, Martians, whatever. I don’t care as long as I’m with you.”

Damn Oliver for being so sweet. Celia was
thisclose
from tugging him to her and kissing him. Kissing him all night.