Unicorn
Izzy
“SO CAN YOU do Friday instead of Saturday?”
I was in Deanna’s office and had just told her about camping with Johnny.
And after I finished talking, I studied her face. She was a couple of years older than me, but at times she felt decades wiser than me, and I was trying to get a lock on what she thought of this latest development.
“That boy isn’t playing any games,” she replied rather than answering my question.
“Sorry?” I asked.
“Charlie said the same thing yesterday when I told him what was going down. Said if this guy was playing you, he’d not be coming to dinner tonight. He’d be calling you two days from now at around nine thirty and setting up a booty call. Now he’s called you and set up a whole weekend together on top of dinner. So yeah . . . this boy isn’t playing any games.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” I told her.
“That’s ’cause you had a long dry spell before Kent, and also ’cause Kent was a successfully disguised psycho, so when you met him neither of us saw he was a successfully disguised psycho and we just thought he was into you. But, you’ll remember, we met Charlie at that bar and I gave him my number, and he made me wait three days before he called. When he did, I didn’t pick up. I waited two days to call him back, and when he answered the first thing I said was, if he pulled that crap again we wouldn’t even get to our first date. He didn’t pull that crap again. He was a player and he admitted it to me on our first date. But he saw what he wanted in me and the games ended. This Johnny, he’s not playing games right off the bat.”
I wanted that to feel good.
Instead, I said, “I don’t think it matters.”
“Uh . . . what?” she asked.
“He wants me for sex.”
She stared at me.
“And I’m good with that,” I told her.
She kept staring at me but she did it this time looking freaked.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” I continued. “He likes me. But I’ve been thinking on things and he’s making it clear this might be about spending time together, but it’s mostly about having sex. He’s not giving me the wrong impression. He told me not to worry about tonight, he’d bring the condoms. He didn’t ask if he could bring a bottle of wine and he didn’t ask if maybe I might want to rent a movie to watch with him after dinner. He assured me he’d bring the condoms. So I know the lay of the land and I’m good with that.”
Her eyes narrowed and she asked, “You sure?”
I nodded. “Totally.”
She stared at me again and didn’t hide she didn’t believe me, and she did this by beginning to look alarmed.
“I’m not getting a good feeling about this,” she shared.
“I am,” I replied. “Because, listen, like I said, I’ve been thinking on things and after Kent, this is perfect. I mean, I get to feel pretty and funny and spend time with someone that doesn’t have feathers or fur or a mane or isn’t my best friend in all the world. I also get to have unbelievably good sex. When it’s time, he’ll move on and maybe we can still be friends and then maybe he’ll give me discounts on oil changes or something.”
“Did Johnny Gamble perform an invasion of the body snatchers through orgasms this weekend?” she asked.
I grinned at her. “No.”
“This isn’t the Izzy Forrester I know.”
“It’s the Izzy Forrester my mom raised and with what went down with Kent”—and with my dad but Deanna knew all about that so I didn’t have to remind her of it, just myself, so I wouldn’t find another Kent, or another Dad—“this could be the best thing that could happen to me.”
When it looked like she was going to say something, I hurried on and did it quietly.
“I’ll find the guy for me and it won’t be a lunatic like Kent and it won’t be a loser like Addie’s husband. It also won’t be some guy who settles for me, might fall in love with me the way he can, even if most of his heart belongs to someone else. But I’m thirty-one years old, Deanna. Since I can remember, I’ve done everything right. I’ve researched everything, not including Kent, to the point where I’d never put any foot wrong, never make a mistake, never mess up so bad all I worked so hard to get was lost. It’s time now to have a little fun. It’s time now to do something just because it feels good. I know where I stand with Johnny. But I like him and he likes me. I like having sex with him and he wants to have sex with me. So I know where I stand and I’m good with that.”
“Okay then, babe.” She lifted two coral-tipped fingers to her eyes then turned them to me and stated, “But I’ll be watching.”
I grinned again. “I’d expect nothing less. So are you good with changing to Friday?”
“Totally. And looking after your menagerie while you’re camping. And we’re doing lunch this week. I wanna know all about this unbelievably good sex.”
I was still grinning when I replied, “You’re on.” I started to the door, saying, “Gotta get back to work. Lunch tomorrow?”
“I’m in.”
I gave her a wave, left her office and I went back to work.
I’d messed things up.
As I drove up to my house that evening, seeing Johnny lounged in the wicker rocking chair on my front porch, one knee bent, one leg stretched out, two six packs of bottled beer on the deck beside him, his truck parked off to the left so I had a clear view of him, all my calm of understanding where I stood with Johnny Gamble flew out the window and the nerves settled in.
I was late.
And I’d made him wait.
Which was rude.
I kept my eyes on him in a state where I couldn’t let it filter through how good Johnny looked coming out of my wicker rocking chair on my little porch with its pillow festooned porch swing, standing, curlicue, iron candleholders with the crystals floating down, the big and small pots filled with flowers, the amazing fretwork at the corners of the roof supports and in the screen door (it might be crazy, but that fretwork was one of the primary reasons I bought the house).
I had to park, shut down the engine, grab my purse then practically merge with the cushion of the passenger seat while I felt under it for my phone.
I’d called him when I was twenty minutes away, telling him he could show in forty-five and I did this sharing that I was almost home but had to stop for beer.
He told me he’d bring the beer and see me at my place in forty-five minutes.
And then all hell broke loose, part of that hell meaning my phone slipped under my seat so I couldn’t call him and share about said hell, and that I’d be late so he shouldn’t be there in forty-five minutes.
I found my phone, nabbed it, straightened, got out of the car, slammed the door and expertly motored through the gravel of my wide front drive on my spike-heeled pumps toward him now standing and leaning against one of my fretwork festooned posts, staring down at me.
I did this talking.
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. After I phoned, some idiot who looked like he was texting swerved into my lane and I had to swerve to avoid him, and my phone flew across the car, settling under the seat. This means I couldn’t get to it to call and tell you that they set up construction sometime today out on 32 and traffic was backed up forever. Then I had to take a detour that I thought might take me five minutes out of my way but took me twenty minutes out of the way, and now I’m late and you’ve been waiting for me.”
I could hear the dogs barking in the house and I’d made it to the foot of the three steps that led up to it but stopped when I stopped talking and also when I noticed Johnny giving me a top to toe.
“Working girl,” he murmured so low, I almost didn’t hear him.
“What?”
His gaze went from my shoes back to my eyes.
“You a lawyer?” he asked.
I stared up at him.
I’d told him where I worked over margaritas at Home.
“I work at Milo-Corp Data Security and Management. I thought I told you that at Home.”
“You did. Are you a lawyer for them?”
“No, I’m Director of the Data Management Department.”
His lips hitched. “That explains it.”
I was wearing tailored black trousers, which were simple and classic. At the waistband though, I had a trim, shiny gold belt that I found at a vintage clothing store that cost close to nothing but looked like a million bucks.
I was also wearing a black blouse with a slit that fell sideways at the neck but tied in a big bow at the side collar, which even I had to agree was fabulous because it was, but also because I got it on sale (the only way I purchased clothes) but still paid a mint for it.
I further had on a pair of simple, stylish black pumps with a suede upper and a sleek, glossy, slim, tall heel. Shoes that cost a fortune (also on sale) but I took care of them better than many women would take care of their children.
In my life I had to have three wardrobes: casual every day, work around the house and stables, and business attire. I spent as little as possible on all of them even if I worked hard finding pieces that would last and make me feel cute. Or, when it came to work, last, be stylish, and make me look professional and serious even though I was cute as well as young for someone in my position.
I took one step up, murmuring, “I’m sorry I’m late.”
“Iz, your place is only half a notch down from the mill on the scale of sheer awesomeness, so it was no hardship sittin’ here soakin’ all this in,” he told me. “Except I felt bad for your dogs seeing as they’ve been going crazy I ’spect since my truck pulled up.”
I loved it that he thought the same about my house as I did (though his mill was fabulous I’d disagree that my place was half a notch down, they occupied the same notch with maybe my acres being slightly higher).
But on that reminder, I said a swear word under my breath and hurried to the door.
I opened the screen, used my key then opened the door.
Dempsey and Swirl bounded out it a flurry of furry glee that Mom was home.
I did not worry about Johnny being there. Both my dogs had no issues with strangers unless I had an issue with a stranger, and usually they just acted protective and alert until I gave them the vibe they could be friendly.
This, obviously, didn’t include Kent who they hated, but they were allowed to do that for obvious reasons.
That said, neither of them had been overtly friendly with him even before he showed his psycho side (this included Dempsey when he was still a puppy, but definitely when he became a full-grown dog), but I’d already made a mental note to assess my dogs’ reaction to anyone in order to make better choices about who I allowed to spend time with me . . . and them.
Thus they shuffled around me, panting, licking and wagging with their violently moving tails, and seeing company they shuffled around Johnny, adding sniffing to their panting, licking and wagging.
Apparently, Johnny got the stamp of approval.
“Friendly,” Johnny muttered, bending to them to grab as many head rubs and ear scratches as their excitement would allow.
“The mountain dog is Swirl, the boxer, Dempsey.”
“Hey, boys,” he rumbled, low and rough and sweet.
He didn’t have pets.
But he liked dogs.
That tingle again slid down my spine.
It became clear to Johnny at the same time it did to me that the dogs were ignoring the call of nature in order to get pets from a stranger back and forth with saying hi to Mom, loathe to go off and take care of business when all this goodness was on the porch.
So before I got to it, Johnny lifted an arm, snapped his fingers, pointed down the steps and commanded, “Go.”
They looked up at him, ears perked then they went dashing down the stairs, and it was noses to the ground as they looked for the perfect spots to take care of business.
“Let’s get inside,” I said, bending to grab the handle of one of the six packs.
“Babe, do not even think about it.”
Half bent at the waist, I twisted to look at him.
“Sorry?”
That got me a full, white smile before he said, “Leave them. I’ll get ’em. Just get your ass inside.”
I nodded, straightened and went inside.
My cool, dim foyer closed around me as Johnny entered behind me and I threw my keys and purse on the table at the side.
I also spied Kelly, my fat, fluffy ginger cat, sauntering across the foyer.
She stopped, took me in, dismissed me entirely, took in Johnny, then walked to him, slid the side of her body across the leg of his jeans, then showed him her backside.
“That’s Kelly. She’s a flirt. Jill and Sabrina are around here somewhere. Sabrina’s the sleek gray. Jill’s the scraggly, long-haired gray and black tiger with a white chest. She’s tiny and she’s shy. You probably won’t meet her.”
Unless he came again. Jill got bolder the more a scent filtered into her sphere.
I felt his regard, so I looked from Kelly, who was not too pleased he was ignoring her invitation to scratch her booty, then again she didn’t understand the concept of him carrying two six packs, to him to see him staring at me.
“You named your cats after Charlie’s Angels?” he asked.
“They don’t fight crime. They mostly just shed, eat, nap and make me feel inferior. But they’re still beautiful.”
The white flashed through his beard again as he slowly shook his head.
I turned toward the hall, ordering, “Follow me. We’ll get those beers in the fridge and I’ll get the Crock-Pot sorted. Then I’m sorry, but I have to change, go out and get the horses in. But after I do that, I’ll get down to the guacamole so we’ll have something to snack on while we wait for dinner to finish up.”
“I can get your horses in.”
I was at the kitchen counter, opening a drawer to get some forks out, but I stopped to look at him where he was, closing the fridge door on his beer.
“That’s sweet, Johnny, and Amaretto is a love, but he’s also protective of Serengeti, who’s a diva. And she sometimes doesn’t feel like behaving. So if she doesn’t, he’ll stick with her. That means it can be a pain to get them in.”
“Grew up with horses, Izzy. We had them with Dad. Granddad had them too. Dad’s last died six weeks after he did, a week before I sold Dad’s place, or she’d have come to the mill with me. I’ll be able to handle it, and if I can’t, I’ll just come back and get you.”
Being good with keeping it just as having some company and sex with Johnny Gamble seemed easy when I was talking to Deanna.
It was a lot harder when I was actually with Johnny. Especially when I just kept learning more and more how wonderful he was.
I mean, he wouldn’t even let me carry in a six pack of beer.
“That’d be great. And that’d mean we can get to the guac faster. My chicken enchiladas are relatively famous in my circle. My guac is revered.”
He gave me his uneven grin and muttered, “Lookin’ forward to that.” His attention went to the back door, came again to me, and he said, “I’ll be back.”
I watched him disappear before I went to the Crock-Pot and took the top off.
But I didn’t immediately dig in to separate the meat.
I looked out the window and watched Johnny saunter in his faded jeans, which fit somewhat loose just hinting at all the goodness they covered, and dusty boots, but he’d put on a denim shirt, which was a nice touch. It said he was coming over to a woman’s house for dinner and he made the kind of effort the kind of man Johnny Gamble was would make, but he wasn’t going to show in a T-shirt.
I also watched when he stopped to welcome both dogs with firm rubdowns when they found him, and I kept watching as he carried on his way, the dogs dancing beside him, toward the stables.
I did this thinking it took me from probably fifteen to thirty minutes to get the horses inside and settled in for the night, depending on how cooperative Serengeti felt like being.
So I did this thinking that if there was a Johnny-type figure in my life, it would be really nice.
I loved my horses and never thought a second about the time it took to take care of them.
But having someone help would be lovely.
I’d never lived with Kent. Perhaps subconsciously knowing something wasn’t right about him, and Charlie stating about two months into the relationship, “Sorry, Iz, there’s just something off about that guy,” made me cautious. But even though we’d been together for over a year, we never took it to that place.
I’d never taken it to that place with any guy, not Kent, not the two longish-term boyfriends I’d had before him.
Maybe I’d find someone like Johnny who knew how to deal with horses.
Maybe I’d find someone who wouldn’t mind throwing in a load of laundry too.
And maybe I’d find someone who also wouldn’t mind throwing it in the dryer and folding it after.
Or someone who didn’t mind vacuuming the floors.
Whatever it was, even before I struck out on my own, with Mom working all the time and my sister a crazy person, from before the time I really should have been taking it on, I took on the bulk of the responsibilities of running a house with people and animals in it.
It would be pretty amazing to have someone help shoulder the chores.
Johnny and the dogs had disappeared into the stables when I realized ruminating on this wasn’t getting the chicken separated.
Fortunately, it fell apart easily like it always did after cooking all day.
And fortunately, I had the corn tortillas already cut, the real English cheddar already grated and the olives already drained so I could toss them in, stir them up, sprinkle more cheese and olives on top and then put the lid back on for it to finish its magic.
I got the black beans out, opened them up and poured them in a pot on the stove, ready to heat up before I dashed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to change clothes so I didn’t have to do that when Johnny was around.
He could chat with me while I made guacamole. But after he’d waited for me to arrive, I didn’t want to make him hang alone while I changed clothes.
I’d mentally planned my outfit so it took no time at all to get rid of the trousers, blouse and pumps and put on a pair of crop boyfriend jeans with wide cuffs and the green printed blouse with its cute, ruffle, barely-there sleeves.
I took off my gold bangles, my slim watch, left in my gold studs, and went barefoot down the stairs, lifting my hair in order to fashion a band around it in a big messy topknot.
I hit the kitchen and looked out the window, not seeing Johnny. I considered going out to check on him but instead decided to give him time and I grabbed the avocados.
I started on the dip, my eyes straying to the window often, so I saw it when, not five minutes later, Johnny and my dogs ambled out of the stables.
It was then I realized I liked the way he walked. There was a confident, masculine grace to it. He just was who he was. He looked the way he looked. He moved the way he moved. The fact that all of that was amazing didn’t factor to him.
It was just . . .
Him.
I’d scooped out the avocados and thrown in some salt and was mincing the onion along with the cilantro and chilies when Johnny and the dogs walked in.
“Serengeti felt like being a diva,” I guessed, looking over my shoulder at him and in the process of mincing, so I just swayed my legs against their bodies to say hi to my dogs when they came to say hi to me.
“Your dogs like strangers. Your palomino, not so much,” he answered.
“No, she does, when she feels like doing it. She just felt like being a diva tonight.”
He gave me an amused look and headed to the fridge. “You want a beer?”
“I don’t drink beer. But there’s an open bottle of white in there. If you could pour me some of that. Wineglasses are over there.” I jerked my head to the opposite wall.
“Gotcha,” he muttered.
“This won’t take long, and then we’ll sit out on the back porch and munch while the enchiladas finish up.”
“You gonna make me eat vegetables?” he asked.
I smiled at him. “You’re a big boy, not sure I can make you do anything, but I am making a big salad. If you don’t want any of it, I won’t be offended.”
“We’ll test it and see if my body will accept something healthy fed to it.”
I laughed softly, decided against chiding him because I knew intimately that somehow he took care of that body or it wouldn’t be the body it was, and went back to my guac.
I was squirting the lime juice in in preparation for mixing when Johnny remarked from behind me, “Sweet kitchen.”
I looked over my shoulder at him to see him leaning in a hand on my island, a beer bottle in his other hand, his attention to me.
“Luckily it mostly came this way. I put the farm sink in, got a deal on the marble countertops because some lady ordered them and then decided she didn’t want them. Other than that, I just painted, put some new handles on and voilà.”
“It’s sweet. It’s cute. It’s you. But I feel my balls shrinking just standing here.”
My body jolted and I burst out laughing, doing it looking at the cream painted cupboards, the green glass handles and knobs, knowing below the sink was a fabric curtain of roses and leaves against a cream background. There was a narrow flowery print over the window that was above the sink. There were shelves around the sink with the green milk glass pieces I’d inherited from Mom (who inherited them from her mom) with others I’d been picking up for years, intermingled with pink. Even my KitchenAid mixer was mint green. All the rest was cream or elaborate wire. And definitely every inch of it was feminine.
“I’ll be done in a second and we’ll get you out of the danger zone and on the back porch.”
“Babe, your back porch looks more comfortable than my living room. There are more pillows on that loveseat out there than on my bed. You even got a lamp out there.”
“I like to be comfy,” I told the guacamole.
“I’d hazard a guess you succeeded in fulfilling this desire.”
I again laughed softly then moved to the cupboard to pull down my chips and salsa bowl.
“You can go on out,” I told him. “I’ll dish this up and pour out the chips, and I’ll be out in two seconds.”
“Got your wine,” he replied.
“Thanks,” I said.
I dealt with the dip and chips then, to mess with him, I searched for the pink paper napkins I’d found at an antique shop that had a frilly corner, like a doily. I’d been saving them up for a special occasion, a party or something, but decided now was the perfect time to use them.
I located them and took a bunch out with the bowl.
Johnny was in my loveseat, both dogs roaming around the screened-in porch, deciding where to settle as I settled myself beside him, throwing down the napkins and placing the white chip and salsa bowl on the table in front of us.
“Jesus,” he muttered, eyes to the napkins.
I giggled.
Dempsey came up and stared hopefully at the chips.
“No, baby,” I murmured.
He gave me an adorable look then Swirl came up and stared hopefully at the chips.
“No to you too, handsome,” I told him.
He gave a whine then rounded the table to slide with a groan to his belly by my feet.
Dempsey picked Johnny, partly because with Swirl where he was there was no more room on my side. But mostly because Swirl was older, he’d learned a long time ago my no categorically meant no. Johnny was an unknown entity, and he might be a pushover with the chips.
“They get treats later, not chips now,” I told Johnny.
“Right,” Johnny replied, leaning forward to load a chip with guac and doing it looking at Dempsey, muttering, “Sorry, buddy.”
Dempsey looked sad.
Johnny sat back and I leaned forward to do the same thing he did.
It was then he touched me for the first time that night.
He did this by putting a warm hand on the small of my back, the heat of it melting into my flesh, traveling up my spine and down over my bottom.
“Christ, Iz, this is the best guac I’ve ever had,” he stated.
I was glad.
I was also glad for the reminder of who we were with his touch at my back.
I hadn’t thought about it, but he hadn’t given me a kiss when we met on my steps. He hadn’t touched me or even came close to me. He also hadn’t gotten close in my kitchen. Even as small as it was, he stood removed at the island. Indeed, there were no touches, pecks on the cheek, brushes of lips on my neck.
There was no intimate or even familiar affection at all.
We were going to have food now. Sex later.
He might not even spend the night.
That was where we were. Who we were. What was happening here.
And Johnny getting the horses in and teasing me in my kitchen didn’t change any of that.
I sat back to eat my chip and lost his hand as he immediately leaned forward again and got more.
After I swallowed, I said, “Glad you like it.”
“Need this recipe,” he told me.
“Sorry. I’m only giving it to my daughters, but only after they vow to give it to no one but their daughters.”
Johnny turned his head to the side and gave me a look from sparkling eyes.
Then he went back to the guac.
I leaned forward and grabbed my wine.
When he finally nabbed his beer and sat back, I shifted into the corner, crooking a leg to the seat, which meant my knee was pressed to his thigh, something he didn’t react to at all, but that was where we were.
And now it was time to get some things out of the way.
“Can I talk to you about something that might be awkward?”
Dempsey was sitting by him, leaning against his side of the seat, and Johnny’s attention went from scratching Dempsey’s head to me.
He looked guarded but said, “Sure.”
I held my wineglass in front of me and carried forth the decision I’d made after talking to Deanna that day.
“I moved here not long ago. I did because I have some friends who live here and love it. They’ve been here about five years. They’re a couple, Deanna and Charlie. Deanna’s actually my best friend. She’s the one who came out to look after my animals.”
“Okay,” he said when I stopped talking.
“Well, I told her I was with you and she told me you own Gamble Garages.”
He seemed to relax and leaned forward to grab another chip and load it with dip, saying, “I do.”
“She said there are a lot of them,” I told him.
He popped the chip in his mouth, chewed it, and sat back to look at me.
He swallowed and replied, “Depends on what you consider a lot. We got eight shops. Circle K has over three thousand.”
His response wasn’t defensive, just informative.
It was still odd.
“No, what I mean is, that’s impressive.”
“Granddad had a wife and three kids to feed, a boy and two girls,” Johnny shared. “Then, it was just the garage, the one here, in Matlock. He saw the writing on the wall and knew he’d never make it, have something to give to his son, if he didn’t grow. You sell more gas, you can buy it cheaper. You change enough filters, you buy in bulk, you get better prices on supplies. You diversify, adding Big Grabs of chips and fridges filled with pop, you got additional sources of revenue. He opened shops two and three. Dad took it up to seven and I added the eighth.”
I nodded.
“But I’m a mechanic,” he announced. “I got a GM who deals with all that shit because I can’t be bothered with it. It bores me sick. I look over his reports. I meet with him once a week so I can okay his decisions. And I’m the only one who can sign checks because I’m not a moron. The rest of the time, I repair transmissions and replace brakes.”
“I . . . are you upset?” I asked, because I couldn’t tell with the utter emotionless and matter of fact way he was imparting this information if he was or wasn’t.
“I’m not upset. I’m wondering why you’d think talking about my garages is awkward.”
“That’s not the awkward part,” I shared carefully.
“Then how ’bout we get to that part,” he prompted.
I decided it best to do it quickly and get it over with.
“My friend also told me about Shandra,” I said quietly.
I also watched him closely.
But nothing changed in the utter emotionlessness of his face, except perhaps the skin around his mouth tightened a bit, but I couldn’t really tell considering it was covered in beard.
“Matlock, pretty much anyone in it who was around when I was with Shandra, decided what that was when not a one of them, but Shandra, knew dick. So don’t listen to that shit.”
“I just wanted to say that if she’s the reason that—”
“I lost my dad three years to the day before I met you, Eliza. That’s where I was at yesterday. Don’t listen to that shit.”
“Okay,” I said hesitantly. “But can I just say that . . . well, I thought you should know. You should know that someone told me. You should know I know. I didn’t want to . . . I mean, you don’t live in a bubble and you know I don’t either, so I can imagine you’d guess I’d talk to my girlfriends about meeting you. But I also think it’s uncool to talk about you, learn things about you, know things about you that you haven’t shared without letting you know I know.”
He said nothing to that.
So I finished, “So that’s it. That’s the awkward.” I flipped out a hand in a way that was just as uncomfortable as I felt and concluded, “That’s done.”
“I loved her,” he stated.
It was me who said nothing to that.
“Thought I’d make babies with her and spend the rest of my life with her. That didn’t happen. We’ve been over for a while. She’s nowhere near Matlock and she’s not coming back. Did that fuck with my head? Yes. A man decides to spend the rest of his life with a woman, make a family with her and it ends, that’s gonna happen. But it happened. She happened. And now it’s done.”
“I’m sorry that happened,” I said gently.
“You weren’t a virgin before I had you so I reckon I’m not the only one sitting here with history like that.”
“I’ve never been in love,” I shared quietly.
“Avoid it,” he advised resolutely. “It sucks.”
And again . . .
There we were.
“I hate you feel that way,” I told him, still quiet. “My dad was a hard act to follow. Not the same way I’m guessing, but still, he was. Mom never recovered. She tried though, a lot, and she did it hard. So even though I’ve never felt anything like that, I get it in little ways, what you’re saying, watching her search for something that wasn’t to be had. Because sometimes I wished she’d avoid it so she could find another way to be happy.”
“You’ve changed,” he declared.
I felt my head give a slight twitch in surprise to his comment.
But I suspected he said it in order to change the subject.
“Yes, I ran up when you were in the stables and got out of my work stuff,” I confirmed.
“No,” he said firmly. “Yesterday, you were nervous and unsure of yourself, unless I had you in bed. Sweet, when you weren’t letting your nerves run away with you, which made you do stupid shit, but shy as fuck. Now, you’re not.”
“I’m in my space now,” I explained.
“It’s not that,” he returned.
“I’ve also already been a total idiot in a pretty bad way, so I broke the seal on that so you won’t be as surprised, or angry, if I do it again. Which I might, just saying. I can be confident when I’m serving up my famous guacamole because as you can tell,” I waved my wineglass at the bowl, “it’s confidence worthy. The rest of the evening, fair warning, anything could happen.”
He said nothing again.
“And camping, which I assume will be Saturday to Sunday, just be aware, with that much time, I could cause a mini-Johnny-Izzy Armageddon.”
His mouth twitched.
“But you’re good through the enchiladas because those also rock,” I assured.
“You got plans Wednesday?” he asked.
My heart jumped. “No.”
“My turn to dazzle you with my cooking.”
A slow smile spread on my face. “You’re on.”
He leaned toward the guac again and did it speaking. “Just to say, babe.” He loaded up a chip, sat back and looked me right in the eyes. “It’s appreciated, you being honest with me. You’re right. It’d be totally uncool you knew shit about me you didn’t share. So thanks for that.”
He then popped the chip in his mouth.
“You’re welcome, Johnny.”
He jerked his head to the bowl. “Am I gonna eat that all by myself?”
I grinned at him and shook my head, leaned toward the bowl and took my own chip, saying, “Nope.”
I sat back and shoved it in my mouth.
It was when I was washing it back with my first sip of wine when his hand settled on the side of my knee that was pressed to his thigh.
I felt the tingle and swallowed the cool wine.
“Now,” he murmured, and I looked at him. “You honestly gonna make me ask for a freaking kiss?”
He wanted a kiss.
“Nope,” I whispered, bent toward him, put my own hand on his thigh and my face close to his.
He slid his fingers into my hair as he wrapped his hand around the back of my head and pulled me closer.
I kissed him but he kissed me too.
Then he let me go, I sat back and we ate up all the guac and chips.
Later, after enchiladas, after Johnny declared my apple pie à la mode was better than my guac, after Johnny helped me clean up, after I let Johnny give the treats to the dogs, I led him upstairs and moved forward into my room where I’d guided him.
I stopped because I sensed he stopped.
Enchiladas went great, though Johnny agreed, as great as they were, the guac was better (this was before he had my pie).
And the half a plate of salad he served himself didn’t make his body slide into shock.
Also, things were relaxed, they were easy. We were getting to know each other, perhaps not sharing deeply, but I now had the info Deanna gave me confirmed that he had a brother, but I also knew he used to have a dog named Ranger. I further knew he was thirty-four years old and didn’t go to college. He went to mechanics school but knew most everything they taught him since he’d been working beside his dad (and before he died, his granddad too) at the garage since he could see over the fender of a car. And he was totally okay with Swirl and Dempsey going camping with us.
Through all that I didn’t make an idiot of myself.
But that time was nigh. I could feel it.
Because Johnny had made no bones about what we were doing after cleanup and dog treats, and he’d done this by looking at me and saying, “Now, Iz, where’s your bedroom?”
So now we were about to have sex.
So now I was nervous as a cat.
I looked back at him to see him staring up at the old-fashioned, droopy crystal chandelier I’d found at a garage sale and bought for a song because it was messed up. But I cleaned it up and now it was fabulous.
“Johnny?”
His chin tipped down and his eyes sought mine. “You have a chandelier in your bedroom?”
I grinned, the nerves beginning to glide away.
I also shrugged.
“Am I gonna walk outta your house tomorrow morning coated in glitter dust?” he asked.
My heart sang and the nerves took flight.
He was spending the night.
“I don’t think so,” I answered.
“Best get to fucking you before I turn into a unicorn or something,” he muttered.
I burst out laughing.
I stopped doing this when Johnny charged me with a purpose, this purpose ending in us both bouncing on my bed, him on top.
And then he got to fucking me.
I’d find he’d brought a string of five condoms.
But before I passed out naked in his arms in my bed, we’d used only three.
Still, it was good he came prepared.
“Iz.”
I turned from the sink and looked to Johnny.
He was standing in the kitchen doorway, his hair a mess, his jeans on, done up, belt not done up, shirt on, not buttoned up, feet bare, boots in his hand.
His eyes were drowsy and they were on my shoulder.
“You’re awake,” I said.
“Babe,” he replied.
“What?” I asked.
“What the fuck is on your shoulder?”
I looked down at the orange canary perched on my shoulder.
That canary sang.
I looked back at Johnny. “That’s Wesley.”
He stared at me.
I gestured to the yellow canary hopping on the countertop. “That’s Buttercup.”
“Jesus,” Johnny muttered.
“They keep me company while I make breakfast,” I told him, moving to the coffeemaker. “You want coffee?”
“Babe,” he said.
“What?” I asked, looking to him again to see his eyes aimed to the floor.
“What’s on your feet?”
I turned my attention to my feet then back to him.
“Wellies.”
“Why?” he queried.
“Why?” I repeated after him.
“Why do you got boots on with your pajama bottoms?”
“I had to go feed the horses and then let them out.”
His gaze slid down my fitted T-shirt to my pajama bottoms, which I had rolled at the waist, to my wellies and back up.
“I’m here, you get my ass up to go turn out the horses.”
My belly flip-flopped.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“I don’t know what time it is but I know I don’t want to know what time it is. You get up this early every day?”
“I have a lot to do in the mornings and a long commute.”
He dropped his boots on the floor, strolled into the room and came right to me.
He didn’t kiss me or touch me.
What he did do was lift a finger.
Wesley hopped on it.
Johnny turned his hand to his shoulder and Wesley hopped there.
My whole world trembled, because although it was arguable, that might be better than a morning kiss.
I felt it, as I would.
I also ignored it.
Then Johnny grabbed the pot out of the coffeemaker at the same time he took one of the cups hanging on hooks under the cupboards.
“Go do what you do to morph into working girl. I’ll make breakfast.”
“Working woman,” I corrected.
His still sleepy, beautiful eyes cut to me.
“Don’t bust my chops at three o’clock in the morning.”
“It’s five thirty, Johnny.”
His attractive and sometimes ominous thick brows shot up.
“What’d I say about not busting my chops?”
I grinned up at him.
“Go,” he rumbled.
I kept grinning, turned on a Wellington-clad foot and headed to the back door.
I took the boots off, tossed them on the back porch and headed out of the kitchen but stopped at the door and turned back.
Johnny, with Wesley still perched on his shoulder, was peering into the open fridge, one hand on the handle, the other hand held up to his side with his long, strong fingers wrapped around one of my heavy cream coffee cups.
“Johnny?” I called.
He twisted to me but didn’t close the refrigerator door.
“You didn’t turn into a unicorn,” I pointed out.
“I still got the equipment to drill you so if you don’t wanna be late to work, you best stop being cute at the same time you’re being a smartass and get on with morphing into working woman.”
“Message received,” I returned, smiling hugely at him.
“Izzy, no human on earth who’s normal smiles that big at three o’clock in the morning,” he growled.
“It’s five thirty,” I repeated.
“Baby?” he called.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Get the fuck upstairs.”
I kept smiling at him.
After I did that for as long as I thought he could take it, I turned and dashed up my stairs.