Chapter 18

Time and again, there were two aspects of Ida’s life that her acquaintances found peculiar. The first was her Camaro. She didn’t blame them on that one. Not many women her age would still get behind the wheel of a Camaro Z28. She knew her reaction times weren’t what they used to be, though in no terms did she consider herself a danger to anyone. She planned her errands at times of low traffic when navigating the busy city streets was easier. But getting behind the wheel and flipping on the engine gave her a rush that was unlike anything else she experienced in daily life, so she wasn’t about to give it up. And she was okay that her 2002 Camaro wasn’t as reliable as it once had been. She didn’t intend to replace it. If it conked out before she did, she intended to look into that Uber thing people kept talking about.

She’d bought the car a few years after moving to St. Louis in memory of her late husband. He’d been driving a 1967 model when he picked her up for their first date. The purchase had been her way of saying that she wasn’t settling into a quiet widowhood like everyone expected. Perhaps after living quietly through her youth while her sister lived loudly, it was also a form of self-expression Ida finally needed.

The second thing Ida’s acquaintances were most apt to comment on was her love of a porterhouse steak. An eighty-one-year-old woman and porterhouses didn’t go together, she’d been told. And even if she wouldn’t admit it aloud, the mouthwatering steaks hadn’t been easy on her stomach for over a decade. Knowing how they messed up her system for a few days after eating one, she only gave in to the craving once or twice a year. And to stave off some of their effects, she’d stick to oatmeal for breakfast and a brothy soup for dinner a few days before and after.

But today, a quiet Thursday afternoon framed by newly turning yellow, red, and gold leaves and a crisp, cool breeze that carried the promise of the changing season, she found herself with a craving for red meat that only a good porterhouse would cure. And since steaks were best with company, she drove by her sister’s old place before heading to the grocery store to invite the busy young couple to dinner.

It gave her a chuckle to see the way Kurt cocked his head at the sight of her shiny black Camaro idling in the driveway when he answered the door. To his credit, he didn’t comment aloud. And like the gentleman she suspected he was, after politely accepting, he asked what they might bring.

“Your time and company is all I’ll ask for,” Ida had said.

From there, she’d headed to the butcher shop that Sabrina’s late husband, Jeremy, had claimed carried the best meat in St. Louis. After choosing three steaks that were each big enough to quell the appetite of a hungry grown man, she headed for the Soulard Farmers Market. There, she strolled through the open, high-roofed brick building for fresh salad fixings. Before she knew it, her basket was heavy with a head of iceberg, endive, watercress, and a few sprigs of dill, as well as a fresh cucumber, radishes, and cherry tomatoes. She also chose three baking potatoes that were handsome enough not to be undone by a porterhouse.

In those first months after her sister’s death, she couldn’t recall having tasted a single thing. Now, her mouth watered at the sights and smells of the bustling old market that was as much a tourist destination as it was a staple for those who lived near enough. She released a happy sigh as she headed back to the Camaro. How nice it would be to enjoy a good meal and charming company!

As she headed home, the purr of the Camaro’s engine was so strong that she felt it vibrating through her thin fingers and down past her hands, all the way to her elbows. Sixteen years ago, when she’d bought the car, she hadn’t needed to sit on a pillow seat to see over the hood.

Ida remembered being young and proud and hoping the frailty that came with a long-lived life would somehow not find her when old age did. How silly she’d been not to realize it was all part of a beautiful circle.

She’d been considering it for a while, but she knew the time had come to put the house on the market and head home to Connecticut where her children were waiting. Her sister was gone, and there was nothing but memories holding her here.

And she was almost ready to announce this decision to her family. Her sons had been in their twenties when their father died and she’d left to join her sister here in St. Louis. Her older boy had been living in South America, teaching English at a Brazilian elementary school. Her younger son had been in LA. She hadn’t expected them to return home when they started families of their own years later. But they had. They’d been hoping she’d come back ever since, though it was something they’d never pushed for before Sabrina passed.

Ida had held off on announcing her intention to return to her childhood home and her family, knowing when she did, her kids would be anxious for her to start the process. But doing that would be leaving behind Sabrina. And before she was ready for that, she wanted to make sure the cogs her sister had set in motion would continue turning.

Though Ida had first been skeptical, she saw how right her sister’s decision to leave her house to the shelter had been. During the long months it had sat abandoned with no life but Mr. Longtail and the mice he neglected to hunt, she’d had her worries.

But now she fell asleep lulled by the happy energy radiating out of it once again. Not only was her sister’s beloved house essential in healing those dogs, but something very important in the lives of two humans seemed to be happening as well.

Ida was hoping that after dinner tonight, she’d be more certain of this.

* * *

If Kelsey kept a bucket list of the zillion things she wanted to do during her life, canning fresh fruits and veggies would’ve been on it. The urge to try canning stemmed from trips she could hardly remember to her great-grandparents’ house. She’d only been five when they died, months apart, so her memories were sporadic. But one of them involved her great-grandmother’s garden and the canning she did in late summer. The small farmhouse counter had been lined with glass jars, and a large pot had been simmering long enough to steam up the small kitchen window over the sink.

Kelsey couldn’t remember what her great-grandmother had been canning at the time. From what her father had told her, she’d canned a bit of everything. Perhaps because her great-grandparents’ quiet farmhouse life had been so different from her jam-packed suburban one, Kelsey had wanted to try canning ever since she could remember.

Now that she was knee-deep in a rescue op gone viral, Kelsey wasn’t sure today had been the best time to experiment. But the refrigerator full of pears from Sabrina Raven’s private orchard had been tempting her for the last week, and Ida’s dinner invitation was the call to action she needed.

After finishing a few essential chores by late morning, she’d headed to the store for the supplies and returned with the hope of having the beautiful, fair-trade African basket she’d purchased filled with freshly canned jars of pears for Ida tonight.

After peeling four dozen pears and discarding seven or eight of them because they’d begun to rot on the inside, Kelsey had the rest sliced and simmering in the spiced sugar water.

She was scooping the discarded peelings from the sink into a paper shopping bag when Kurt came into the kitchen. He and his grandfather and Jim, the shelter’s volunteer electrician, had spent the last few hours working on the roof of the carriage house, patching a large hole and strengthening a few support beams.

His grandfather had been a frequent presence in the house the last week, and the old mansion was getting a face-lift as a result. Kurt’s grandfather and mother had rented a small, furnished apartment near Siteman Cancer Center for the course of her treatment. It was twenty minutes away, and when his grandfather wasn’t with her, he was here, working on the house. While Kelsey couldn’t exactly say she’d gotten to know him—he didn’t stop working until he needed to leave—she understood where Kurt got his ceaseless work ethic.

Sara’s surgery, a lumpectomy, had been outpatient. From what Kurt shared, she was recovering quickly. Her radiation was expected to start in the middle of next week.

After wiping his shoes on the rug—it had rained last night—Kurt joined her at the sink. His hand closed over the small of her back as he eyed the dozen jars drying on the counter and the steamy window next to the stove. “Hey, sweets. What’re you doing?”

Kelsey felt a rush of pleasure at the small but intimate show of affection. This last week, there’d been little time for anything between them beyond a few quick and delicious make-out sessions. This was partially because their days were filled with nonstop work, and partially because the house had become a bustling hub for various volunteer projects—the canine ones led by Kurt, and the maintenance ones by William Crawford—and they’d had very little privacy.

While Kurt had said he intended to take it slow after what had happened, Kelsey’s confidence sometimes wavered about this being the reason he walked her to her car every night after everyone was gone and the work was done, rather than up to his room. It had helped when last weekend, after he’d walked her to her car and they’d shared a heated kiss, he’d mumbled something about two more weeks. Two weeks that coincided perfectly with Megan’s wedding reception. Maybe Kelsey wasn’t the only one who was hopeful it might be the landmark night it had the potential to be. She’d told Kurt about the room she’d accepted at the bed-and-breakfast, and he’d insisted she keep it, promising he’d get Rob to fill in for him here.

“I’m finally canning those pears so I can bring a few jars to Ida tonight,” she replied. “Only watch your step. I made quite the mess. I was ladling out some of the syrup because the pot was so full, and I spilled some. The floor’s still sticky in front of the stove. I’ll mop when I’m done.” She opened the handles of the paper bag she’d filled with pear rinds and held it out to show him. “I don’t really know anything about composting, but I thought I’d put these out behind that garden you’re trying to revive.”

His gaze flicked from the sagging-it-was-so-full bag to her happy grin before his toasty-warm brown eyes locked on hers.

Kelsey’s phone timer chirped from the back pocket of her pants, alerting her that the pears should be finished boiling. There was something about Kurt’s reaction, however, that momentarily froze her in place. The lightness in his stance had disappeared, and his smile had all but vanished.

“Did I say something wrong?”

He shook his head. “No, you never do.” He slipped the bulky bag from her fingers and set it on the counter.

She knew he was going to kiss her before one of his hands closed behind her neck and he pulled her in to him. It was a zero-to-sixty kiss, not sweet, not slow, not timid. She was pressed against the sink as his body ground against her.

She didn’t know what had caused Kurt’s sudden intensity, but her body responded instinctively. Her blood heated as the ache of desire flamed hot and fresh. It was a hungrier kiss than any she’d experienced.

Piece by piece, the world fell away. The quietly bubbling pot. The sporadic hammer hits coming from the carriage house. The ceaseless grooming and shuffling sounds the dogs made as they rested in their kennels. It was just her and him and a humming in her ears.

He pulled away and pressed the palm of her hand against his mouth, then his lips and tongue trailed down her wrist until her damp shirtsleeve impeded him. “You taste like sugar.”

“It’s the sugar water,” she managed to say. “The pears are done, by the way. I need to turn them off.”

Kurt whirled the dial, and the soft gas flame disappeared. Then his lips were on hers and his hands were loosening the top button on her jeans and sliding them a few inches down her hips. She racked her brain, trying to remember which pair of underwear she’d pulled on this morning. She hoped it was something sexy but suspected she’d gone with comfort instead.

His touch superheated the space between her legs. She felt like a rocket readying for lift off. It became a war of hands, the victor the one to find the most soothing flesh first. His smooth skin and toned core were silk against her fingers, but she was still the first to relent. It was too much to explore and receive at the same time.

His hand moving against her was the single best thing she’d experienced. She tilted her head back and gripped the counter. Her mouth fell open, and she tried not to lose herself in the moans threatening to break out of her throat. Not only would sounds like the ones she wanted to make set the dogs to barking, but the windows were wide open and who knew how far those moans might carry.

He curled close, pressing his forehead against her neck as he matched his breath to hers and continued those perfect strokes. She floated between conscious thought and pleasure so intense it was without form. She’d never climaxed in the presence of a guy. Not with Steve, the only guy she’d gone all the way with. And not with the ones of lesser importance whose names currently escaped her.

Though it hadn’t been for lack of trying.

If she’d had the presence of mind to debate the possibility of doing so in a kitchen in a house filled with kenneled dogs and a pesky cat who was suddenly and persistently rubbing against their calves, her boyfriend’s grandfather and a shelter volunteer not quite a hundred feet away, and a heck of a lot of open windows, she’d have bet against the possibility.

Kurt sensed it was going to happen a second before she did. His free hand pulled her face against his chest, muffling the gasps that escaped with her NASA-worthy liftoff. He didn’t stop his perfect exploration until the swell of pleasure peaked and finally receded.

Kelsey was left numb and shaky, but the blood returned to her head faster than she would have predicted. At some point, she’d let go of the counter and was grasping him around the neck. Her heart was beating like she’d run a mile, although this had been anything but dreadful. Mr. Longtail had abandoned the floor and was on the kitchen table, grooming himself.

Something between a laugh and a gasp escaped. “I’ve never done that before.” She was breathless and stunned and spent a split second debating whether she should clarify the statement before deciding not to.

It was an open-ended declaration, and she didn’t necessarily want Kurt to know how little experience she’d had. It would be surrendering a vulnerable part of herself, and she wasn’t ready to do that. Not until she was sure he wouldn’t pull a Steve. She wasn’t looking for a proposal, but she didn’t intend to give her heart away again unless she knew she wouldn’t be rejected.

Kurt pressed his lips against hers, drawing the kiss out as he buttoned her jeans. Things were beginning to intensify once again when Jim called Kurt’s name, the sound traveling clearly through the open windows.

They pulled apart, and Kurt let out a sigh. He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and leaned close to whisper as a pair of feet could be heard bounding up the back porch steps. “It’s probably a good thing that we’re never alone, because I wouldn’t get any work done. Especially now that I’ve gotten a real taste of you.”