19. NICK

“That wine we had with dinner was divine,” Ellie says.

She followed me into the kitchen. Everyone else is in the parlor, talking about the upcoming mid-term elections. I don’t even know what congressional district I’m in, so that was my cue to cut out.

“You should have some more, then,” I say. “There’s plenty.”

“I’m driving,” she sighs.

“This house has something like twenty bedrooms. Everyone can stay over.”

Her eyes light up. “I hadn’t thought of that.” She yells out into the parlor: “Anyone got a problem with staying the night?”

“Can we open up more of that wine if we do?” Chad calls back.

“That’s the whole point!”

“Well, then, tuck me in and kiss me goodnight, honey!”

The rest of them break up into drunken laughter. Ellie turns to me with a grin.

“I guess that answers that question,” she says.

I pull the cork from a fresh bottle – well, as fresh as 70-year-old wine can be – and pour her a generous glassful. She hoists it and toasts my bottle of Miller Lite.

“To that new smile of yours,” she says. “I like it.”

Ellie’s the only person outside of Storm who can make me feel like a shy schoolboy. I suppose it’s a trait they share because neither of them is intimidated by me.

“Storm really likes you,” I say.

“And I like her. But more importantly, Nick, she really likes you.”

And I really like her. But I’ve had just enough beer, and Ellie is close enough to a friend, that the next question just sort of pops out.

“You don’t think the difference in our ages is a problem?”

She frowns mid-sip. “What are you talking about?”

“Storm is twenty years younger than me.” Or more; neither of us has ever mentioned our actual age.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “This is… new to me.”

“Michael Douglas is twenty-five years older than Catherine Zeta-Jones,” she says. “Harrison Ford, Clint Eastwood – they both married women decades younger than them.”

I never thought of that. Maybe I’ve been worried over nothing.

“Young women are often attracted to the strong, silent type,” says Ellie. “Especially these days, with all the young men running around in skinny jeans and sweaters down to their knees, spending all their time whining on social media about how hard their lives are. Real men are in short supply, it seems.”

The dregs of my beer are warm, so I pop another. It’s a full-on party now – the first one I’ve been to since I was as young as the men Ellie is describing – and I’m hosting it. Here’s to me.

“Besides,” Ellie says. “If I had a young stud sniffing after me, I’d drop Frank and shack up with him in a New York minute.”

“You’d starve to death,” I deadpan.

Her laughter reminds me of Storm’s, open and unreserved. Another thing they have in common.

“You’ve got me there, Nicky,” she sighs as she finishes the last of her wine. “But at least I’d die skinny and satisfied.”

Now it’s my turn to laugh. She waggles her glass for a refill and I oblige.

“Seriously, though,” she says. “You deserve to be happy, Nick. I know you went through – some of it, anyway – but it’s been over fifteen years now. It’s long past time that you moved on to the next phase of your life. And if Storm is the one to take you there – and from what I can tell, she is – well, then, you better grab on.”

She’s not telling me anything I don’t already know, but she is confirming that yeah, maybe this is going to work out. And maybe it’s a good thing for me and for Storm.

I wrap an arm around her shoulders and plant a little kiss on the side of her head.

“Thanks, Ellie, I appreciate it.”

She gapes at me. “Good Lord, Nick,” she says. “Public displays of affection? From you? That’s one of the seven signs of the apocalypse, isn’t it?”

“I couldn’t stop myself.” I shrug.

“I have to say, though, a kiss from a handsome, rugged younger man woke up some feelings in this old bird. If I thought for one second you were serious – ”

“You’d do nothing, because you love your husband.”

She sighs. “Yes, I do. But don’t tell him that. He’ll get a swelled head.”

* * *

“Each room has its own en suite, so you don’t have to worry about wandering through the halls in the middle of the night,” Storm says as we assign our guests their bedrooms.

“Thank God,” Chad says with a hiccup. “I was going to ask for a flare gun just in case I got lost. This house really is stupidly big. I mean, like, Hogwarts big.”

“I didn’t bring any overnight clothes,” Ramona giggles. “Guess you’re getting lucky tonight, Greg.”

Frank leers at Ellie, who rolls her eyes. But she’s smiling. She really does love him.

“Roman orgy!” Chad hoots. “I’m in!”

“Come on, Hugh Hefner,” Louis sighs as he guides his partner into their room. “You’ll be lucky to get undressed without passing out, let alone any orgy activities.”

“Which room do you two sleep in?” Ramona asks with a waggle of her eyebrows.

Storm’s eyes widen. “Oh,” she says. “Um…”

“We’re just up the hall in the master suite,” I say, wrapping an arm around her waist. “The cleaning service comes tomorrow, so don’t worry about making the beds or anything. Breakfast around nine o’clock sound good?”

Drunken smiles, nods and good-nights. A fart from Chad as he staggers into their room.

Storm and I turn and head toward my bedroom – which, for tonight at least, is our bedroom.

“Are you sure?” she whispers. “I could sneak back to my room, then come back in the morning before they get up. Let you sleep.”

“There won’t be much sleeping going on in here tonight,” I say as I lead her into the expansive suite where I’ve spent every night alone for more than a decade. “I’ve got you booked for music lessons all night long.”

She gasps as I pick her up and throw her on the huge canopy bed.

“I need to work on my hands,” I say, undoing my pants. “Like you said, practice makes perfect.”