Chapter Thirty
We pulled into his parents’ garage late that night. Neither one of us verbally expressed it, but I think we were both hoping to avoid his family after the morning’s embarrassment. That, and like old times, it was so easy to get lost in one another.
For the first time in our lives, we didn’t have to worry about whether someone would see us. We ate our picnic dinner and watched the boats come in and out of the bay. And we threw in a lot of experimenting. But the part I loved most was lying in his arms while he told me stories of his world travels. His favorite place was Australia, particularly the Gold Coast. He regaled me with stories of surfing and the rain forest. I, in turn, told him all about the deadliest creatures in Australia, from the box jellyfish all the way to the atrax robustus, otherwise known as the Sydney funnel web spider. He was glad he was unaware of all the dangers before he went.
He kept saying things like, “Someday we should go to Australia. You would love Melbourne for all the history and museums.” Or, “We should go to London. They have the best natural history museum in the world. You would be in heaven.”
Today I kind of felt like I was already in heaven. And I realized how little I ever dreamed. Porter dreamed big and had goals outside of his career. I’d never allowed myself to imagine anything other than academic and career goals. How odd was it that I never even considered the possibility of traveling? I thought learning about those places or watching National Geographic was enough, or all that I deserved. Porter, like before, was opening my eyes to worlds I never knew or thought about. I think Sharon was right; I should’ve gotten out of the lab more.
It was late, but we were still wearing big smiles and living off very little sleep when he turned off the truck. I could’ve stayed in that truck forever admiring him from the passenger seat, except my ankle was begging for some ibuprofen and ice. I’d overdone it today, but it was worth it.
Porter tugged on my hand when I went to open the door. “Let me come around and help you out.”
I didn’t protest and waited for him. Did I mention he was still shirtless? I was looking forward to getting another close-up encounter.
He easily lifted me out of his truck. And just as easy, I wrapped my arms around his neck, letting my head rest against his shoulder.
He kissed the top of my head. “I like this arrangement.”
“Me too.”
Not another word was said as he carried me in, but we did speak. The way he held me against him as if he never wanted to let go spoke far more to me than any words. It gave my fingers permission to brush across his taut chest and revel in his dark hair. His skin raised, and he captured my lips. Our mouths danced together until his tongue parted my lips, adding new moves to our tangled waltz. He prodded deeper, causing my fingers to wind through his hair, wanting to get as close to him as I could. Slow and steady, we communicated like that all the way through the dark house.
We were so into one another we failed to notice a dim light on in the kitchen. There, another dance of sorts was taking place. Porter came to a stop at the kitchen’s entrance. His lips abruptly fell away from mine. I turned to see what had stolen his attention. There in front of us was a magnificent scene like the one we had been enjoying.
The breakfast bar, counters, and island were filled with vases of white trumpet lilies. In the midst of the floral arrangements stood Mr. and Mrs. Clairborne. Mr. Clairborne held Natalie the way his son held me. He stroked her hair and whispered his apologies.
“Mi alma. Mi vida.” My soul. My life. He repeated in between the gentle kisses he caressed her face with.
She fell into him and spoke against his chest. “Mi todo.” My everything.
Tears pooled in my eyes. I had never seen anything so beautiful. Love grew before my eyes. My gaze drifted back to Porter’s to see his reaction. He, like me, was mesmerized. I think I even detected a hint of a smile. When our eyes met, both sets agreed we should leave the scene undisturbed.
Part of me felt guilty for watching for even a moment, but I was so happy to see they had made up. More than that, though, it proved that Mr. Clairborne was a man of his word. He promised his wife she would never regret marrying him. There was no doubt by the way she clung to him that she never had, not even for a second.
I peered into Porter’s eyes as we backed away; they spoke of being able to keep the same promise his dad made many years ago. It both calmed and frightened me, but it didn’t surprise me.
I was surprised, however, when Natalie called our names.
“Porter, Holland, you’re home.”
A look of guilt passed between the two of us. We had not meant to intrude.
“We just came for some ice and ibuprofen,” Porter informed his mom. “We’ll come back later.”
“Oh, Holland, are you okay?” Natalie went from lover mode to mother mode.
My guilt only increased. And now I was forced to make eye contact with Porter’s parents. Mr. Clairborne was doing his best to hide he was annoyed at the interruption. Natalie was smoothing out her hair trying to hide any evidence of intimacy. She also flipped on some more lights.
“I’m fine,” I tried to reassure her. “My ankle’s a little swollen.”
Natalie waved at Porter. “Bring her in here and let me have a look.”
That was unnecessary and awkward, especially after this morning. Now here I was once again in their son’s arms. I was glad I was back in my shorts and shirt. I gave Porter a please-save-me look, but we both knew it was pointless. Natalie wouldn’t take no for an answer. Porter walked us in and set me on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. Natalie hurried around, but not before Mr. Clairborne could catch her hand and bring it up for a kiss. Natalie blushed but looked ever so pleased.
While Natalie fussed over my ankle, Porter and his father exchanged brief, uneasy glances. If only they could show each other the same affection they possessed for the women in their lives. My heart ached to make it better between the two.
Porter turned his focus back to me. “I’ll grab an ice pack.”
“Thank you,” I responded.
“Honey.” Natalie lifted my leg and rested it on a stool. She lightly touched my injury, inspecting it. “What did you do today?”
A look flashed between Porter and me that said she probably didn’t want to know, at least most of the details.
Natalie’s grin said she already knew.
“It’s my fault,” Porter called from the refrigerator. “We walked down to the wharf for dinner.”
“He didn’t make me,” I threw in.
“Of course he didn’t, but tomorrow you better stay off this foot.”
I nodded.
Porter returned with the ice pack and handed it to Natalie.
She rested the pack on my swollen ankle. “I think we have some Epsom salt around here. I’ll find it and you can add it to your bath tomorrow. That should help with the swelling.”
I would tell her not to go to the trouble, but I knew she would anyway. “I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”
“You are very welcome.” Such warmth lived in her eyes. “We will see you in the morning.” She shifted her focus to Mr. Clairborne who stood in the kitchen acting as if he didn’t know what he should do. “We should leave these two alone.”
He nodded but didn’t move. He looked between Porter and me, running his hand over his rough cheeks. He was a distinguished gentleman. Porter had good things to look forward to, judging by how well his dad had aged.
“I want to apologize for this morning.” His voice was strangled. “I didn’t mean to embarrass either one of you or imply you lack character.” His eyes shifted upward toward the ceiling. “If you are sleeping together, that’s your business.”
Oh, it was so nice for a moment. It only got worse.
“Just don’t let sex get in the way. You haven’t seen each other in a long time and emotions are running high. I would hate for either one of you to do something you might regret. But again, you are old enough to make your own choices. Just lock the door next time.”
Natalie cleared her throat loudly. “Beau, love, I think we should get to bed.”
I couldn’t look at Mr. Clairborne, or anyone for that matter. The floor looked nice and clean.
Natalie kissed the top of my head. “Good night, honey.”
“Good night.” I still refused to make eye contact. I didn’t look up until Natalie embraced Porter and held him like I imagined she did when he was five, or at least with the same emotion. He was quite a bit taller than her now.
“Te quiero, hijo mío. Estoy muy orgulloso de ti.” I love you, my son. I’m so proud of you.
I was glad I took four years of Spanish in high school.
He hugged his mom with the same emotion. “I love you, too.”
Natalie didn’t let go, but her sniffles could be heard. I could only imagine how happy those words made her. How healing they must have been to her heart. I dared a glance at Mr. Clairborne. The longing in his eyes said he wanted such a moment with his son, yet he didn’t attempt it. I couldn’t understand why. He was obviously a man that knew how to love deeply. To show it, even. The chasm between the two was understandable but I couldn’t understand his reluctance to bridge the fissure. Or maybe I didn’t see the entire picture because my vision was clouded by my feelings for Porter. It was so clouded I almost told Mr. Clairborne not to waste another moment and tell his son he loved him. I knew that wouldn’t solve all their problems, but it was a good place to start.
Once Natalie did let go, she gave her husband an expectant look. It mirrored my thoughts. She was begging him with her eyes to take the first step. He did step forward, but all he said was, “Good night, you two.”
He brushed past Natalie and Porter as if he was ashamed that he couldn’t or wouldn’t. Porter went to say something, but it never got articulated. He lowered his head and sighed.
Natalie and I must have been on the same wavelength. She caught my attention and her expression said I guess it’s up to us. The question was, how? I knew little of relationships and had been avoiding them for years. How could we help heal father and son?
Natalie placed her hand over her son’s heart. “We love you, mijo.” With that sentiment, she strode off, no doubt to find her husband and give him a piece of her mind.
Porter acted as if nothing happened. He removed the ice pack and placed it on the counter before swooping me up into his arms. “Now, where were we?” He didn’t do a good job of hiding the pain in his voice.
“Porter.”
He didn’t give me a chance to ask him if he wanted to talk about his dad. Instead, he poured all his emotions into my lips. His came crashing into mine, parting them from the moment they touched. At first his kiss was deep and hungry, consuming to the point that he left me breathless. Once we both took a breath, I took in how soft his lips were and how good he smelled. Not to mention how delicious he tasted, like sweet ricotta and strawberries. Each one of my senses was drawn to him. It was almost as if I could hear my body on a molecular level analyzing him and feeding me intel. The conclusion was yet to be seen, but I liked the data so far. Porter occupied me, body and soul.
The kiss slowed, but the heat simmered. His lips trailed down my neck, leaving a path of temperatures close to volcanic eruption level, twelve hundred degrees Celsius.
Then Porter whispered, “Tú eres mi vida, mi alma.” Why did that sound so much more beautiful in Spanish? Did Porter realize how much he was like the man he desperately sought approval from? If only they could both see how alike they were.
That’s when genius struck. Or perhaps madness. “Porter.”
“Yes, darlin’.” His breathing was labored. He spoke between kisses.
“I have an . . . idea.” I too was having a hard time speaking.
He nuzzled my neck. “Please tell me . . .,” he continued to consume my skin and senses, “it involves you and me doing this for the rest of our lives.”
“I think it might help.”
His head popped up, his eyes were filled with passion and wonder. “Whatever it is, I love this idea.”
I wasn’t sure about that. I ran my hand across his cheek. He had the glow of someone who, well, someone who had just had an intimate encounter. The dopamine had done its job. I saw myself reflected in his eyes. I took great pleasure and comfort in it.
“Promise me you will think about it before you make a decision.”
His eyes narrowed; now he didn’t look too sure.
“I was thinking how lovely it would be if the first couple you used for the Clairborne’s new campaign was your parents.” If anyone had a beautiful love story it was them.
Crestfallen described the look on his face to a T.
“I think if you had the opportunity to understand and know their story better, you would see how important you are to it,” I added.
And maybe if that happened, he and his dad could start bridging the divide. And maybe, just maybe, Porter would stay. I could tell on the beach earlier today he would if circumstances were different. If he stayed, it could be like turning back the clock. We would get the chance we missed out on so long ago to grow our relationship outside the constraints that were once placed upon us. We could control the variables this time and come to the right conclusion, whatever that was.
“Holland.” His voice begged me to tell him I wasn’t serious.
I had never been more serious, and that was saying something. It was me this time who put my finger to his lips. “Think about it. Please.”
He took my finger and kissed it. “I give you my word.”
I knew he meant that. The question was, what would he decide?