I’d like a cigar. Want to come out on the porch while I have a smoke? Will it bother you?” Mick offered Em a cigar from the humidor. “Do you want one?”
“No, thank you. I’m not a smoker, but I do like the smell of a good cigar.”
Mick opened the French doors that led to the wrap-around porch and motioned for Em to step outside. The patio was covered in huge ferns and other green plants, and featured a cushioned porch swing and wicker chairs. Dozens of café lights twinkled in the cozy space. “This is really nice, Mick.”
“I like it a little bit,” Mick said. He took a deep draw on his cigar and closed his eyes as he exhaled. He decided to be a bit bold. “I don’t smoke cigars very often, but a good cigar seemed to pair well with conversation with a beautiful woman.”
Did I just say that? B’y, you’re a cheesy bastard, Mick Brennan.
Em blushed prettily at the compliment. They sat on the porch, drinking their beers, chatting about where they’d grown up and other things, until both became thoughtful and quiet.
“So, a widower, huh.” Em blurted out.
Real smooth, Em, real smooth. Ugh.
“I take I’m not quite what you were expecting, Ermengarde?” Mick cocked an eyebrow at her.
Em flushed.
My God , he can’t be much older than I am. A widower for over 20 years? That simply can’t be right. He must have gotten married when he was eight.
She took a deep breath.
“No, you’re not what I was expecting. You’re...”
“Taller than you expected a widower to be?”
Em laughed and looked at Mick sitting across her, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Boy howdy, he was sexy. In the soft illumination of the café lights, she examined him more closely. His hair was mostly pepper with a bit of salt, his dark beard liberally sprinkled with silver. His silvery-blue eyes crinkled and twinkled when he laughed. His plump lower lip peeked out from his beard and just begged to be nibbled, and his teeth were straight and white.
“So, what about you? Ever married? Kids?” Mick asked. He immediately regretted his question when Em stiffened.
“No to both. Never married, no children. Em the Spinster, that’s me,” Em chuckled weakly.
“How come?” blurted Mick. “God, that’s rude. Sorry. It’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ve been answering that question for a long time to people that I know far less well. When I was in my twenties, I had no desire to get married and was busy trying to jump-start my career. Then in my thirties, I dated the same guy for a little over ten years. It was never the right time to get married, or so he said, and so now, here I am in my forties with no husband and no children.” She shrugged, but Mick wondered if it was really that straightforward.
“Is this really something you get asked a lot?”
“As a woman, yes. Men can get away with not being married. Women, not so much, at least in my experience. It was mostly my parents’ friends that asked. I’m an only child of late-life parents, so there was a lot of expectation to follow tradition. I never felt pressured by my parents, which was nice. It was everyone else, especially after they passed.”
“So your parents are deceased?”
“Yeah, a while ago. Daddy had a heart attack on the golf course, and then Mother had cancer. Like I said, late-life parents—Mother was 48 when I was born, and Daddy was 53. She thought she was going through menopause, and ta-da! It’s a baby! Needless to say, they were shocked.” Em laughed. “In a way, I’m lucky that I got to be with them as long as I did. Are your parents living, Mick?”
“No, my family’s all gone. It’s just me.” Mick didn’t meet Em’s eyes. She noticed he touched his left pec, like he was stroking something attached to his heart.
He had finished his cigar, and nodded his head toward the house, asking silently if Em was ready to go inside. Em dipped her head in agreement and uncrossed her legs to get up. In
“No, thank you. I’m not a smoker, but I do like the smell of a good cigar.”
Mick opened the French doors that led to the wrap-around porch and motioned for Em to step outside. The patio was covered in huge ferns and other green plants, and featured a cushioned porch swing and wicker chairs. Dozens of café lights twinkled in the cozy space. “This is really nice, Mick.”
“I like it a little bit,” Mick said. He took a deep draw on his cigar and closed his eyes as he exhaled. He decided to be a bit bold. “I don’t smoke cigars very often, but a good cigar seemed to pair well with conversation with a beautiful woman.”
Did I just say that? B’y, you’re a cheesy bastard, Mick Brennan.
Em blushed prettily at the compliment. They sat on the porch, drinking their beers, chatting about where they’d grown up and other things, until both became thoughtful and quiet.
“So, a widower, huh.” Em blurted out.
Real smooth, Em, real smooth. Ugh.
“I take I’m not quite what you were expecting, Ermengarde?” Mick cocked an eyebrow at her.
Em flushed.
My God , he can’t be much older than I am. A widower for over 20 years? That simply can’t be right. He must have gotten married when he was eight.
She took a deep breath.
“No, you’re not what I was expecting. You’re...”
“Taller than you expected a widower to be?”
Em laughed and looked at Mick sitting across her, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Boy howdy, he was sexy. In the soft illumination of the café lights, she examined him more closely. His hair was mostly pepper with a bit of salt, his dark beard liberally sprinkled with silver. His silvery-blue eyes crinkled and twinkled when he laughed. His plump lower lip peeked out from his beard and just begged to be nibbled, and his teeth were straight and white.
“So, what about you? Ever married? Kids?” Mick asked. He immediately regretted his question when Em stiffened.
“No to both. Never married, no children. Em the Spinster, that’s me,” Em chuckled weakly.
“How come?” blurted Mick. “God, that’s rude. Sorry. It’s none of my business.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ve been answering that question for a long time to people that I know far less well. When I was in my twenties, I had no desire to get married and was busy trying to jump-start my career. Then in my thirties, I dated the same guy for a little over ten years. It was never the right time to get married, or so he said, and so now, here I am in my forties with no husband and no children.” She shrugged, but Mick wondered if it was really that straightforward.
“Is this really something you get asked a lot?”
“As a woman, yes. Men can get away with not being married. Women, not so much, at least in my experience. It was mostly my parents’ friends that asked. I’m an only child of late-life parents, so there was a lot of expectation to follow tradition. I never felt pressured by my parents, which was nice. It was everyone else, especially after they passed.”
“So your parents are deceased?”
“Yeah, a while ago. Daddy had a heart attack on the golf course, and then Mother had cancer. Like I said, late-life parents—Mother was 48 when I was born, and Daddy was 53. She thought she was going through menopause, and ta-da! It’s a baby! Needless to say, they were shocked.” Em laughed. “In a way, I’m lucky that I got to be with them as long as I did. Are your parents living, Mick?”
“No, my family’s all gone. It’s just me.” Mick didn’t meet Em’s eyes. She noticed he touched his left pec, like he was stroking something attached to his heart.
He had finished his cigar, and nodded his head toward the house, asking silently if Em was ready to go inside. Em dipped her head in agreement and uncrossed her legs to get up. In
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