A Loving Man by Cait London

but refused to look away. “You’re standing too close and you’re not wearing a shirt.”
    Stefan pressed his case; Rose needed to admit to herself that she was a very sensual woman—attractive, desirable—and that she, too, was simmering. He wanted to remove himself from the “bud” bin, where she tossed the other males in her life. “You have seen men without shirts before, surely.”
    “I’ve got a hard day tomorrow. Big paint sale and sure to have plenty of customers. I’m leaving,” she said unevenly after a long pause. She swallowed and locked her gaze with his.
    Stefan sensed that she was forcing herself not to look at his body. He nodded and stepped away from her. “As you wish.”
    She did not move. “I feel…I feel as if you could devour me.”
    “I could,” he answered curtly, truthfully. “But I would expect you to do a certain amount of devouring on your own.”
    “I’m athletic. I run every morning that I can. I play ball. Men usually think of me as a tomboy,” she whispered, trembling now, her hands gripping the counter behind her.
    “I don’t. I think of you as a desirable woman.”
    She took an unsteady step away from him, then another,and at the door she turned to stare at him. “You’ll get over this. Most men do. I’ve been referred to as ‘macho-woman.’ Summer will end, and you’ll be gone.”
    When Stefan continued to look at her, she shook her head and closed the door behind her. After her headlights faded into the night, Stefan stood a long time, alone with his thoughts and his hunger for Rose.
     
    In the morning, his mother patted his cheek. “You had a restless night. And up so early, hammering away downstairs. It has been a long time since you have wanted to be near a woman.”
    “We only have a short time before my stove arrives.” Stefan picked up boards and hurled them out of the open back door. “She calls me ‘bud.’ Like I am a brother. She wants to introduce me to a woman more suitable. Am I a man, or an old cooking pot to be passed around?”
    “Some old cooking pots can be quite in demand.” Yvette tossed an apple to him. “I wondered when you would come to life, and it appears that now you have.”
    He studied the perfect apple, which reminded him of Rose’s breasts and the taste he had not managed. “Stop scowling, Stefan,” his mother said. “You move too fast and you frighten her. Have patience. Let the pot simmer a while. At breakfast, it was easy to see how wary she is of you. Your arm brushed hers and she jumped. A woman likes to choose her own course. Especially a woman like Rose, who has managed by herself for quite some time. Patience, Stefan.”
     
    By noon, Estelle had complained of his bad mood and had left to pick up cleaning supplies in Waterville. While Stefan cooked on the simple farm stove, he longed for his own stainless steel range with ovens and warming shelf.Remodeling the house, making it livable, kept his body tired, but his mind still prowled through his images of Rose.
    By early afternoon, his mother was cheerfully doing laundry in the new washer and dryer, which had just arrived. Stefan made his daily call to check on the restaurants and was a little disappointed that business was running smoothly without him. Yvette peered around the corner and folded a towel as she smiled at him. “So much like your father. He couldn’t believe his business could do without him.”
    Stefan remembered all the times he’d wanted his father to be at home. “Have I missed so much of my daughter’s life?”
    “No, but you have missed much of your own. You are only coming awake now, with this girl, Rose. You are only now realizing how lonely you’ve been. This summer will be good not only for Estelle, but for you, too, I think. You have not played since you were a very small boy. Perhaps it is time.”
    Stefan considered the raw blisters on his hands, the ache of his muscles and the hunger of his body. “Perhaps. Do you think