and kind and giving and graceful.
Finally, our words abandon us, and we’re well rid of them. Our kiss is delicate, his lips
barely touching mine at first. Then he presses a bit harder, and I press back. Our lips part and
our tongues meet, intersecting at last in a long-awaited dance, a song without words or melody
but not without rhythm.
Our breath collects around us, warming our faces; our noses rubbing, chins passing each
other in a sweet caress. His hand drifts up and touches my cheek, fingers strong against my
smooth skin. I feel small and vulnerable with him, and he seems so powerful and almost heroic;
he could protect and take care of me, instead of me having to slave to take care of someone else.
I feel that I could be loved, instead of merely loving and getting nothing in return. This
wonderful and lonely man offers me so much; his time, his attention, his kindness, his secrets.
He is trusting me in so many ways. Even this kiss is a leap of faith for him, a foray into
potentially dangerous territory.
No, I hear my own voice protest, not this time, not with me; this tender, beautiful man will
not suffer at my hands. I’m going to be the one who loves him! I’m going to be the one whom he
loves, whom he can continue to love. No tragedy or turn of fate will get in our way, not if I have
anything to say about it.
And even if I don’t!
So we keep kissing, our tongues becoming more aggressive and more welcoming; our hands
becoming more restless, more willing to explore. The warm summer night pulls us even closer
together; closer than either of us could have thought we’d be, closer almost than it’s physically
possible to be. Then even closer.
I look up at that dark night, only a few stars looking down on us, flickering and blinking in
excited curiosity. The wall of fire breathes warm waves over us, water trickling in the
background to punctuate our deepening gasps and rising sighs.
♡
I don’t have very much to move out of Emily’s place, so I don’t bother Randolph with
dragging him along. He’s already done so much, including buying furniture for the apartment.
I’m beginning to feel a little conspicuous about it.
“Sounds like things are going great,” Emily says with a chirpy, cheerful grin. “Why aren’t
you moving right into hisplace?”
“Well, that would be a little too fast. I mean, they’re going great, that’s true; I’d like to keep
them going that way.”
Quinton turns from gazing out the window. “That is one heck of a nice car, Addie.”
“It’s just a company car. It is nice though, isn’t it?”
“Company car,” Emily says. “Sure, ‘cause he likes your company.”
“And I like his, maybe a bit more than I should. I’m a little nervous about it, I don’t mind
telling you.”
“Maybe that’s love,” Emily says with an excited squeak.
I say, “Maybe. He’s certainly letting his guard down for me -”
“And you’re doing the same for him,” Quinton says. “Don’t undervalue yourself.”
I have to smile. “Sounds like something Randolph would say.”
Quinton smiles too. “I like him already.”
We all share alittle chuckle, and I go on to say, “I’m just worried about becoming too reliant
on him. That’s not why I came out here, to become some rich man’s kept woman.”
“Kept woman?” Emily scrunches up her pert little smile into a disapproving frown, even
shakingher head a bit to illustrate her position. “Emily, you’re not in a Charlotte Rae novel!”
After a quizzical moment, I ask, “You mean Charlotte Brontë ?”
Emily shrugs and waves me off. “Same thing.”
I notice Quinton shooting her a look, one of disappointed neardisbelief. He’s a powerful
young man, intelligent and compassionate, embarking on a career as a legal champion; and he’s
about to marry a woman who doesn’t know the difference between the nineteenth century author
of Jane Eyre , and the actress who played Mrs. Garrett on TV sitcoms Diff’rent Strokes and
Finally, our words abandon us, and we’re well rid of them. Our kiss is delicate, his lips
barely touching mine at first. Then he presses a bit harder, and I press back. Our lips part and
our tongues meet, intersecting at last in a long-awaited dance, a song without words or melody
but not without rhythm.
Our breath collects around us, warming our faces; our noses rubbing, chins passing each
other in a sweet caress. His hand drifts up and touches my cheek, fingers strong against my
smooth skin. I feel small and vulnerable with him, and he seems so powerful and almost heroic;
he could protect and take care of me, instead of me having to slave to take care of someone else.
I feel that I could be loved, instead of merely loving and getting nothing in return. This
wonderful and lonely man offers me so much; his time, his attention, his kindness, his secrets.
He is trusting me in so many ways. Even this kiss is a leap of faith for him, a foray into
potentially dangerous territory.
No, I hear my own voice protest, not this time, not with me; this tender, beautiful man will
not suffer at my hands. I’m going to be the one who loves him! I’m going to be the one whom he
loves, whom he can continue to love. No tragedy or turn of fate will get in our way, not if I have
anything to say about it.
And even if I don’t!
So we keep kissing, our tongues becoming more aggressive and more welcoming; our hands
becoming more restless, more willing to explore. The warm summer night pulls us even closer
together; closer than either of us could have thought we’d be, closer almost than it’s physically
possible to be. Then even closer.
I look up at that dark night, only a few stars looking down on us, flickering and blinking in
excited curiosity. The wall of fire breathes warm waves over us, water trickling in the
background to punctuate our deepening gasps and rising sighs.
♡
I don’t have very much to move out of Emily’s place, so I don’t bother Randolph with
dragging him along. He’s already done so much, including buying furniture for the apartment.
I’m beginning to feel a little conspicuous about it.
“Sounds like things are going great,” Emily says with a chirpy, cheerful grin. “Why aren’t
you moving right into hisplace?”
“Well, that would be a little too fast. I mean, they’re going great, that’s true; I’d like to keep
them going that way.”
Quinton turns from gazing out the window. “That is one heck of a nice car, Addie.”
“It’s just a company car. It is nice though, isn’t it?”
“Company car,” Emily says. “Sure, ‘cause he likes your company.”
“And I like his, maybe a bit more than I should. I’m a little nervous about it, I don’t mind
telling you.”
“Maybe that’s love,” Emily says with an excited squeak.
I say, “Maybe. He’s certainly letting his guard down for me -”
“And you’re doing the same for him,” Quinton says. “Don’t undervalue yourself.”
I have to smile. “Sounds like something Randolph would say.”
Quinton smiles too. “I like him already.”
We all share alittle chuckle, and I go on to say, “I’m just worried about becoming too reliant
on him. That’s not why I came out here, to become some rich man’s kept woman.”
“Kept woman?” Emily scrunches up her pert little smile into a disapproving frown, even
shakingher head a bit to illustrate her position. “Emily, you’re not in a Charlotte Rae novel!”
After a quizzical moment, I ask, “You mean Charlotte Brontë ?”
Emily shrugs and waves me off. “Same thing.”
I notice Quinton shooting her a look, one of disappointed neardisbelief. He’s a powerful
young man, intelligent and compassionate, embarking on a career as a legal champion; and he’s
about to marry a woman who doesn’t know the difference between the nineteenth century author
of Jane Eyre , and the actress who played Mrs. Garrett on TV sitcoms Diff’rent Strokes and
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