I clear the plates from the table and load them into the dishwasher with the baking dishes and pots before I head out to the deck. When I reach the sliding glass door, I stop and watch her.
She’s lying on one of the chaise lounges, soaking up the last of the waning light of the sunset. Her eyes are closed, face turned up toward the sky, hair blowing in the light breeze. She’s a picture of pure beauty. To anyone taking a quick glance, she might even look relaxed and peaceful; but, I know better. I see the crinkles around her eyes as she squeezes them closed, the lines around her slightly-frowning mouth, and the way she’s gripping her wine glass so hard her knuckles are white.
She doesn’t know what to do, what to say. You’ve put her in an impossible position. You’re a selfish asshole. You should have told her from day one.
Dinner sits like a lead weight at the bottom of my stomach. I take a deep breath to avoid it coming back up and open the door before moving out onto the deck.
Her eyes fly open and she turns her head in my direction. When she sees me, she looks almost panicked and the tension in the air is so thick I can feel it weighing down on me like the late summer humidity. I want to wipe the trepidation from her face, the reservation from her stare, but I don’t know how.
“Why don’t you pour me another glass?”
She nods and reaches for the bottle, slowly pouring me a glass of wine while I move from my chair onto the chaise lounge parallel to hers. I feel her eyes on me the entire time, and I know she must have a million questions by now.
Once I settle in, she hands me my glass and returns to other chaise, her body turned slightly toward me.
That’s a good sign, right?
“Ask,” I order, watching her shift anxiously in her seat.
Her head whips up and her eyes widen in surprise. “Uh, ask what?”
I smile at her and take a long sip of my wine, never looking away.
“Ask the million and one questions I know you must have but are either too afraid or embarrassed to ask. I promise you, I’ve already answered them a hundred times for other people, and you won’t offend me with anything you have questions about. I brought you into this without giving you all the information, and that wasn’t fair of me. I’m sorry. So, ask. I’m an open book.”
She takes a deep breath and pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing on it in a way that has me wishing it was my teeth there. I watch patiently as she struggles to come up with her first question.
Don’t push her. She has to do this on her own.
I take another drink of my wine, never taking my eyes off her, as she stares alternately between her bare feet and my hand wrapped around my wine glass.
“Um, so, you live alone and don’t need any help with anything?”
That isn’t the question you want to ask.
“No, I don’t need help with anything. Like I said, this place was specifically built to be handicap accessible so I wouldn’t need help. I do have a cleaning lady that comes in once a week, but, otherwise, I do everything myself.”
She seems to consider that for a moment before responding, “What about Gabe? He drives you.”
“Yes, but that isn’t because I can’t drive. I have several cars that are modified so I can drive them. It just happens that Gabe is with me most of the time anyway, so it’s easier if he drives.”
“Oh,” she says, staring at her wine before taking a long drink. I notice her hand shaking slightly as she lowers it from her lips and it fucking breaks my heart to think I’m making her that nervous.
I like her nervous, just the kind of nervous she was at our Angelo’s dinner, nervous because of the sexual tension between us.
Do something about it!
My wine glass clinks down on the table between the chaise lounges, and I extend my right hand out to her. “Come here.”
She looks at my hand, considering it for a moment before she slowly sets her glass down on the table and places her palm against mine. I gently tug her across the space between us until she falls lightly onto my lap, her bare legs dangling off the side of the chaise.
“Why are you so nervous?” I ask, brushing her hair back behind her shoulder and cupping her cheek to turn her face toward me.
Her eyes meet mine and I’m momentarily lost in the silvery blue of her irises and the glint of the setting sun off her flawless skin. “I’m not,” she whispers.
“Yes, you are,” I say, cupping her face between my hands, refusing to let her look away from me when I say this, “and I’m sorry you had to find out this way. It isn’t fair to ask you to take me, and all this, on. We said, and did, things when you didn’t have all the information. I wouldn’t blame you if you choose to walk away right now. But, before you do, I need to kiss you, because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about doing it since the second you walked into my office.”