“I’ll be here.” He repeated it in his head. He loved the sound of that. Sure and steady. His girl was somebody who could be counted on. Grounded. Mature. Ready for whatever came. She was so perfect he was sure she must have been made for him in some grand metaphysical scheme of things.
It was early morning when he made it back to the yellow beach cottage. Farnsworth wasn’t dressed yet. She was standing in the kitchen with a mug of coffee, her hair down and falling around her shoulders, wearing her navy blue Japanese silk robe. And Sol thought the smile she gave when she looked up to find him standing on the deck on the other side of the sliding glass door was by far the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
He grabbed her before she’d opened the door all the way and backed her up to the kitchen counter with her giggling like a teenager. When he lifted her up and stepped inside her thighs, she gasped.
“Solomon, The door. Anybody could climb the stairs and walk up to the back door the same way you just did.”
“Then let’s give ‘em a show,” he growled into her neck.
They spent the rest of the day driving each other to exhaustion, like they were trying to make up for not having been together since they were young. When it started getting dark, Sol made pasta while Farnsworth – still in her robe, took a shower and changed. He lit a fire and was going to open a bottle of wine, but couldn’t find the opener.
When she came in, hair still damp at the ends even after blow drying, he stopped and stared like he hadn’t seen her before.
“What?”
A corner of his mouth went up. “Sorry. I guess I just, uh, like all your looks.”
She seemed embarrassed, like she wasn’t used to getting compliments on her appearance. Her eyes drifted toward the stove. “Smells good.” She looked at the bottle of wine sitting on the counter. “The Red Guitar. It’s my favorite. How did you know that?”
“Lucky guess? Oh. Where’s the wine opener?”
She moved toward a drawer that hadn’t opened when he tried it. “I keep the opener and the family heirlooms in the trick drawer.” He watched as she demonstrated the key. “You have to kick the baseboard underneath the bottom cabinet and pull at the same time.”
The drawer slid right out for her like magic.
He reached in for the wine opener not being able to help noticing the contents. “Family heirlooms huh?”
Shaking her head she looked at the drawer. “Well, the ice cream scooper did come from my grandmother’s.”
“Then I guess she made an honest woman out of you.” She laughed. “So how did you figure that out?”
“I didn’t. The realtor showed it to me when I took possession of the house.” Sol looked back at the drawer. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering how many different things the former owners tried before they came up with that.”
“That is what I was thinking.” He let his eyes drift lazily down the front of her creamy knit sweater. “Know what I’m thinking now?”
“Hold on, Mister.”
He gave her that sardonic grin that never failed to make her heart stutter. “That’s Sovereign,” he said as he leaned closer.
“I’m hungry. Love slaves have to be fed.”
He leaned back on his heels and cocked his head to the side. “Is that negotiable?”
“Feed me.”
“Beg.”
“Please.”
“Oh. All right.” He turned back to the stove. “Now look what you made me do. The pasta is mushy.”
She started laughing. “I made you do that?”
“Yes. You came in here teasing me with shiny wavy hair and skin flushed from a hot shower and showed me tricks with a drawer. And all the while you were talking dirty.”
“I was talking dirty?”
“You kept saying family jewels.”