“You have a skill set. You never worry about having to take care of yourself. You were never taught it was more important to be beautiful than to be smart.”
“Is that what she said to you?”
“Every day. She warned me not to give my heart—that I had to make decisions about men with a clear head.”
“Did you listen?”
“Sometimes.”
He raised the lid on the barbecue and carefully turned the pieces of chicken, then lowered the lid.
“Is that still the plan?” he asked, watching her as he spoke.
“A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”
“Sage, I hate to break it to you, but you’re closer to forty than thirty, so not exactly a girl.”
“Ouch. And just a few minutes ago I was thinking that you were kind. I take it back.”
As she spoke, she tried to figure out if she was teasing or not. She knew Adam wasn’t being mean, but to be told she wasn’t a girl anymore... She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.
“Isn’t there some appeal in being mature?” he asked. “Knowing you’ve learned lessons and can see your way more clearly.”
“There are a lot of assumptions in that statement.”
“You don’t think you’ve learned lessons? You can’t think you’re the same person you were at eighteen.”
“No, I’m not her.”
“Do you regret that?”
She considered the question. “Yes, but not for the reasons you think. I don’t miss being that beautiful, but I do wish I’d expected a little more of myself. I wish I hadn’t made so many mistakes.”
“We all wish that.”
She sat up and swung around to set her feet on the patio. “Saying I’m a girl allows me to think nothing is that significant. That the time for being serious will come later. Being a woman is a whole different level of the game and I’m not sure I want to play there just yet.”
She hadn’t planned on being so honest, but realized saying the truth was kind of freeing.
Adam smiled at her. “Has it occurred to you that it’s too late? That you’ve already been doing the woman thing for a while now?”
“The woman thing?” she asked, her voice teasing. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. I’m out of my league. You have to help me.”
She stood and crossed to him. After raising herself up on tiptoe, she kissed him. “How about if I set the table instead?”
“That works.”
She started for the house, then spun back. “You know I’m not wearing a bra, right?”
She was impressed that he kept his gaze locked firmly on her face. “Yes, I noticed.”
“Good.”
* * *
After dinner, they returned to the lounge chairs. Adam pulled them close together and poured them each a brandy. Sage stretched out on one chair. He sat on the end of the other and pulled her feet onto his lap.
“Have I ever mentioned I give a great foot massage?” he asked.
“You did not.”
“So you’re about to be amazed.”
He put her left foot on his thigh and pressed his thumbs into the pad of skin right below her big toe. Involuntarily, she groaned. He chuckled.
“You were right, I’m amazed,” she whispered, leaning back and closing her eyes.
He rubbed hard, going in deep, finding all the places that ached from her ridiculous shoes.
“Do I want to know how you learned to do this?” she asked.
“I took a couple of classes as a birthday present for someone.”
She opened her eyes. “Your wife?”
“Yes.”
“You must have been a heck of a husband.”
“I tried.”
“You should start dating again,” she told him. “You’re not the Tinder type.”
“I do okay.”
“But aren’t you the one who told me the sex was better when you cared about the person?”
“I am, but relationships are tough.”
“Are you afraid?”
He smiled. “Are you?”
“Yes. Definitely. I’ve failed at marriage three times. I’m not sure I loved any of them. I’m back home, living with my mother, trying to figure out my future. Me get in a relationship?” She laughed. “I don’t think so.”
“You have a lot to offer.”
“I’m pretty and I’m good at sex. There’s not much else on the table.”
Adam shifted to her other foot. “Is that what you think about yourself? You’re more than a piece of ass, Sage.”
“Yes, I’m a nearly forty-year-old piece of ass, as you pointed out earlier this evening.”
For reasons she couldn’t explain, she suddenly felt tears burning in her eyes. Tears? WTF. She didn’t cry—not ever. Tears were for suckers.
“That’s not what I said.”
“I know.” She held up her hand. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m suddenly in a mood. I