Authors: Christa Maurice
She found the pair of too big rubber gloves she’d bought by mistake and pulled out a few pieces from her large collection of Gladware. He’d eaten heartily, which balanced out that she hardly ate. There would be plenty for sandwiches and she wondered if she should pack up some for him to take to his cabin. But then, he wouldn’t have any reason to come back over. She put all the leftovers into her fridge, taking out the trifle to make room.
“What’s that?” he asked, a stoneware plate in his hand suspended halfway to the drainer.
“Dessert?”
“Wow. If I knew that was coming, I’d have saved room. It looks fantastic.” He set the plate in the drainer and crossed the kitchen for a closer look. “And you do this all for yourself all winter?”
Cass coughed. Caught in the act of trying to impress. “Sometimes,” she lied.
“I might have to visit here more often.” He turned, his face inches from hers, giving her a look that made her dizzy from lack of oxygen. Body heat radiated off him.
“We have to finish the dishes first,” she croaked.
“Yes ma’am,” he said with a very low husky voice. A promising smile curled his lips.
As he turned his back to her to finish the dishes, she shivered. She had to try not to get so close to him again. When she did, she stopped breathing and got all woozy and stupid. Unfortunately, with the leftovers put away, she had nothing to do but help him with the dishes, which would require standing very close to him. She hoped she wouldn’t break too many.
“So what do people in the valley do all winter since they’re not working here?” he asked in a much more normal tone when she joined him at the sink.
“The library runs a couple of reading groups and there’s a pretty good amateur hockey league around the valleys.” Cass swallowed. He was too close and her body was stuck in overdrive. She stacked the dishes on the others in the cupboard. “Just about everybody goes to the high school basketball games and the high school and middle school plays. And the Presbyterian Church holds weekly dances to raise money for a mission in Africa someplace. They do that all year.”
“Dances?” He brightened. “Do you dance?”
“I can.” Her mouth dried up further. How soon would this level of emotional madness kill her?
He set the last dish in the drainer and pulled off the gloves. “Will you dance with me?”
“Now?”
He smiled and lifted the glass out of her hand. Then he took her right hand and rested her left on his shoulder. She thought she might go totally boneless when he put his right hand on her hip. A shiver of delight coursed through her. He waltzed her out of the kitchen and into the living room. The song ended, but that didn’t seem to bother him. The next song started.
Let it Snow
. Cass closed her eyes to imprint the whole experience directly on her brain. A rich baritone overlaid Nat’s voice with a melting harmony. She opened her eyes to discover Jason singing along.
She’d heard him sing before on CD, but it bore no resemblance to the voice singing in her ear now, like the smile didn’t show in photographs. The extra edge might be the fact that she felt the words vibrating through her chest.
He waltzed her around the living room, still singing along. His hands were sure, guiding her. She wanted to pursue that thought, but couldn’t allow herself to with him here, holding her. Later maybe. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.
The song had to end, and much sooner than she’d have liked, the music faded away. Jason didn’t let go and continued swaying with her.
“The song’s over,” she pointed out.
“I noticed.”
“You’re still dancing.”
“So are you,” he countered.
“Can you dance without music?”
He smiled, making her shiver again. “Do you like pina coladas? And getting caught in the rain? If you’re not into yoga, if you have half a brain.”
It took her a moment to catch on to what he was saying, or rather, singing. She hadn’t heard “The Pina Colada Song” in years, and suffered a momentary stab of disappointment that he was singing lyrics, not asking questions.
“And there’s something here I forget. And then something about champagne,” he sang to the tune. “Do you like making love at midnight, and something I don’t know.”
“Sorry, I don’t remember it either,” she whispered. Now she understood why fires roared up when stoked. She felt thoroughly stoked.
“Doesn’t matter. The important part is the making love at midnight.” He released her and took a step away. “Would you like to watch that movie now?”
Cass stumbled backward and caught herself on the couch, hoping it was less obvious this time that she couldn’t keep her feet around him. “Okay.”
“You get the movie going and I’ll turn off the CD player.”
She found the movie and set up the DVD player. Her hands shook, trying to tear off the plastic. It came off in long thin strips that stuck to her hands. He had to be hitting on her. There wasn’t any other logical explanation. Unless he did this to every woman he encountered. She’d read his press. He was a Romeo, a well-known Romeo. Up until the last girlfriend, he’d played the field with relish, and a large field it had been. In that sport, he would have been on the All-Star team if there had been one. He’d said it had been a long two years. Maybe he was warming up to play again. Did she want that? Sex was supposed to signify something. Something important, not just a chance to score.
Or he might be hitting on her because he was attracted to her. She preferred that story. Though being bush league wouldn’t be all bad. “Are you ready for some of the trifle?”
Jason grinned and followed her into the kitchen.
“Well, it’s probably getting late for you.” Jason stood and stretched.
He was so lean and gorgeous and stretched out right in front of her face. Any second he would turn around, catch her staring and what? Wink? Roll his eyes? Frown because she was acting like a hopeless fangirl when he really wanted to be on vacation? Time. What time was it anyway? Eight thirty? Late? She would have let him stay all night, if he wanted to.
What was she thinking? Even if she desperately wanted him to be flirting with her, he dated supermodels and starlets. What interest would he have in a campground owner from West Virginia? “I suppose so.” She faked a yawn for color and to hide the disappointment she didn’t want to be feeling.
“I thank you for the wonderful dinner and the fantastic dessert.” He bowed, causing an unwanted giggle to rise in her throat. He’d attacked the dessert like a man who’d never tasted sugar but had heard stories, demolishing half of it.
“You’re very welcome. I need to go to town tomorrow, if you want to come along and pick up some groceries.” Down the holler tomorrow? Since when? But what the heck? How often would she get the chance to take a rock star grocery shopping?
“That would be great.” He stopped inside her living room door. “And didn’t you say you had some bedding I could borrow?”
Bed. How might he be encouraged to change direction and lead the way to her bed, which he had no doubt glimpsed through the fireplace since it opened on both rooms.
“Oh, yeah. It’s out in the office.” She reached past him and opened the door. Cool air swept around them. It should have helped to cool her off, but only caused greater personal atmospheric disturbances. Wrapped in a black garbage bag, the bedding awaited on the counter. “Right here. I gave you a pillow, sheets and two comforters. It gets pretty cold at night and the furnace can’t keep up.”
“I’ll make sure I keep good and warm.” He smiled as he gathered up the bag.
She managed to smile back. This was an active pass. It had to be. At least he would be sleeping on her sheets tonight. She might never wash them again.
He shifted the bag in his arms. “So I’ll see you tomorrow then? What time did you want to go?”
“Time?” she croaked. “Oh, time is pretty flexible on the mountain. No rush, if you want to sleep in. Around lunch, I guess.”
“Good. Then I’ll be able to buy you lunch in return for tonight. Provided there’s a restaurant in town.”
“There’s Ida’s.” The thought of Jason in Ida’s made her want to break into a cold sweat. Half the town was in and out of Ida’s on any given day, most of them having nothing better to do than call each other to discuss what they’d seen with the half who hadn’t turned out. This was a spectacle in the making.
“Great.” He reached for her hand. For an instant she thought he might pull her close and kiss her, but he lifted the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it instead, his lips soft and hot. Her knees wanted give out right there in the doorway and the chill in the office turned into a steamy summer night. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He gave her hand a little squeeze before releasing it and walking out the front door.
Trying to back through her living room door, she tripped over the top step again and landed hard on her derriere. Too dazed to even shout, she kicked the door closed and lay back on the floor. He had been hitting on her. He’d enjoyed their dinner, offered to take her out to lunch, kissed her hand, flirted. Things like this didn’t happen to girls like her. Girls like her stayed in their small towns, married reliable men like Finn Runningwater, had kids and watched them fly the nest to go anywhere that wasn’t Potterville, West Virginia.
But she hadn’t married Finn, she didn’t have any children, and she’d tried to fly the nest once already. It hadn’t worked.
That didn’t mean she should get involved with a transient rock star, no matter how many boring college lectures she’d spent fantasizing about him, how many paintings she’d done of him for college projects, or that they were alone up here where nobody would ever have to know. He would leave town and she’d be more alone than she’d ever been before. She looked at the back of her hand, surprised she couldn’t see where he’d kissed her. How was she supposed to bring herself to wash that?
Cass sat up and rubbed her face. Maybe it was madness to resist him. Or was it more crazy to give in? Not that he’d really offered anyway. So far, all she had was speculation and fantasy. Regardless, she had to call her mother, who would probably know everything and the outcome before Cass said hello.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, honey. Did your guest leave?”
Cass heard her mother turn away from the phone to check the kitchen clock. No matter how old she was, her mother always wanted to know if she’d gotten in by curfew. Comforting, and annoying at the same time. “Yeah.”
“How did you end up cooking him dinner?”
“What makes you think it was a him?”
“Because you said him when I called earlier, honey. How did you end up cooking him dinner?”
Cass rolled her eyes at the phone. Her mother had always been far too observant. “He didn’t realize he had to bring his own food and didn’t have any dinner. I didn’t think it was a good idea to send him down the holler in the dark.”
“That was neighborly of you.”
Cass shivered. It hadn’t felt neighborly, more like foreplay. “I’m gonna be down in town tomorrow. He’s got to get some groceries and I need to check my mail and talk to Sue about the schedule for summer.”
“You just got your mail yesterday and you could talk to Sue over the phone,” her mother pointed out.
Far, far too observant. “I could, but he needs to get groceries anyway and I know where everything is.”
“So we’ll get to meet him.”
If her mother saw Jason, she’d know everything. Definitely a fate worse than death. In person, her mother could communicate with expressions while carrying on other conversations. A very scary talent, indeed. “Oh, I don’t know. I don’t know if he wants to go around meeting the whole town.”
“We’re not the whole town, honey. We’re your momma and daddy.”
Cass closed her eyes. She’d never realized there was a fate worse than death. “I’ll ask him.” In a tone somewhere below a mumble that he would never hear. She’d assume no response meant no.
“So who is this mystery man? Anyone we would know?”
“He’s a musician.”
“Oh?” Her mother waited. She had more patience than most saints ever dreamed of possessing.
“Jason Callisto,” Cass admitted.
“Wasn’t he in that band you liked?”
Liked? She’d had their posters up in her dorm room in college and brought them home, hung them in her room every summer. Bought their albums the first day they’d gone on sale if she didn’t have them on pre-order. She and three friends had driven two hours to see Touchstone, stood in the predawn March cold for another three hours to get twelve people from the door when the show had sold out.
That band she’d liked
. “Yes, he is.”
“How nice.”
Nice? Cass dropped onto the couch. If the next two weeks were anything like today, it would be pure hell. “Yeah, it’ll be great.”
“You should call your friend Gretta. She’ll be so excited.”
Whoa. What a great idea. Cass licked her lips. She and Gretta had been inseparable in college but afterward had grown a little more separable every year, to the point where they now exchanged only Christmas and birthday cards. She didn’t even have Gretta’s email. Gretta had been one of the three friends in the car who’d gotten twelve people from the door. She understood the therapeutic value of a package of Double Stuf Oreos and a gallon of milk. Gretta would understand…all this. “I probably should.”
“Well, it’s getting late. I should let you go. You have a big day tomorrow. Good night, sweetheart.”
“Good night, Mom.” Cass hung up the phone. Call Gretta who shared her fascination with Touchstone and Jason Callisto in particular. She lived in another state and wouldn’t have told a soul in town if she’d lived next door. Who had served as a steady conscience all through college. Cass hoped the number she had was still accurate.
* * * *
Jason finished making up the bed. Maybe not up to military standard, but he didn’t plan to bounce quarters on it. He didn’t plan on bouncing anything on it. What he had in mind was more of a slow, rhythmic rocking motion with some heavy breathing and moaning thrown in for good measure. The fire popped and he jumped. He’d never realized how empty silence could be. Hopefully he would be able to get his hands on some speakers in town, or borrow some. The open, airy cabin swallowed up any volume his phone was capable of. All he could hear were the fire and the sound of wind in the trees outside. Unnerving.