“They're my dad's friends,” Damian says, picking his goblet up and taking a swig before continuing. “I need something stronger than this. You like scotch, Aiden?”
“My dad is trying to teach me to appreciate it,” Aiden replies. “So tell us their story.”
As Damian plunks ice into two highball glasses and pours a 25-year old scotch over them, he says, “They come here sometimes, and they like to tell the story of how they met. Of how it was an instant, love at first sight thing. They've been together ever since.”
I smile thinking about Tommy and my mom. “Yeah, they're pretty amazing. I hope you can meet them someday.”
Because I do.
I think Tommy would love Aiden, and my mom would be as mesmerized by him and his wooing as I am. I think about Logan and his big gesture. About Aiden and the dirt. B and his sandycastles. My mom is into big gestures, and Tommy never does anything small. He whisked her away to St. Petersburg on their/our first date. And a few months later, he surprised both of us by remembering the day my dad died, by taking us to his grave and then later to the Santa Monica Pier. He’s never been threatened by our past, I think, because he’s confident he’ll be in our future.
Damian hands Aiden his drink as Peyton walks into the room.
She looks gorgeous.
Damian is staring at her, mesmerized. When she smiles the blazing love god smile, I see the same dreamy look in Damian’s eyes that I suspect is in my own when I look at Aiden.
Speaking of Aiden. He looks gorgeous too. His hair is slicked back, making it look darker. The scruff on his face is looking sexy as hell over his tanned face. He’s wearing a Rag & Bone pale blue gauze long-sleeved shirt, a pair of James Perse linen pants, and Prada criss-cross sandals.
Damian holds out his elbow to Peyton, whispers something in her ear that makes her blush, and then escorts her into the dining room.
Dinner smells fabulous, but looking at Aiden makes me hungry for only one thing.
Him.
Aiden grabs my hand, gives me a kiss, and leads me into the dining room.
We invite Inga and Sven to join us for dinner, but as is typical, they refuse. However, it’s mostly because they’re leaving early tonight to go to their daughter’s home for a family birthday celebration.
As Sven pours us each a cool glass of Pinot Grigio to compliment the turkey, he says, “Mr. Damian, I assume you will keep with tradition and do your father’s usual toast?”
Damian looks at me and smiles. “Keats, I think you should do it.”
“Um, okay.” I stand up, smooth down the front of my dress, and raise my glass into the air. “It’s times like these that we stop to reflect on our lives and the things we have to be thankful for. The great Thornton Wilder wrote, ‘We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.
’
In other words, look at the friends gathered around you, at the food sitting before you, and the beauty that is around you. Happy Thanksgiving!”
We clink glasses and everyone says,
Happy Thanksgiving
.
“That’s a beautiful quote,” Peyton says. “What’s it from?”
“It’s from the play,
The Woman of Andros
,” I tell her. “It’s about what’s precious in life and how harsh the world can be. Wilder revisited that theme again in
Our Town
, when Emily dies and asks if anyone ever realizes what they have in life, while they are living it.”
Aiden and Peyton both look teary-eyed. I know they’re thinking about their mom and how even though she is with them, she’s not with them. In a way, cancer was sort of their Vincent, bringing chaos into their normal lives. “I’m very thankful to be here,” Peyton says. “Thanks so much for having us.”
“So, do you both like football?” I ask.
“Well, my parents are both originally from Georgia, but my mom went to college at Alabama and Dad went to Ole Miss. They’re big SEC rivals, so football is a dangerous subject at our house,” Aiden says with a grin. “It’s always funny when the two teams play each other.”
“How did they meet?” Damian asks.
“Dad interviewed Mom for a job. Their running joke is that he told her no for the job, but asked if she would interview to be his girlfriend.”
“What’d she say?”
“That she’d rather have the job,” Peyton says with an easy laugh.
“The Cowboys always play on Thanksgiving day. Do you like them?” I ask. “My grandpa lives in Texas and is a huge Cowboys fan.”
“I just like stuffing myself with turkey and then relaxing on the couch and watching any game,” Aiden says. “Although, here, I think I’d rather hang out on the beach.”
“You two enjoy,” Damian says, before stuffing his mouth with mashed potatoes. “I’m going to take Peyton into town after dinner.”
“Are you going shopping?” I ask, my ears perking up.
“Just some exploring and then we have our date,” Damian says very vaguely.
I get the distinct impression that I’m not invited.
“Exploring, where?” Aiden asks.
“Just into town.”
“Somewhere safe?”
“Um, yeah, of course.”
Aiden nods and says, “Okay.”
Very quickly, we’re stuffed, and Aiden and Damian are both moaning that they couldn’t possibly eat another bite.
Until Inga offers them a piece of pecan pie and they both are like,
Oh, maybe just a little slice.
Peyton and I help clear the table, but Inga shoos us out of her kitchen.
Damian grabs Peyton’s hand. “Don’t wait up,” he tells me with a big grin on his face.
Aiden smiles at me, rubs his tight stomach, and pulls me into a hug. “Alone at last.”
“Do you want to go down to the little beach cabana? It’s shaded and has a comfortable bed that’s great for naps.”
“That sounds perfect,” he replies.
We walk hand in hand to the beach and snuggle up on the raised platform bed filled with brightly colored pillows. I lean on Aiden’s chest and stare out at the water in a happy food coma.
Your lips on mine.
8:45pm
“Hey, Boots,” Aiden says,
waking me up.
“Oh, wow. Did you fall asleep too?”
“Absolutely.”
I snuggle into his arms, my ear on his chest, hearing the beat of the heart I'm going to break along with my own in just two days.
“We were up early.”
“And we played hard,” he says with a grin.
“What time is it?”
He glances at his watch. “Almost nine.”
“Oh my gosh, we slept forever.”
“And believe it or not, I’m hungry again.”
“Let’s get a snack and take it back to my room.”
He touches the strings of my halter. “I was serious when I said I wanted to undress you.”
I hold my breath as he touches my shoulder. There’s a huge part of me that wants to skip the snack but, yet, I want to take it slow. Enjoy the whole night. The whole experience. Savor it like it’s my last meal.
We head to the kitchen to make turkey sandwiches and grab one of the fruit and cheese trays that Inga always leaves for late night snacking.
“Do you want some wine?” he asks.
“Sure, pick something out.”
We walk to the turret, into my room, and then set everything up on the desk.
I throw open the windows, so we can hear the sounds of the ocean, and light the candles.
“I really liked your toast today,” Aiden says.
“Thanks, I didn’t make it up or anything but I think it’s a good thing to hear on Thanksgiving. It helps put your life in perspective. I think it’s easy to get so caught up in the everyday stuff that we forget to look at what’s really important.”
“What’s really important to you?”
“Same as everyone, I guess. Health, family, love.”
“I agree. Although I might add a few things to that list.”
“Like what?”
“The sound of the ocean, watching the sun set, a good glass of wine, and your lips on mine.”
“The simple things in life are the best.”
“As long at it includes a castle on the beach, Little Mermaid?”
“I don’t really need a castle, Aiden, but I do need the ocean every so often. The waves calm me and make me feel peaceful—centered, almost.”
“You seem like that in your loft too.”
“I do,” I say with regret, knowing I won't ever be going back there. That I'll be hiring people to pack up everything and put it in storage. Except for two things. The book of Keats poetry, which has Aiden’s four-leaf clover pressed in it, and the shoes I wore to my birthday party. Those will be sent to wherever I am. “Really, I'm comfortable lots of places. I love the vibrancy of cities like New York and Paris just as much as the ease of a house on the beach or in the country. I don't really know where I want to live.”
Or even if I'll live.
“What's that?” Aiden asks, holding up his hand and walking over to the window.
“What's what?” I ask, following him.
“Shhh.”
I listen quietly and then hear it. Giggling.
“Where's it coming from?” I whisper.
Aiden nods in the direction of the beach.
I peer out into the moonlight and see Peyton and Damian stripping off their clothes and running into the ocean.
“Are they skinny-dipping?” Aiden asks, looking slightly horrified.
“Oh, no. I’m sure they have swimsuits on. Damian likes to swim in the moonlight,” I lie.
“I think I should go down there and check on her.”
“Aiden, you don’t need to check on her. She’s laughing and having fun.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“You got to know Damian today. Do you like him?”
“Yeah, I like him. But that doesn’t mean I want him getting naked with my sister.”
I give him a kiss and say, “Let’s go back inside.”
Aiden studies my face. “You know, you’ve surprised me on this trip.”
“How so?”
“Because we haven’t done anything other than kiss.”
“We were tired last night.”
“Are we tired tonight?”
“No, we just took a nap.”
He studies my bare shoulders and then runs his hands across them. “You’re right,” he says, his eyes dark and sexy. “We should go back inside.”
He pulls me through the doorway, closes the curtains, and then comes to stand directly in front of me.
I bite the edge of my lip, knowing this is it.
He wants to undress me.
I stand here, feeling like I’m already naked.
He wraps his hand around my neck and unties the halter, causing the front of my dress to fall down and reveal my strapless bra. He bends slightly, his lips pressing against my shoulder, slowly across my collarbone, and then along the edges of my bra.
“I’ve had dreams about doing this. Just undressing you.”
I swallow hard and my stomach flips as his hands slide down my sides, slowly working the dress over my hips, down my legs, and into a puddle on the floor. He bends down, stopping to trail his tongue across the top of my thong, then runs his hands slowly down the sides of my thighs, his lips following them.
He stops to take my dress from around my ankles and lay it on the bench at the bottom of the bed.
But then he returns to my legs, kissing my knees, my ankles, and removing my shoes.
His lips work their way back up to my mouth and, as he kisses me, I start to unbutton his soft shirt.
One button.
Two buttons.
Three buttons.
Four.
Part of me wants to pop the buttons off his shirt, strip off the rest of his clothes and go for it, but I also don’t want to miss this.
This slow burn.
My lips find their way to his chest as I finish unbuttoning his shirt and slowly spread it open, letting it reveal his muscular chest and beautifully sculpted shoulders.
It’s magical. Godlike.
Until his shirt gets stuck on his hand.
I start laughing, because it won’t come off no matter how hard I tug on it.
He pulls the sleeve back on, showing me that his watch is in the way.
I nod in understanding, unbutton his sleeve, and then pull it off him.
Then I put the shirt on me.
“Something is wrong with this picture here,” he teases, gliding his finger down my stomach. “My clothes are coming off and you’re putting them back on.”