Mind Games

He took her hand. It seemed so natural, and again so easy, to walk through the house with him, up the stairs. As if everything had been leading to this since she’d seen him on the side of the road holding his son.

As they passed Bray’s room, she saw him sleeping, a stuffed dog and a dump truck clutched in one arm.

“He sleeps with a truck.”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

He drew her into the room across the hall, quietly shut the door.

She’d only been in the room once, the night Miss Leona died, but saw he’d changed things.

A different bed, sleeker lines, black wood, a bureau with a flat-screen over it rather than a mirror, shades rather than curtains on the window.

“It looks like you.”

“Simplified it, I guess. Needs paint, but…”

He turned her into his arms.

“Some things can wait. Some? Just can’t anymore.”

With his mouth on hers, he circled her toward the bed. She felt his heartbeat against her own, his hand skimming down her hair.

No, the waiting time was over.

“I’ve sort of waited to see some guy walk or drive up the lane to your place. But not once, all summer.”

“Longer.”

“I’m going to ask why. Feel free to tell me to mind my own business.”

“Considering where we’re standing it falls under yours, at least some. Nobody’s made me want to stand here like this in longer. Until you.”

He cupped her face. “Nobody’s made me want to take a chance on standing here like this in longer. Until you.”

That made her smile. “I guess another test will be seeing if we both remember how it’s done.”

“I’ve got that part. It starts like this.”

Mouths meeting, tongues sliding, hands gliding.

“I’m going to miss summer,” he murmured. “When you stop wearing dresses like this.”

He eased the zipper down, and when the dress fell at her feet, lifted her out of the pool of it. And stood, hands on her hips, looking at her.

“I’ve seen you in sunlight, imagined you in moonlight. Imagined you like this. I can say you’re beautiful, but it’s not enough.”

“It’s more than enough for me.”

She drew his shirt up, off. Then pressed a hand to his chest. “And here you are. Your heart’s under my hand.”

She took his hand, pressed it to hers. “And mine’s under yours.”

So easy, she thought again, so natural when they moved together again. Skin to skin, heart to heart. Her hands didn’t hesitate as she unbuttoned his jeans, because she’d never been more sure of anything than being with him.

They lay on the bed, turned to each other. When their eyes met, held, she saw everything she wanted in his.

Slowly, as if every moment begged to be savored, they moved together.