Chapter 5 #2
“That would be very nice,” she said. “I don’t go out very often when I’m here.” He was pleased that she’d accepted, and smiled at her.
“Is there anywhere special you’d like to go?” he asked her.
“Someplace simple where we can talk. I don’t like noisy restaurants, or very fancy ones,” she said shyly.
“Neither do I. You have to come and see my place sometime. It’s right on the beach. I love going for long walks, and seeing the ocean. I have an old-fashioned widow’s walk. I can spend hours watching the sea.”
“I love the ocean too,” she said, as he got in his car.
“Shall I pick you up at seven-thirty?” She nodded with a smile and looked like a young girl.
It felt like an old-fashioned courtship, which had never happened to him before.
He was a married man, and most of the women he’d gone out with while he was married were bold, independent, and well aware of his status, and it was an even exchange of sexual favors.
It didn’t have the cautious innocence of his conversations with Devon, or the respect he felt for her.
He realized then that she didn’t know he was married, and he wanted to tell her in some nonthreatening way.
She wouldn’t be a homewrecker for having dinner with him.
There was no home to “wreck” in his case, or a loving wife at home for him to cheat on.
They were two somewhat jaded long-term strangers living at the same address, with no illusions about a relationship that had died years before.
He didn’t want Devon to feel guilty for going out with him, if they saw each other again, and he hoped they would.
She was a lovely person, and a hugely talented artist, with a big reputation of her own.
She didn’t need him for fame and fortune.
It was a strictly human encounter between two people who were alone and admired each other.
The possibilities were both endless and limited.
He couldn’t offer her a future, but he could offer her a very agreeable present, if it ever came to that, as long as they understood each other and she knew what the ground rules were.
Or she might have no interest in knowing him better.
He couldn’t read her yet, didn’t know her well enough to sense if she was open to anything with him, other than a commission for a portrait.
But he loved getting acquainted with her, and seeing her in her barn, which was her natural habitat and summer residence.
He wanted to walk on the beach with her, and spend time with her.
He wondered if she liked to sail. There was so much that was a mystery to him and he wanted to learn, if she was open to it.
Discovering more about her excited him too.
Charlie drove back to his house, happy to have seen her, and looking forward to the following night.
He reserved a table at a lovely restaurant with outdoor dining on a beautiful terrace.
It was one of the nicer restaurants in East Hampton, but wasn’t overly fancy, and it was quiet, just as she said she liked.
He hadn’t had dinner there yet this summer, because Liam was more of a burger-and-fries kind of guy, and they both loved lobster dinners. Devon seemed more delicate and refined.
He could hardly wait to have dinner with her. When he went to pick her up the next day, it felt like a date, and he wasn’t sure if it was. Whatever it was or turned out to be, he was enjoying every minute of it.
Devon came out of the barn to greet him, wearing a flowing white gauzy skirt, a matching white blouse with big bell sleeves, and silver sandals.
She looked summery and feminine. They drove to the restaurant, and she loved it when she saw it, and thanked him.
The food was French and delicious. They talked about Europe and her studies at the Beaux-Arts, he explained his startups to her, and the conversation flowed.
They were the last people in the restaurant and it had been a wonderful evening for both of them.
They left the restaurant still talking, and Charlie made her laugh at his descriptions of his first startup, while he was at Princeton, and the crazy things he had delivered.
Devon spoke sparingly of certain periods of her early life, although she talked about her studies and her grandmother.
She had said she was a widow but hadn’t explained the circumstances of her husband’s death, and he didn’t pry.
He could sense that there were things she didn’t talk about, that were probably painful for her, and he didn’t want to know what she didn’t want to tell.
They were comfortable together and he didn’t want to spoil that.
Devon was like a beautiful animal in the wild that had to be approached at its own pace.
He didn’t want to rush her or frighten her.
He could sense that parts of her were fragile, and he respected that.
When they got home to the barn, she didn’t invite him in, which could have been awkward since her bedroom was part of the entire open space.
He stopped at the door, and she thanked him for the evening, with a look in her eyes that reached deep inside him and grabbed his heart.
Unable to stop himself, Charlie leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips, and she didn’t resist him.
She melted into his arms, and they were both breathless when they stopped kissing.
He could feel a passion in her that he hadn’t suspected before.
She concealed it well. They kissed again, and she finally gently pulled away, smiled mysteriously, and floated into the barn with a wave as she closed the door.
He drove away a minute later, feeling his emotions doing somersaults in his chest. Devon was as magnetic and mesmerizing as she had been since the first moment he’d seen her.
He could hardly keep his head on straight.
It had been a perfect evening, and he fell asleep that night dreaming of her.
She sent him a text the next day, thanking him for a wonderful evening.
She sounded so warm and friendly that it made him brave enough to invite her to his place for a drink, the next day, and he offered to make dinner for her if she liked lobster or pasta, which he said were the only two things he knew how to cook.
She texted back “Pasta, thank you.” And he responded, “Six o’clock and a walk on the beach before dinner?” And the answer came back, “Perfect. See you at six tomorrow.” It was a simple, friendly, efficient exchange.
He bought the groceries the next day to make pasta carbonara, which he had learned to make the authentic way in Italy.
He was wearing jeans and a white shirt when she arrived promptly at six in a red T-shirt and jeans and red satin ballet flats.
She looked casual and sexy. He had set the table with the owners’ placemats and china, all of which were informal.
He tried to make it all look friendly and not like a seduction scene, which would have been premature.
He wanted to show her his surroundings, and make her feel at ease there with him.
She loved the house when he showed her around, and the weather cooperated perfectly.
There was a light breeze when they left their shoes at the house and headed to the beach.
It was gorgeous, and there were children playing and dogs running, women talking and couples kissing, as Devon picked up the occasional seashell and carried it with her.
She rolled up her jeans and waded in the surf.
She had worn her hair down and it flew around her in the breeze.
They walked for an hour and went back to the house.
He prepared the carbonara, and a salad, and the pasta was delicious.
They talked nonstop and there was always more to say.
They never tired of talking to each other.
It struck him at one point that he had talked more to Devon in two days than he had to Faye in the last two years.
It was the hallmark of their crazy situation.
He and Faye had run out of things to say to each other twenty years before, but they were still married.
He wanted to explain it as simply as he could to Devon when they finished dinner.
He didn’t want to keep it from her any longer.
She needed to know his circumstances, whatever happened, even as a friend.
“I want to explain something to you, in the interest of full disclosure,” he said, as he set down a bowl of lemon and chocolate gelato in front of her, with chocolate-covered biscotti.
It had been a real Italian meal, and she loved it.
He looked serious when he sat down across from her, and she waited to hear what he said. She could sense that it was important.