Chapter 7
I COOK HIM DINNER
By the time Rory walked through the door, the mouthwatering aroma of basil, tomatoes, and oregano wafted through our sparkling-clean house.
If I do say so myself, I looked stunning in my rather revealing black dress with spaghetti straps.
The cut was so low my boobs might as well have been hanging out.
My back was exposed, and my dress barely covered my bottom.
I don’t even know why I’d bought this thing, but it felt apropos for tonight.
You know, spaghetti straps and spaghetti.
I hoped Rory would make the correlation, and his hunger wouldn’t stop with a clean plate, if you know what I mean. Dessert, love?
One thing I’d learned the hard way—scratch that—the easy way, was that when you get a new body, you need new clothes.
You think I’d gone crazy at Williams-Sonoma?
Let me tell you what. Not only were every employee at Nordstrom and Neiman Marcus and I on a first-name basis, but I even knew the names of the women who worked in the parking garage.
To be on the safe side, I’d packed up all my “fat” clothes and stored them in the garage, just in case I ever fell apart.
For now, in my bedroom, there wasn’t a trace of my old body.
It was the new, slender Margot all the way, ready to give him the tastiest dessert he ever could have imagined.
My loving husband walked into the house and did the exact opposite of what he usually did.
Typically, he walked through the door, muttered a “hello,” and went straight to his office to plug in and finish the day.
A few more phone calls, emails, and articles.
I, by then, being the dutiful housewife, would have sorted the mail and left his stack on his desk.
Only after he’d finished with all of the above would he come find me.
To my delight, not today! I heard his bag drop at the side door, and he waltzed into the kitchen, gave the tail-wagging Philippe some love, then stood to take me in.
His mouth fell agape. “Look at you! Wow! They broke the mold with you, didn’t they? ”
I beamed. “Your workday ends now, mister.”
He gave a nearly imperceptible wink and kissed me on the mouth. “What work?”
I couldn’t believe it.
“What’s gotten into you?” I whispered, fingering his collar, taking in his scent.
“You have. Look at you. Don’t make me wait until after dessert. I need you.”
The dress was working!
“Now, you’re talking,” I said, moving my lips across his cheek, letting my fingers explore his body, blowing into his ear.
Rory grabbed my waist and pulled me tighter, moaning like he just had to have me. He gingerly felt my breasts, and my nipples hardened in his fingers. His touch tingled my entire body, and I came alive in parts that had nearly been mummified.
“Ugh, where have I been, baby?” he asked. “It’s been way too long.”
As he started to slide off the straps of my dress, I playfully swatted at his hands and stepped back. No way I was going to let this flame burn out too quickly.
“Not so fast,” I said. “Take a breath or two. We have all night.”
“What?” he asked, “you wouldn’t dare make me wait. Close your eyes, Philippe. I’m going to do bad things to your mommy.”
Our precious dog didn’t know what to make of Rory’s warning.
“The sauce is going to burn,” I said.
He sighed, looking me up and down as if I were the only thing he cared about in the entire world. He needed me, had to have me, would die if he didn’t take me right now.
A warmth ran up my legs and glowed in my essence. This woman here, Margot Simpson, Superwife Extraordinairre, had saved a marriage.
“Let the sauce burn,” he said. “Let the house burn, for all I care. I need you right now.”
Though his words and the desperation in his eyes made my knees wobble, I held back. The deal might be sealed, but I liked my games and the way he was looking at me. Might as well keep enjoying it for a while.
I lifted a finger. “You need to find us a bottle of wine and”—I lowered my gaze to where Li’l Rory was making known his presence—“and find a way to keep him in your pants till after dinner.”
“After dinner? You’re…I’m…”
A grin lifted me an inch off the ground. Mary Poppins, watch out! To be wanted like that was everything to me.
“You heard me,” I snapped, showing him who was in command. “After dinner.”
He dropped his head and said with reluctance, “For the record, this isn’t fair.”
And I tended to agree. I wanted him just as badly, and parts of my body were angry with me for this sudden retreat. However, I stood my ground.
“If only life were fair.” I kissed two fingers and then slid them down, playing at the fringes of my dress. “Now do as your told and find me some merlot.”
His shoulders fell, and his Adam’s Apple bobbed up and down as he attempted to swallow the news that he’d have to simmer down.
I turned to stir the Bolognese, and as the wonderful smell thickened in the air, I felt him staring at me.
Smacking the wooden spoon against the pot, I said, “Merlot, now!”
“You are just evil,” he said. “In the best of ways.”
If I smiled any harder, I was going to break a rib, but I didn’t turn back.
Rory searched through the wine rack while I went back to work on dinner.
Everything in our world had come together.
I couldn’t believe it, and I’d never been so excited about a date in my entire life.
I was the bad guy in a stupid cartoon when he says with steepled hands, “My plan is coming together.”
With Van Morrison setting the mood, my lover uncorked a left-bank Bordeaux, which is a merlot-based wine from my favorite wine region that, when done right, will knock you into the stratosphere.
We raised our glasses and toasted to falling in love all over again.
He was still flushed from our initial encounter. As was I.
After first sips, Rory asked about my day.
Wait.
Hold on.
Yep, you read that right! He asked about my day!
We could have stopped there, and he already would have won.
I told him about the nail salon and that I’d picked up a thing or two at Williams-Sonoma, “thing or two” being a loose phrase.
Who cared about details, anyway? A thing, two things. Thirty things. Just numbers.
Anyway, rather than casting another countless critical jab at Erica, he took my hand and looked at my red nails.
I’d been getting my nails done for years, and he’d never once taken my hand and appreciated my nails.
What had gotten into this guy? If he wasn’t careful, I was going to give him a ride later that he wouldn’t be able to handle.
“They’re stunning,” he said. “You’re stunning.
” His compliments actually sounded sincere.
He backed up and looked at my feet. I wore delicious red, pointy-toe stiletto mules, and I modeled my legs and feet for him like he was window shopping.
He gave me another compliment, and I swear, I remember thinking I couldn’t handle many more.
He’d buttered me up so well, he could have asked me for anything in the world at that moment, and I would have said, “Yes!”
How about a threesome?
Why not four? Let’s go to Vegas right now.
Do you mind if I take a week off and go with the guys to Canada to watch hockey?
Do I mind? Of course not! Take two weeks!
Do you mind doing the dishes?
Not at all! I don’t want you doing the dishes, Rory. You’ve worked too hard already today.
Hey, maybe we should talk about chickens. And ducks, even.
No, dear. That was just a silly dream. I don’t need birds. Forget the B&B too. All I need is you.
You get the picture.
As if he couldn’t have laid it on any thicker, he asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
I nearly dropped my glass. That was a question I hadn’t heard since Jasper was in diapers. “Why, yes, I’m sure,” I said, trying to think of something. Anything. “Why don't you make your delicious garlic bread?”
“I’d be happy to.”
Was this happening? Is this how all marriages come back together?
A year of hard work and then one day it’s back?
Just like it hadn’t been lost? Here we are.
Right where we started. I was in such a happy fog, I didn’t dare consider any other alternative than the truth: I’d shown him how to love again.
So often those days we’d eaten at the island or in front of the television in the living room.
Not tonight. We sat at the dining-room table facing each other.
Rory dimmed the lights on the chandelier and lit two tall white candles that flickered warm light between us.
We didn’t once talk about his work or his projected career path.
He asked me questions, and I happily answered.
Then I asked him questions, just like you do when you’re in the earlier stages of a relationship.
No questions about work, but about hockey and where he wanted to travel next.
What he and Jasper might do over the holidays for some father-son time.
So many times lately, our conversations had been difficult.
Not tonight. We were reconnecting like lovers who’d been torn apart by war.
After dinner, he suggested a Skype session with Jasper before we get back to business, as in bedroom business.
Delighted at the idea, I texted our son and gave him a heads up, and when he rang us, Rory and I scooted our chairs together.
We squeezed our heads into the screen and offered a collective, “Hi, kiddo!”
“Um, hi? What’s going on?” Jasper must have thought we were drunk. It had been a while since he’d seen us glimmering so.
“What’s going on?” I said. “We miss you.”
“You just seem different.”
“We’re having a stay-at-home date. Pasta by candlelight, Van Morrison—”
“Yeah, okay, I get the picture. Let’s stop right there.”
The three of us shared a laugh that had been needed for a long time.