11. Brock
11
brOCK
A s we stare into the depths of my French door refrigerator, I warn Caroline, “I don’t really keep any fancy cuisine on hand. My taste in food is pretty simple.”
I’m delighted to hear the doctor agree, “Mine is too.”
She proves that point by suggesting, “How about if we have grilled cheese sandwiches, grapes, and chocolate milk?”
“That sounds like the perfect comfort food after a tough day.” I readily agree with her suggestions because they are likely exactly what I would make if I were here alone.
I’m glad that she feels comfortable enough to make herself at home by retrieving ingredients from my fridge, but at the same time, I want to take care of her. Her face registers surprise, then delight, when I say, “You go relax on the couch. I’ll fix our snack.”
“A lady could get used to this,” she says with a wide smile before turning to head back into the living room.
“That’s the plan,” I mutter just loud enough that I can’t be certain if she hears me or not.
As I putter around the kitchen preheating the skillet and buttering the slices of bread, my eyes keep being drawn back to the beautiful woman in my living room. Instead of resting, as I had suggested, she’s perusing my bookshelf.
It should probably feel invasive to have someone so openly scan through my books, but with this woman, I find her curiosity to be charming. Although it’s a new and completely unfamiliar urge, I am pleased to discover that I want to share the more intellectual side of myself with her.
By the time I have the grapes washed and the cheese sandwiches browned to perfection, she is settled on the sofa with her legs curled under her. Her nose is buried in one of my books. Desperate to know which one she chose, I scan the shelves to see which one is missing, but it’s too hard to see from here.
After I set our plates and glasses down on the coffee table in the living room, I gingerly tip up the book she’s reading to see its cover. I’m not overly surprised by what she has selected, so I say, “Excellent choice.”
She smiles up at me. “I’ve always been drawn to Emily Dickinson’s poetry because she was surprisingly fierce.”
I nod my agreement before adding, “She won me over with her carefree disregard for traditional capitalization and punctuation rules.”
“She was generous with dashes,” Caroline quips, making us both chuckle.
When her gaze lands on our plates, she squeals with delight. “Oh, you cut our sandwiches into squares. This takes me straight back to my childhood!”
By the happiness in her tone, it’s obvious that she had a very different upbringing than I did. Leaning forward to retrieve our plates from the table, I hand one to her and suggest, “Let’s dig in while the cheese is still warm.”
“It’s so ooey-gooey. Mm.” She moans as she lets the cheese stretch out and dangle between her mouth and the sandwich.
The sensual noise is enough to make me firm. It’s in that moment that I realize she has removed her sparkly mermaid bra and is bare beneath her T-shirt. Her taut nipples are visible beneath the thin fabric, and it’s all I can do to hold myself back from reaching out for them.
I look away and shift in my seat in an attempt to think about something else––anything else––but the intriguing woman makes that mission damn near impossible.
I wolf down my food and tip back the tall glass of chocolate milk. After finishing, I take my dishes to the kitchen and load them into the empty dishwasher.
If I don’t remove myself from this situation, my body will demand that I make a move on her. As much as I would enjoy that, I sense that she’s not ready for our relationship to become more intimate. My fear is that she never will be.
Doing my best not to worry, I return to the living room. I’m surprised to find that she has already scarfed down her snack and is placing her empty plate on the table. Hoping to be the perfect host, I retrieve my favorite quilt from the rocking chair. After I place it over her, I hand her the book she’d been reading earlier and take her dishes to the kitchen.
On the way to my bedroom, I deliver her a plated chocolate chip cookie from the local bakery I love.
Surprise fills her expression when she looks up to thank me.
Unable to stop myself, I press my lips to her forehead before telling her goodnight and bolting for the quiet solace of my bedroom where I can pout about being so close, yet so far, from the woman of my dreams.