Chapter Five
Five
Pam
Living in the moment is being aware of the moment we are in. If our minds are in the past or future, we are not truly alive in the present.
—Satsuki Shibuya
I lived in a historic Victorian home a block away from Main Street.
Ever since I was a little girl, I’d loved this house, and by the time Don and I were ready to buy our first home, this one was on the market in a state of total disrepair.
After a lot of begging and pleading on my part, we managed to sign the contract and walk away with the keys.
We made the place livable, but it remained a shell of what I’d envisioned until Don’s death.
One of the first projects I undertook after his passing was a complete remodel of the house.
I had my contractors follow the historical society’s recommendations and keep as much of the original integrity as they could, but they’d upgraded the electrical and plumbing, refinished the floors, remodeled the bathrooms, and updated the kitchen.
Not to mention the new siding, roof, and completely rebuilt wraparound front porch.
In the winter like this, it was picture perfect, a bright white Victorian home with dark green shutters and a cozy porch. Snow clung to the garlands and big velvet bows that hung from the railings and banisters, like something out of a holiday-themed Thomas Kinkade painting.
“Your house is beautiful,” Al said as we walked onto the porch.
It made me grin because I loved it, too. Every penny of Don’s pension and life insurance that went into the remodel was well worth it.
“Thank you. When Don and I first got married, we bought the place as a fixer-upper. He was one of those guys who said he would get around to a project and never did, so when he passed, I had a bunch of remodeling done. I wanted to make it the home I always envisioned it would be. When we get inside, I’ll give you a little tour of the main floor if you’d like.
” I wasn’t about to turn down an opportunity to show off my home.
“I’d love that.”
As I pushed open the front door, I told Al, “I hope you like cats.”
Just as I suspected, Remi was there and ready to greet us. As far as cats went, he was extremely friendly. He thought any visitors were there for him and him alone.
“Oh my goodness,” Al cooed. “Who is this?” He knelt in the entryway, allowing Remi to rub against his hand.
It was a welcome surprise. Not everyone was a fan of cats, let alone sphynx cats. The whole hairless thing was a big ick factor for a lot of folks.
“That’s Remi.” I looked down at the two of them and smiled.
“He’s adorable. I love his little sweater. Did you make that?”
Oh no. Did I out myself as a crazy cat lady?
“Yeah,” I mumbled under my breath. “I know, it’s kind of sad.” I could feel a blush creeping up my throat and over my cheeks.
Al stood and moved into my space. “I happen to think it’s very cute.” He grabbed my waist, my pulse pounding as he pulled me tight against him.
“I think you’re very cute,” I said.
He leaned down and nuzzled my hair with his soft pink nose. “Do you, now?”
“Mm-hmm.” Whatever cologne he wore smelled amazing, like a forest full of sage and cedar, what I imagined his home in the mountains of Colorado smelled like.
He gently kissed my forehead before he stepped back and shrugged off his jacket.
Why was I so disappointed that he’d stopped at a forehead kiss?
I cleared my throat and started to unwind my scarf from around my neck. “You can hang your jacket here,” I said, pointing to the row of pegs that ran along the entry wall. They were filled with my cardigans and coats, but there were still a few empty spots for when I had visitors.
Al hung up his jacket and glanced around the corridor. “The inside is just as pretty as the outside.”
“Thank you,” I said with a smile. “Like most old houses, it’s broken up into smaller rooms, so why don’t we start in the back of the house and work our way through to the living room?”
“That sounds great.”
I led him down the hallway, past the gallery wall of family photos, straight to the kitchen.
“Obviously, this is the kitchen.” It wasn’t quite as spacious as a modern open-floor-plan kitchen, but there was enough counter space for me to cook comfortably.
“It looks amazing in here,” Alistair said. I could tell he was being sincere. “It’s very you. And I love this table.” He ran his fingertips over the dark wood dining table by the back door.
“Thank you. That’s actually the first piece of furniture we got for the house.
My mom bought me the set as a housewarming gift.
Back then, honey oak was all the rage, but when I remodeled, it didn’t fit with my decor anymore.
I couldn’t bring myself to part with it—there were just too many memories attached—so Reece helped me stain it and the chairs.
I think it turned out really nice, and it’ll be around for years to come.
” I hoped he didn’t think I was weird for being sentimental about a table.
“These days, people are so quick to replace things. I love that you kept it because of all the memories attached to it. You did a great job refinishing it, too.”
“See, you get it.”
“I do,” he said with a laugh. “So much, in fact, that I can’t bring myself to part with Chai’s dollhouse from when she was a little girl. My dad made it for her, and while I don’t see her having kids, I just can’t let it go.”
I rubbed his arm. “I’d give it some time. Maybe she’ll surprise you, or maybe you’ll find the right family to pass it on to.”
“I hope so.” He put his free hand over mine and gave it a little squeeze. “What’s our next attraction?”
“The dining room.”
We headed back down the corridor to the wide arch that led to the dining room. A rustic wooden table sat in the center of the room with eight chairs seated around it.
“When the kids were younger, this room was sort of just the catchall,” I said, peering through the doorway.
“Library, playroom, office. I didn’t host for holidays back then, and we ate all our meals in the kitchen.
But once the kids moved out and Don passed, I wanted to start new traditions and make new memories, so every Sunday, I host my kids and their mates for dinner.
I love seeing the table surrounded by people I care about.
The house feels alive when it’s full of laughter and conversation, rather than the dead silence of when it’s just me and Remi.
” I laughed and shook my head because—wow—that was sort of deep to tell someone I was on my first date with. “Gods, I am just rambling.”
“I like getting this window into your life. I’m jealous, actually. My parents passed years ago, and Chai lives here, so my house is dead silent, too. Except for when I’m blaring records.”
“Do you ever think about moving closer to Chai?”
He took a deep breath. “You know how it is being invested in your work. I built this company from the ground up, and while I’ve been working remotely while I was taking care of Chai during her recovery, I’m anxious to get back and have my hands in things again.”
“I bet,” I said quietly.
The fact that he had a life away from Briar Glenn shouldn’t have made me feel as sad as it did. Especially on what was our first—and likely only—date.
“All right, then,” I said, leading Al down the hall. “Last stop is the living room.”
I leaned against the doorway and watched Al inspect the room.
Just like the rest of the house, it was cozy and inviting.
A brand-new couch and love seat took up a majority of the small living area.
I’d decided to upgrade after my kids found their mates.
I wanted everyone to be comfortable when they came over for family dinners and holidays.
“This sofa looks incredible,” Al said.
“Go on and sit.”
Al gently sat down and melted into the pillowy cushions. “This thing is like sitting on a cloud,” he said, tipping his head back and closing his eyes.
“It better be for what I paid for it.” I walked over and sat down next to him.
At first I was shy, keeping a little bit of distance between us. It had been so long since I’d had a man in my house in this sort of situation.
Without opening his eyes, Alistair casually stretched one arm across the back of the couch behind me, like he was giving me space to make the decision if I wanted to get closer to him or not.
It didn’t take long for me to make that choice.
I shimmied closer and snuggled against his side. Resting my head against his chest, I took a deep inhale of his woodsy masculine cologne and let out a contented sigh.
He lowered his arm and wrapped it around my shoulders to hold me tight. It had been ages since someone held me like this. Don always acted like cuddling was a chore, but Alistair had welcomed me with open arms. Literally.
Today everything had felt so natural. It certainly didn’t feel like we were two people who were on our first date.
“Pam,” he whispered. His fingertips softly stroked my shoulder.
“Yeah?” I glanced up to find him staring down at me.
“Can I kiss you again?”
“Please,” I rasped on a heavy exhale.
His free hand slid up the column of my neck, and he shifted his body so we were pressed chest to chest. Each of his heavy breaths tickled my face as he brought his mouth closer to mine.
Kissing someone with a snout was different, but when Alistair drew his lips together, he could mold them to mine perfectly.
The moment our mouths made contact, he groaned and tugged me closer.
I parted my lips on a heavy exhale, letting him slip his wide tongue inside my mouth.
Our hands explored each other, sliding over our clothes with a sense of desperation that came with having a timeline.
We were both acutely aware of the fact that this was temporary, but we wanted it—wanted each other, anyway.
As our kiss grew frantic, I could feel the swell of his cock pressing against me.
It was big.
Intimidatingly big.
I had only ever been with Don, and he certainly hadn’t been as well endowed as Alistair.
Curiosity got the better of me.