Chapter 6 #2
"Yeah, but…" Her eyes rake my torso; I'm holding the phone at arm's length, showing my pecs and stomach, which is pretty flat and hard, if I do say so myself. I just don't have visible abs, unlike the absurdly shredded perfection of my son's physique. "It's not the same."
"Guess not."
"Is this a weird time to bring up the, uh…the kiss?" she says.
I snicker. "I mean, considering how this call has gone, I'd say maybe it's the perfect time to bring it up."
She meets my eyes through the screen. "Was that a weird, like, one-off for you, or…" she swallows hard again, looks away. "Or was it maybe something you, um…"
"I haven't stopped thinking about it," I cut in. "Or you."
"Glad I'm not the only one," she says.
Silence—not awkward, but tense.
It's a heated, sparking, sexual tension.
And I have no fucking clue what do about it.
"I definitely won't be able to stop thinking about you now," I say.
"Same," she whispers.
"Morgan, I'd like to…" I trail off, take a couple of deep breaths, and try again. "Could I see you sometime?"
"You're seeing me now," she says, smirking. "A whole lot of me. More than anyone's seen of me in a very, very, very long time."
"What I meant was I'd like to take you out on a date."
"I know," she breathes. "I know what you meant."
"If I'm overstepping, I—"
“No!" she protests too quickly, too loudly. "No. I want to." A clearing of her throat, a sharp short breath, as if gathering calm and courage. "I would like that, Noah."
"Breakfast at Lorna's?" I suggest. "Pick you up in thirty?"
"Oh." She blinks at the screen. "I…um…"
"Too soon?"
She shakes her head. "No, it's…no. I can be ready in thirty."
"See you soon, then?"
"Yeah. Yes. See you soon, Noah." She tugs the robe tighter yet again.
"Hey, uh..Morgan?" I don't know if I should say it or not. But the look of nervous discomfort on her face as she tugs unconsciously—and/or self-consciously—at the edges of her robe decides for me. "You're stunning."
She blushes, looks away. "Noah, stop."
"You are. You're beautiful."
She rolls a shoulder. "Thanks?" She swallows hard yet again and looks at me. "You're pretty alright yourself." She huffs, shakes her head as if irritated with herself. "I'm crazy attracted to you, Noah. This whole thing just has me in my head."
"I understand, believe me."
"Unless you're a chronic overthinker, not likely."
"Maybe. I just mean I do get it."
She rolls her eyes. "You're a firefighter, Noah. You're fit as hell."
"Everyone has insecurities, Morgan. Only one woman in more than thirty years has ever seen me in my underwear.
Shirtless, sure, whatever. Not the same.
And, I, uh…trust me when I say I'm aware that it was plenty obvious how I felt seeing…
um…you. Seems kinda impossible to not be self-conscious about that. "
"My face feels like it's going to burst into flames." She looks at me through the screen. "It was flattering. That you, ummm…that I made you…ahhh…"
"I know what you're saying," I cut in, interrupting her struggle for the right words.
“Thank god,” she breathes, shaking her head. "Never felt so awkward in my life. Good lord."
"Been a while for us both." I exhale slowly. "Look, if you're not ready for a date, I get it. If you'd like to do breakfast in Fitch instead, I'd understand." That being the next closest town with a decent breakfast spot.
"No, I…breakfast at Lorna's sounds good. I’m not worried about people seeing us, Noah. I just…I don't have a great track record when it comes to dating."
"Hey, no pressure, no expectations. We're just gonna eat and talk. In public."
She frowns in confusion. "Why do you specify in public?"
"I guess, considering the kiss and then this, I don't want you to think I'm…ahhh…only thinking about you in…that…way," I finish, lame and awkward. "Now who's gonna go up in flames of embarrassment?"
"I don't think that. But it's considerate of you."
"This is new territory for us both, I guess. So we just take it one step at a time. Yeah?"
She nods. "Yeah. Sounds good." A pause. "Hey, Noah?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you called."
"Me too."
"I'll text you when I'm close."
"Sounds good."
I've not been this nervous in a long, long time.
I showered, dressed in my best jeans and the ivory long-sleeve Henley Taylor always claimed was her favorite thing I wore.
Made my forearms look good, apparently, although I admit I don't know what it is that makes one's forearms look good.
Now I'm sitting in her driveway drumming on the steering wheel as I wait for her to come out, and my heart is hammering a million beats per second, and my hands are clammy.
A date, a first date.
At 53.
I close my eyes and knuckle my forehead, sighing—but closing my eyes only provides a blank canvas on which my memory paints a rather vivid picture of a topless Morgan.
The passenger door opening startles me, and I jump guiltily as Morgan slides in beside me. "Shit!"
She snorts a soft laugh. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. Thinkin' deep thoughts, were ya?"
"Something like that," I mutter, my eyes scanning her.
She's showered too, her hair in a damp braid over one shoulder, the braid pulled through the opening of a white ballcap with the logo of her figure skating academy on the front.
She's wearing a pale green top that makes her dark green eyes pop even brighter…
with a low, scooping neckline that shows a lush expanse of cleavage.
Stone-washed jeans with rips in the thighs, exposing stripes of creamy skin.
"How's your burn?" I ask, putting the truck into gear.
She rolls a shoulder dismissively. "Fine. I put some aloe on it after my shower."
Small talk is easy with Morgan, it turns out.
We chat on the short drive from her house to Lorna's downtown—town gossip, how the coverage of the upcoming hockey game has brought more tourists than ever to our sleepy little town, and whether I've heard Jukebox's new original song.
The small talk extends to sipping coffee while we wait for Maggie to take our orders, and while waiting for our food to arrive.
It's not until our orders have come and we've tucked into our food that the conversation shifts away from small talk.
"Can I ask you a personal question?" Morgan says, forking egg whites onto her avocado toast.
"Sure. Anything."
She smirks. "Anything?"
"Didn't say I'd answer, but you can ask anything."
She huffs. "Valid." A sip of coffee—half a creamer, a tiny sprinkle of real sugar. "Is this…is this your first date? Since…" she trails off, obviously at a loss for how to finish that thought politely.
I take pity on her. "Yes. This is my first date since Taylor passed."
She winces. "Sorry. It's none of my business—"
"No, it's fine." I reach across the table and wrap my hand around hers that's clutching her mug, fingers inside the handle.
"I did Zoom therapy for a good year and a half, actually.
And one of the things that helped me come to terms with everything the best was just simply making myself say it out loud.
I avoided that for months—couldn't say her name, much less voice the fact that she was gone. Dr. Zavadi made me face it—I had to say it out loud: ‘Taylor is dead. She passed away.’ ” It still makes my throat tight.
"Still hurts, but…it's real, y'know? Like, saying it out loud is hard but effective.
As long as I refused to acknowledge it, I could keep pretending she'd just, like, show up one day, like just kidding, I'm here.
Facing it and speaking the reality took that pretense away.
Which sucks on one hand, but is necessary, on the other. "
She removes her hand from the mug and threads her fingers into mine. "I don't know if I'd be that brave."
I shake my head. "Not bravery, honey. Just reality. You can't escape reality no matter how hard you close your eyes and hum."
She nods. “Yeah, I know that's the truth. You've just…I admire how well you've handled your loss."
I shake my head. "You didn't see me on the bad days, Morgan. There were days I couldn't get out of bed. Days I buried myself at the bottom of a bottle of Jack. Days I was so angry at the world I didn't dare leave the house or I'd end up in jail."
Her eyes glitter, wet. "You lost your wife, Noah. You're allowed to fall apart. You put yourself back together. You and your son both.”
I smile. "Thanks, I guess? I suppose I'm just glad it happened when he was an adult. I don't know how I'd have managed if he were still a youngster."
"My ex-husband," she whispers. "That day that we kissed in my kitchen. It was my ex-husband who gave me this delightful mess of insecurities. That and almost twenty years of loneliness and celibacy."
My mind boggles. "You haven't—"
She widens her eyes. "Since before Mallory was born." She sighs through puffed cheeks. "I've sorta forgotten what it's like, to be honest."
I duck my head. "Not sure what the right response is, here."
She smirks. "And here I was ready for the jokes. 'I can help with that,' or something along those lines."
"Occurred to me, I admit." I grin and shrug, shaking my head. "Not sure we're there yet, though, so it felt best to keep it to myself."
"I'd have laughed." Her look, then, is less humorous and more intense. "Well, part of me would have laughed."
"And the other part?"
“The other part is split into halves. One-half would ask where and when. The other half would be too busy running away and hiding to say anything."
"Running and hiding, huh?"
"Eighteen years, Noah. I freaked out about us kissing. The rest?" She shrugs, shakes her head. "I don't know how I'd…what I would…"
"You don't need to think about that right now, Morgan. It's been more than three years for me, which I know isn't the same as eighteen—"
"Good thing it's not a competition," she says.
"Exactly. But it's still a long time. So I do get it—to a degree, at least. So just…don't worry about that. We don't need to think about it."
"But I…" she drops her voice to a whisper. "I want to. I want to think about it. I…I have thought about it." She meets my eyes, searching me. "I'm sorry if I'm too forward, but I'm too fucking old to play mind games, Noah."
"I'm way too fucking old for games, too, Morgan. I like you. I would love to keep spending time with you. No matter what that looks like."
"I like that answer. I like you too."
Maggie drops the bill, and I toss my card down before Morgan can. "I'm old-fashioned, and this is a date, right?" She nods. "Then I'm paying."
She sits back with her mug, smiling softly. "I'll allow it. But I may try to get you back at some point."
I hover my hand at my side in a caricature of a quick-draw western hero. "We'll just see who's faster on the draw, won't we now, little lady?" It's a truly terrible John Wayne impression, but it gets me another snorting laugh.
"Oh god, please don't tell anyone I snort when I laugh," she says, covering her face with a hand.
"It's cute. For sure gonna be trying to make you snort-laugh.”
We finish our coffee and exit Lorna's. For a while, we just stroll downtown Tomlin Falls together, side by side, close but not touching, the talk surface-level once more.
We finish a circuit up one side of Main Street and down the other, ending up back at my truck, pausing at the tailgate. I glance at my watch—8:15. "You have anywhere to be?"
She shakes her head. "I don't. I had three lessons scheduled for this morning, but they had to reschedule. They're sisters and there's some sort of family issue. Whatever. Point is, I'm free all day."
I gesture at her sturdy, sensible boots. "Up for a hike? Since you're wearing the right footwear and all."
She grins. "Sure. Sounds like fun. Been a minute since I've gotten out into nature."
"Let me grab some water from the general store. Be right back."
A few minutes later, we're in my truck, country music playing low from the FM station it's been tuned to since forever, heading north out of town for my favorite hiking trail.
Below the friendly, easy conversation, however, is a sizzling strain of sexual tension. I feel it and I know she feels it. It's evident in the way she looks at me when I'm not looking at her—hello, peripheral vision. It's in the way her eyes go to my forearms, my sleeves, my thighs…my zipper.
I'm no less obvious, though. My eyes flick to her chest more frequently than I'd like, especially when she, with a sideways glance at me, adjusts her seatbelt to rest between her breasts, which only serves to accentuate them…and draw my eye.
The image of her naked breasts flashes through my mind for the billionth time since the whole situation happened, and I shake my head to clear it.
"You good?" Morgan asks.
I nod. "Yup. Just…nothing. I'm good."
"Thinking about the call, earlier?" she surmises.
I huff. "Am I that obvious?" I shoot her an apologetic look. "Sorry, Morgan. I don't mean to be…I dunno…creepy or whatever."
I'm driving with my left hand on the wheel, my right resting on the console between us; she covers my hand with hers. "It's alright, Noah. We're both adults. And we said no games, right?"
I nod, meet her eyes briefly as I turn into the trailhead parking lot. "No games."
"The no-games version, then, is that when you look at me like that, I feel…" she swallows hard. "Like a woman again. I…I mean, obviously, I'm a woman. I meant—"
"I know what you meant," I cut in. "A woman who is the object of desire."
She nods, licking her lips. "Yeah—yeah. That."
"Because you are that," I say. "You are desired."
She ducks her head. "It feels nice."
"Nice?"
She gives me a lopsided grin. "Yeah. Nice. You need a more descriptive word?"
"Yes, I do, in fact."
"Thrilling. Delightful. Confusing. Scary. Arousing." She looks at me. "You need more?"
I shake my head. "Nah, I think that covers it."
She pats my hand as I unbuckle and shut off the motor. "Well, alright then. Let's hike."