Chapter Fifteen

Gemma

I straightened my bright pink sundress that had a yellow and orange floral pattern on it even though it really didn't need straightening. It wasn't like it got that wrinkled on the way over here. I patted my hair and made sure the yellow flower was still in place, holding my hair back behind my ear. It was a last-minute touch that I hoped Lance saw as my way of opening up.

The morning after we first slept together three years ago, Lance brought me a flower and placed it behind my ear, said it was as beautiful as me and he wanted me to have it. It felt only right I put one behind my ear again, as a nod to the past .

But while I felt confident before, I was suddenly very nervous. Was I making the right decision on taking him up on this little visit? I looked down at my hand, holding a quick to-go bag I made for myself, and felt uneasy.

Here I was packed and prepared like I was ready to stay over when I really had no idea if this was a mistake. What if we decided this was wrong? Would I look foolish? I took a step back, thinking, debating.

No, I shook my head. Lance knew this was me, he wouldn't care. Or so I hoped.

Before I could decide one way or the other, the door opened and I heard Lance's deep voice say, "I've been expecting you."

That was all it took for the butterflies in my stomach to go wild. Just as they always did when I was around him or heard the sound of his voice. It wasn't a nervous set of butterflies, either, more like happy butterflies that fluttered around like they were overly ecstatic. I liked the way he made me feel, always had.

"Were you ever going to knock or were you thinking about bolting?" he asked, amusement coloring his expression. He was always so calm and easygoing, especially compared to me. It was refreshing.

I smiled and took a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies. "Of course not," I answered, "bolting, I mean." Truth be told, I wasn't sure that was true, but committed to it just the same.

He cleared his throat, eyeing the bag in my hand. "Good because it looks like you came prepared."

I gave him a lopsided smile. "Is this weird?"

"It doesn't have to be."

Trying to hear Lance, to feel as sure about this as he was, I walked toward him and gave him a peck on the lips. Please, I prayed, help me relax. "Then are you going to ask me in?" I asked, trying to play it cool.

"Please." He tilted his head and ushered me inside, but when I didn't move, my feet firmly planted to the ground, he smiled and turned around himself, walking in. "How about this?" he asked. "I'll leave the door open and you come in when you're ready."

"But there are mosquitoes out," I cried. "They'll get inside."

He chuckled from inside. "Then come in and we can close the door and enjoy ourselves for the evening." Lance sat down on a chair in his living room, his feet up on the coffee table as if he was perfectly content in waiting around for me to make a move.

I swayed my head back and forth, debating what to do. What is wrong with you, my brain was practically shouting at me, go in! But I couldn't ignore all the doubts, the worry, the concern that this was a big mistake. "I'm usually not like this," I promised him .

He nodded from his chair. "I know. Apparently, it's something you only reserve for me," he said casually, a chuckle in his voice.

I wasn't sure how I felt about his words. "You bring out the worst in me," I countered. There, it was his fault.

He stood. "No. I think it's quite the opposite. I let you be exactly who you are instead of what you think you need to be for everyone else," he said and waited before walking away, disappearing somewhere deep inside his house.

Where was he going? We were talking.

Well, he was talking and I was listening. And I actually heard him.

Was he right?

I knew I was different around Lance, but maybe he was onto something—he brought out the best in me, not the worst.

Not sure I wanted to admit that, but definitely ready to see this through, I finally walked in and closed the door behind me. "You know what I've always hated about summers in Florida?" I asked, the words sounding droll even to my ears, but knew we had to start somewhere and I needed that place to be light and casual, not heavy and deep.

"What's that?" he asked, pouring a glass of wine and sliding it across the counter to me .

I put my bag down on the floor by the bar stool and sighed, taking the glass in my hands. It was exactly what I needed, dare I even say, should've had before I got here. I took a sip and then finally answered, "Being eaten alive when you leave your house after a certain time of day. I have to wear bug spray and I hate that stuff, it smells horrible."

He laughed, but ignored my comment. "The lasagna's almost done. Why don't you take a seat and relax? I'll bring your bag up to my room."

I held up a hand and stopped him before he could pick my bag up and leave with it. "Your room?" Not that I wanted to be anywhere but with him, in his arms, in his bed.

He turned to me and laughed again, this time his eyes dancing with amusement. "You didn't think I was going to put you up in my son's empty bedroom for the night, did you?"

I shrugged. "It's just been a while, that's all."

He tilted his head, clearly confused. Maybe I wasn't making myself clear.

"Since you've seen me," I elaborated. I didn't really need to get into it further than that, did I? Maybe one look at my body three years later and he'd want to run. I mean, there was a fairly substantial age gap between us and he could have any twenty-year-old he wanted, no doubt about it .

"Gem," he started, approaching me, his arms out, ready to wrap them around me.

I backed up. "Lance, I'm serious. I'm almost forty. Not everything is as tight and perky as you're probably used to."

Ignoring me, he proceeded to walk over to be and placed his hands on my arms, rubbing them up and down. "You worry way too much. You're beautiful, and," he cleared his throat before continuing, "as far as your breasts go, because I'm assuming we're talking about your breasts here, I'm sure they're just as perfect now as they were before."

"Do you know anything else that should be perky?" I asked, eyebrow raised, smiling at this incredibly charming man before me.

He kissed the top of my head then brushed his fingers along my collarbone before fussing with the spaghetti strap on my dress. He brought his mouth to my shoulder and began kissing it.

I angled my head and let out a moan at the feel of him lavishing such attention on me. "Lance," I pleaded.

He continued his perusal of me, and I gave him better access to my neck as he moved to the tender skin there, starting to suck on it.

I moaned again and then inhaled, catching wind of a strong smell. One that wasn't there seconds ago. "Lance," I warned. "Lance, something's burning! "

He immediately stopped and went over to the oven where he grabbed the mitts and opened it. He cursed. "The lasagna's burnt."

I chuckled. "It's fine, really." Although, I felt terrible he went to all that trouble for it to only go to waste.

"Are you sure?"

"Mmhmm." I nodded. "The truth is, I'm really not all that hungry."

He put the lasagna down and shut the oven off. "Oh, no?" he asked, walking over to me, his arms extended again, ready to take me in them.

I shook my head and stepped forward. "Well, I am hungry. But not for charred pasta." I giggled. "I wonder," I began, laughing now, "how does Mason eat?"

"As long as there's not a beautiful woman in my midsts, I can cook," he replied, a mischievous look in his eye. "You don't think I can cook?"

I shook my head and brought a finger to my mouth where I bit on the nail. "I don't like to lie."

"All right, that does it," he said, picking me up and hurling me over his shoulder.

"Hey!" I shouted. "Put me down," I demanded, feeling young and reckless, carefree and desired, everything I hadn't felt in three long years .

"No can do," he said, swatting my backside that was currently in his face. "Nice panties, by the way."

I admonished, "You can see them?"

"Beautiful, I can't see nearly as much as I'd like from this angle."

I blushed and thanked the heavens that he couldn't see my cherry tomato red face.

When we finally made it up the stairs, I noticed we passed Mason's bedroom, the door wide open. I put my hand out and grabbed the door frame to make him come to a halt. "Wait!" The wallpaper was red and yellow with race cars and there were toys on the floor. "Mason likes Legos?" I asked, wanting to know more about his son. He'd told me some before, but suddenly I was more curious.

Patting my behind he moved slightly and asked, "You really want to talk about my son's hobbies right now?"

I laughed and dropped my hand since he stopped walking. "Yes, I think it's a very good time to talk about him."

"You have one funny way of looking at things." Then he added, "But, yes, Mason enjoys Legos. Those and Lincoln Logs. That is, when he's not snagging my iPad and trying to play with pirates or whatever the heck else he plays with on there. "

I nodded and took in the child's room. It was so full of fun and color, even for a young boy. I felt my uterus skip a beat. Oh, how I wanted a child or children of my own one day. Mason was giving Lance so much, I wasn't sure either knew how lucky they were.

"Done?" he asked when I said nothing.

I nodded and tried to push those thoughts aside and just let the little time I had with Lance have my full attention.

He took a swift turn in the other direction and moved us so I was looking at two different rooms. "Door one," he said, angling to his room where the door was closed, "and we make this an adult sleepover." Then he gave me the other choice, turning me back to Mason's room. "Or door two and we make this a PG sleepover. But I'm still sneaking a peek to see what you brought to change into later."

I placed my hands under my chin now, as if I had to give it any thought at all. I was already here, dancing the dance. There was no way I was turning back now. Just a few minutes with this man and I remembered so clearly everything I enjoyed about him. I wanted that again, even if only for a night. "Door one," I finally whispered.

He patted my backside again and walked us inside to his bedroom where he swung open the door and placed me on the bed. Finally upright, I looked around and took it all in.

There were some photographs and a television, a painting on the wall. It was just splatters of paint and was far from perfect, but I felt like it spoke to me. It felt like that was my life. I just kept throwing paint at a canvas and hoping it made something beautiful.

"Mason made that," Lance said, observing me staring at the painting, before turning back to look at it himself. "I had it framed and hung it because I actually liked it. Felt like it was appropriate." Then he shrugged. "I don't know. I guess it's what every parent does because they want to make their kid feel good."

I shook my head and laced my fingers through his as he stood next to the bed. "No, it's nice, Lance. It seems like a good reminder that things are messy and life's not perfect."

He bent over and gave me a kiss on the lips. "I've been trying to tell you that, beautiful."

"I'm scared," I admitted. "Afraid that I can actually fall for you this time and then where will that leave us?"

"Together, hopefully." He saw things so differently, so optimistically, I wondered if I was broken some how.

I rolled my eyes. "Be serious." I hopped off the bed and began walking around now, studying the picture frames of photos taken with him and his son, and his friends and him. "Your life is here and my life is not."

I felt him come up behind me where he stood for a beat before snaking his arms around my waist and kissing my neck. "You've always been cautious. You always pick the safe choice. Frankly, I'm surprised you didn't pick door number two."

"I want to be with you," I said, turning around in his arms. "I don't want you to think differently." I searched his eyes and needed him to know that I really did want this. The truth was, I had always wanted this. I was just afraid. That was why I left three years ago. I let my own fear and insecurities make the decision for me to walk away from one of the best things I had in my life.

"I always thought you were a mistake, but now I'm not so sure. Maybe that was fear talking."

Taken aback, he regarded me closely, then announced, "Gee, thanks," as if unsure how he felt about that.

I shook my head. "No, that's not what I meant. That's what I'd been telling myself for the past three years. That you were a mistake. A fling that was fun, but reckless and maybe a little stupid." I brought a hand to his face and touched his cheek. "But now I don't know what I was thinking." I ran my fingers over his lips and he let me continue to trace his features as I spoke. It was as though this way even when I left this time, he would forever be engrained in my memory. Especially that cleft chin I loved so much. "I guess I just thought a man like you couldn't possibly be interested in a woman like me. What was this thing that we had? That was what I kept asking myself."

When I was done, he commanded, "Turn around."

I furrowed my brows. "Why?"

His voice was deep with desire when he answered, "Because I'm going to show you just how badly I want you and then you're never going to question what this is again. Do you understand?"

I nodded, licking my lips. "I'm glad I chose door one," I said as I turned around.