Chapter Twenty-One

I woke up. Lighter and freer and more rested than I had been in months. I knew things weren’t entirely fixed– I’d still have to get the ring back to Baron. But that didn’t seem all that difficult, honestly. The conversation had been had. He wouldn’t be surprised any more. 

Skipping to work. Doing good work. Everything easy and happy. And very glad to be going to see Zevi tonight. 

I left a little early– just a few minutes. Glad to be detouring to Zevi’s. He was waiting for me, which was unusual. He leaned up against the wall, beside the front door of the building. Foot propped up against that bad navy paint. Cap pulled low. 

“Hey,” I called.

Glad that he looked up and instantly smiled at me. Drowning out the sunset light with his face. 

“You look like all the good things in the world,” he said, calling low and letting his voice roll down the sidewalk.

“You look better, somehow,” I said back. 

I wanted to go straight into his arms and kiss him, but that seemed like a bad idea, and rather absurd to do to him. 

“I have a few things to show you,” he said. 

Without being able to help myself, both my hands raised up from my sides toward him. He took both, thumbs rolling in my palms. His smile faltered, dropped. After a second, he raised it back up, dropping my hands. 

“Come on in,” he said, pushing the door open. 

Into a nice, clean retail space. New tile, newly painted floors. Some shelving units. Bins. A counter. I blinked, confused over some murals painted along the back walls. Local farms, with their signs painted big edge-to-edge. 

“It’s pretty,” I said. “It’s nice in here–”

“Rachel helped,” he said, gesturing to the back wall. “She told me about state and federal subsidies for folks to buy local produce… We’ll be able to accept those here. And I’ll be able to source a lot of what we sell here from within the area. Seasonal and otherwise… Real groceries. Not circus peanuts or microwave hamburgers.” 

“Oh, Zev,” I said, reaching for him again. He let me take his hand. We walked up and down the aisles for a second. 

“Bins for fruit and stuff?” I asked, dumb and tender. 

“Exactly,” he said. “But I need you to understand… I’m still probably going to have an ice cream cooler and a soda fountain because good lord I love both those things. We just won’t serve impoverished kids or something, so you still feel good about the market.”

I laughed a little weakly, overwhelmed and in love. 

“One more thing,” he said, steering me toward the back. 

A neat little back room, supply closet, a little office. A locked door to a staircase. Realizing I was seeing what I so often heard him running down. Still holding my hand, he led the way up. A little too narrow to walk up abreast. 

Upstairs was clearly an apartment. Nothing at all cheap or bad about it. Beautifully sunshiney with the cantilevered windows. Warm and bright, original floors, creaking cozily under my feet. It smelled clean, fresh aired, windows opened. A pretty, open kitchen. Totally empty still. But so nice and so… homey already. 

“One thing in particular,” he said, not letting go of my hand. “Something that is the opposite of the rest of this place. Not resellable at all. But something you ought to see.” 

We walked through the front room, kitchen, what would probably be the dining room. He pushed open a door. A little too small to be a bedroom, maybe an office. One of the larger windows was here, almost a full wall of glass. 

“I thought this would be a nice work space,” he said. “Come check out the view.”

We went over to the window. It looked into the side of the lot. Part of the sidewalk. Right on the cement below was a little skateboarding ramp. A short few feet of railing. A little swing set. 

“Oh,” I said.

“Yeah, this was more of a decision based on wanting one particular person to take up residence here. But I think the sounds of children joyfully playing would actually be a drawback for other buyers,” he said, doing his mischievous avoidance of me. “Although I can see I’m too late,” he added after letting that statement sink in. “So I don’t know what I’m going to do with this mistaken grand gesture.” He rubbed his thumb across my ring finger, just brushing the misbegotten engagement ring. 

“Oh!” I cried. “Oh no! No, this is–”

I started trying to tug it off. Stupid thing catching before my knuckle. “I said that I didn’t want him to buy anything… He did anyway… Begged me to wear it… I fell asleep and forgot about it, but it’s not–”

He raised my hand to his mouth. Drawing my ring finger into his mouth. Sucking it briefly. Making me moan and then instantly clap a hand over my mouth in embarrassment. He looked up at me, chuckling when he got my eye. Catching the ring between his front teeth, he tugged it off my now-lubricated finger. Grinning at me, flashing the ring back at me from between his front teeth. He spit it into his palm.

“Who gave my little girl this silly bauble?” he said. 

“It doesn’t matter,” I said, going to him. I took the ring from him, sticking it into the hip pocket of my dress. A problem for later. 

“No,” he said. “It doesn’t.”

“I need a repeat of that first kiss,” I said. “That one was the best one. I want to see if you can outdo yourself.” 

He leaned forward, giving me that long novel of a kiss. Something that felt like sitting down with something wonderful and familiar. Hands eventually going to my jaw, holding me to him. I gave in utterly, hands fisting in his shirt. 

“You aren’t going anywhere,” he said. “I’ve needed you. The first hour I have you, I’m just going to talk to you. The second two hours, I’m going to kiss you. The third through the fifth hour, I’m just going to taste you and–”

“Will I never be allowed home?” I asked, pulling his shirt tighter, rolling the fabric around my knuckles.

“Oh no,” he said. “I need you all night long.” 

“I need you too,” I said.

“Let me show you something else then,” he said, clearly joking with me again.

We left the office space, going into what would actually be a bedroom. A bare mattress on the floor, some scattered evidence that he’d been spending at least some time in here. 

“This is where I’m going to keep you,” he said, imitating a villain. 

I laughed, though I felt everything I’d been holding back roiling away inside me. Wanting him so desperately. 

He scooped me off the floor, making me giggle, tumbling me onto the mattress. We lay on our sides, facing each other. Closer than we’d been in so long. He slid his knee between mine. I moaned again, rolling my hips. He laughed, kissing me quickly again.

“Tell me everything you need from me. Everything you like,” he said.

“Will you tell me the same?” I asked, wriggling against him.

“Yes.”

And we did. Face to face. Getting closer. Breath getting shorter. Talking about sex and desire until the sun went down. The room going gray around us. Giggling sometimes. Driving each other insane with short kisses. Longer ones. Every time I tried to push for more, leaning into him further, running my hands under the hem of his shirt, he stopped me. Chuckling, breathless. Always getting worse any time I felt him stiffening against me. Fantasies we’d had. Dirty thoughts we’d had about each other before we could be honest. Laughing over the fact that we talked so much about chasing when we liked the idea of it sexually, too.

We fell silent, the room almost dark. Forehead to forehead. 

“I think it’s finally time to start kissing you, and tasting you,” he said. 

And we did, losing ourselves in it until it was long after dark. I couldn’t actually be sure of the passage of time. I’d never been so sunk in my body and out of my mind. Like a dream that felt week-long.

He finally let me worm my fingers under the hem of his shirt, wrapping my fingers around his warm, strong back. Sneaking my pinkies under the waistband of his jeans. I couldn’t recall quite when I’d been so totally turned-on. Tingling everywhere he touched me, feeling his lips long after they’d withdrawn. Burying his fingers in my hair, he gave me a brisk little shake.

“Well, I started up at the top of your head with talking,” he said. “I’ve moved a little ways down to your mouth. I think it’s time to move a little further still.”

He started unbuttoning the front of my dress, making me wiggle and fight to be closer to him. Pulling down the cup of my bra and beginning to suckle my nipple. Again, taking his time. Letting me knot my fingers in his hair, hooking my fingers behind his jaw. Fighting between trying to move him off and hold him close. If I thought I was in bad shape before, this was worse. Worse still to sometimes feel his body arching against mine. How badly he wanted me. Hips helplessly tilting against my thigh.

“Oh, please,” I sighed, trying to turn into him.

“I’ve finally got you,” he said. “I can’t possibly be stopped now. I need to make up for lost time. Every hour I’ve wanted you, I’m going to have you for, now.” 

When I was mewling under his mouth, rutting against him, he sat up. Crying out until I saw him stripping off his shirt. Getting me undressed slowly– too slowly for my liking. But he seemed to be sincere about savoring and taking his time. I cried out again when he forced my thighs apart with his palms, his face dropping between my legs. 

It had been too much, and taken too long. As soon as his tongue pressed against me, I had a powerless and unsatisfying but shocking orgasm. Groaning, almost pained. He laughed. Shifting upward, propping his chin on my hip bone. 

“That didn’t sound good enough,” he said, chuckling. “I’m hardly done yet.” 

He pulled a second and third from me. Much better than that overstimulated first one. He grabbed my hands, holding them fast. Keeping me from pulling him away or pushing him off. 

“I need more,” he said, once more resting his chin on me, looking up at me. 

“Whatever you need,” I panted. 

“Good,” he grinned. Kicking off his jeans, making me moan again and reach out for him. 

Falling between my legs, he slicked up against me. I whined his name, trying to angle up and into him. 

“Slow down,” he growled. 

“I can’t,” I panted. 

“Do you really think you’re ready for me?” he asked, letting my hips roll along his shaft but never mount. 

“I don’t think I’ll survive without you,” I moaned. 

He rested just at my entrance, and I fought to get more. He was stronger than me, pressing me into the mattress. 

“Slow down,” he said again. 

“Please Zevi, please Zevi, please Zevi,” I whimpered in a never-ending loop, trying to get on him. 

“Don’t say my name like that,” he said, laughing and trying to catch his breath. 

“Zevi,” I said, drawing it out this time, purposefully teasing. 

He grunted, thrusting forward but not far. Withdrawing again. And he did that for a long time, only giving me a taste until I was made stupid again. Finally, he reached underneath me, lifting my hips into him and buried himself in me. Still, though, he rocked slow and I could tell he was holding himself back still. When I started begging again, he began moving in earnest. We were both almost howling by the end. Myself having my fourth right on the tail of his. 

I clung to him afterward, expecting disengagement. But he settled heavier on me. Going back to kissing me. The front of my throat, the corners of my mouth, my sweaty forehead and hairline. 

“Pretty, tasty thing,” he sighed, licking at the corner of my mouth. 

“Sticky, sweaty thing,” I said, finally letting my arms relax when I realized he really had no intention of abandoning me. 

“Exactly,” he laughed, passing a hand down my stomach. Over my hips. Swiping between my legs teasingly. 

He got me tangled up in him. Laying on my side, his leg over my hips, arms wrapped around me. Pressing my face into his chest and holding me while we caught our breath. 

I dozed off. Waking, and thought about getting up. Instead, just shifting. Socking my hips back into his, laying on my other side. Back to his chest. He sighed, nose nuzzling into my hair, arms going around my waist again. I could tell he was entirely asleep. 

I woke again when I felt his arms moving around me. Smiling a little when I felt him catching me up in a double nelson. Rocking my chin toward my chest. 

“Oh no,” I said playfully, wriggling against him. 

“I need more,” he grunted. 

I shifted into him. Still held tightly in his arms, spreading my legs to help him along. He took even longer this time. Letting go of one of my arms eventually, fingers stroking me slowly. When I came on him twice more he finally sped up. I lay limp on my side, hanging onto his forearm.

“I can’t!” I cried.

“You can,” he grunted. “I’ve been waiting… And I need you… Tell me you can take it.”

“I can,” I almost sobbed. “I need you. I can take it.” 

Breathing my name over and over, he finally finished. I listened to him fall almost instantly asleep. Breath heavy and even. Limbs heavy on me again. Going from overheated to gently warm. Hearing rain starting to patter against the pretty, huge windows. Sinking into all of it. The mattress on the floor. The heat and heft of his body. Soft autumn rain. 

I woke up to lightning. The whole room suddenly ablaze, illuminating his arm flung over my shoulder, the clean wood floors in front of me, the white sheets beneath us. Even though it was lightning that woke me, when the thunder cracked overhead I still jumped.

“Storm, Betta,” Zevi murmured. I could tell he wasn’t really, or at least fully, awake. Just trying to comfort my recoil. 

“What time is it?” I whispered. 

He turned his wrist in front of my face, getting his watch in my eye line. I held his fingers and forearm in front of me, waiting for another flash of lightning to see by. Five AM. Another crak. 

I turned in his arms. He made a low sound of irritation. I kissed his nose and he pursed his lips, asking for another. I gave it to him.

“I think we have to get up,” I said. 

“No,” he groaned, arms clamping on me harder. 

“We’ve got work to do,” I said, laughing and making no move to leave him. 

“Not when it’s storming,” he said wickedly, juggling me between his arms. I laughed again. He let me go after a few minutes. I stood, stumbling, still weak from his onslaught the night before. 

“I do have the bare bones of civilization in the bathroom,” he said, yawning, waving to a door at the far end of the room. A perfectly lovely and nearly empty en suite. A single towel, a single bar of soap. I washed my face, at least. Drinking several mouthfuls of water straight from the tap. Cool and clean and good. He came up behind me as I did, biting the back of my neck playfully. I swatted at him.

“Quit it, wolf-boy,” I said. “Rachel really is expecting me today. But I’ll see you tonight, for sure. Either your place or mine.”

“Do you think this is going to be our place?” he asked me.

I could tell he was being serious. Asking in total sincerity. I turned to him, leaning against the sink, pulling him close with my hands on his waist. Grateful for the intimacy of us both still being nude. 

“Yes,” I said simply. “Is that what you intend?”

“Obviously,” he said. “I made you an office… A good home in general, I think.”

“I think so too,” I said, kissing him. I never thought anything would replace the jewel of ‘if you’re unsure, I’m not.’ But it was quite suddenly supplanted by ‘I made you a good home.’ Because it was true. He’d always felt like home. Whatever he did, I should have known it would be home. 

I made my weak-legged way back to my house. Taking a too-quick shower. Sad to be washing him off of me. Getting dressed for work. Still feeling surprisingly well-rested. I probably hadn’t slept even six hours last night– and those hours had been (delightfully) disrupted. I felt good. Like after a long but healthy work out. A brisk run through the woods and home again. Joints loose, blood flowing perfectly. Skin smooth and warm and hydrated. I licked the insides of my cheeks. Feeling healed over spots, but no open cuts. Tasting no blood. 

Made my way to work and sat at my desk. Getting things done well. When Rachel came in, I shook my finger at her, stopping her on her way to her office.

“Rach,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me what Zevi was up to?”

“Because he told me not to,” she grinned. “But I guess he showed you?”

“Yes,” I said, still smiling. Feeling idiotic but unable to stop myself.

Her smile faded, though.

“Well, I guess that answers that question,” she said. “But you’d better check your phone.” 

“Oh!” I said, slapping my forehead. I really just sort of had forgotten. I dug it out of my purse. Several missed messages. I scrolled through rapidly. Mostly all Baron. I looked up at her, and she must have seen my worry.

“He called me last night to ask where you were,” she said.

“What did you say?” I asked, wondering if she’d lie for me, and if I’d then have to remember the lie.

“I said I wasn’t sure, but that I was expecting you for work the next day and that if I didn’t see you, I’d call him.” 

“Oh,” I said. I set my phone face down on the desk.

“Betta,” she chided. “Answer him.”

I took a deep breath. Looking at the text messages– all sounding more irritated than worried. Ditto his one voice message– less upset and more pissed off. 

I texted him– unwilling to hear his voice. Just that I was fine, and I’d like to see him for lunch. Within seconds, he had responded. Just good. 

I realized the ring was still in the pocket of yesterday’s dress. Which I’d tossed in with the laundry when I’d gotten in this morning. No matter. I’d retrieve that, and then meet Baron at the diner. It seemed prudent to hand it over right away, and in public. 

I left for lunch especially early. Partially so that I’d have time for my stop-off at home to retrieve the ring, but also because he said he wanted to see me ‘sooner rather than later.’ 

He was at his usual table when I arrived. Just a coffee in front of him, though. I got worried– worried he’d skip a meal, or several meals, and make himself sick. I was reaching into my purse for the box with the ring in it when he stopped me, hand on my arm.

“You weren’t home last night,” he said. 

I stared at him, because his tone betrayed nothing. Looking for anything in his face and seeing nothing at all. I shook with fright and then realized what he was doing. Trying to scare me so I’d ‘spill the beans’– just as he’d said on our first date. So I stayed quiet. 

“I messaged you last night,” he finally said, after a full minute of silence. “Then called. You didn’t answer. I went by your house. None of your lights were on. You weren’t out in the backyard. I called Rachel from your driveway. And while she didn’t know where you were, or claimed not to, she also didn’t seem terribly worried.” 

“She’s my boss,” I shrugged. “She doesn’t know my whereabouts. It was absurd of you to expect her to.”

“Don’t play games with me, Elsbetta. It’s unbecoming, and frankly, you’re bad at it.”

I reached into my bag, drew out the box and pushed it toward him. 

“It’s only been a day,” he said, low and pointedly at me.

“Longer isn’t going to make me change my mind,” I said. “And I refuse to string you along. Two days, a month, a year… At the end of whatever sentence you handed down, I’d still be giving you this ring back.” 

“Where were you last night?” he asked, the facade finally cracking a little.

“It changes nothing,” I said. 

“Were you with the fucking landlord?” he asked. That interesting ribbon of emotion going across his face and disappearing like a magic act in front of me. Teeth briefly bared, face wrinkling. Then deep sorrow. Then that mask-like flatness snapped back into place.

“I was here first,” he said, keeping his voice purposefully low. It rumbled straight from the center of his chest. With every word, he punctuated the sound with a harsh, repetitive knocking of his knuckles against the table.

“Grow up,” I snapped, irritated and disgusted. Because he clearly hadn’t meant that he was in the area, or in the neighborhood, first. He meant he’d planted his flag in me first.

“You must have been with the landlord,” he said. 

“Have you just assumed that I was interested in him, and he in me, from the first?” I asked. “If that was the case, you should have left me. You said you wouldn’t be second or third to any other man. If you were so first, you ought to have kicked me to the curb,” I said, incredibly frustrated. 

Not least of all because he wasn’t entirely wrong. I’d been forcing myself to love him, when I was falling for another. 

“You’re compromising your principles in leaving me for a fucking landlord,” he said. 

“I compromised my principles when I swallowed you,” I said. Also low. Both to not be overheard. But to take my time. So he’d hear every word. So he’d hear my vulgarity and seriousness. 

“Elsbetta,” he said, eyes dropping to the table-top. Sounding hurt enough that I almost reached for him.

“It’s bad, Baron,” I said. “I don’t blame us for trying to make something fit. But you see it doesn’t fit, right? Do you want to find yourself miserably unhappy a year from now? Five years from now? Hating to go home because the person you most resent is waiting for you in your own house? Tell me you don’t want that kind of sorrow for yourself.” 

“It’s not about whether or not something fits, or whether you're happy,” he said, low and fierce. “You make it fit, you make it work, and nothing else matters.” 

“I can’t make it fit, I can’t make it work,” I said sadly. 

“I think you’re making a mistake,” he sighed.

“Maybe,” I said. “It doesn’t feel that way. It feels like I’m finally putting the brakes on a big mistake.”

“Maybe,” he said. 

I stood up a little. Leaning across the table. Kissing his cheek for the last time. He reached out for me. Before I had to shake him off, he let me go. 

“Goodbye, Elsbetta.” 

One of those odd surprises in life was that there didn’t seem to be any kind of witch hunt. No community aligned against me. In the infrequent times that Baron and I’s abortive relationship came up with anyone not in the know, there was a puzzled response. It turned out a lot of people thought he was just vetting me as a secretary or assistant– not a romantic partner. The amount of ‘huh’s and ‘oh’s I got became something of a sad little joke I told myself. No one saw each other as having been courting. Just colleagues. 

Rachel snorted about that. “You can hardly call the man affectionate.”

The first few times I knew I was going to run into Baron– at clubs, speeches, lectures, town meetings– I was, I thought, rightfully nervous. He was at first chilly. Then we merely acknowledged each other. Short nods, tilted chins of “yes, I know your face.” Finally, just sad and quiet hellos. Not bad. Awkward, hardly friendly. But decidedly professional. Neighborly, even, after a few months. 

That dark cloud of fear had turned out to be just that– a cloud.

It couldn’t be said that no one knew Zevi and I were dating, however. He hadn’t lied about wanting to be in orbit around his woman. I had merely to reach out to touch him, most of the time. As he pulled more people in to get the market up and running, we were eye-rollingly obvious to their eyes, I knew.

Beginning to figure out distribution, inventory, stocking. Farmers coming by with things, advising Zevi. He kept an office at the back of the market. He was so excited about the whole project. When I got fearful that he’d get bored, pick up and want to leave town again, he just shook his head.

“I’m having the best time of my life,” he would say, and sound joking. And then he’d drop his voice. Pull me close. “I wouldn’t run away now. I’m sure about this.” 

Watching him pull together people in a way that surprised me. Always having a crowd around him. Everyone wanted to talk to him. He always wanted to listen. Everyone was always at ease, always laughing with him. 

I used to associate the lot with quiet talking with him. Smiling, certainly. Flirting and laughing. But now the whole building, when I was near it or thinking of it, what I heard and saw and felt was joy. He made everything sunshine. 

I loved how my days went now. Working with Rachel. Doing some work with Zevi. Pretty quickly he’d tossed my grill and lawn chairs into the back of his truck. We had a tiny patio on the far side of the market. Just our two chairs, the grill. Still using the spindle for a table, but now we had an apple crate to put our feet up on. I’d help him finish up some little task. We’d go outside, make something easy for dinner. Sit outside chattering until we got tired. Often having to bring blankets and jackets, after the sun went down. Go back inside. 

I’d been packing up my place. We still didn’t really have the apartment set up– but it didn’t really matter. We had cushions in the front room. The kitchen was pretty much finished. We’d at least gotten a bed frame, which we’d been teasing each other about. The apartment above just wasn’t as high a priority as the market. Which was in beautiful shape. 

If he felt well-caught-up at the market he’d come to my place. Ostensibly to help me pack. We usually ended up in bed though. And unfortunately, after being together we both had the tendency to drop asleep. Neither of us could cajole the other out of bed, once we lay sweating and spent. But even that laziness seemed right– making up for lost time, catching up with each other. 

We were busy, but we weren’t rushing. I made sure, even in the middle of things, even if we were in the thick of something to stop. Touch him, get his attention, get his eye and hold it. And tell him I loved him.

Epilogue

“Dad!” I yelled from my office. One shoe sort of on, bag kind of packed for work.

“What?” Ira yelled back from the kitchen. 

I hopped down the hallway to the kitchen, trying to sock my heel into my pump as I went. Smelling breakfast– or maybe gone-cold breakfast anyway. 

“Where’s our wolf-boy?” I asked him, glancing around. 

“How am I supposed to keep track of him? He said something about pears and left half-dressed. Which seems to be the trend around here,” he said, eyebrow cocked at my half-shoed state. 

I sighed, leaning an elbow on the counter and finally getting both shoes on. 

“I’ll chase him down,” I said, hitching my bag up higher on my shoulder. “Need me to grab anything for dinner on my way home?”

“Nope,” he said as I headed for the door.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he called, irritated. I turned back around. His hands outstretched with a cup of tea and what looked like a bowl of oatmeal. 

“I know, I know,” I said. “Breakfast, I will.” 

I took it from him, kissing him quickly and then running down the hidden staircase to the market. I heard that the loading bay shutter was up so I headed in that direction. 

Zevi was down there, unloading a van with one of the guys he’d hired, Jackson. A kid I knew from the neighborhood. One of the farmhands helped as well. Zevi was holding forth, telling some kind of joke about pest bugs. I couldn’t help but stare a little overlong at him. He was indeed just in one of his undershirts, boots untied. Hair falling into his face. 

“I’m leaving, darlin’,” I called to him.

He stopped what he was doing, hauling a box from in front of his torso up on his shoulder. Dancing on over to me to kiss me. Doing so overlong, until I broke it, laughing, backing away. 

“Mornin’ mizz B,” Jackson said.

All the kids and folks who worked here, and all the kids who used the play place unfailingly referred to me as ‘Ms’ B. Zevi was just Zee to them though. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. 

“Come here,” Zevi growled, a finger hooked around the sash of my dress, pulling me in close again.

I laughed, “I’m late.”

Dropping his chin to my shoulder, his lips against my ear, he whispered, “Want to come home for a lunch quickie? We can screw over my desk.”

We had a tendency to get pent-up when Ira visited. Not that we minded, we liked having Dad around. The smallest room was my office. But there was the master and a second, larger bedroom as well. We both liked having him stay with us, for long stints, if we could. But it did put a damper on more elaborate sex to be sharing walls with his father. 

I laughed again, pushing him away.

“Let’s see where the day takes us,” I said, rushing out the back door. Trotting down the sidewalk. Waving to a few kids on the swing set. Saying hi to neighbors as I made my way to work.