Into the Quiet

by Beth C. Greenberg

  “You have your own microwave?”

  Realizing his gaffe, Cupid shrugged, but how could Pan fault him? To the palace born, Cupid had obviously adapted quite easily to his new, luxurious surroundings. Pan, on the other hand, would never feel fully at home in any indoor dwelling, although he couldn’t argue with the miracle of modern plumbing.

  “So, what happened to the wine I left you?”

  “I drank it the night you left.”

  Cupid’s jaw dropped, not a pretty sight with the half-chewed sausage sitting on his tongue. “The whole thing? By yourself?”

  “Yep.” Pan grimaced, remembering his little pity party and the unpleasant aftermath. Red wine hangovers were among the slowest of earthly wounds to heal.

  “Oh, that reminds me . . .” Cupid jumped out of his seat, bolted from the room, and returned a few minutes later with a wad of cash, which he tossed onto the table.

  “What’s this?” Pan asked.

  “I wanted to buy that wine for you, but I didn’t have any money at the time. Ruthie paid me with a check before she left. I cashed it at the grocery store. This is for you.”

  Pan eyeballed at least three twenties. “Wow. That was an expensive bottle.”

  “I didn’t want to skimp.”

  “So, how’s that heart situation going right now with your Worthy so far away?”

  “Fine. Nothing’s happening.”

  Grinning around his pizza, Pan said, “I guess that means you’re meant to be right here with me?”

  “Or Pookie.”

  “Ouch. Just for that, more bourbon.”

  Pan snagged the pizza while he was up and slapped the box onto the table. To hell with decorum. Maybe the gods were watching, but Ruthie sure as shit wasn’t. He refilled both glasses. If all went well, they’d finish off the bottle together tonight; if not, Pan would finish it off himself after his best friend disappeared.

  Cupid sped through the pre-drink routine, braced himself, and tossed back a swig as if taking medicine. “It’s getting better,” he declared.

  “Yeah, your tongue is numb.”

  “That helps.” Cupid took a thoughtful sip, and Pan tried not to smile when Cupid swiftly downed his pizza chaser. “Have you spoken to Cheri since . . . y’know?”

  “No. Are you trying to start a fight?”

  “No, Pan. I don’t want to start anything.” The room quieted, the only sound the swa-swish, swa-swish of Pookie’s tail skimming along the wood floor. “Speaking of fighting . . .”

  Pan looked up wearily. “Yes?” If Cupid was about to press this thing with Cheri . . . goddammit, way to kill a good buzz.

  “I was hoping you would teach me how to fight—with my hands, I mean.”

  “Why?”

  “At one point, I thought Zach might punch me, and I realized I have no idea how to fight back.”

  “You don’t need to fight back. You have supernatural reflexes. All you need to do is dodge the good punches.”

  “That sounds unpleasant.”

  “It’s not ideal. Your goal would be to not get into a fight to begin with.”

  “You never fight with mortals?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Cupid narrowed his eyes at Pan. The poor guy had yet to embrace the concept of customized rules.

  “Look, I’m the god of the hunt. Fighting is my nature. Who the hell needs to punch Cupid?”

  “The guy who thinks Cupid is sleeping with his wife.”

  “Aha! I see the problem.”

  “Very funny. Does this mean you won’t teach me?”

  Pan wiped his mouth and wadded up the elegant dinner napkin. “I suppose I could show you how to throw a punch. If nothing else, it’s a great workout.” And I’d get to watch.

  “I guess that’d work. If I’m still here tomorrow.” Cupid took a sad sip of his drink.

  If Pan had momentarily forgotten they weren’t just two buddies sharing a pizza in some McMansion across town, Cupid’s grimace reminded him otherwise. His friend was in a significant amount of pain, and it was only going to get worse—the release, the heartbreak, and whatever the gods chose to do to him after that.

  “Also, I’ve been thinking,” Cupid said, drifting off into that faraway place where his deep thoughts lived, “if I don’t ascend tonight, as much as I’d really like to come back and stay with you, I don’t think I can bear to see you with all those other guys. And you shouldn’t have to not walk around in your underwear in your own house.”

  Maybe Pan was cruel, or maybe it was the bourbon, but he couldn’t help feeling a jolt of satisfaction. He didn’t want Cupid to stay across town either, but with the live-in arousal machine, could Pan really promise not to be fornicating night and day? Was he willing to give all that up? “Let me think about it when I’m not half in the bag, okay?”

  “Sure.” Another awkward silence followed. Sticking to the business at hand seemed to be the safest approach. “So, in case I need to, uh, tidy up here, how much does Ruthie know about you?”

  “Only that I’m new in town. I didn’t need to tell her as much as I told Mia.”

  “Just as well.”

  “Yes, except I don’t want her to think I just ducked out of finishing the job or abandoned her.”

  “Don’t worry, Q. I’ll tie up any loose ends with the construction project, take care of little Princess Powderpuff here, and make sure your girlfriend understands you didn’t just take off. Okay?”

  Cupid’s gaze darted around the room. “What about us?”

  “You-and-me, us?”

  “Yeah. We’re okay, right? I mean, if I get pulled away, you’re not gonna stay mad at me for the rest of eternity?”

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  “You’re not?”

  “Nope. I believe you’re doing the best you can.”

  Cupid squared his shoulders. “I am, Pan. I swear it.” Surely, there was no more guileless creature roaming earth or sky.

  “Then, we’re good.”

  The edges of Cupid’s mouth lifted, forming once again that newly fallen, pre-fucked-over, reunited-with-his-bestie grin Pan could not resist. “Thanks for giving me another chance, Pan.”

  Pan tossed Cupid a casual wink, belying feelings that were anything but casual. “Should we kiss and make up now?”

  35

  Generosity

  Zach ducked into the taxi and scooted next to Ruth. A loud moan escaped her as the seat took the weight off her throbbing feet.

  “Did you start without me?” He cracked a smile at his lame joke, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Apparently, my feet did.”

  “You hate wearing heels.”

  “Yep.”

  His grin widened. “You hate dancing.”

  “Only when I’m sober.”

  “Hence, the three cosmos.”

  “Oh god. Did I really drink three?”

  “I think so. I might have lost track after my second scotch.”

  Ruth tipped her head back against the cool seat, closed her eyes, and waited out the spin. “Good thing we’re not driving.”

  Zach’s head landed next to hers, his soft chuckle riffling her hair. “Did you drink enough water?”

  “We’ll find out.”

  “Here.” A cold water bottle met her hand.

  “Thanks,” she said, opening her eyes and turning ever so cautiously to meet Zach’s gaze. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”

  “I could never be embarrassed by you, Ruthie. I do, however, think you made the other husbands jealous.”

  “Pfft. Right.”

  Zach arched an eyebrow as if he had something to say, then changed his mind. He wriggled a finger into the fat knot of his bow tie and tugged until the ends fall apart. Screwing his chin up out of the
way, he fiddled with the top button, exhaling a loud ahhhh when it popped open. “God, I really hate these things.”

  “Some things never change.” Like how the glimpse of a crisp, white undershirt still made her tingle. Every damn time.

  He gave her a pointed look. “And some things do.” An apology of sorts?

  “We didn’t promise to have and hold and never change.”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean it’s always easy.”

  Considering that Zach thrived on change, Ruth took his comment as a very sweet acknowledgment of how hard this was for her.

  “Nothing worthwhile ever is.”

  “True.” He clasped her hand. “The Langstons offered to give us a guided tour of the city tomorrow.”

  “Oh. That’s sweet. They seem very nice.”

  “I told them no thanks.”

  “You did?”

  “I want us to explore together—alone. Find our own favorite spots.”

  “Very romantic, Zachary.”

  “Look who’s talking. You dropped everything and flew out here. I’m still blown away.”

  Yes, you pulled the rug out from under me, but I am ready to step into this adventure with you. “I’m your wife. Of course I wanted to be here for your big night.”

  “Well, I understand it was no small thing for you.”

  “I would never have forgiven myself if I missed such an important moment. You don’t get a second chance at those.”

  “No.”

  “I feel like I’ve already missed so much—”

  Zach shifted in his seat to face her. “Ruthie, can I ask you a huge favor? I know we have some difficult talks ahead of us, and both of us will have to say and hear things that might be painful. I promise you, I’m ready to have those conversations. But more than anything, I really need to get my very sexy wife to my hotel room and peel off that dress you’ve been teasing me with all night and remind you how much I love you”—he pressed his lips to the delicate skin behind her ear—“and appreciate you”—traced the shell of her ear with his tongue—“and want you”—and nibbled on her earlobe. “Do you think you can trust in us and set all the talking aside until I’m finished ravishing you?”

  Yes, she wanted that so much, too. “So, what you’re saying is, you want to have make-up sex first and make up afterward?”

  Zach laughed right out loud, a deep, bold belly laugh that filled the back seat with his joy. “Is that what I said?”

  “Yep, and the answer is yes.”

  She took in Zach’s grateful smile, burrowed her face into the crook of his neck, and closed her eyes. There Ruth nestled until the taxi slowed to a stop.

  Zach chuckled into her hair. “I hate to disturb you, but I need my hand.”

  Ruth’s eyes blinked open to the sight of a uniformed man opening her door. “Welcome back.” Buddy, you have no idea.

  Ruth barely had time to register the pain of standing on her swollen feet before Zach’s arm looped around her waist. He leaned in close and said, “Can you walk, or should we find a hot bellboy to roll you upstairs on one of those brass carts?”

  “Just help me to the elevator, funny guy.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t offer.”

  She kicked off her pumps inside the elevator, releasing a loud sigh as her toes wiggled free.

  Zach eyed her enviously. “I cannot wait to open this cummerbund.”

  “Do it!”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not? We’re alone, and besides, you’re unembarrassable.”

  “Can’t.” He tipped his head to watch the numbers light up. “I need both hands free when we get to the tenth floor.”

  “Why?”

  Zach reached into his jacket pocket and handed her the card key. “Hold this?”

  “Oh lord, Zach. What are you—”

  The elevator dinged, and Zach whooshed her off her feet and into his arms. “This feels like an occasion to carry my bride over the threshold.”

  “Ohmygod, Zach! Put me down before you hurt yourself.”

  “You insult my manhood, woman.”

  “You underestimate my womanhood, man.”

  “Don’t make me laugh.” His footfalls landed like Frankenstein’s monster, jouncing her from side to side, but there would be no stopping him now. Nobody could out-stubborn Zachary Miller once he’d made up his mind.

  Ruth gave up the fight and rested her cheek against his chest. “At least your heart is still beating.”

  “Just for you, Ruthie.”

  “I think scotch makes you mushy.”

  A crooked smile settled on his face, or was it Ruth’s skewed view? She became so enthralled with trying to solve that mystery, she didn’t notice when Zach stopped walking.

  “Ahem. Mind opening the door, dear? I got my hands full here.”

  Ruth stretched the key card toward the handle but couldn’t quite reach. “A little lower, please?”

  Zach guffawed. “Your wish is my command.”

  He dipped lower, angling Ruth toward the door—and the floor. The sway, on top of the alcohol, made her head spin. “Whoa.” She gripped him tighter with the hand still wrapped behind his neck.

  “Could you maybe work a little faster, darling?”

  “Why, am I getting heavy?”

  “Not at all.” As if he’d ever admit to weakness.

  Ruth tapped the card against the sensor—once, twice, and miracle of miracles, the little green light blinked on. She grabbed the handle and shoved.

  Zach stumbled inside just as Ruth started to make a very ungraceful exit from his arms. She managed to get one foot beneath her, but foot number two had no such luck. Zach held on valiantly, teetering as Ruth tottered, until they balanced out to a steady whole greater than the sum of its wobbly parts.

  Ruth refastened her hands behind his neck and fluttered her eyelids damsel-in-distress style. “My hero.”

  Zach’s smile was crooked after all, Ruth decided, just before he leaned in to kiss her with it. Yep, still a total pushover for Zach’s kisses. If he even looked at her lips with that hooded you-are-mine, she’d feel that certain tug inside, as if he’d pulled a string connected directly to her pleasure center. Zach knew this—how could he not?—and yet, he’d always been stingy with his kisses. Maybe they didn’t thrill him the same way, or maybe he worried they’d lose their punch, like the old Dustbuster that could barely suck up a grain of salt even with a full charge.

  To be fair, kissing required two people to be in the same place at the same time, ideally awake. They were certainly both here now, and Zach seemed to be in a most generous mood.

  His sexy mouth merged with hers, pleading yet demanding. He coaxed her lips apart with a whisper of tongue. Their kiss sealed off a world where only the two of them existed. Connected. An intimacy they hadn’t shared since . . . Ruth couldn’t remember the last time, especially through the cosmo haze.

  Zach slipped one hand to the nape of her neck and caught her with the other when her knees went weak. His smile creased her cheek. “Y’okay there, tiger?” He barely broke their kiss and didn’t wait for her answer. She didn’t want him to.

  The delicious tease of tongue-on-tongue made Ruth’s head swim. She was a live wire in an electrical storm, but if their long-awaited reunion ended with this kiss, then dayeinu—it would have been enough.

  Here lies Ruth Margolis Miller.

  Killed by her husband’s kiss.

  Died with a smile on her face.

  Oh yeah, she was feeling that third cosmo. And the electrifying friction with her husband’s body, hard and excited and ready, the bulge below his cummerbund making its presence known. A giddy sigh escaped her. Zach answered with a needy grunt, setting off a shock wave deep in Ruth’s belly. With a tender swirl of his tongue, Zach pulled away, drawing a frustrated gro
wl that sounded more Pookie than Ruthie.

  He dropped a soft kiss on her nose and chuckled. “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”

  “Back?”

  Where the hell was he going, leaving her all revved up, not to mention unsteady on her sore feet? Punch-drunk on kisses and for-real-drunk on vodka was a tricky combination at the end of a long, stressful day.

  Zach seemed to shift into fast-forward, stepping out of his shoes, shrugging off his jacket, snapping off the cummerbund, whipping the bow tie through the collar and tossing it onto the pile. He dimmed the lights—ahh, so much better—and dug his phone out of his pants. Was he scrolling through his messages? Ruth tracked his movement until her eyelids grew too heavy.

  Soft guitar strains filtered through Ruth’s brain fog. Oh, Zach. The rhythm lifted her heels—left, right, left, right. In her mind, she was dancing. Her head lolled back—whoa.

  A pair of sturdy arms closed around Ruth’s waist. Her eyes popped open.

  Zach stood there, grinning down at her while his Adam’s apple bobbed oh-so-sexily. “You started without me again.”

  “Well, you keep leaving me.” She’d only meant he’d walked away, but sometimes, the darnedest things slipped out.

  Zach’s grin flattened. “Oh, Ruthie.” He pulled her into his chest and hugged her tight. “I’m right here.”

  She rested her head on his chest. “I’m here, too,” Ruth mumbled, the tail end catching on a sob.

  His hand moved slowly up and down her back. She leaned on him, and he held her up—just as he’d vowed he’d always do, right before they danced to this song at their wedding.

  “I’m sorry, Zach. We said we weren’t gonna ruin this.”

  “We’re not ruining. We’re dancing.” At best, they were rocking, but if a little Billy Joel made Zach feel like Fred Astaire, Ruth wasn’t about to burst his bubble.

  She sniffle-laughed into his chest. “And now I’m getting your shirt all wet.”

  Zach ran his finger down the edge of her hair, tucked it behind her ear, and met her tipsy gaze. “I guess you better take it off, then.”

  First-date butterflies beat at Ruth’s chest as she reached for the top stud. Her knuckles brushed Zach’s undershirt. His mouth fell open with a soft exhale. She hungered for those lips again, rosy and plump from all their kissing. She trailed two fingernails to the next stud. Zach tipped his chin to watch her pop each stud through its hole. Drag . . . pop. Drag . . . pop.