by K. L. Kreig
Roth shrugs, wiggling his hand for me to take it. “Central Park, perhaps.”
Central Park?
Not helping your case, Roth.
“You got this,” Kyle whispers.
Wow. This guy really wants me gone.
Since I guess I can no longer rely on Kyle, I repeat, “I got this,” and with a giant gulp of fortitude, I set my hand in Roth’s. The moment we are skin to skin, I am centered again. Nervous, but grounded. I step from the air-conditioned vehicle into the pleasantly mild Florida evening.
Roth sets his palm to the small of my back and guides me forward. Snagging the handle of my carry on, I follow him, partially guiding me, partially dragging me toward the front door of an adorable cottage-like beachside home where I will spend the next four days trying to convince myself I am someone remotely worthy of a man who calms my crazy with effortless ease.
Suddenly, I have an epiphany of sorts.
Roth isn’t just the mustard whisperer…
He is the Laurel whisperer.
The air is still and crisp. The sun has barely snuck over the horizon, the sky its blank canvas.
It’s serene and calm and so, so beautiful.
I love sunrises, much more than sunsets. Especially over the ocean. There’s something extraordinary about the freshness of a new day. Its smell is intoxicating and invigorating. It makes you believe anything is possible.
“It’s peaceful out here, isn’t it?” Elana breaks the morning quiet. I didn’t even hear the door open.
“Uh, yah, it is,” I reply, surprised she’s up so early.
“Do you drink coffee, Laurel?”
“I do.”
“Good.” She hands me one of the steaming mugs she’s holding and takes a seat on the chaise next to mine. “I love this time of the morning.” She leans back, crosses one leg over the other, and sighs a long, contented sigh.
Elana Keswick is a firecracker encased in a ring box. She’s fiery and electric. She’s one of those women who takes no bull and probably got into a load of trouble in her younger days. But she’s also real and is clearly okay being exactly who she is. It’s obvious where Roth gets his personality from. She is so much fun to talk to, and we connected immediately with our mutual backgrounds in education. I like her immensely. I like Roth’s father as well. Frank is cordial and sweet, but he’s far more reserved than Elana. She and I clicked, very much like Roth and I did. In retrospect, I feel silly acting like a basket case about meeting them.
I take a sip of what is about the most delicious coffee I’ve ever tasted and embarrassingly moan. It sure isn’t store brand.
“This is wonderful. Thank you and thank you for having me.”
When we walked through the door last night, she made me feel wholeheartedly welcome, as did Frank. Theirs is a tight-knit family unit, that much was evident. The way they interacted, their easy laughter. There is a tranquility in this house that is enviable. I’m not sure I’ve felt at home anywhere else the way I do here…except maybe my at grandparents’. And with Roth, of course. But now that makes sense.
“No need for thanks, Laurel. You’re already part of the family.”
I am?
I clench my teeth together to shut down a burning flare in my nose.
“How did you sleep?” Elana asks me, turning my way.
I didn’t. I finally got up right before dawn, not wanting to disturb Roth. I’m not going to tell her that, though.
“I’m an early riser.”
She smiles a smile that tells me she’s onto me. Roth is definitely her son.
“I remember when I met Frank’s mother, Maggie.” She doesn’t elaborate, but by the twisting of her mouth she doesn’t need to. “We get along well now, but she didn’t make it easy at first. Frank is her only son, and she thought no woman would be good enough, you know?” She lowers her voice, apparently mocking Frank’s mother who I will meet later today.
“Thankfully, I don’t,” I answer honestly. Of course, that was my biggest fear in meeting them, but it was unfounded. They have been nothing but kind. And now I’m clogged up for no reason. “You’ve been wonderful.”
“Well, I vowed never to make a single one of Roth’s girls feel like an ant under a boot heel.”
A single girl? Gosh. How many have there been? Roth is not only handsome, he’s sexy and magnetic. There must have been dozens of—
“And before you let your mind go a-wanderin’, you’re only the second he’s brought home in twenty-nine years.”
Two? And I am one of them? Roth and I haven’t talked about our exes, not really. Who wants to hear about someone who stole your partner’s heart for even the briefest of time? I don’t. But this…this is quite new information Roth failed to share with me.
I school my face, but my mouth…she wants to celebrate this small victory.
I’m number two. So…
“Who was the other?”
Good gravy.
Why, Laurel?
Whyyy?
Elana titters. I can hardly stand how cute it is. “Her name was Charlie.” Charlie? What a timeless name. I’m already jealous. “She was wild and adorable, and we fell in love with her instantly.”
Wild?
Adorable?
They loved her instantly?
That delicious coffee starts to retreat back up.
I wait for Elana to continue. She pauses for so long that I start making things up about Charlie. I bet she was exotic. Maybe she was an author who found herself on a trip to Bali. Or a deep-sea diver, who recovered lost treasures from sunken ships. Or an astrophysicist who discovered a star that she named after Roth. How did it end? Was Roth heartbroken? I want to ask but I keep my mouth firmly zipped. I swallow hard.
Finally, Elana puts me out of my misery. And not a second too early.
“She tended to pee everywhere, though.”
“She…” Huh? “What?”
“She was a pee-er,” Elana tells me with such a straight face she can’t possibly be lying.
“She was a…” Did I hear that right? “A pee-er?”
Charlie wasn’t a bestseller or a treasure hunter or an astronomy guru? She was…incontinent?
What is happening?
The edge of Elana’s mouth tips up ever so slightly. Her eyes twinkle. One second connects to the next and yet one more before I realize what is happening. I am being played. Elana Keswick has the same sense of humor as Roth does. I could be any number of things…humiliated or mad or even worse, indignant. But I’m not. Not in the least.
I’m elated.
I giggle.
Elana giggles too. I think she’s relieved.
And our giggles transform into all-out laughter. We laugh until my sides hurt and water runs down my face. Hers too.
“Charlie was a Maine Coon Roth brought home from the pound when he was fourteen.”
“Stop,” I chorth. “You’re making this up.”
“I’m serious,” she cackles. “We found out two weeks later she had heart disease and hip dysplasia. She couldn’t help her uncontrollable bladder.”
Poor baby.
“What happened to her?” I ask, unable to help myself. Roth has not once mentioned he had a cat, and he seems to love Meringue as much as she loves him.
Elana wipes her eyes and sobers up. She takes a drink of her coffee, then stares off into the morning sun. “We eventually had to put her down. Roth was devastated.”
“That’s awful. I’m sorry.”
“So was I. But it was because his heart was broken for the very first time, and I never wanted it to happen again.” So, his first girl did break his heart after all. “As a parent, you want to protect your children from harm and heartbreak and all the horrors the world has to callously drop at their doorstep.”
My thoughts briefly turn to my mother. Does she feel that way about me? Does she have this rabid protective instinct that Elana clearly does? I can honestly say I don’t know the answer to that. I think maybe it�
�s no.
“I won’t break his heart,” I assure her softly.
“I know you won’t.” She stretches her hand out to mine. “You’re the first woman he’s brought home to meet me. He said you were something special, Laurel. He was right.”
We have a moment. Except it’s more. It’s poignant and it’s tender. And it will last forever.
“What do you say we go get things ready for the crew?” she asks, patting my arm. “Not much left to do but get out a few refreshments and make a big batch of mimosas. The rest is being catered.”
The relief my cooking skills won’t be put to the test is very, very real.
“Mimosas and a catered feast? I say I would love to.”
“I’m glad you’re here, Laurel,” Elana tells me. I want to cry.
“So, am I.”
“Now let’s go get ourselves that mimosa.”
It doesn’t matter that it’s barely even eight o’clock in the morning. I jump to my feet, suddenly energized, and dare say almost excited for the day to come.
“That sounds like a plan.”
“Did you have a good time today?” Roth asks me as we step outside and close the door.
“I did. I especially loved the songs you texted me.” Every once in a while, my phone would vibrate, and we’d lock eyes and grin like lovestruck fools.
“Which one was your favorite?”
I think for a minute. “There were so many good ones.” Brave. Right Here Waiting. Count on Me. “Under Pressure was pretty funny.”
“Well, you were getting grilled pretty hard by my aunt Erma.”
“It wasn’t that bad.” It was. She was relentless. “But I’d say it has to be a toss-up between Hungry Eyes and Your Body Is A Wonderland.” That last one made me blush and when Elana saw pink crawl up my face, she simply smiled and asked her mother-in-law if she wanted another mimosa.
“Isn’t it magical how much can be conveyed simply by a song title?”
“It is,” I agree, warmth finding its way between my legs. What I’d give to be able to push him onto the chaise, pull aside my panties and mount him. Instead, I say, “Your grandmother was a hoot.”
“Yah. I should have warned you. G’ma Maggie has a sailor’s mouth and a deadpan humor that comedians envy. But that’s part of her charm, don’t you think?”
It totally was.
“I don’t know how many times she dropped the f-bomb.” The first time she did it, Roth had to reach over and close my gaping mouth.
He chuckles. “That was my first word, according to my mother.”
“It was not.” I know he’s teasing me. I’m not falling for it this time.
“It was my second then. I said it early and I said it often.”
“Bad, bad grandma,” I tease, laughing along with him.
“Damn I love that woman. She would always have Frosted Flakes and chocolate milk waiting for me when I went to stay with her. We’d eat it for dinner while watching Jeopardy.”
“You didn’t eat them together, though, did you?”
He cocks his head as if I’ve gone mad. “Of course, we did.”
I wrinkle my nose. “That’s disgusting.”
“It’s not disgusting, Laurel, it’s trend setting.”
“Trend setting? Really? Was this a craze I missed?”
“You did live in the sticks, so…” His shoulders rise. “Not all crazes made it through the thick of the cornstalks, I guess.”
“The thick of the cornstalks? You’re ridiculous.”
“Trend setting,” he corrects, grinning wide. “Come here.” He spins and sits on the chaise, waiting for me to join him.
I gaze through the glass, watching Roth’s parents chat and laugh with Elana’s sister, Elsa and her husband, Hank. Elsa and Hank’s daughter, Elisa, and her new husband, John, are at the kitchen table with them. It took me half a day to get all their names straight. So many “E’s”.
“What about the others? Shouldn’t we go join them?” They’re playing cards. I suck at cards.
“No. I’ve shared you all day.” When I hesitate, he hooks an arm around my waist and tugs on me. “There. That’s better,” he moans when he finally has me tucked into his side.
It is. Roth is warm and comfy and it’s nice to have a moment alone, but… “Are you sure we shouldn’t go in?”
“No need. They’ll be out here in a few minutes. Mark my words.” He sounds so sure of himself.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because my mother cheats.”
I tilt my head up so I can see him. “She cheats?” I repeat in disbelief. Sweet, innocent Elana? “Nooo. No way.”
“Yes. Way.”
“You’re pulling my leg.”
“I’m not,” he tells me adamantly, throwing up three fingers pressed together. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were a Boy Scout too?”
“No, but that’s the universal sign of truth. Everyone knows you can’t lie when you use it.”
“I’m not really sure I’d align myself with the Boy Scouts right now if I were you. You know…” I lower my voice and whisper, “Sex scandal and all.”
“Ooohhh. Good point. But I’m not lying about my mom. She’s a cheater, that one.”
Just as Roth is ending his sentence, we hear the glass sliding door run along its rails.
“I heard that, Roth Warren,” Elana belts. A ruckus of voices talking over each other follows her onto the patio. “It was one time.”
“One time, Elana? That’s what you’re going with?” Frank chides. He sits in the love seat across from us.
I try to put a more appropriate distance between Roth and me, but he grips me and keeps me close. “Stay,” he whispers.
“I agree with Frank,” Elsa seconds. “Remember how no one wanted to play games with you as a child because you cheated at everything?”
“You’re all exaggerating.” Elana waves them off as if they don’t know what they’re talking about, but she’s laughing. Sweet, funny, confident Elana is a cheater. Color me surprised. She takes a seat next to Frank. He puts his arm around her and kisses her lovingly on the forehead. It warms my insides.
“Well, Laurel, we didn’t manage to scare you away yet, did we?” Frank asks as Elana snuggles into him. The others have found seats around the patio too, and relaxing, bluesy music is now playing.
I am in heaven.
“It will take more than a foul-mouthed eighty-eight-year-old and a cheater to scare me away.”
Hand to God, I don’t know where that came from, but it felt like the right thing to say.
Frank tosses that around for a few seconds and then roars. So does Elana. Roth chuckles and squeezes me tighter. “Good one.” Whew, that was close.
Frank points a finger at Roth. “I like this one.”
“So, do I, Dad.” Roth’s throaty reply heats me from the bottoms of my feet up, and suddenly I wish we were alone. I want to make love to him out here with moonbeams in our hair and ocean waves for ambience. It’s late and I’m tired and admittedly a little tipsy from all the mimosas, and I want nothing more than to go into our bedroom to see if I have improved at the quiet game, but I am also thoroughly enjoying our conversation.
Roth’s parents tell stories about his childhood, and Roth and Elisa reminisce about summers surfing and swing dance competitions. She was Roth’s partner until they were sixteen. She also “accidentally” spills the beans about Roth’s short “modeling” career. Elana promises to show me his portfolio in the morning against Roth’s rabid protests. I can’t wait.
An hour later, we finally decide to go to bed. As we stand to head in, the sweet strings of one of my favorite songs by Etta James cuts through the quiet evening.
“Oh, no,” Roth mumbles. He steps behind me and places his hands around my middle.
“What?” I murmur back, leaning against him, exhausted.
“Just wait for it.”
As if they’ve done it a thousand times and this make
s a thousand and one, Roth’s parents slip into each other’s arms and begin to sway.
“They’re dancing.”
“Every time,” Roth says quietly.
We all raptly watch as Frank and Elana seem to step from this world into their own, forgetting everyone around them. They’re encased in glass, mesmerized with each other. Their love is blinding, and it’s beautiful and romantic and about the sweetest thing I have ever witnessed.
“Shall we?” Roth asks.
“Shall we, what?” I glance from his parents to him. His hand is raised, palm up, waiting for me to take it. “Dance?” No. We can’t intrude on this moment.
“Yes, dance.”
Only Roth doesn’t wait for my reply.
He whisks me onto the makeshift dance floor, and whatever invisible door Frank and Elana have stepped through, we follow. And when we get to the other side, my protests die right on my tongue.
In Roth’s arms, this space around us becomes magical. Hypnotic.
It’s ours.
A place only we exist.
I melt when he rasps, “I have been patiently waiting for my love to come along…and she’s finally here.”
Roth never takes his eyes from mine as he sings Etta’s lyrics to me. He knows every word. Every note. He’s heard this song a thousand and one times too. He’s seen it played out.
His body is fluid. We glide on clouds. He leans his forehead against mine. He sweeps his lips along my cheek. He holds me captive.
He sings the lyrics to “At Last” in a whisper, his mouth next to my ear.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t think.
I am in heaven.
I am spellbound.
I am someone’s…
At last.
15
I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)
Roth
Present
June 25, 11:39 a.m.
* * *
“Where have you beee…?” The last part of Laurel’s question tapers off as she stares at the steel-gray monstrosity parked on the street.
She’s a beauty. And this is not your average motor home. It’s nothing like the one my parents used to own. It’s pure opulence. Granite throughout. Heated tile floors. Full-sized refrigerator. Gas fireplace. King bed. Mounted sixty-inch TV. Glassed-in shower with a rainfall waterhead. Every lavish piece of furniture is leather, its shade matching the beautiful exterior. And it’s surprisingly homey for such a luxurious beast. I can’t imagine she costs less than a million dollars.
