by Susan Fox
“Ha ha,” her husband said. “You know what I mean. Facilitate some kind of change that stirs up the mix.”
They were all quiet, and Mo wondered how he could poke Evan without further raising his ire.
“Here’s a thought,” Maribeth said. “We watch our speech and behavior around Nicki because she’s a child, right? She’s impressionable and she needs to be protected. But Evan’s a grown-up.”
The three adults stared at her, and then Brooke said, “Yes. And?”
“We shouldn’t tiptoe around him. We should get on with our own lives, the way we’d normally live them.”
“My turn,” Jake said. “Yes, and?”
“You know that I have an open house on the day I put up my Christmas tree, and that’s going to be next Sunday.” She turned to Mo. “I invite all my friends and their significant others and kids. All my old friends from school and those I’ve made over the years. I’ll be inviting Sally and Ben, Corrie and her boyfriend, Lark and her family, Dave and Cassidy, and of course Robin.” She glanced between her two friends. “Brooke and Jake, I hope you can come and bring Nicki.”
The spouses exchanged grins. “We’d love to,” Brooke said. “It’s always a lot of fun. And I see where you’re going with this.”
So did Mo.
“Of course I’ll invite Jess and Evan, and little Alex,” Maribeth said. “They almost always come.”
Mo wasn’t sure if this was a wise idea, but it would definitely shake things up. And not only for Evan. The thought of meeting all those people, and especially Evan’s stepdaughter and young son, his grandchildren, made him distinctly jumpy.
Maribeth went on. “Mo, I think this year I’ll invite Hank Hennessey and Inga. And Ms. Haldenby and Ms. Peabody.”
Now she was stacking the deck with people who seemed, for whatever reason, to support him. The woman truly was amazing. Could her idea possibly work?
“Evan knows you two are dating,” Brooke said. “He’ll guess Mo will be here and he’ll stay away.”
Mo’s heart sank. So much for that idea.
* * *
Maribeth was afraid Brooke was right. She tilted her head, chin up. “Then we’ll have a lovely time without Evan. He’ll miss out, and so will poor Jess. And he’ll miss out at the next social event, and the next one. You’ve done everything you can do, and he’s the one who’s being stubborn.”
“Maribeth, I’m not sure—” Brooke started tentatively, but Mo’s voice, speaking at the same time, was louder and overrode hers.
“Oh, come on,” he said. “That’s not fair. It took me years to sort myself out and have the guts to come back here and apologize. Why should Evan be expected to suddenly change his mind about me?”
Okay, maybe he was right. She was impressed that Mo thought that way. She gave him a warm smile and squeezed his arm. “You’re defending your son. That’s so nice, Mo. And I’m sorry. I know you’re right and I was being too harsh. I’m just impatient because I know you and Evan are both going to be so much happier when you’ve worked things out.”
“I agree,” Brooke said softly.
“And then you can finalize things with Hank,” Maribeth said, “because you’ll be staying in Caribou Crossing.” Mo’s new life would fall into place, he’d grow close to his grandkids, and maybe Maribeth’s dreams really would come true.
“I think it’s worth trying MB’s plan for the open house,” Brooke said. “If that doesn’t work, then we’ll consider what to do next. With Christmas coming, there are lots of social events, and I’m certainly not going to put Mo ahead of Evan and his family.”
“God, no, Brooke,” Mo said.
She smiled at him. “So we’ll start with the open house and see how that goes.” And then she leveled a rather stern gaze at Maribeth. “I think that’s fair, don’t you, MB?”
Taking that as a warning to not interfere too much with another family’s issues, Maribeth nodded. “It’s fair.”
“Good,” Brooke responded. “So, for the moment, we have a week to try to get Evan to come to the open house. Tell Jess your plan, MB. She’ll quietly lobby with Evan. I’ll talk to him, too, and let him know Jake and I had dinner with you and Mo. Jake will put in a word, too. Won’t you, sweetheart?”
Her husband shot her a wry look. “If I know what’s good for me, right?”
“You catch on quickly,” she teased back.
Maribeth drummed her fingernails on the table. “Hmm, I wonder . . .”
“I’m afraid to ask,” Jake said.
“Ms. Haldenby. She was Evan’s teacher. She has a, um, commanding way about her. Most of her former students are still afraid of her. If she had a word with Evan . . .” She pressed her lips together. “She said he probably needs to feel like he’s in control. She could find some way of showing him how coming to my open house would put him in a position of control.”
“You wouldn’t,” Mo said.
She gave him a knowing grin. “When I call to invite her and her wife, maybe I can find a way of sounding her out. Subtly.” If she had the nerve. Maribeth had always been more than a little in awe of her fourth-grade teacher, but she was thirty-nine now. It was time to grow up. “I’m on a mission, and woe to anyone who stands in my way.” Little did Mo know that her true mission was to find out if he was her destiny, the love of her life, the future father of her children.
“MB’s the commander,” Jake said, “and she’s mustering her troops and soliciting allies.”
“I’m, uh, stunned to think I’d have allies,” Mo said. “I don’t know why people would be on my side.”
“Because you shared yourself with them,” Maribeth said. “You told the truth and you revealed your vulnerabilities.”
“Sh—” Mo cut off the exclamation and changed it to “Sugar.”
Jake shot him a sympathetic look. “Yeah. Women spout this stuff all the time, and it wreaks havoc on us guys.”
“While Mo’s nursing his fragile ego,” Maribeth said with a grin, “I’m going to clear the table and fetch dessert.”
“I can help,” Mo said.
“I go pot-tie now!” Nicki announced in an urgent tone.
Brooke jumped up. “I’ll help MB in the kitchen. Jake, if you could look after your daughter, I bet Mo would be willing to assist.”
While Mo shot her a horrified look, Maribeth and Jake both laughed. Jake said, “Yeah, if we’re going to be his allies, Mo’s got to give us something in return.” As his wife passed by him, he rose, looped an arm around her waist, and pulled her in for a smooch.
Then, as the two women cleared the table, Jake freed Nicki from her high chair and turned to Mo. “Time to man up. I’ll get the supplies. Meet me in the downstairs bathroom.” Then, to the little girl, he said, “Mo-Mo’s going to carry you to the bathroom, sweetie.”
Before Mo could react, Jake had dumped the child into his arms, saying, “Better be quick about it, Mo. Nicki doesn’t give a lot of warning.”
Maribeth stifled a giggle as Mo hurried out of the room, holding Nicki like she was a bomb that might explode any second.
As Maribeth and Brooke moved comfortably around the kitchen, they refined the details of their plan for winning Evan over. But even as they plotted, Maribeth couldn’t help wondering how Mo was doing. She wanted him to become familiar with kids and love them the way she did, but potty training wasn’t the way she’d have chosen to break him in. Still, it beat changing diapers.
When Maribeth heard voices in the hallway, she peeked out the kitchen door and saw Mo and Nicki walking from the powder room to the dining room, side by side. The little girl had her fingers curled into the leg of his jeans and was chattering away to him about how she rode horsies with her mama and daddy. Best of all, Mo looked interested and told her that he and Tee Bee also rode horsies.
Grinning, Maribeth pulled her head back into the kitchen. “Too cute.”
Brooke studied her. “Oh, Maribeth. Are you getting in too deep with Mo?”
“What? All I sai
d was that he and Nicki looked cute.”
“It was your expression. You’re falling for him.”
Of course she was. Maribeth straightened her shoulders. “If I was, would that be a problem for you?”
“Not in the way you mean. But—”
Eager to defend her budding relationship, Maribeth jumped in. “I know you said you were afraid he might, uh, drag me down because he’s kind of a lost soul. But you see how he’s changed. Maybe his soul was lost for a while, but he’s found it now. He isn’t dragging me down, Brooke, he’s making me happy. The way no man ever has before.”
Her friend’s forehead creased. “You want children. More than anything else, you said. Do you really think Mo would buy into that?”
“I hope so.” When she smiled, her lips trembled. “In time. Once he sees how wonderful kids are. And believes he could be a good father.”
Brooke sighed. “I like the new Mo. I really do. But I wonder if you’re asking too much of him.”
“I’m not asking it. Not yet. We’re still taking things one day at a time.”
“But you, my friend, are hoping. And you’re thirty-nine. And you want to be pregnant.”
“You got pregnant at forty-two.”
Her friend gave a reluctant smile. “And unintentionally at that. Yes, it can happen. Oh, Maribeth, I’m not giving advice. I can’t because I have no idea what’s the right thing here. I just want your dreams to come true. You’ve been dreaming them a long time, and you’re such a good person. You deserve every happiness.”
“I’m coming to think Mo can give me that.” Maribeth picked up the serving bowl of dessert—a pudding made of yogurt and strawberries, sugar-free because Brooke and Jake were careful about Nicki’s sugar intake—and headed for the dining room.
Over dessert, the conversation was relaxed as if, by unspoken agreement, they’d all decided to avoid sensitive subjects. Maribeth was glad because she felt unsettled by Brooke’s comments, not to mention her tummy was achy from her period. Although she loved her friends’ company, she was almost relieved when Nicki got tired and cranky and her parents said it was time to take her home to bed.
Standing on the porch beside Mo, waving good-bye, Maribeth admired the sparkle of the Christmas lights they’d hung, and the Santa sleigh across the street. What a wonderful time of year—a season best shared with children. Surely next year . . .
She leaned back against Mo with a sigh. “Are you as worn out as I am?”
“A little drained, yeah.” He put his arm around her, tugged her inside, and closed the door. “You know, I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you admit to being tired.”
She wrinkled her nose. “First day of my period.” She’d never been one for pretending to guys that women didn’t menstruate. If a man couldn’t deal with that basic fact of life, she had no time for him. “No biggie, but I’m a little achy and burned out.”
“I’m sorry. Would a bath help?”
“Sounds divine.”
“Then go soak, and I’ll tidy up down here. Uh, should I go back to my place tonight?”
Was that what he’d prefer? “If you want, but not for my sake. Sometimes I feel pretty horny during my period, and as you well know, there’s lots of ways of making love.”
His eyes gleamed. “I’ve heard rumors.”
“But,” she warned, “it’s entirely possible that after a bath, all I’ll want to do is snuggle and fall asleep. How do you feel about no sex?”
His expression was almost tender. “I don’t want you just for the sex, Maribeth.”
Her heart turned over. “Same for me.” Maybe it was hormones, but she had a feeling that she was no longer falling in love with Mo. She had fallen. That could be either the best thing that had ever happened to her, or the stupidest.
Leaving him to look after the fire, the dishes, and Caruso, she dragged her weary body upstairs. While water ran in the tub, she took out her contact lenses, removed the small amount of eye makeup she wore, and brushed her teeth. Then she sank gratefully into a bath full of lavender-scented bubbles. Gradually, the aches eased out, her muscles melted, and she drifted off.
She’d left the bathroom door open and woke to the caress of Mo’s hand against her cheek. “Hey, now,” he said. “There are better places to sleep.”
“Don’t have the energy to move,” she complained.
Chuckling, he reached under her armpits and lifted her upward, not caring that when she clutched him, her dripping body wet his clothing. He supported her as she climbed from the tub.
Clutching the towel rail for support, she stayed more or less upright while he patted her dry with a warm, fluffy towel. He hoisted her into his arms, she snuggled against him—and then she came to her senses and said, “No, wait. Need a new tampon.”
He put her down again. “That, you can do on your own.”
“Just give me a minute.”
When he left the bathroom, she attended to that intimate detail. Yawning widely, she made it to the door and said, “Wouldn’t mind that ride now.” After all, why walk when you had a strong, hot man like Mo at your disposal?
“Such a princess,” he teased as he lifted her again and carried her to the bed, which he’d already turned down.
“You’re good at this,” she mumbled, as he laid her down and pulled the covers up around her.
“At what?”
Looking after her. Being there. Understanding. Her brain too fuzzy with sleep to figure out the right words, she said, “Everything.”
“You keep believing that.”
He began to unbutton his damp shirt and she forced her tired eyes to stay open because the view was too fine to miss. Even so, by the time he unfastened his jeans, her lids were at half-mast.
“Let me guess,” he said, turning away as he pulled off his remaining clothes. “It’s not one of those ‘feeling horny’ times.”
Lids closed now, she made an unintelligible sound, not even knowing what she was trying to say.
She felt the press of a kiss on her forehead.
“Roll over and let me hold you,” he said. Gently, he guided her body into a fetal position and climbed in beside her, curving his body to fit hers.
When his arm came around her and his breath settled warm on her neck, she gave a deep sigh of contentment and surrendered to sleep.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Maribeth woke, crampy and needing to pee. When she came back from the bathroom, she realized that Mo had forgotten to pull the blinds. He’d also left the outside Christmas lights on, either deliberately or unintentionally. Colors glowed through the window, giving a festive touch to the dim bedroom.
He lay sleeping on his side, his black hair tousled on the pillow, one arm curved up over his head.
Her hormones stirred again—this time not the sloppy, sentimental ones but the lustful ones. Besides, an orgasm usually helped with her cramps. Would Mo mind if she woke him up to use him for sex? Somehow, she guessed not.
Rather than slide under the covers, she slowly pulled the duvet and sheet down to reveal his shoulders, chest, hips, and—oh, yes!—his package. A dormant package, just waiting to be stirred to life.
She bent over and puffed air across his penis and balls. His body twitched. She licked him with small, delicate strokes, like a cat lapping up the last of the cream in a bowl. As she did, he grew under her tongue, which had a reciprocal effect on her own arousal.
“Maribeth?” he said, his voice hoarse with sleep.
She lifted her head enough to tease, “Good guess.”
“I mean, what are you doing?”
“You really must be out of it if that isn’t obvious.” His shaft was erect now, and she curved appreciative fingers around it. So strong, pulsing with life.
He pushed up to a sitting position. “I thought you were feeling achy.”
“Orgasm helps with cramps.”
“Uh . . .” He shuddered as she opened her mouth and took him in. “Not complaining here, but
how does my orgasm help with your cramps?”
She laughed, and then released him so she could speak. “I figured we could take turns. Besides, this is foreplay for me.”
“God, I’m a lucky man.”
He lay back and within a few minutes she’d brought him to climax. After she’d swallowed the last drops and bestowed a kiss, she reclined gingerly. Pain gripped her, a combination of cramps and the intensity of her arousal.
Mo rose on one elbow and brushed hair back from her face. “Tell me what’s going to work best for you. Gentle, I’m guessing?”
Grateful that he’d asked, and that he wasn’t put off by the idea of sex at this time of month, she said, “Gentle, but fast. And please don’t put any weight on my tummy.” So much for any semblance of romance, but right now she was too needy to waste time on anything but the essentials.
He slipped a pillow under her butt so that when she bent her knees and spread her legs, her pelvis tipped upward. He stroked her lightly, the roughness of his fingers increasing the stimulation. “You’re so wet,” he murmured. “So hot and swollen.”
Naughty talk. She liked it, as well as the way he firmed his strokes, and how he brushed against her clit.
“So ready.” He tapped her clit and she shuddered.
“So close,” she whispered. “Please, Mo.”
His tongue replaced his fingers, licking her folds, each long stroke carrying her closer to the edge. Pleasure and pain mingled inextricably, so fierce as to be almost unbearable.
“Please,” she begged again.
He sucked her clit between moist lips, flicked it with his tongue. She squirmed against him, moaning as her body tightened. He flicked it again, and her body clenched and then let go hard, sharp, in a shattering burst that hurt yet felt so good. She cried out at the blessed release.
When the spasms finally died, her legs flopped down. From head to toe, she felt boneless, and the pain in her tummy eased slowly away.
Mo came up the bed, smiling, but his smile faded when he saw her face. “Shit, I hurt you.” Gently, he touched her cheek, and for the first time she realized that tears had seeped from her eyes.
“No,” she assured him, mustering the strength to lift a hand and touch his mouth. “Or yeah, maybe, but the good kind of pain. You gave me exactly what I needed.”
