by Donna Fasano
She melted into him. "You know. . .I didn't come here with this intention. I only came to make amends. I never expected. . .never imagined you might forgive me." She searched his eyes and breathed, "So quickly." His mouth closed over hers. His kiss was hot and moist and delectably possessive. A heady pulse thudded deep inside her.
When they parted, Lauren felt as if she'd run a marathon.
"I wish we could go home," she said, her voice husky and raw. "But I really do have clients coming to the office."
"And I promised Jo Leigh I'd finish this paint job today."
Chuckling, she rested her forehead on his chest, straining for time to collect herself. Then she looked up at him, sobering, searching his face, his gaze.
"I love you, Greg."
He hugged her to him, and the coolness of the envelopes filled with a deed and money—a lifetime of mere 'stuff'—were cool against her back in contrast to heat of his hands and arms wrapped around her, enfolding her in security and love.
"I've been waiting a hell of a long time to hear you say that," he murmured just above her ear.
She leaned back, smoothing her hand over his shoulder, and he released her. In that moment, she felt oddly shy. Almost awkward. It was silly, really. This was Greg. The man who had forgiven her for so much. The one who'd had faith in their relationship all along. She'd known him almost half her life. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that this was new. Different. Exciting.
Stepping away from him, she looked at the floor, and then into his face. She reached out and glided the pad of her thumb over the small comma of paint on his chin. "So. . .can I expect you home for dinner?"
"Regular time?" he asked, capturing her hand, opening her fingers and planting a kiss on the fleshiest part of her palm.
Blood throbbed through her body and she smiled. "Yeah. Regular time would be great."
Lauren didn't remember opening the door to leave. She didn't even remember walking out to her car; she supposed she floated the whole way. Pure, unadulterated happiness had a way of doing that to a woman.
Epilogue
I love being married. It's so great to find that one special person
you want to annoy for the rest of your life.
~Rita Rudner
"Damn, now why'd you go and change the suit?" her dad groused.
Lauren chuckled at her father even though she was feeling a little glum. "Because I'm in this to win."
Wednesday evenings had become Father/Daughter Night. They'd have dinner together, and then either she or her dad would pick an activity that allowed them to spend some quality time together. Tonight, her father had chosen to meet at her house and play Crazy Eights, even though he and she both knew it had been her turn to choose. He'd also invited Norma Jean, as well as Doc and Katie Amos.
Lauren wasn't feeling sullen because it was Wednesday; she'd actually come to look forward to the hump-day evenings spent with her dad. And her 'mood' hadn't been caused by her father brazenly usurping her turn of selecting the night's entertainment. It wasn't even because she had to play hostess to a houseful of unexpected company.
Surliness hadn't struck until she'd arrived home from work and discovered, via her dad, that Greg had called to say he wouldn't be able to join them. Lauren had tried calling him twice, but both times his cell had gone directly to voice mail.
"I'm out!" Norma Jean whooped and shimmied her shoulders. "Count 'em up people!"
"Norma Jean, how could you do this to me?" Katie heaved a bosomy sigh and gathered the huge hand of cards the round had left her holding, her pudgy fingers nimbly tallying the points.
"Now, now, dear," Doc comforted her. "You win some, you lose some."
Katie looked from the stack of cards she clutched to the three her husband held and offered up a good-natured, "Stuff it, Charlie."
"Put me down for twenty points," Lauren said, tossing her cards onto the pile. She slid her chair away from the dining room table and stood. "I'm going to the kitchen for more pretzels. Anyone want anything while I'm up?"
No one took her up on her offer and she schlepped off, amazed that she felt lonely with all these people around. It was ridiculous to miss Greg this much when she'd just seen him twenty four hours ago.
So much had changed over the three weeks (twenty five days, to be exact, but who was counting?) since they had reconciled. Her father was once again settled in his own apartment, although Lauren was fairly certain he spent most of his nights at Norma Jean's house. (She couldn't believe her dad was still having more sex than she was. Life, really and truly, wasn't fair.) He and Norma had become pretty much an item. So much so that Thanksgiving Day had been a warm but chaotic afternoon spent meeting Norma Jean's three grown sons, their wives and a whole slew of wild, running, yelling, laughing children. She and Greg had spent the day making eye contact and sharing silent and pointed messages; when Joey and Jimmy argued and had nearly came to blows over who would sit next to their grandmother during the meal, when Zoe had bumped into the edge of the dining room table and let out what seemed like a never ending wail, when Thomas and Melinda spilled their milk across the table, when that crystal candy dish went crashing to the floor and no one professed to know how it had happened. It had been one of the most fun holidays Lauren had ever experienced.
These weeks had also seen major developments in her and Greg's relationship. She'd suggested he immediately move back home, but he'd flat out refused. He'd thought they needed some counseling before they went back to cohabitating. Lauren had been impressed with his idea, but when the counselor had established a firm 'no sex' rule right off the bat, she'd almost shouted, "No way! No how!" To Greg, of course, not the counselor. However, she'd complied because she really did want learn how not to make the same mistakes they had the first time around. But just because she'd been abiding by the rules didn't mean she had to suffer in silence. This morning after their counseling session—the theme of which had been commitment—she'd joked to Greg that all her pent up horniness had her feeling like Hoover Dam. In response, he'd kissed her until she thought her bones were going to dissolve; which had only made her all the more lovesick and lusty.
So the recap was: her father, as crotchety as ever, was having sex, and she was not. And she and Greg were back together, almost. And her Big O problem was still. . .well, a problem. This was not the kind of happy ending she'd have expected. But then, she guessed, she was holding fast to that proverb coined by the guy who said the opera ain't over 'til the fat lady sings.
As if on cue, Katie Amos let out long, high-pitched note that was loud enough to curl the ends of Lauren's hair. She nearly dropped the bag of pretzel twists she was carrying in from the kitchen.
"After hearing that," Katie proclaimed with a sniff, "the church choir director had no choice but to give me a solo in the Christmas Cantata."
Lauren's cell chirped and she reached to unclip it from the waistband of her jeans. Greg's name glowed on the small display and she smiled.
"I've been worried about you," she greeted.
"Sorry. I've been working on a project most of the afternoon."
The mere sound of his voice made her pulse skitter. "Where are you?"
He sidestepped her question with one of his own. "Can you meet me?"
"Oh." She drew out the word until it sounded like whine. "I wish I could. But it's Wednesday. I've got Dad here. And Norma Jean. And the Amos'." Then she said, "You were supposed to be here, too."
"Sorry," he murmured into her ear.
And her heart pounded.
"Listen, ask Lew if he'd mind if you stepped out for awhile."
"Are you playing this hand or not, Lauren?" Her father called to her as he shuffled the deck of cards.
"Give me a sec, Dad." She hated to disappoint her father; their Wednesdays together had brought them closer than they'd ever been. Greg knew how important these evenings had become.
"I'd like for you to come," he urged, softly, "I've got something to show you."
Her breath caught and a shiver coursed from the top of her spine all the way to her tailbone. She hadn't heard those words in—good mercy, Ms Percy—she couldn't say how long.
"Dad—" Lauren tried to tamp down the excitement jolting through her "—would it be all right if I went to meet Greg for a bit? I won't be long." Immediately she asked Greg, "Will I be long?"
"Not too long," he hedged.
Her dad didn't even look up from the deal. "Sure. Go. I've got plenty of company."
Norma Jean and Doc and Katie scooped up their cards and began studying and rearranging the hands they'd been dealt.
"I don't think I'll be missed," Lauren told Greg, already heading for the coat closet by the front door. It probably should have dawned on her that Lew Hunkavic never missed a prime opportunity to gripe, but all she could think about was the surprise Greg had in store for her. "Where are you?"
"At the barn. Hurry."
Jeff Gordon would have been proud when she pulled onto the property a scant eleven minutes after leaving her driveway. A personal record, for sure.
Wavering light peeked through the gaps in the old barn's weathered exterior. A light dusting of December snow coated the ground. Lauren tugged open the wide-plank door just enough so that she could slip inside.
Her breath left her in a long, awestruck, "Ooohh." Dozens of candles flickered and danced, the squares of shiny metal sheeting he'd used as bases reflecting the light onto the walls and casting shadows in the rafters. The barn's interior glowed with a rosy mantle of soft, romantic radiance.
Greg stood by the merry-go-round, and their gazes caught and held as she made her way to him.
"Hey," she murmured finally, smoothing her hands over his chest and settling her palms on his broad shoulders.
"Hey, yourself."
He rested his hands on her waist, his thumbs slipping into the waistband of her jeans. It was a habitual action he'd preformed a thousand times during their married years, and she wanted to kick herself for becoming so lackadaisical back then that she'd take it for granted—taken him for granted. With a slight feline arch, she pressed the flat of her tummy to his. She wanted him to know she was on fire for him. His eyelids drooped slightly and desire sparked in his black as night eyes. The fact that she could illicit such a response from him was a powerfully seductive aphrodisiac.
Lifting on tip-toes, she placed a chaste kiss on his mouth. "I want you so bad, I can't stand it."
The need blazing in his eyes mirrored her own.
He kissed the tip of her nose and then asked, "Want to take a ride?"
Anticipation fluttered through her and she grinned wickedly.
"On the merry-go-round, silly." He set her several inches away from him. "Howie finished another horse. And it's a beauty. I rewired the outside switch, and greased the conveyer. I've replaced all the light bulbs and cleaned the music box."
The secretiveness lacing his smile had her curious.
"And I fixed the loading mechanism in the ring box and hung it over there on the post." He pointed. "What to give it a try?"
"I'd love to!" She didn't bother curbing her delight. This was just the kind of fun she'd expected from him.
Before mounting the newly refurbished Pinto, Lauren took a moment to admire the refinishing job. The pony had been given a mottled brown and cream coat, and the saddle and bridle touted brilliant silver studs.
It would be months before all the animals were finished and remounted, but the merry-go-round was really coming along. Greg had talked about opening the barn for a Saturday every month during the spring and summer to offer the kids from the Boys and Girls Club a full day of free rides. He dreamed of finding some old fashioned arcade games and maybe building a miniature golf course on the land surrounding the barn. Affordable entertainment was difficult to find in Sterling and Greg had a vision that would provide it.
Settling her foot on the flat metal pedal, she swung her left leg over the pony and picked up the bridle. "Ready," she proclaimed, the anticipation of capturing a brass ring putting a smile on her face.
"Hold on," he warned. "Here you go." He touched a button and the conveyer began to move.
The carousel picked up speed quickly with none of the thumping and bumping she'd experienced before. The horse undulated beneath her and the box holding the brass rings finally came into view. Lauren slid forward in the saddle. But at the last instant, she jerked her hand away, letting out a squeal when she saw what she took for a spider hanging from a silken thread at the bottom of the box.
She twisted for another look—spiders weren't shiny—but the post was already too far away.
A question flashed in Greg's dark eyes, his brows arched, when she came around and she had to shrug and confess, "I missed it."
On the second revolution, instead of focusing on the box that held the brass rings, she looked for whatever it was dangling from the string. She saw a glimmer of white, a gleam of gold. Grinning broadly, she reached out and snatched it at the last second.
It was her ring. The diamond engagement ring Greg had given her when he'd first proposed. Happy tears burned her eyes, and when the merry-go-round brought her full-circle, she was surprised when the spot where Greg had been standing was empty. She shifted and turned, searching for him, and then she saw him weaving his way through the circus animals.
By the time she'd hopped off the Pinto, he was beside her and she wrapped her arms around him, the ring pressed tightly in her palm. She couldn't stop kissing him. Then he pulled back in sudden alarm, evidently having tasted the salty tears running down her face.
"You're crying."
"I'm happy," she told him. "And I'm scared thinking about what could have happened. What if I hadn't remembered that movie? Or the discussion we'd had? That was forever ago. What if I had stayed angry? What if you had gotten tired of waiting?"
He silenced her with a kiss. "No more 'what ifs,' okay?" Tugging her arms from around his neck, he fished the ring from her hand.
"How did you do this?" she whispered. The ring had been tucked away in a box that she'd put out of sight in a dresser drawer.
Greg chuckled. "Lew had one hell ov'a time finding it for me."
"Dad?"
He nodded, smiling. "In on the whole thing. He'd found your rings a few days ago, and I was planning this shindig for Christmas. Then you said what you did today, and I decided tonight would be better timing." His tone went silky as he added, "I mean, you did say your dam to was about to break."
She laughed. "I did, didn't I?"
His gaze caught and held hers. "So what do you say? Will you marry me? Again?"
Emotion swirled in her chest and words failed her. She nodded, holding out her left hand, and Greg slid the ring on her finger.
"You think Judge Brooks would marry us?"
She loved the idea. "I'm sure he will." Then a flash of guilt jolted through her, and the urge to tell him about her indiscretion with Scott made her frown. "There's something you should know."
He stroked her cheek, smoothed away her frown with his fingertips. "No," he whispered. "All I need to know is that you're here. With me." He kissed her eyebrow. "I'm not trying to hide my head in the sand. It's just that I've decided that whatever happened needed to happen." He kissed her cheek. "So you would know this is where you want to be."
Lifting her hands to his face, she brought his mouth to hers. Their kisses were steamy, their tongues teasing and tasting as if for the very first time.
She unfastened his belt and the button of his jeans, and then tugged his shirt from his waistband, her fingers hungry for the feel of him; the hardness of his muscles, the heat of his skin. She shrugged out her coat, their lips never breaking contact.
"It's not too chilly in here?" Worry nipped at his brow.
"It's hot." Her voice was raw with need. "Too hot."
She wanted this—wanted him—desperately, but when he unfastened several buttons of her blouse, she experienced a single moment of clarity. The las
t thing she wanted was for him to regret their actions, regret this night. She stilled his hands.
"What about Dr. Warren?" she asked. "What about the rules?"
Greg's reply required that their counselor take his rules and contort himself into a position that wasn't humanly possible. He made short work of the buttons on her blouse and slid the fabric off her shoulders. He nibbled a trail of hot kisses from the curve of her neck to the back of her ear.
"Greg," she whispered, "let's have a baby."
His head whipped up.
"Let's have a whole slew of babies."
He laughed. "You've lost your mind. After Thanksgiving, I thought—"
"I loved the madness," she told him.
He just looked at her in disbelief.
She silently mouthed, loved it. Then she murmured, "Almost as much as I love you."
He kissed her, long and slow. "Let's just take this one step at a time."
And then right there on the revolving carousel, with the freshly painted Pinto undulating at her back and candlelight burnishing their bodies, Greg solved her Big O problem. In fact, he solved it several times over.
Later—much, much later—when every muscle in her body had turned to rubber, every pent up stress dissolved away, every need sated, Lauren found herself smiling. They'd gathered up shirts and belts, underwear and shoes, and wearily dressed, both of them wearing silly smiles. She sat on the crossbar of the saw horse now, grinning down at her bare foot and then lifting her gaze to watch Greg scratch his head, cursing under his breath as he searched the carousel in vain for her missing sock.
Life and love, she decided, wiggling her chilly toes, were exactly like that merry-go-round. Blemished. Flawed. Imperfect. But with the right person by your side, it could be one hell of a ride.
A note from the author:
Thank you for taking the time to read my book. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends about The Merry-Go-Round.
Connect with me on-line at DonnaFasano.com where you will find my bio, a list of my other titles and links to some of my favorite authors and websites.
