by Amelia Wilde
“Yeah!” she cries. “Yeah!”
“How’d the session go?” calls Dash, coming along right behind her.
“Good!” I say. “They’re here on vacation. Really nice couple. Valentine went to high school at the same time as me. She used to work at the Short Stack.”
“Love that place.”
I frown a little. “I wish they lived here all the time. We could have couples’ nights.”
We start back toward the parking lot, and Rosie leans toward Dash. He takes her smoothly, without missing a beat. “You’ve got their number, right? Send a text. We can always hire Norma. It would be fun for Rosie, too.”
It’s all so pleasantly normal that I give a sigh. This is contentment. “I will.” It’s a glorious July day, and the sun is setting over the woods giving everything an unearthly glow. “Let’s get to Aunt Lisa’s. I’m starving.” Things are good, now that they’re fully in retirement and letting Dash manage the coffee shops from afar. He likes it that way, too. He never spends any time behind the counter, so he never smells like coffee at the end of the day. I’m into it.
“Okay,” says Dash, but then he frowns.
“What?”
“There was something I wanted to do. I woke up this morning, and I had to get it done. You know that feeling?”
“I do.” I feel it every day. I’m busy, and I’m busy in love. My brand-new camera feels like a dream in my hands. So does Rosie. And Dash? He always felt like one, too.
“All right. I know you’re hungry, so—” He drops to one knee, right there in the grass, and pulls a little velvet box from his pocket. “Ellie, I love you. And I want to make it official. Will you marry me?”
I burst out laughing, a glorious belly laugh. This is so Dash. Efficient. To the point. I drop to my knees in front of him and wrap my arms around his neck. “Hell yes,” I say into his neck.
“Ell yes,” says Rosie.
We laugh all the way to dinner.
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Single Dad’s Sweetheart
Amelia Wilde
Her face is pink, nipples hard, and I roll one between my fingers while I wait for her to answer.
My entire chest glows with the sight of her.
I’ve given in.
I’ve given in to the need.
The last three days have broken me.
I’m not as strong as I thought I was.
Shira’s teeth are chattering, which is a dead giveaway. I’m not going to whisk her outside this time. Whatever this is, we’re going to face it.
“I’m not afraid.”
“You look afraid.” I run my hand from her shoulder to her wrist and she turns her palm to touch my cheek.
“I want you to know,” I say slowly, “that this can stop. All you need to do is say the word.”
A little smile flashes across her face. “I never could have dreamed that you’d be the one. Never in a million years.” Her hands tense nervously on my shoulders. “I thought you wouldn’t want me like this.”
“I want you every possible way.”
“I’ve been waiting a long time.”
“Any specific reason?”
Her hips have been slowly rocking, one inch forward, one inch back, all the while I’ve been touching her. Now she goes still and my heart aches for her. Shira wears a dark expression, like she’s been keeping whatever this is locked inside for years.
For all I know, she has.
“You know I went to college at State.”
“I remember.”
“The first month I was there—” She looks down.
“Look at me. You can tell me. I see you.”
When she raises her head, her chin is quivering. “The first month I was there, I went to a frat party with my roommate. I was terrified that something would happen at the party, and word would get back to my parents. They went to school there, too, back in the day, and they would visit campus, and—” She shakes her head. “I’d always been the perfect daughter, you know? I kept mistakes to a minimum at Sweets. I always gave people excellent customer service.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“I was terrified at that party, but I also thought it was finally my turn. All those years of being perfect—I could afford to be a little bit reckless.”
A cold knot forms at the pit of my gut. I’ve heard this story before. Not from Shira. From other women, too many, over the years.
“There was one guy at the frat. I don’t want to s—say—” Shira stumbles over the words and tears spring from the corners of her eyes.
“We can stop,” I murmur. “We can stop anytime.”
“No, this—you should know this.”
“He told me he knew a shortcut to campus. We were going to the football game. The shortcut was through the woods. Halfway there—” She takes her hand away from my shoulder and presses her knuckles to her lips.
Anger flares like a lightning bolt through my chest, hot and fast and uncontrollable. “Did he touch you?”
“Of course he touched me. That’s how this story goes.” She’s speaking through tears, but she’s not sobbing. They’re flowing down her face like she’s waited all her life to cry about this. “I thought—I really thought he was going to rape me.”
The word reverberates like a boulder flung into a placid pond. I tighten my grip, then think better of it and run my hand down her back instead. Dread seizes my throat.
“What did he do?”
“He got as far as my pants.” Shira takes a deep breath in and focuses on my face. “I…pushed him, or hit him. I don’t remember. I must have startled him enough that he let me go. I ran as fast as I could to campus. I went right to the stadium. I wanted to be with other people. If I could get to other people, I thought I’d be fine.”
“Jesus, Shira.” My heart thunders out of rhythm. It was such a near thing. Such a near thing.
“When I got there, I saw my parents.” She laughs, bitter and short. “I was so relieved. I was eighteen, in my first semester of college, and I was relieved to see my parents standing there. My dad was signing up for a free t-shirt. God, I was so shaken. I ran straight to my mom, into her arms.” She frowns. “She was the one to realize that my pants were undone. And do you know what she said?” Her voice trembles.
“Tell me.”
“She said, what will people think?”
My heart breaks for her. My rage knits it back together.
“That’s why you’ve been waiting? You’re worried about what they’ll say?”
“No.” Shira covers her face with her hands. “It’s not like I’m going to tell them. But every time I’ve gotten close, I think of his hands on me. I think of those words. And I get—” She motions toward her chest. “I can’t breathe. I freeze up. I call it off.” She opens her eyes and looks straight into mine. “I don’t want to call it off this time, Wilder.” Another wave of tension moves through her. “See? It’s happening now.” She wears a new fierceness on her face. “Please. I have to get through this. And I want it to be with you.”
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© 2017 Amelia Wilde
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