Shine Your Love on Me

by Jean C. Joachim

  The sound of the timer jarred her from her reveries. The pie was ready. Brooke leaned over and sucked in air, breathing the delicious scent. She grinned, took it out to cool, and went back to stirring the chili. After putting the top on the pot, she lowered the heat.

  Now, it was time to make the fabulous salad from Bess’s private recipe. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out the ingredients.

  Nan returned. “Oh my God, what’s that wonderful smell?” she asked, putting her purse down on the dining room table.

  “Apple pie and chili.”

  “Smells marvelous. Thank you, sweetheart, for doing all this.” Ruth hugged Brooke.

  She put down the red lettuce she was tearing to face her grandmother. “Remind you of someone?”

  A few tears gathered in Ruth’s eyes. She avoided Brooke’s stare. “I wasn’t going to say anything. But now that you bring it up, I suppose…yes, to be honest. You do remind me of Mary Lou.”

  “Me, too,” Brooke stepped forward and embraced Nan again. “I’ve been thinking about her all day. All the good times we had cooking together.”

  “They were good parents.”

  “They were.” Brooke sighed, controlling her emotions.

  “At least you have good memories. Some people only have bad ones.” They clung to each other, blinking back tears.

  The timer went off. “The cornbread.”

  “I’ll set the table.”

  “When are people coming?”

  “Five.”

  “Five! Crap! It’s four thirty. Dinner won’t be ready until six-thirty.”

  “They’re used to eating early.”

  “How about we give them some salad first? Maybe even cornbread?”

  “What are they going to do?”

  Brooke paced the small room. “A movie?”

  “A movie?”

  “I’ve got a ton of movies.”

  “Oh, I don’t think they’ll like any of your movies. No offense.”

  “How about some of my classics?”

  “Classics?”

  “Nan, I would’ve jumped Cary Grant’s bones in a heartbeat.”

  “You have Cary Grant movies? Perfect!” Ruth clapped her hands together.

  “Do we have some nibbles?”

  “I think I’ve got some microwave popcorn in the cabinet.” Ruth fished around in several before she came up with two packages.

  “Great!” Brooke bounced up on her toes.

  “Hmm, what about Pres? I doubt he feels the same about Cary Grant,” Ruth said.

  “I think I can find something to interest Pres…in my room.”

  Ruth laughed. “Of course!”

  Chapter Ten

  Pres and Buddy were the first to arrive. Ruth had already fed Freddy and Ginger. They were lying in two beds in a post-dinner stupor, snoring away. Buddy jumped up on the couch and closed his eyes.

  “What can I do to help?” Pres asked, rubbing his hands together.

  “Let’s see. Table is set. Popcorn is in the microwave. Chili is simmering. Hmm.” She ran her hand through her hair. “Wait! I know. Help me find my videos.” She grabbed his hand and led him into her room.

  Brooke hadn’t unpacked all the boxes and several were still stacked in the corner. “They’ve got to be in here, somewhere,” she said.

  Pres grabbed one and tossed it on the bed. Then another. Brooke sat cross-legged and opened the first. He joined her.

  “I’m actually on your bed,” he snickered.

  She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Enjoy it.”

  “What are we looking for?”

  “Videos. Classics. Cary Grant.”

  They pawed through stacks of movies. Pres read out some suggestive titles and shot her a flirtatious glance after each one.

  “Is this one? Houseboat?”

  “Yes! And here. Mr. Lucky.”

  “How about His Girl Friday?” Pres checked out the front and back of the DVD.

  “Yep. I’ve got two more. Bringing Up Baby and The Awful Truth.”

  “That last one sounds sexy,” Pres said, inching closer to her. “The awful truth is that I want to jump you right here, right now.”

  Brooke grinned at him and stacked the DVD’s on the nightstand. When she turned from him, he wrestled her down on the bed. Trapping her wrists with his hands, he loomed over her.

  “Ah, just the way I want you,” he said, before lowering his mouth to kiss her.

  Brooke opened for him and arched her back. Her breasts brushed his chest, and her nipples hardened. Pres took her mouth, first nibbling on her lips, then sweeping his tongue in to dance with hers. She melted. He released her hands. She wound them around his chest, drawing him to her. He propped up on his knees, raising his head to attack her neck. His fingers closed over her breast.

  “Umm. You smell good.”

  “Like apple pie?”

  “Yeah. I could eat you up.” She giggled, raising her knees on either side of his thighs.

  “I could take you right here,” he whispered.

  A brisk knock on the door caused the lovers to jump apart. After a few seconds, it opened. Brooke was frantically combing her hair with her fingers while Pres used a box to hide his erection.

  “Oh dear. I’m so sorry to…uh…interrupt. The guests have started arriving.”

  “Let me guess. Harry is here, and he’s hungry.”

  “Bingo.” Ruth closed the door again.

  Brooke slid off the bed and smoothed her skirt down. Pres drew her to him. He ran his hands up her back. “Do I get a raincheck?”

  “Absolutely,” she said, staring into blue eyes darkened with desire. She trailed her forefinger down his smooth cheek. “Hmm. You even shaved.”

  “Which do you prefer—smooth or scruffy?”

  She took his face in her hands. “Any way I can get it.” She kissed him. “Come on.”

  He blushed. “Give me a sec.”

  “Oops, sorry. Meet me in the living room.” She plucked the DVD’s off the table and left.

  When Brooke entered the room, Harry was arranging a few chairs in front of the television.

  “Dinner and a movie? Great idea!” He smiled at her as he lined up the last seat. “You’ve inherited brains along with beauty from your grandmother.”

  “Flattery will not get you a bigger piece of pie, Harry,” Brooke said, her eyes smiling.

  “Pie? I had no idea,” he said, licking his lips.

  “No idea? You faker! You can smell it the minute you walk in.” Brooke laughed.

  “So, that’s what I smelled…”

  “Harry!” Brooke hooted.

  “You’re right. It smells divine. How glorious of you to bake for us.” He took her hand and kissed it.

  “Watch it, Harry. I’ve got my eye on you,” Pres said, shaking his finger at the older man.

  “Damn! He caught me!” Harry feigned fear and surprise, raising his palms in surrender. Before he could continue, Mary came in, followed by Betty and John. Brooke attended to the chili while Pres distributed small bowls of popcorn.

  “What are we seeing?” Betty asked.

  “It’s Cary Grant night. You have a choice,” Ruth said, sifting through the stack of half a dozen DVD’s.

  “Rattle ’em off,” Harry suggested.

  Ruth read the titles.

  “I vote for Houseboat. Gotta have something for the men. Sofia Loren.”

  “She’s certainly something,” John said.

  “A lotta something,” Harry snickered.

  “I vote for Mr. Lucky. God, he was so sexy in that one,” Mary put in.

  The discussion continued. Once they all had popcorn, Brooke clapped her hands and got their attention. “Since this is Ruth’s party, I think she should choose.”

  “Oh, no, really. Let someone else.’

  “That’s a good idea,” Harry piped up.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll pick. His Girl Friday. Because it’s so fast, and Roz Russell is so fabulous.”

/>   Pres put the DVD in the machine, hit play, and adjusted the sound up to where everyone could hear it. Ruth took the seat Harry was saving next to him and the group was quiet for a bit.

  Pres joined Brooke in the kitchen where she was putting together the salad. He came up behind her and snaked his arm around her waist. She tossed the greens as he began kissing her neck.

  “If you do that, I’m never gonna get this dressed.”

  “Maybe not. But perhaps I can get you undressed.”

  “Did you take horny pills today?”

  “I’m always like this when you’re around.”

  “Not in the park.”

  “I hide it well.”

  She turned in his arms to face him. His lusty eyes locked with hers. Does he care, or is it just sex? Brooke rested her palms on his chest. His broad shoulders stole her attention. Her fingertips itched to glide up through the soft hair. She wanted to kiss his neck, his pecs, and below.

  He pulled her in closer and brushed her lips with his. She buried her face in his neck and got lost in his masculine scent and spicy aftershave mixed with the mouth-watering food aroma. The blend had an aphrodisiac effect on her. Running her hand down his abs, she stopped to slip her fingers under his T-shirt. His belly flinched at the skin-to-skin contact.

  She wanted him, right there, that minute, on the kitchen counter. Brooke pressed her hips against his and discovered he was having a similar reaction. She pushed him away, turned the chili down to simmer, and grabbed his hand. She led him behind the crowd of seniors totally engrossed in the movie and into her room, clicking the door closed quietly.

  Pres picked up the boxes on the bed and tossed them on the floor. Brooke ripped the blanket down. Pres yanked her T-shirt over her head and unsnapped her bra. She unzipped his jeans and shoved his shirt up to his shoulders. The two lovers finished undressing in record time. Pres took Brooke in his arms and kissed her while lowering her to the mattress. When she wound her fingers around him, he was almost fully erect.

  “A quick starter,” she mumbled, running her tongue down his pecs

  He chuckled as he cupped her breasts and kissed his way down her chest. Breathing was labored as the lovers attacked each other’s bodies with a ravenous hunger. Pres parted her thighs and tasted her. Brooke closed her eyes and moaned.

  “Shhh. The TV’s loud, but not that loud,” Pres said, raising his head for a moment.

  She giggled. “Quiet sex. Don’t know if I can.”

  “Try.”

  She put a pillow over her face as he continued to heat up her body. After moving up, he slipped a long finger inside her, and she gasped. “Oh, God. Pres, please. Please!”

  He clamped his lips over hers to stifle the sound as he got into position. A quick thrust, and he was inside. Brooke lifted her legs, bringing her knees halfway to her chest as he plunged into her. He filled her, moving slowly then picking up speed.

  He lifted his head, allowing her to breathe. She sucked in air, panting as he pumped into her. The itch inside her grew and grew, tension coiling, until she thought she’d scream.

  “No screaming,” he hissed into her ear, as if he could read her mind.

  Brooke fastened her lips on the soft part where his shoulder met his neck. She let the sound flow from her mouth to his body, sending vibrations through him.

  “Don’t do that. I’ll lose it,” he whispered. Moaning, he bent his head to mute his sound in her hair.

  “The sound has to go somewhere. Oh, God, don’t stop, Pres, don’t stop!”

  As quickly as the tension hit volcanic levels, it exploded. Brooke bit down on Pres, stifling her moans as her hips moved rhythmically with his. She let out a breath as he reached his climax. His body shook for a moment, and he groaned into her hair.

  Pres rolled off her and lay back, his chest sweaty and heaving. Her breasts moved up and down with uneven breathing, drawing his gaze. “Beautiful,” he murmured. She turned onto her side, resting her palm on his pecs.

  “You’re amazing,” she said.

  “That was incredible.”

  Brooke pushed up and swung her legs over the side. “We’d better get dressed. The movie will be over soon.”

  Once they were clothed, they headed back to the kitchen. Brooke finished the salad and put it on the table. She cut up the cornbread and put out butter. Then, she ladled the chili into bowls.

  “Pres!” Ruth called. “The movie’s over.” He trotted out to the living room and removed the DVD. The seniors ambled over to the table.

  “This looks great,” Betty said, taking a seat.

  “Yeah, Fridays at the center. Ugh. Fish sticks. What do they think we are? Middle school kids?” John sat down and placed the napkin in his lap. “This is more like it. Looks great, Brooke.”

  Before Brooke and Pres joined them, he stole a quick kiss from her in the kitchen. Eagle-eyed Harry didn’t miss it. “Lovebirds, come eat. Can’t live on love alone.”

  “We’re coming, Harry. Can I help it if I can’t keep my hands off her?”

  Harry blushed a deep red. “What you kids do behind closed doors is none of my business.”

  “We’re coming, Harry, we’re coming,” Brooke said.

  The men and women from the senior center dug into the food as if they hadn’t eaten in a week. They finished the cornbread and left only two portions of chili to be put away. The salad was gone, too. They took a break while Brooke got the pie.

  “They talked too fast, I couldn’t understand everything,” John said.

  “That’s the idea. They were supposed to talk that fast,” Betty said.

  “Rosalind Russell is no Sophia Loran,” Harry said, cupping his hands in front of his chest. “If you get my drift.”

  Everyone at the table laughed. “Harry, your mind is always in the gutter,” Peggy said.

  “Yeah. Right next to yours, honey,” he responded.

  Peggy nudged him in the shoulder then chuckled. “You know me too well.”

  “Actually, not well enough.” Harry wiggled his eyebrows. That brought another round of laughter.

  Pres got up to join Brooke in the kitchen. “These old people are raunchy as hell,” he said. Brooke stood holding the pie while a tear slipped down her cheek. “What’s the matter, honey?” Pres put his hands on her shoulders.

  She took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped at the tear with the back of her hand. “Sorry. Just having a flashback moment. I’ll be all right.”

  He hugged her to him and kissed her hair. “It’s okay. I get it. No worries.”

  She smiled, took a deep breath, shrugged, and turned around to face the crowd.

  “Here it comes!” John said.

  “The crown jewel!” Harry said.

  There was silence as she walked into the dining room and placed the pie on the table. As she cut the first piece, every eye was on her. When she managed to get it all on the plate, the company burst into applause. Ruth’s eyes were shining.

  “Mary Lou would’ve been proud, Brooke,” her grandmother said.

  Brooke smiled at all the “oohs” and “aaahs” from the satisfied diners. She had to admit the pie was delectable.

  Pres closed his eyes with each bite. “This is amazing. Best pie ever.”

  “Brooke, this is a masterpiece,” Harry said. He stood up, walked over to her, and kissed her hand. “I kneel in the presence of the Queen of Apple Pie.”

  Another round of applause made Brooke grin. “You guys are great to cook for. You loved everything.”

  “We know what’s good,” Peggy said, taking another bite.

  Only Pres, Harry, and John had room for seconds on pie. By nine o’clock, the guests were sipping the last of their decaf and arguing about the movie.

  “Of course, he could breathe in there,” Betty said.

  “How do you know? Ever been locked in a roll top desk?” John asked.

  “That’s a stupid question. Of course not! Have you?”

  “No, but I’d imagine the ai
r flow would be pretty limited.”

  “Why was Ralph Bellamy such a jerk? Didn’t he see Hildy loved Grant?” Betty asked.

  “I think he was supposed to be a jerk. He was pretty funny,” Ruth said.

  Pres helped clean the kitchen. He picked up a towel to dry the dishes Brooke washed. She couldn’t stop smiling.

  “Well, you did it. Made dinner for eight and survived.”

  “I did, didn’t I?”

  “And you did it with style.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she said, making a small curtsy.

  “I’m proud of you.”

  “It was fun.”

  Once the dishes were done and the coffee finished, the guests got up to leave. Harry took Brooke’s hands in his and gazed into her eyes. “So, when’s the next shindig? Next week? Always on Friday? That would be good because the food at the center is really lousy on Friday.”

  Brooke’s mouth fell open. Before she could answer, Ruth stepped forward. “What a wonderful idea, Harry. Next Friday, it is. I’m sure Brooke will create something just as special as this week.”

  Everyone gave Brooke a hug before they filed out. After they left, Brooke turned to Ruth. “What the hell was that, Nan? Next Friday? I don’t think so.”

  “Of course, dear. You were amazing. Mary Lou would be so proud. You’ve got her blood. They loved it, and it’s the perfect way to pay me back.”

  “But—”

  She patted her granddaughter’s hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll pay for the food. They sure do eat a lot, don’t they?” Ruth hugged her, bid them both goodnight, and went off to her room. The pugs jumped off the sofa, stretched, yawned, and followed Ruth into the bedroom.

  Brooke turned to Pres. “Every week?”

  “Hey, it’s a job. It’s like working for the rent.”

  * * * *

  Brooke cooked every Friday in July for a growing group of seniors. Five had quickly become ten when word got out what a good cook she was. She spent hours poring over her mother’s recipes. She sorted her movies, showing a Jimmy Stewart one week and Bette Davis the next. Pres convinced her to add the one about Jackie Robinson and a few more recent films to the mix. The crowd voted on which was watched by a show of hands.