Color My World

by Morgan Malone

  Missy accepted the bouquet with a small curtsey. “Your mother is a very smart woman. I love daisies, whether I’m ill or not.”

  Don paused in removing the wine and ginger ale from the bag. He stood still for a moment, just looking at her. “Was. My mother was a wise woman. She passed away some time ago.” And then he shrugged as if her passing and his sharing were of no import.

  Missy laid a hand on his arm, on the sleeve of a surprisingly unstained black T-shirt.

  He glanced over at her with a quizzical look.

  “I’m sorry your mom died. I didn’t know.” She swallowed and paused, as he had, considering what to say, what to share next. “My mother is dead. She died shortly before I moved here.”

  They just stared at each other, the confidences they had shared weaving silken strands of intimacy around them, the sheer volume of their unspoken secrets making the air heavy with emotion. Don moved first. His artist’s hand, graceful but rough, reached out to stroke her cheek, his calloused thumb brushing away the single tear that threatened to spill from her eye. For an instant, she leaned her cheek into his hand and her eyes drooped closed, savoring the intimacy, accepting the gesture.

  Before her eyes could open, his other hand had clasped hers and he pulled her into his arms. As soon as his lips brushed hers, the always banked embers of their desire burst into flames. Missy’s arms swept around his waist, her hands tunneling up under his shirt, her nails raking the long smooth muscles of his workingman’s back. His tongue invaded her mouth, as his fingers swept up into her hair, imprisoning her head in his gentle grip.

  They ravaged each other’s mouths, nipping and moaning, teeth clicking against teeth, tongues tangling, pausing to gulp air, each breath coming out hot and fast, before they dove into the depths of passion again.

  Don pulled away first, gasping. His eyes were wild. “Where? Here?” His hands were cupping her ass as he lifted her against him. All Missy could think was that she wanted him inside her now. Her tush plopped down on the counter. Don was tugging at the drawstring on her dark green pants. He got it loose and yanked the slacks down from her waist. They were almost off her ankles when he looked up from the lavender silk triangle at the apex of her thighs.

  “Madre de Dio,” he muttered. “You’re killing me.” Missy felt the warm flush of feminine satisfaction wash over her.

  He laid her gently down across the counter, her head mere inches from where he’d left the bottles of wine and soda, her pants dangling from one foot. His work-roughened hands pushed her sweater up and over her shoulders. Don groaned as he touched her breasts, spilling from the silk cups of the lavender bra. She arched her back under his stroking, his hands working until her nipples were achingly hard. With his fingers still caressing her torso, his face lowered between her legs. He used his aristocratic nose to nudge aside the silken scrap of her panties. “Bellisima,” he muttered, one land leaving her breast to yank the panties away from her center. He breathed deeply, she could feel the hot air from his lungs caressing her core. Now both of his hands were spreading her thighs, pushing the silk away, fingers sliding into her as he opened her wide.

  “God, I love the way you smell—almost as much as I love how you taste.” Then those clever, clever fingers were inside her and his tongue… Oh, my God… his tongue was lapping at her. Moaning, she started thrusting, while his mouth made love to her. Missy felt herself lose her mind and lose control. Then the lights behind her eyes exploded. She heard herself scream before she went limp. But Don did not lift his head until she came again.

  The air in the cottage was thick with the smell of sex, lavender, and pine. And chicken soup. Missy levered herself up on her elbows. Don’s head rested on his crossed arms, draped across her thighs. She reached out a shaky hand to stroke his disheveled salt and pepper hair. Looking up, his dark eyes met hers. A smile twitched his lips, then his deep laugh filled the small space.

  “Well, I said I would kiss whatever was bothering you and make it better.” His eyes strayed to her crotch and he grinned. “I hope that worked for you.”

  “You’re off by several inches, Romeo, but I could have a compound fracture and I’d still feel great after that…kiss. Help me get down and I’ll dish us up some soup. I’m starving.” As if to prove it, her stomach growled.

  Don scooped her up then let her slide down his hard length until her bare feet hit the tile floor.

  As she bent to drag panties and pants back up her legs, she stopped to stare at the bulge in his jeans. After planting a noisy kiss in the general area of his fly, she straightened. “I’m sorry I can’t take care of what’s bothering you now, but I need to turn that soup off and get the rolls I baked out of the warming drawer. Can you wait ’til after we eat?”

  “I’ve already eaten, thank you.” Don continued to laugh at her, especially when she wiggled by him and stuck out her tongue.

  As Missy served the soup and rolls, Don poured them each a glass of Vinho Verde. It seemed to her that there was a new ease to their relationship. And a new depth. Where had that come from?

  Missy placed the soup bowls on the counter and turned to retrieve spoons and napkins. Don was already sitting on a stool, pulling one of the warm rolls apart and making sounds of gustatory anticipation. It’s like he belongs here. With her back still to him, words spilled swiftly from Missy’s lips.

  “I’m an orphan. My father died just before my mother. I don’t have any siblings. Or children. It’s just me.”

  The knife Don had been using clattered to the marble surface of the counter, striking an almost musical note. Missy turned back to him at the sound but then froze in place, the stricken look on his face making her wait for him to speak.

  “I’m an orphan, too. And an only child.” He took a gulp of wine, as if to give himself strength. And to steal a few minutes before he finished responding, his voice very low. “And I don’t have any children either.”

  “Okay, then,” Missy said as she placed the spoons and napkins on the counter and sat on the stool next to him. Their thighs brushed. Again, she felt flushed, especially when Don reached over and squeezed her leg, gently, his thumb finishing with a swirling caress.

  “Okay, then.” He turned his attention to the soup, the tension on his face eased.

  Conversing about the work they’d accomplished over the past day, they passed a companionable hour, savoring soup and sipping wine.

  “I’ve gotten several of the paintings matted and framed but I’m running out of the specific mat I’ve used in the past for Casa Blanca artwork. I’m going to need to head over to Miami.” Don finished the wine in his glass. “Would you like to go for a ride with me…maybe day after tomorrow?”

  Missy just stared at him. They had never really gone anywhere or done anything together. Sure, they might meet for fish tacos at the SOB or have a beer at the Twisted Pelican. They had even had some meals with Levi and Ella at the main house during the past few months—especially when Levi was attempting to grill. But never a date.

  “Well, I want to dig out Hanukkah decorations tomorrow for the inside of the main house. I’ve already arranged for the landscape guys to be here early on Monday to lay down more crushed shells on the drive, clean up some of the debris from the last storm, and refresh the planters. I need to pick up office supplies for Ella and do a major Post Office run. I can do that anywhere. Yeah, a trip to Miami works out just fine for me. Assuming you’re buying me lunch at some funky food truck on Miami Beach before we head back here.”

  “Woman, you are too easy. Lunch from a food truck? You got it.” Don rose to clear the dishes. His innate neatness was one of the qualities she liked about him. And his assumption that if she cooked, he would clean up. His graceful efficient movements in her kitchen and the fact that he knew without being told where everything went brought a smile to her face.

  Don looked over at her and stopped putting dishes in the dishwasher. “What’s that goofy grin for?”

  “You look good in my…th
e…kitchen. Levi always looks a bit out of place, even in that huge, high-tech kitchen of his. For that matter, so does Ella.” She laughed. “But, you fit in this little kitchen perfectly.” She raised her glass to toast him with the swallow of wine that was left.

  Don brought the wine bottle over to where she sat, dividing what remained into their two glasses. He lifted his glass to her. “Missy, this little cottage is the perfect frame for you. You fill every room with your spirit. Bella, every place you go, you bring warmth and humor. You fit in everywhere you go. Saluti!” He touched his glass to hers and took a deep sip of wine.

  “Don,” she started to speak then stopped. They never asked any questions about their pasts; their relationship was strictly in the present. But, the evening had already revealed so much they had not known about each other, that she felt emboldened to continue. “Don, maybe I never noticed before, but you seem to use a lot of Italian expressions. Is…was…your family Italian?”

  He stepped away from her, his laughing face suddenly a blank mask. His eyes darted around the small cottage, as if looking for an avenue of escape. He stood very still for an instant, as if he was listening for a sound from afar. Then, with a small shake of his shoulders, his gentle smile returned.

  “Yes, I’m Italian. I mean, I was born in Italy. My father was Italian but my mother was American. She met my father during a summer abroad to visit relatives in Italy after college and married him. We visited her family in New York once in a while, but mostly, they came to the old country to spend summers with us.” He shrugged. “We need more wine.”

  “There’s a bottle of Moscato in the wine rack.” Missy gestured to the small shelf between the kitchen and the living room. While Don busied himself with the cork screw, Missy digested what he had shared with her. Don had told her more this evening than she had learned from him in all the years they’d known each other. Maybe it was time for her to do the same. She had been sleeping with him for almost nine months and she had told him nothing of herself, really, beyond her preferences in food and wine. And sex.

  He placed a glass in front of her and leaned against the counter, taking an appreciative sip of the sweet golden wine.

  “My parents were born in France. My mother was Jewish and she lost most of her family in the war. My father was Catholic. They met after university, married, and then emigrated to Boston. I grew up in Boston.”

  “I wondered. You have an unusual accent sometimes when you’re tired or really excited. I thought it sounded like New England but there’s a little something else. I’ll bet you were…are…fluent in French.”

  “Mais oui.” She sipped the wine as her mind raced. Should she tell him she also spoke several other languages? No, this was enough for one night. Missy set her glass down and came around the counter to Don. Running her hands up his well-muscled chest, she crooned the words of the La Belle hit song from the 1970’s.

  “Voulez vous coucher avec moi?” She ended with a quick nip on his lower lip.

  Don responded in an ancient and universal language by sweeping Missy into his arms and carrying her down the hall to her bedroom. After dumping his lover on the bed, he scooped up her surprised orange and white cat and placed her in the hall. And shut the door in her startled feline face.

  Chapter Eight

  True to form, Missy pulled Levi’s Volvo into Don’s back parking area at seven o’clock sharp on Monday morning. He was just walking down the steps from the shop as she got out of the car, purse slung over her shoulder, tote bag in one hand, and a travel mug of lemon ginger tea in her other. Her stomach was still slightly queasy though not as bad as it had been during the past week. She felt better but she’d actually applied a little blush to hide the pallor of her cheeks.

  “We’re going shopping for stuff, Missy. Why are you bringing stuff with us?” Don reached for the tote bag.

  “I made us breakfast burritos and I packed some granola bars I made yesterday. And there’s a travel cup of really strong coffee for you in there, too.” His face lit up with a grin as he rummaged around in her bag and pulled out the stainless-steel mug.

  “Mmmm. Just the way I like it. This saves me a stop at the Super Min. So double thank you for bringing me goodies and sparing me an early morning encounter with Charity.”

  They made themselves as comfortable as possible in Don’s old Jeep and headed off Mimosa Key over the causeway to Naples. The drive to Miami took a little over two hours. Don consumed two of the breakfast sandwiches and a granola bar, while all Missy could manage was half of her plain egg burrito and most of her hot tea.

  “What is it with men? It’s so not fair. You eat all that stuff and you don’t gain an ounce. I eat an extra cookie and I can’t close my jeans.” Missy was grumbling as she tucked the remainder of her sandwich back in the tote. Don just laughed at her.

  “What are you concerned about? You’re as long and leggy as a spring colt. There’s not an extra pound on you anywhere. Not that I’d care if there was. You must know what a beautiful woman you are.” He glanced over at her. “Right? You are bellisima.”

  A faint flush stained her cheeks. “Well, thank you. It’s hard to feel beautiful this early in the morning. This little trip is a nice change to my routine but, damn, it was hard to put mascara on while it was still dark outside!”

  “I appreciate the effort but you didn’t have to go to any trouble for me. And we’re just running some errands and grabbing lunch at a food truck. It’s not like we’re dining at the Ritz Carlton.”

  “Well, you’re wearing a regular shirt and clean khakis and real shoes, so I could hardly join you in my grey sweatshirt and holey jeans, with my hair in a ponytail and no make-up.” She’d put on black leggings and black flats to go with the indigo trapeze sweater she wore, a black and indigo scarf twined around her slender neck. Her long dark hair swung around her shoulders in silken strands and silver hoops danced from her ears.

  “Like I said, bellisima!” Don reached over to trail his fingers down her cheek. “You look just perfect for a day trip to Miami.”

  “So, tell me, why don’t you just use a bank in Naples? Why do you go to Miami to do your banking? If you don’t mind me asking….”

  Don sighed deeply, his fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel. A few very quiet moments elapsed before he spoke, moments that made Missy squirm uncomfortably in her seat.

  “Well, as I told you, I was born in Italy. I lived there until about twelve years ago. I decided to travel and I needed an international bank. There isn’t one in Naples but there is a branch in Miami of one I have used elsewhere. When I settled in Mimosa Key a few years ago, I wanted a bank in Florida to handle the purchase of my building, so I opened an account in Miami. It’s not a bad drive, gets me away from Mimosa Key once in a while, and my favorite art supply store is located not far from my bank, so I usually combine banking and restocking in one trip.”

  Missy nodded her head. She had a similar situation that she was not quite ready to share. She, too, used a bank away from Naples—a bank with branches all over the country. Her infrequent vacation time away from Mimosa Key always included a trip to a different city; one in which a branch of her bank was located. She did not just have an inheritance to manage; the buy-out from her firm, the proceeds of the sale of her townhouse in Georgetown and its contents and the money she had invested over the years when she was commanding a six-figure salary in DC had made her a very wealthy woman. Not quite Levi and Ella and Fitz level of wealthy, but enough so that she did not really need to ever work again. Given Don’s description of his banking needs, it dawned on her that perhaps he was not the struggling artist everyone seemed to think he was. Maybe she was not the only one with deep, dark secrets.

  When they arrived in Miami, they stopped first at Don’s bank. Missy waited in the Jeep, enjoying the cool breeze off the ocean and watching the people on the crowded city street. She did not miss the hustle and bustle of living in a city, the fast pace of her former life in the nation�
�s capital. “Just the shoes, sometimes,” she thought as she admired the pair of bright blue stilettos a leggy young woman was teetering in as she maneuvered her way through the cross-walk. Those are Jimmy Choo’s. I’d bet my bank account on it. She turned to follow the woman’s progress and saw Don emerging from the bank, an intent look on his handsome face.

  The rest of the morning passed quickly. They were both efficient shoppers, organized and decisive. After taking Missy to a large post office and an even larger office supply store to get everything she needed for Ella and Levi’s home offices, Don pulled into the lot of Jerry’s Artarama.

  “I’m only taking an hour here. Time me. I’ve been known to spend the whole day in art supply stores.” When she saw the size of the list he pulled up on his phone, she believed him. Armed with two shopping carts, they speedily made their way through paints, mats, and canvases. It was not until Don stopped in front of a display of Kolinsky sable brushes that their timetable began to fall apart. While Missy gasped at the prices, Don lovingly caressed the fine silky brushes then gently placed them in his cart. There were at least a dozen when Missy reminded him of the time.

  Later, they enjoyed fabulous grilled cheese sandwiches at the Ms. Cheezious food truck. Relaxing in the adjacent patio, Missy found herself once again plying Don with questions.

  “How often do you need to restock at places like Jerry’s? The Jeep is almost full to its ragtop with supplies.” What she was really asking him was how he could afford to drop over two thousand dollars on brushes alone.

  “I needed more stuff than I usually do because Clay pretty much cleaned me out last week. I’ll need to paint at least a dozen canvases just to cover the empty spaces in the gallery. And I needed some acrylics for Levi’s mural.” At her arched brow, he explained the painting he was doing for Ella as her Hanukkah present for Levi. “I know you won’t say anything because it’s supposed to be a surprise for the first night.”