He turned with a smile. One look at her, standing, with strands of the plastic ribbons cascading over her shoulders and through her hair, and he knew. He was here because of her, and happy with whatever she could give him, because there was nothing else he could do. His feet wouldn’t move away from her even if he wanted them to. And, right now, that was the last thing on his mind.
“Please.” He took his coffee black, he suddenly remembered, as he watched her pour milk—was that soy milk?—into his coffee.
He went and sat on the cracked leather bucket seat covered with a crocheted throw. He fingered the felted bright blue of the throw and thought to himself that Amber was the only person he knew with a handmade crocheted throw. Not only possessing a piece, but covering an armchair with one. He suddenly had a flash of memory where his grandmother had been crocheting in a corner of their sitting room, beckoning to him as his parents rowed. He’d followed her into the kitchen where she’d closed the door, sat him down and made him a mug of hot chocolate. Was that his attraction to Amber? A feeling of relief from the stresses of life? A throwback to his grandmother?
But then Amber entered the room, lighting it up with her bright eyes and smile in a way that his beloved grandmother never had. No. His grandmother had been a practical, no-nonsense woman who’d instilled in him the values by which he’d lived his life. But she’d also been loving, and he’d felt safe with her. Grounded. And Amber certainly made him feel grounded—in touch with things around him. Connected. He groped for the word. Amber had reached into his heart, grabbed it and brought him back to life, connecting him with people and feelings and life. There was no going back now.
“Thank you,” he said, accepting the dubious-looking cup of coffee. He hadn’t heard the purr or chug of a coffee machine coming from the kitchen, only the bubble of an old pot on the stove. He took a sip and was surprised at how nice it tasted. “Tastes good.”
She took a seat beside him, tucking her legs under her. “Don’t sound so surprised,” she teased. “Just because I haven’t got a thousand dollar machine. I found the old Italian condenser in a charity shop. It makes the best coffee.”
He had to agree. He also wished she’d sit a bit closer. “It’s good.”
“Hm,” she said, putting her half-finished cup onto the table. “This is nice, to use your favorite word. Being here with you.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“I bet it’s a bit different to your usual Saturday night.”
He shifted in his seat to face her, stretching out one hand along the back of the settee, and touched her hair, wrapping a curl around his finger. “And what do you imagine I usually do on a Saturday night?”
She shrugged. “Something super glamorous. Schmoozing with the rich and famous while women like Katherine laugh at whatever you say. The rooms would be decorated with expensive wallpaper covered with flowers and birds and bright colors. And light would be sparkling from chandeliers and the cut glass wine glasses and everything would be bright and lovely.”
He thought of the modern industrial settings and apartments which were his usual haunts. “That’s a pretty detailed picture you have there. But I have to correct you, I can’t recall bright colors or light sparkling anywhere. In fact, most of my friends prefer a minimalist approach.”
“Pop always accuses me of having too much imagination for my own good.”
He was silent. In some ways she might, but in others she didn’t have enough. “And what about you?” he asked, determined to move the subject away from him which, given the circumstances, he found extremely uncomfortable. “What do you usually do on a Saturday?”
“Well, that depends. Sometimes I want to be here and potter about. Other times I hang out with my family at Belendroit. Then again, Gabe and Maddy go to the local pub a lot, so I join them. Then there’s Rachel and Zane who live on Maori land. They have a huge whanau and I’m always welcome there. Then there’s Flo at the backpackers. She’s my best friend and…”
David had never considered he had a wide circle of friends, but he’d been content with those he had. But listening to Amber continue to talk about the people she hung out with made him feel like a Nigel No Friends. Eventually she finished talking.
“That’s a lot of people.” A lot of people who would disapprove of him. David wondered if there was any room in Amber’s life for him. He also suddenly wondered if he was simply one of many. “Amber,” he said quietly, moving his fingers from her hair to her cheek. He watched as he swept the back of his hand gently across her soft skin, before scooping back her hair and rubbing the back of her neck. Her eyes flickered with pleasure.
“Yes,” she murmured from beneath closed eyes.
“Do you think there’s room in your life for one very ‘nice’ man, who’s pretty hopeless at showing his feelings?”
She opened her eyes and nodded. “Yes, I do.”
He inhaled, leaned forward and searched her eyes, trying to figure out what he’d done to deserve this wonderful woman. “Good.” He pressed his lips to hers. She sighed and shifted closer to him until he could easily put his arms around her, hold her face between his hands, as their lips moved sensuously over each other’s. It was Amber who opened her mouth wider and touched the tip of his tongue with hers, triggering a lightning reflex inside of him.
One minute they were seated upright, the next somehow they were lying side by side, their bodies up close to each other’s, seemingly not able to get enough of each other’s kiss. When they eventually parted, Amber moaned and shifted her hips closer to his, brushing her lips against his. David didn’t think he’d ever been so turned on. His fingers toyed with her strap. All it would take would be a slight flick to remove the straps from her top. It didn’t look as if she was wearing a bra. And then his imagination ran wild as he imagined Amber, naked, in his arms. He shifted a strap and her hand went to his, holding it in place.
“I don’t usually do this, you know,” she said, in a still aroused voice. She cleared her throat. “I mean, I’m sure you think I’m pretty open about everything and I am about most things…” She trailed off.
“Just not about inviting men back to your house.”
“Yes. I don’t do that.”
“Not ever?”
“Not since… that time. Everything changed after that.”
“Ah, right.” His imagination managed after a brief struggle to rein itself in again. “I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do. You know that, don’t you?”
She nodded. “Yes, I trust you.”
