Claire
Almost three years later, June
“Almost home, Smitty,” I said to my dog through uneven breaths.
Of course, he already knew we were close to home. He was smarter than most humans. Definitely gentler and easier to talk to.
Not to mention, he’d been my only companion the last few years.
He looked up at the mention of his name, tongue hanging out, smiling like only a goofy yellow Labrador could, and I felt a smallish smile cross my face. It wasn’t up to my eyes, where sweat currently dripped, but it was better than not smiling at all—which was my typical state of affairs.
Lose the resting bitch face, Mary always said when she looked at me, telling me to smile so often she’d become a broken record. Smiling came easy when I was with Smitty or my students—the bright spots in my life.
I used the neck of my ratty T-shirt to wipe my eyes, my breath continuing to come in pants, my legs burning and my clothes drenched the way I liked it. I’d be tired enough to make it through another Saturday with nothing to do, no one to take care of, and no papers to grade. Mary, aka Dr. McCullough, the head of my department, who also happened to be my closest friend, had suggested I take the summer off teaching, even though I’d protested. I liked going to class—it guaranteed I had some type of human interaction—but she wouldn’t allow it. Told me it was time to take a breather, find life again, or whatever the hell that meant.
My life was buried in Rose Park Cemetery, row F, plot 305.
Life had once meant shuttling kids, rushing to class, grading papers in between soccer games on Sunday and remembering once being married to David—before he found a new life.
Now this was it.
My life.
Taking a long, sweat-inducing run was as good as it got.
Smitty jarred me from my negative thoughts, tugging on the leash and dragging me up the street, nearly pulling my shoulder out of its socket. “Whoa, boy.”
Stilling my feet and leaning over my knees, I watched a few beads of sweat roll into my cleavage as I caught my breath. “That’s a good boy.” I patted him on top of the head while he finally sat at my feet.
“Hey there.” The deep voice rang in my ears as I continued to watch sweat fall into my boobs. I debated not standing—I didn’t do deep voices that dripped with sex appeal. I even considered breaking back into a run, but I was a thirty-six-year-old woman, not a teenage girl, so I stood up tall and proud. “Hey there to you,” I whipped back. “Can I help you? You seem to have nabbed the attention of my dog.”
I noticed a large moving truck blocking the driveway alongside mine and an equally large black pickup truck blocking my own driveway. Standing in front of me was an Adonis, a very young Adonis. Dark olive complexion, eyes glistening as blue as the Mediterranean (from what I’d seen in movies and online). Of course, he came complete with a wife-beater tank (they still called it that…I learned from my students) and mesh athletic shorts. He didn’t even try to hide his perusal of me, his eyes stopping for several beats on my heaving breasts.
My heartbeat quickened in a way it never did running. After years of being dormant, my body rumbled back to life from a lone (extra-long) glance from a much-younger dude.
I’d never felt more alive or passionate.
From a single look.
A smirk formed on his face. Maybe it was a smile. What the hell did I know? I barely knew what to do with the desire rushing through my veins.
My mind raced through possibilities as to what he could be doing here.
In front of me. On my street.
With all that dirty-blond mussed hair.
My brain finally settled on,He works for the moving company and needs to borrow a hammer or something.
His voice broke through my inner banter. “Sorry to snag you at a bad time.”
“Umm, it’s okay. I was just finishing my run. I live over there, the red brick one with the truck blocking the driveway.” I pointed to my house that was smallish but still too big for one person and one dog. I moved the back of my hand across my forehead, pushing a few errant hairs out of the way.
“Yeah, I know. I saw you go for a run on the day of my closing. Sorry about the truck. I’m going to move it in a sec. You have to get out right away?”
Closing? Get out?
“I’m Aiken, by the way. I bought the house next door to you. Aiken Fordham. Uh, do you want to grab a cold drink or something? You look thirsty…I have some waters in the cooler...right over there in my truck.” He cocked his thumb over his shoulder and smiled.
