I wanted more. Wanted my hands everywhere. Wanted to strip away the thin fabric between us and—
She pulled back, breathing hard. “Wait. Wait.”
I forced myself to stop. “What has happened?”
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, pupils blown wide with desire. Whatever had made her pull away, it wasn’t a lack of want.
“I just—” She took another breath. “I don’t even know if you’re single.”
“Widowed for past twenty-three years.”
Her expression shifted from desire to compassion. “I’m sorry for your loss, Aris.”
The same words I’d heard countless times over two decades, yet from her lips, they didn’t feel forced. “It was long time ago.”
“But you were so young. Both of you, I’m guessing.” Her hand moved from my hair to rest against my chest, directly over my heart. “My divorce was hard, sure. But at least my daughter’s father was alive. I don’t know how you did it.”
My hand covered hers, holding it there as I spoke truths I rarely acknowledged. “Some days, I did not manage this. I was poor at it. But my son, he needed me. That was sufficient to move.” My thumb brushed across her knuckles. “We do what we must for our children. You know this.”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I do.”
We sat in silence, hands linked, the ocean rolling before us. The moment stretched, weighted with a shared understanding that transcended the heat still simmering between us.
I broke the silence before I could reconsider. “Have dinner with me on Saturday.”
“Just dinner?”
“To start.”
“Seven o’clock?”
“I will come at six-thirty.” I rolled her nipple between my fingers through the fabric, and she whimpered. “And Dede?”
“Yeah?” Her voice had gone breathless.
“Wear something I can remove without complication.”
Three days later, I stood inside my walk-in closet in trousers and an undershirt, debating between a green shirt and a pale blue one. Twenty-three minutes remained until I was due to pick up Dede for dinner.
Dating wasn’t foreign territory. I’d had my share of elegant dinners with suitable women over the years, but this felt different. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d changed shirts three times for a date.
I pulled the green shirt from its hanger and slipped it on, leaving it unbuttoned as I moved to the dresser. A tie or no tie? I selected a pair of diamond cufflinks from the wooden box, then reconsidered. Perhaps simpler ones.
A knock interrupted my thoughts, followed immediately by the door swinging open. Chrysanthos strode in without waiting for permission, exactly as he’d done since he was tall enough to reach the handle.
“Father, I need to...” He stopped, taking in my appearance. “You got a haircut?”
I emerged from the closet and reached for my watch on the nightstand, fastening it around my wrist. “Is there something you need?”
He dropped into the armchair near the window. “You’ve got a date.”
I turned back to the cufflinks on the dresser, still debating which pair to choose rather than respond. My son’s sudden appearance was more than coincidental. There was something specific he wanted to discuss, and his curiosity about my evening plans was merely a detour.
“What brings you to my room, Chrysanthos?” I asked.
“I’m leaving for Japan tomorrow morning.”
My hands stilled on the cufflinks. Some weeks ago, my son had taken our newest, most expensive prototype from the factory without permission and crashed it.
