other physical contact.” Maybe he hadn’t minded at the time, it feeling so amazingly good to have her hands on him and all, but he sure minded now, all worked up with no relief in his immediate future. He stood and adjusted his pants to make some much needed room in the groin area.
Scarlet actually blushed. “Sorry about that. I may have gotten a little carried away,” she admitted.
Unfortunately, not carried away enough.
Next time. There would most certainly be a next time. And soon, or he’d burst.
In an attempt to distract himself from his body’s demands, he picked up the pile of pictures she’d brought with her and sifted through the ones he hadn’t yet looked at, amazed at the amount of time she’d obviously put into the task of creating the perfect teenage escape for his daughter. More than bedding and matching accessories, she’d researched page after page of jewelry display thingies, shelves, fancy hooks, and even some contraption called a Bubble Chair that hung from the ceiling.
A lighted makeup mirror. He let that one fall to the counter. Jessie was too young to wear makeup.
A purple lap desk. A funky silver floor lamp. A back-of-the-door mirror.
All in addition to the time she’d spent shopping for posters of Jessie’s favorite bands and picking out paint swatches.
He didn’t have the heart to tell her he’d changed his mind about her helping him after she’d already put in so much effort. And since the main reason for his change of mind was so they wouldn’t be alone together, and here they were, alone together, he may as well accept all she was willing to offer.
Whoa.
He came to a picture of a crib and changing table set. He moved on to the next page, a baby bath, and the next, an infant car seat, followed by an ad for huge pink butterfly wall decals. He held them up to her. “I’m thinking these were intended for someone else?”
Scarlet hurried over and grabbed them from his hand. “They’re mine.”
So defensive. “Why are you carrying around pictures of baby items?” Please say because you’re helping a friend. Please don’t be one of those baby-obsessed women who yammer on about their nonsensical biological clock.
“We’re wasting time.” She carefully folded the papers in half and shoved them into her backpack. “Go get dressed. The paint store closes at seven.”
Lewis looked at the clock on the microwave. Five thirty-seven. How long could it possibly take her to answer one simple question?
“I can go myself,” she threatened, picking up her pocketbook and reaching for the door knob.
“Hold on,” he said. “Give me a minute.” He turned and headed toward his bedroom. But this conversation was not over.
* * *
At ten o’clock that night Lewis and Scarlet finally returned to his condo. Lewis dropped the cumbersome bags of bedding and miscellaneous girlie junk he’d carried for what seemed like miles as they’d trudged through at least a dozen stores.
“Having the paint and painting supplies delivered was a good call,” he told Scarlet, looking at where the doorman had neatly arranged the items to the side of his entryway.
She carefully unloaded their more delicate purchases, which she’d insisted on carrying. “I can’t believe we got all the shopping done in one night.” She pushed some flyaway hairs away from her flushed face.
They’d done more shopping in four hours than Lewis typically did in a month. Heck, in three months. He should be cranky and exhausted and looking forward to pouring a beer then pouring himself into his recliner. And yet he felt energized. Scarlet’s enthusiasm for her task, her determination to find the exact item she sought, and her excitement when she did, made every minute of their expedition fun.
So what if she was trying to re-create the bedroom of her teenage dreams. Jessie was one lucky girl to be on the receiving end of all Scarlet’s creative ideas and planning.
She covered her mouth and yawned. “Sorry,” she said. “I was up at six.”
Lewis remembered that while he’d moped around in his bathrobe, missing Jessie, bemoaning the loss of the man he was pre-fatherhood, trying to envision his future—a vision Scarlet kept popping up in, she’d put in a full shift at work.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” he asked.
“That’d be great.” She took out her cell phone, walked across his living room, and with her back to him, made a call.
“Hey,” she said to someone on the other end of the call. “Can you pick me up at the bus stop later tonight?”
Lewis set the filter in the coffeemaker and measured out enough coffee for four cups.
“No. Thanks anyway. Have fun,” she said.
“Problem?” he asked.
“I live six blocks from my bus stop,” she said absentmindedly as she scrolled through information on her phone. “It’s bad enough I have to navigate Penn Station and ride the bus back to Jersey with the Friday night drunks. I’d rather not have to walk home, alone, in the dark with one of them following me.”
She shuddered as if it’d happened before. The thought of Scarlet, hurrying home, in fear, with some intoxicated miscreant in pursuit set off a surge of protectiveness he’d only ever felt for Jessie.
“How did you plan to get home after girls’ night out?” he asked.
She looked up from her phone. “I sleep at my friend’s apartment downtown, so I don’t have to make the trek home late at night.”
“If you’d already planned to stay in the city, you can stay here,” he blurted out.
She gave him the ‘yeah right’ look. “Nice try.” She pressed the screen on her phone, lifted it to her ear, and turned her back to him, again.
Lewis added water, replaced the carafe, and flipped on the coffeemaker.
Scarlet spoke into her phone. “Hey. It’s about a quarter after ten on Friday night. If you get this message in the next few minutes and can give me a ride home from the bus stop tonight, call me back.”
Lewis waited for her to end the call and said, “You’re being silly. I think I’ve proven myself a close-to-perfect gentleman. You can sleep in Jessie’s room. I’ll put fresh sheets on the bed,” he held up his right hand, “I give you my word—”
“Stop with the raising the right hand bit,” she said. “I thought we talked about that.”
“A carryover from Boy Scouts,” he admitted. Then, keeping his right hand raised he bent his pinky, held it in place with his thumb to make the scout sign, and recited the oath. “On my honor I will do my best to do my duty to God and my country and to obey the Scout Law; To help other people at all times; To keep myself physically strong, mentally awake, and morally straight.”
She smiled and nodded. “Very impressive.”
Standing at full attention he added, “On my honor I will not step one foot on the stairway leading up to the loft while you’re up there.” He decided it best to keep the ‘unless you invite me up’ part to himself.
She seemed to mull it over. “Then we could prep for painting tonight and get started first thing tomorrow.”
“Exactly.” Although not his first choice of things to do during their time alone together, that’d work. “I’ve still got stuff I need to move out of there.” Luckily he’d spent part of his afternoon, sorting junk, boxing up his books and journals, and removing the artwork and pictures from the walls.
“I can help with that,” she offered.
So far today she’d cancelled plans with her friends to come check on him, only let him treat