as a way to solve crime, or discussing the sexual undertones of the book and how they related to the mores of the time. The very notion of Ron arguing in public about sexuality made her want to giggle.
And if he did want to discuss the book with her over coffee she knew she’d find herself tongue-tied and stupid.
But she had to say something. In the end, she took a Post-it note, so impermanent it wouldn’t even leave a mark in the book, and below his A and comment she put her own. She said, after much thought and the wanton waste of half a dozen yellow sticky notes:
He’s an ordinary man who, when forced to save his country, can do extraordinary things. As in so many thriller novels, things aren’t what they seem to be on the surface. I think that’s true of people, too.
She realized that her note was hardly significant literary criticism, but she didn’t care. Her last line was more of a personal observation that had nothing to do with the novel but she was trying to tell Ron, in her own way, that she wasn’t exactly what she appeared either. She hoped there was more to her than she could articulate.
As the date approached, she realized, she wanted to be different from all the other women he’d had a first date coffee with. Well, it stood to reason she would be because she was different from pretty much everyone she knew. But ever since Karen had told her that Ron started all his relationships with a coffee date, she’d decided that she wasn’t going to tell her grandchildren that she and Grandpappy had got together over coffee in cardboard containers.
Nothing as permanent as love should start over anything involved in takeout.
Laurel wasn’t a bold woman, but she was intuitive and if she’d learned anything in the years she’d studied and practiced yoga and meditation it was to honor her instincts. Of course, she could be wrong. Ron might be entirely wrong for her in the long term but she wasn’t willing to ignore the strong feeling she had that the way they began would be important to their future.
Wanting to respect his idea of a first date, and yet still make it special, she called him.
When she picked up his business card to call him on Friday she accidentally left a purple icing thumbprint on the pristine card stock. When she identified herself he sounded instantly distressed. “You’re not cancelling, are you?”
“No. I’m not. I have an idea. Instead of meeting at a coffee shop, I thought we might have a picnic.”
There was a tiny pause. “A picnic coffee?”
“Yes. I will meet you at JFK Plaza.” She didn’t call it by its more familiar name, Love Park, named for the famous red-and-blue sculpture that spelled LOVE with the O tilted sideways.
“But it’s almost winter.”
“Wear something warm. I’ll bring the coffee.”
She was inordinately pleased with herself when he agreed. A first date at Love Park was the kind of outing to tell her grandchildren about. Even if the fountain wasn’t operating, there was a great view of the city by looking northwest down the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, which was supposedly modeled after the Champs Elysées in Paris.
Laurel had no idea whether that was true or not. She’d never been to Paris, but she liked the idea that she could pretend. Besides, the art museum was at the other end of the plaza and she never tired of going there.
As she imagined their first date, thought about Ron, she began to create a perfect first cake to go with a perfect first date.
DEX HAD TAKEN TO texting her. She had no idea why, but the short, sexy, sometimes funny texts were getting to be a bad habit. Of course, it would be rude not to respond, so they began exchanging increasingly steamy messages.
Every time I see a takeout container I get hard, he texted.
She shut her phone and tried to ignore the surge of lust his words invoked. After her next appointment, she texted back: I can still feel your lips on my nipple.
The texts continued in this manner until she got one that puzzled her. Have dinner with me Friday night.
That’s not sexy, she texted back.
Trust me, it will be.
She laughed aloud from the parking lot where she’d picked up the message. Replied, I don’t trust you.
Hardly a minute had gone by when she had her reply. I know.
Even though a text message couldn’t have a tone, she felt sadness coming from the words. As she looked at her phone, wondering how to reply, it rang.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
“So, dinner on Friday night is with the building owners and their wives. What do you say?”
“I’m not your wife anymore.”
“I know. But you’re a beautiful, interesting woman and I’d enjoy your company. Then, after dinner, we’ll head to my hotel room and I’ll demonstrate how much I’ve missed you.”
I’ve missed you, too, she wanted to say. Instead she managed, “I think I can make it.”
“Thanks. See you Friday.”
SHE’D NEVER LOOKED MORE GORGEOUS, Dex thought as he escorted Karen into the restaurant. In her simple black dress, she somehow managed to appear both elegant and sexy at the same time.
He’d loved her sexiness when he’d first met her but he liked looking at her even more now she was a little older. He liked her confidence and the tiny lines at the edges of her eyes. They lured him in.
She was still a great corporate wife, too, he thought, watching her charm the building owners and make friends with their wives. What could have been a boring business dinner ended up being so much fun that everyone exchanged hugs at the end.
As they walked away making the short stroll to his hotel in overcoats and gloves, he said, “Thanks, that was more fun than I expected.”
She squeezed his hand through their two gloves. “Thank you. Louise has a niece getting married next year. I schmoozed.”
He laughed down at her. Her face was alive, her cheeks pink with cold, her eyes sparkling. He couldn’t help himself, he leaned over and kissed her full lips.
Her hand slipped up to his shoulder. “What was that for?”
“Schmoozing, smooching, I get confused.”
“Come on, walk faster.”
“You cold?”
“No. I want to get naked with you, and fast.”
“That’s my girl,” he said, pulling her along the pavement at top speed. If he hadn’t been staying on the seventeenth floor he’d have run for the stairs. As it was, the time spent waiting for the elevator was agony. Once the car came and they were inside and alone, he pulled her to him, kissing her hungrily, pulling off his gloves and slipping his hands inside her coat to feel her up.
She giggled, but slipped off her gloves to do some exploring of her own.
By the time they reached his room they were both panting. His hands were unsteady as they pulled off her coat, her dress.
When he saw her underwear he nearly expired. Under that classy dress she had the sexiest, barely-there black wisps of nothing that he’d ever seen.
He had them off in no time. She pulled back the covers and slid into bed, watching with frank enjoyment as he ripped his own clothes off and then rolled into bed. And paradise.
“GOOD THING we slept over at the hotel,” Dex said next morning as they got ready to go down to the restaurant just off the lobby for a late breakfast.
“Why?”