Sixteen

When Emily guiltily asked Ellen the next day if she minded keeping the twins for the evening while she went out with a ‘friend’, Ellen was all too happy to oblige. She had, as yet, never been unavailable when Emily needed her, and Emily wondered, without ever getting up the nerve to ask, if Ellen ever resented her apparent lack of a social life.

Ellen, tactful and ever respectful of Emily’s privacy, did not ask for details. Neither she nor the children commented when Emily appeared the next evening, dressed for a night on the town, even wearing high heels for the first time in recent memory. She kissed all three good-night, and climbed into her car. As she put it into gear, she cursed the heels. This guy, she mused. Last week, lipstick, this week heels. What next?

It was a humid evening and Emily felt wilted by the time she reached her destination. As she pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot, she glanced in the rearview mirror, noting with dissatisfaction that her carefully tamed curls had frizzed into a wild tangle. She raked her fingers through them and sighed with resignation. At that moment, all the insecurities that Trent’s phone call had raised came to a head, and Emily found herself unable to get out of her car. What if he didn’t show up? Whose name would the reservation be under? Did Ellen have any idea what she was doing? What would Thomas think? Thankfully, that last thought was interrupted by the harsh ringing of her phone.

“Emily Peterson,” she said, cursing herself for forgetting to turn it off, while trying consciously to compose herself.

“Well, are you planning to sit out there all night, or are you coming in so I can get a glimpse of those gorgeous legs in a dress?” Trent’s drawl carried over the line and Emily jumped self-consciously.

“Where are you?” she asked, smiling in spite of her nerves. “And how do you know I’m in a dress?”

“I’m inside and I’ve been watching you freak out for about five minutes. Now, are you coming in, or do I have to come out there and escort you in?”

She spotted him in the window and offered a weak smile and a small wave. “I’m coming,” she said with feigned exasperation. She clicked her phone shut and opened the car door.

Unknowingly, she had parked so that the first view he had of her would be her legs emerging from the car. She winced as she realized this, but was glad she’d dressed up, even though the process of choosing her outfit nearly had her calling the whole thing off. She blushed furiously, knowing he was watching her every move, and walked carefully across the parking lot, fully expecting to trip on the stupid heels and completely embarrass herself. Thankfully, she made it to the door unscathed, and was secretly pleased that she’d worn the heels, despite her precarious balance. She knew they made her legs look damn good.

He stood as the hostess brought her to the table, and she needed all her concentration not to collapse just from looking at him.

He was clean shaven, wearing a tailored suit and tie. His hair, in collar-length waves, was swept off his face, and he was holding a bouquet of flowers. Above them, his green eyes caught hers, and she felt as if she’d never be able to look away. He leaned over, touching her arm lightly and kissed her chastely on the cheek. The hostess pulled out Emily’s chair and she sat, grateful for the support. She took the flowers.

“May I put those in some water for you, ma’am?” the hostess asked discreetly.

Emily nodded wordlessly and handed them over without looking at the woman. To cover her embarrassment at his obvious and frank admiration, Emily said, “People keep calling me ‘ma’am’. I’m starting to feel old.”

“You look like you just finished high school,” he said. They laughed.

“Hey,” she said, feeling instantly more comfortable. “Our first inside joke!”

They chatted about the menu. Trent chose a bottle of wine, showing a surprisingly refined palate. Emily suppressed a comment, not wanting to offend him.

Over an excellent meal, they talked politics, work, and the weather. Suddenly, coffee and dessert were in front of them, and the restaurant was all but deserted.

“Check it out,” he said. “We’re closing the place down.”

Trent signaled for the check and Emily excused herself to go powder her nose. When she returned, Trent had paid the bill and had her flowers, wrapped in paper, on the table. The sun had set and the streetlights had come on. It was a beautiful summer night, hot and windy, and Trent suggested they go for a drive.

“What, so you can suddenly ‘run out of gas’?” Emily laughed.

“Actually,” he said, suddenly serious, looking up at her through his eyelashes. “I just don’t want this night to end.”

Emily sobered instantly and felt badly for making light of his suggestion. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’d love to.”

They took Trent’s car, a large SUV with darkly tinted windows, which was parked in the far corner of the restaurant’s lot. He chirped the locks and opened the door for her. He held her hand while she climbed up, and closed the door firmly once she was inside. When he started it, bluesy music played softly from a very good stereo. The back of the vehicle was jammed with amplifiers and guitars.

“This is nice,” she said, indicating the music.

Trent took off his suit jacket and folded it carefully on the back seat. He rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt and loosened his tie while they drove in companionable silence, pulling up to the waterfront park. A few dog-walkers wandered about, but otherwise the place was relatively deserted. “Feel like walking off some of that pasta?” he asked, pulling into a space along the road. Emily, feeling comfortably full and charged with restless energy, agreed, despite the problematic heels. Trent hurried around to her side of the car and opened the door for her. Again, he held her hand to help her out. This time, he didn’t let go.

They walked along the path for a while, chatting about nothing. Emily was glad for the aimlessness of the conversation; she could barely focus on it, aware of the feel of his hand in hers, the nearness of him. At that moment, she wanted nothing more in the world than for him to take her in his arms and kiss her.

Engrossed in their dialogue, and their electrically charged proximity, they failed to notice the night sky deepening quickly with thunderheads. The wind whipped Emily’s hair around her face and flattened her skirt against her legs as they walked, and they were what seemed like miles from the car when the first fat drops of rain splattered on the ground. They had only a few seconds’ warning from an ear-splitting crack of before the sky opened up. They were soaked to the skin in an instant.

Emily shrieked, and started running in the direction of the car, pulling on Trent’s hand.

“This way! We’ll stay drier over there!” he yelled over the downpour, indicating a stately old elm tree up ahead.

“No way, you bonehead!” Emily hollered back. “Didn't your mother teach you anything? We’ll get struck by lightning!”

She kicked off her shoes to run barefoot and yanked on his hand as they took off toward the car. They ran full flight and made it back to the car without being struck by lightning. Trent scrambled in his soaked pockets and found the keys. Despite the pelting rain, which was threatening to turn to hail, he opened Emily’s door and saw her safely inside. He raced around the other side and threw himself across the leather seat, slamming the door against another gust of wind. Lightning forked across the sky, followed closely by another crash of thunder.

Emily looked at Trent and burst out laughing. He was completely drenched. His careful coif was a mess of humidity-induced waves that streamed rainwater onto his collar. His shirt looked as if it needed to be wrung out. He glanced at himself in the mirror and started laughing too.

Emily had fared no better. Her own curls, unruly at the best of times, were limp and dripping. She wiped mascara from her eyes, and saw, with some consternation, that her dress was soaked through, and pasted to her body. She silently thanked whatever god had convinced her to wear black instead of white tonight. Still laughing so hard tears were streaming from their eyes, Trent reached back for his jacket which lay, safe and dry as a bone, on the back seat, and wrapped it around her. Then, suddenly serious, he took her face in his hands and leaned in to kiss her.

It was the gentlest kiss of Emily’s life, and if it weren’t for the fire that went from where his lips brushed hers, to her belly and back up to his hands on her face, she might almost have wondered if it had happened at all. She jumped, startled by her visceral reaction to his touch as much as by the touch itself. Involuntarily, she pulled back fractionally.

“Oh,” she said inarticulately. Her hand fluttered to her chest and stayed there.

Trent looked flustered. “I…I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have…” he stuttered.

“No, I am,” she said quickly. “I just wasn’t expecting that, that’s all.” She touched his hand.

He remained silent, looking crestfallen. Wanting, needing more of the fire his touch had awakened, she reached up and twined his wet hair in her fingers. She pulled him to her this time, and kissed him deeply. She felt him respond, felt his shoulders loosen with relief. He put his arms around her and Emily thought, she hoped, he might never let go.

A moment, a lifetime later, Emily broke the kiss, knowing if she didn’t at that second, her body would be beyond her own control and things would happen that were better left for another place and time. Her arms rested on his shoulders and she played with his hair. He rubbed her back gently, and she wanted more than anything to dive back into that kiss. Instead, playfully, and with poorly concealed regret, she fanned herself with her hand.

“Whew,” she said, looking at him flirtatiously. “I need a cold shower.”

What the hell, she thought, I’m already soaked. She opened the car door, and stepped out, barefoot, into the rain. The fury of the storm had subsided, and now it was a warm summer rain, with stars already visible on the eastern horizon. Her hand trailed across his knee coquettishly, and she threw his jacket back into the car and slammed the door, watching him through the tinted window.

“Hey,” he yelled, getting out. “I wasn’t finished, there.”

“Well come and get it, then,” she called back and started running lightly toward the beach.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw him, chuckling, pulling off dripping shoes and socks, and rolling up his pant legs. He tossed the sodden footwear into the back seat and slammed the door. He ran after her with the awkward gait of one unused to being barefoot. Emily let him catch up to her and he snagged her by the hand and pulled her into his arms and kissed her again, wrapping his arms around her waist. She wound her arms around his neck and locked them there.

The beach was deserted, and when they finally pulled apart, Emily said, “Come on.”
They each wrapped an arm around the other’s waist and walked slowly along the beach. The rain stopped and a hot wind dried Emily’s dress quickly, but Trent’s suit pants did not fare so well.

“I’m afraid your suit is ruined,” she said, ruefully.

He laughed. “It was worth it, to see you soaked to the skin like that. Doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”

She punched him lightly on the arm. “Stop that, you degenerate. I’m a good girl.”

“I imagine you are. But you are also smokin’ hot,” he made his voice low and comically suggestive. She laughed with him.

“Well, keep on imagining, then.”