Barbara Dunlop - Overheated

“Ouch,” said Larry.

“Um-hmm,” Crystal agreed, shifting closer to him as the press of bodies closed in.

“This been a problem before?”

She nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. “None of your business. But no, it hasn’t been a problem before. I only moved into the apartment after Simon died.”

“Two years?”

“Got a problem with that?” She was willing to bet he hadn’t been sexually active since his wife’s death.

“No. But…” He eyed her up and down. “I know you don’t like hearing this, but you’re drop-dead gorgeous.”

“That means I should be promiscuous?”

“You’re an adult, Crystal. It’s not promiscuous to have a healthy sex life.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with being particular, either.”

Larry shifted her in front of him as they climbed the stairs to the walk over the bridge. At the top, he leaned forward to speak in her ear. “I have no idea why we’re having this argument. What I meant to say was, ‘good for you. You have every right to be particular, and I’m glad you were particular.’” A teasing note came into his voice. “Right up until me, of course.”

“Yeah,” she drawled. “I was obviously feeling charitable last night.”

He moved up beside her as the crowd on the other side of the bridge thinned out. “And what about now? How are you feeling now?”

“Charitable,” she confirmed with a nod. “Extremely and completely charitable. Your place?”

There was silence.

She glanced at his profile. “What?”

He breathed out a sigh. “Libby’s bed.”

Crystal squeezed her eyes shut for a second, regretting her stupidity.

“Maybe that’s silly,” he offered.

She wrapped her hand around his upper arm. “It’s not silly at all. It’s sweet and respectful.”

They passed the concessions, heading for Dean’s motor home to pick up Rufus.

Larry snaked an arm around her shoulders and tugged her close. “But I have another idea.”

“That’s what I love about a rocket scientist, always thinking.”

“Ever been to Myrtle Pond?”

CRYSTAL DIDN’T KNOW WHICH surprised her more, that Larry owned a ramshackle, old Victorian home at Myrtle Pond or that he piloted a plane. They’d picked up his Cessna at the Charlotte airport. Then, after flying twenty minutes and passing low over a small, picturesque lake, with the pattern of varying size homes on the eastern shore, Larry had landed the plane on a gravel airstrip about a mile from the general store and gas station.

A big man in a plaid flannel shirt had met them in an old, battered pickup truck. He’d introduced himself as Nash Walkins, bait-shop owner.

So, squashed in the middle of the bench seat, wrinkling her nose at the faint odor of trout, Crystal had bounced down the rutted road to Larry’s house.

“It needs a bit of work,” said Larry as they rocked to a halt between the wide front porch and an overgrown lawn that swept down to an aging dock at the lakeshore. The sun was a dying orange ball, slipping fast behind the rolling hills on the far side of the lake.

Nash guffawed from the driver’s seat.

“Okay, quite a bit of work,” Larry amended.

White paint was peeling on the pillars and latticework. The shingles curled up from a bowed porch roof. And two of the front windows were covered in plywood.

“It’s lovely,” said Crystal, stretching the truth to within an inch of its life.

“She’s a keeper,” said Nash, with a nod at Crystal.

“She recognizes a diamond in the rough,” said Larry.

“Actually,” Crystal admitted, “I was just being polite.”

Nash laughed.

“You wait,” said Larry. “We’re going to restore it using Fibonacci numbers.”

Crystal blinked her confusion at him.

“It’ll be gorgeous,” he finished.

“And for now?” she asked, gazing worriedly at the sagging door. Surely they weren’t actually sleeping here.

“The electricity works. So does the plumbing,” said Larry, creaking open the truck door.

“Upstairs only, for water,” Nash warned.

“That’s all we need.” Larry swung out of the vehicle. “The café open?”

“It’s Sunday,” said Nash, exiting from the driver’s side.

Crystal slid across the velour seat cover. “What does that mean?”

“The café’s closed Sundays. We can grill some burgers on my deck,” Nash offered.

Larry nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll bring the wine.”

Standing on the uneven ground, Crystal put her hands on her hips and stared up at the three story monstrosity. “I feel like a teenager in a horror movie.”

Larry snagged her hand, pulling her against his side. “Don’t worry,” he muttered, then leaned down and planted a long kiss on her surprised mouth, leaving her speechless. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“You sure she doesn’t have a sister available?” asked Nash.

“I’m working on it,” Crystal answered. She’d like nothing better than for Amber to become available.

“Find your own dates,” Larry growled at Nash. “He’s a hound dog,” he added for Crystal’s benefit.

“You have a job?” she asked Nash.

“Own my own business.”

“Then you’ve got my vote.”

“It’s a bait shop,” Larry reminded her.

Nash folded his thick arms over his broad chest. “Nitroworms and night crawlers,” he proudly informed her.

Crystal shuddered.

“See what I mean?” asked Larry, pulling down the tailgate so that Rufus could jump out of the box.

“Better to sell night crawlers than to be one,” she pointed out. Though she honestly didn’t think she could be intimate with a man who handled creepy crawly things all day long. But maybe Amber was different. Crystal would think about that.

“Need anything else?” asked Nash, his tone going serious.

Larry shook his head, settling their two overnight bags on his shoulder. “Half an hour?”

“See you then,” said Nash, easing back into the driver’s seat and slamming the door. The diesel engine roared to life.

“We’re really sleeping here?” asked Crystal.

“The master bedroom is comfy. Honest.”

She took a breath. “Whatever you say.”

He started up the rickety stairs, and she followed along. “We’ll have complete privacy.”

Okay. That sounded pretty good.

Rufus sniffed at an old porch swing, glancing at Larry before gracefully leaping up to settle on the cushion. The springs creaked gently under his weight.

Larry shouldered open the door and hit a light switch.

The entry hall and living room were a jumble of power tools and building supplies. From what she could see, the dining room was the same, except its walls had been torn down, the bare two-by-fours exposed beneath.

“This way,” said Larry, leading a winding path through rubble and plywood to a sweeping staircase.

It squeaked when he put his foot on the bottom stair.

“Is this thing going to collapse?”

He started up, tugging her along. “Trust me. I’m a rocket scientist.”

“I’d feel better if you were a carpenter.”

The worn banister wobbled under her hand. But before any real panic could set in, they were in the upstairs hallway. Larry pushed a door open, flicked the light on and motioned her into an astonishingly beautiful room.

The walls were copper in color, highlighting a polished cherrywood dresser, armoire, headboard and footboard. A cream-colored loveseat was positioned in one corner, across from two French provincial armchairs. On three windows in the corner room, pale gold curtains were held back by gleaming cords. Three tiffany-look lamps glowed on the dresser and bedside tables, reflecting off the patterned rug.

“Wow,” she breathed.

“The former owner did this,” Larry told her, moving to the windows to pull down the shades. “I suspect she had plans for the rest of the house. But she had a sudden financial setback.”

Crystal moved into the room, running her fingers over the smooth surface of the dresser.

“Unfortunately,” Larry continued, “there are structural problems underneath.”

She couldn’t help but glance worriedly at the floor.

“It won’t fall apart tonight,” he assured her.

“You sure about that.”

He took her hand, drawing her into his arms. “Have a little faith, sweetheart.”

She tipped her head to gaze into his warm eyes. “How long did you tell Nash we’d be?”

Larry glanced at his watch. “We have seventeen minutes.”

Warmth swirling in her stomach, Crystal came up on her toes and kissed him. “I wish you’d made that a little longer.”

RECOVERING FROM THE LONGEST, most passionate kiss in history, Crystal scrambled to comb out her mussed ponytail and fix her smeared lipstick, while Larry retrieved a couple of bottles of wine.

She straightened her top and smoothed the front of her pants, stuffing her feet back into her shoes.

“The world won’t stop turning if we’re five minutes late,” he pointed out.

“But Nash will get suspicious.”

“So what?”

“So, I thought we were trying to be discreet.”

“I’m pretty much over that.”

She paused on the way out the door. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I guess if you’re willing to be seen with me in public, I can handle being seen with you.”

She started back down the stairs. “How truly magnanimous of you.”

He followed behind. “Isn’t it though?”

They exited through the front door.

Rufus opened one eye to watch them leave the porch. But then he sighed and closed it again as they headed down the dirt path to Nash’s house.

The trees closed in around them. The light from Larry’s porch faded, while Nash’s house lights brightened in the distance. On the starlit pathway, Larry casually slipped his hand over hers. She was instantly filled with a sense of comfort and security.

She glanced up at his profile.

He reacted by looking down as they walked. “What?”

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly.

He slowed to a stop, turning to meet her eyes, his tone low. “But it’s something, isn’t it?”

She agreed with a nod. “It’s something.”

He leaned down to kiss her gently on the lips. “You’re an amazing woman, Crystal Hayes.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Larry Grosso.”

She saw him smile.

“Later?” he asked.

“Absolutely.”

He gave her hand a squeeze, and they continued down the pathway.

Nash was standing on his massive cedar deck, spatula in hand, burgers sizzling on the grill. Pot lights decorated his lush lawn, while overhead beams glowed burnished amber against the polished wood.

He nodded toward the open glass doors. “Beer in the fridge, or there’s a corkscrew on the counter.”

“You have a gorgeous home,” said Crystal, gazing in awe at the ultra modern kitchen and the sparkling pool and hot tub combination off the far edge of the deck.

“Thank you,” said Nash.

“He uses it to seduce women,” said Larry, heading through the door with the wine.

“I imagine it works quite well,” said Crystal.

Nash grinned unrepentantly.

“You probably want to stay away from my sister,” Crystal joked.

“I wouldn’t go near a woman who didn’t know the score,” Nash assured her.

Crystal’s gaze slid to Larry as he opened the wine. Did Larry think she knew the score? Had he concluded-like so many men in the world-that she took sex casually?

The vibes she was getting from him felt sincere. But maybe it was all part of a game. And maybe he thought she was playing along.

He looked up, met her eyes and smiled. “Red or white?” he called.

“White, please,” she answered, the intimate smile reassuring.

“Grab me a beer?” asked Nash, closing the lid on the propane grill.

Larry stepped out of the kitchen, a glass of red and one of white dangling from the fingers of one hand. In the other, he held Nash’s beer. He handed them each their drink. Then he gestured to a cushioned love seat grouped with a couple of chairs around a low oblong table.

Nash turned out to be a marvelous cook. He produced gourmet burgers with salsa and avocado on homemade multigrain buns.

He’d only lived on Myrtle Pond for two years. Like Larry, he’d bought an aging house and rebuilt.

Crystal tried to press him for details of his life before the bait shop, but he was vague, other than to say he was an architect who’d given up the rat race. He clearly enjoyed having Larry as a new neighbor, and the men engaged in several good-natured arguments about the best way to redesign Larry’s Victorian.

Mostly, Crystal got lost in the detail.

Around midnight, her cell phone rang. Surprised, she extracted it from her handbag, trying to figure out who might call so late.

“It’s Amber,” she said to Larry, noting her sister’s number with a sigh of frustration.