A Son's Tale

“Not really.” Cal slid down until his neck rested against the back of her couch, his feet out in front of him, his hands on his stomach. “She told me I could stay or go and then went for her nightly swim.”

She had to ask. “What did you do?”

“I left.”

“You want a glass of wine?” She had a sudden need for one.

“You plan to join me?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Then thank you. I’ll have one glass of wine before I head home to bed.”

Bed.

The word held the world right then. Promise and danger. Hope and fear. And something delicious that was as forbidden as it was compelling.

* * *

CAL FOLLOWED HER OUT to the kitchen. As much time as they’d spent together in her home that dreadful night Sammie had disappeared, they’d never been in the kitchen together. He filled the place and then some.

And she felt next to naked in her old sweat shorts and tank top. She wasn’t even wearing a bra.

“Let me get that,” he said, reaching for the bottle of pinot grigio that she’d pulled out of the refrigerator. Her father would turn his back as soon as he saw the exclusive wine come from a refrigerator rack instead of a properly chilled wine cooler.

“It was a Christmas gift from my mother. Part of my father’s private stock.”

Cal opened the bottle. She got glasses down. He poured. And she wondered if he was regretting the intimacy of their recent conversation.

Self-conscious, she pulled the elastic out of her hair, letting her hair fall loose around her shoulders.

He held up his glass. “To good friends.”

“To good friends.” The glasses clinked. She sipped. And resisted the urge to sip again. Rapidly.

“And good wine,” he said, with a questioning tilt of his head.

“When I was growing up we always had a glass of wine at dinner.”

“When you were growing up?”

“Yeah. I switched from milk to wine on my thirteenth birthday. Which sounds terrible, I guess.” She leaned back against the counter, facing him, the arm holding her wineglass propped up on the arm around her stomach. “But I’m not so sure it was. My father taught me to appreciate and respect fine wine. Alcohol was never a mystery to me. I think partially because of that, I never went out drinking with friends. Even in my most rebellious high school days. I never saw the thrill, or the benefit that was worth the risk of getting caught and being in trouble.”

“Speaking from experience, there was no benefit worth the trouble. Or thrill that was worth the hangover.” Cal leaned against the counter opposite her in the galley-style kitchen, one ankle crossed over the other. She was sink side, he was stove side. And he was grinning.

“You indulged, huh?”

“A time or two.”

“Any serious repercussions?”

“Got suspended from school once. No DUIs or court appearances. Truthfully, the worst consequence, as far as I was concerned, was the disappointment in my father’s eyes.”

Morgan had had the hots for this man for four years. The more she got to know him, the worse it got, because the more she knew about him, the more there was to like.

But she didn’t date.

They were only a couple of years apart in age.