It Happened on Maple Street

“I really want to play on your playground.”

“You’re embarrassing me.” But his words were building a curious tension inside of me, too.

“I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s better than okay. It would be great.”

I didn’t think so. Thirty years ago, sure, but now . . .

He’d said we’d take our time. That he was interested in my heart.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I just know.”

“I haven’t been with a man for a lot of years.”

“I figured as much when you told me about Chris.”

“So . . .” I had no idea why I was engaging in this conversation.

“So I will go slow. Be gentle.”

“I like the sound of that.” Surprisingly enough, I did. I closed my eyes and was eighteen again. Listening to the sexy, sleepy sound of Tim’s voice.

“I’ll start out caressing your back. And then your stomach. And as I remember, you liked it when I touched your breasts, too.”

“You have a good memory.”

“Of you, yes. I have some very, very good memories.”

I smiled. I was tired of fighting everything.

“Once you’re ready, I’ll slide inside you.”

“Tim. You promised. No sex.”

“Until we’re in it together.”

“I’m not in it.”

I said the words, but something had happened. Down there. He’d just made me wet. Where I’d been nothing but dry since James had defiled me.

So much was happening so quickly. I’d gone from being in cold storage for ten years to living in the eye of a hurricane. Some of my tension came from the deadline. I knew that.

And some of the emotional upheaval belonged to Annie and Blake, the hero and heroine in The Baby Gamble, the book I was immersed in. Annie was twice divorced, finished with love, and wanting a baby. Blake was a released political captive fighting inner demons that prevented him from loving. I think they were both stealing parts of themselves from me.

I was also beyond myself with excitement over the possibility of seeing my Tim again for the first time in almost thirty years.

And I was scared to death of losing him when he knew that I wasn’t coming to him as a complete woman. I could give him sex. After our phone call the other night, I was pretty sure I would if he asked. Tim had made it pretty clear he wanted a future with me. And I wanted one with him, too. I couldn’t pretend otherwise. But I knew better than to hope for it. Tim wouldn’t settle for one-sided pleasure—even if the side was his.

Friday morning I heard from my publicist that I was set up to sign books in Atlanta the following Thursday. I texted the news to him. He texted back that he was going to be in Atlanta.

He called then, from his desk at work, to find out my travel details. By the time we hung up, my heart was pounding and I had to go outside for some fresh air. I was hot. And cold. And excited. And scared as hell.

I’d done it. I’d committed to meeting Tim in Atlanta. I had my hotel. He had his. I was arriving Wednesday night—Valentine’s night. He would be there sometime Thursday.