She giggled. “Misters. It helps keep it a little cooler out here. Leaves you feeling all dewy, but a little cooler at least.”

“Uh, dewy?” I asked.

“You know, fresh out of the shower, wet?” she said, completely oblivious to the image she had managed to put in my head.

I nodded, my mouth feeling very dry. “Yeah, got it.”

We each sipped our coffee in silence.

“So, Rico’s? Do you go there a lot?” I asked, feeling like an idiot. Wasn’t that the most overused pickup line ever?

She smiled. “Actually, I used to go there quite a bit, but last night was the first time I’ve been there in a really long time.”

I nodded. “My bro

ther dragged me out. That’s one of his favorite spots to eat, but I don’t usually go with him.”

“He dragged you out?” she questioned.

I sighed. “Yeah, I’ll admit I’m a bit of a recluse. An introvert, really.”

“No! You? I would have never guessed.” She giggled, sending shivers down my spine.

I couldn’t stop myself from touching her hand that rested on the table. When my fingers touched hers, she looked at me but didn’t pull back.

“Why did he have to drag you out?” she asked.

Another deep breath and I prepared to tell her my sad, sordid story.

“My wife and little girl died a few years ago,” I started, feeling a little strange saying the words out loud to a woman who was basically a stranger. “Since then, I kind of, faded away, I guess you could say.”

She turned her hand over and squeezed mine, encouraging me to continue.

“I don’t do all that well in public.” I winced.

Another squeeze followed by a warm smile.

I cleared my throat. “My wife, Miriam, she was the social butterfly. She was always dragging me to social functions. When I was with her, I was comfortable. I didn’t mind meeting new people or jumping into her social circle. When she died, I felt, I don’t know—adrift. Alone. She was my anchor to that world. When she was gone, I drifted back into my lonely little corner. It’s where I’m the most comfortable.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “No, I’m not. I mean, I am, but not like that. Never mind, I sound like an idiot. What I meant is, I’m sorry you stuck yourself back in that corner, and I am sorry your wife and daughter died, but I know the last thing you want to hear is someone saying sorry. It gets old,” she explained.

I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, it does. You seem to be talking from experience. How do you know that?”

She looked down at our joined hands. “How do you do it?” she asked, in such a quiet voice I almost didn’t hear.

“Do what?”

She waved her free hand in the air. “Get through it. The grief, the sadness, and wanting to stay in your house all day.”

It was then I realized she was suffering from serious grief as well. I jumped at the chance to help her. I wanted to soothe away those lines in her forehead. I wouldn’t ask her for the details. She would tell me when she was ready.

“It’s a day to day thing. Every day is different. Some days it’s like you didn’t have your heart ripped out. Other days, you want to fucking die. It sucks. I wish there was a secret, but I don’t know it,” I said, gazing into her eyes, and watching the emotions cross her face.

She nodded.“Doesn’t it?” she said, with a weird, almost mischievous smile.

It slightly alarmed me.

She threw her head back, exposing that beautiful neck that was now glistening from the mist. She laughed, before meeting my eyes again. “It sucks. Death is bullshit. I think we should all get to live forever or have suicide pacts. When one of your family or loved ones has to die, you all die together.”

Tags: Claire Adams Erotic
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