Dating A Silver Fox (Never Too Late) (29 page)

“It’s okay. I love hearing sincere regret in your voice,” Morrie said, smiling as he walked to where she sat. “Keep the apology though. I’d rather have a kiss in front of Harrison so I can stake my claim. And no I don’t have a bet running on it this time.”

Lydia turned up her cheek and pointed to it. “Fine. Here you go then. Kiss me.”

Morrie growled as Lydia laughed quietly. Then he swore under his breath and grabbed her chin, tilting her mouth to his and kissing her hotly. He liked her resistant and huffy, but he liked her humbled and compliant better. It would have been very easy to let the kiss get out of hand even with the nosy Harrison looking on.

“What have you done to me? Kissing you is all I think about these days,” Morrie declared, freeing her chin at last.

“Lately, it’s all I think about too,” Lydia agreed, dragging her gaze away. “You’re getting harder to avoid.”

“I believe the actual word you’re looking for is
impossible
,” Morrie said with a knowing grin.

“Damn,” Harrison said, rubbing his chin. “I may have to buy myself a girlfriend. The sexual tension between you two is electrifying.”

“Buying a woman is the only way you’ll ever get one again,” Morrie teased, tying the balloon to the end of the hospital bed.

“If I had known persistence would have worn her down, I’d have had more luck a decade ago,” Harrison bragged.

“You dated Harrison?” Morrie asked, frowning at the highly disturbing thought, but also laughing as the older man squirmed under Lydia’s glare.

“Only in his dreams,” Lydia answered sharply, crossing her arms. “Oh, Harrison asked me out plenty of times. It wasn’t that I didn’t like him either. Harrison—despite his bad driving—is mostly a good man.”

Morrie frowned. “Now I’m confused.”

“Welcome to my world,” Lydia said, rising to head to the door. “Harrison—drink water. Morrie, I’m ordering in tonight. If you want to eat with me, try to be at the house by seven-thirty so the food doesn’t get cold.”

“Yes, dear,” Morrie answered, making a mental note to ask her more about dating Harrison later.

They hadn’t seen each other in private since he’d spent the night, but he’d sent flowers to apologize for being snippy that morning. In Regina’s office, she hadn’t said much, other than she wasn’t ready to commit to the orgasmic meditation practice. Regina had gotten tired of them not really communicating and kicked them out with nothing new being resolved.

When the door closed behind her, Morrie turned his gaze back to the grinning man in the bed. Harrison gave him an assessing look and snorted.

“Well, I guess I can die happy now if I kick off soon,” Harrison said. “If you love her, that’s more than William McCarthy ever did. Do you love her?”

Morrie nodded. “Yes,” he said, backing up the nod with another one. “I love her.”

“Double or nothing the woman turns out to be a stick of dynamite in the sack,” Harrison declared.

“I can’t take that bet,” Morrie said. “I already know that about her.”

“But she said you hadn’t slept together yet—or well, not technically anyway,” Harrison admitted.

“You’re lying,” Morrie accused.

“We were talking about it just before you came in,” Harrison said.

“You’re telling me Lydia McCarthy confessed the details of our private life to you when she won’t even tell her own daughter we’re dating?” Morrie demanded, hands in his pockets as he considered whether or not the meddling man was telling the truth.

“Have you told Jane that you slept over at Lydia’s house?” Harrison asked.

“Good point,” Morrie said, nodding again. “I just find it hard to believe Lydia is confiding in you of all people.”

“I’ve loved her longer than you have,” Harrison informed him, letting the truth out at last. “But I knew long ago she was never going to love me back. She didn’t have it in her. Today was the closest she’s ever come to admitting we’ve been long-time friends. You’re obviously a better man than I was with her. So I’m stepping completely aside now.”

Morrie laughed, a deep resounding belly laugh. “You’re stepping aside? I believe the correct description for that stance is you’re striking out, as in ‘still striking out’ with the Widow McCarthy, whereas I am not.”

Harrison stuck out his bottom lip in a pout. “Well, you’re not much further along than I got with her. Lydia has only let you a little ways into her life. I’ve had plenty of dinners with her, so don’t start throwing that in my face. Maybe you even slept in her bed, but there’s nothing in her eyes to prove anything happened between you.”

Morrie snickered. “Stop fishing for details. I got to first base and that’s all I’m saying. The woman has the breasts of a twenty year old. Can you top that?”

Harrison frowned. “Bastard.”

“Not to her,” Morrie said. “And yes, I feel possessive already and intend to guard what I consider my territory from old goats who flirt too much.”

“Look who’s talking. So what? Lydia like a piece a property to you?” Harrison demanded. “She’s had that before.”

“More like she’s a blessing and a curse all at once,” Morrie said sincerely, easing down into the chair beside the bed.

“I hear you,” Harrison said sincerely. “Did I ever tell you about my wife? Doris was the most amazing woman that ever lived.”

“She must have been to put up with you and create your progeny,” Morrie teased. “Tell me about her. Just keep the story to an hour. I don’t want to be late for dinner.”

Harrison laughed. “Doris and I met when I ran over her golf clubs. I was racing on the back nine. . .”

Morrie was already laughing before the story had barely begun.

Chapter 22

Lydia put the pepper spray back on the shelf by the door and carried the take-out to the kitchen island, which was seeing its fair share of use these days. Maybe she needed new bar stools, big leather ones that would be more suitable for a man. It hadn’t occurred to her that the scrollwork delicate ones purchased a decade ago would ever be used so much by anyone but her.

First Jim and now Morrie were sitting in them regularly.

And of course, a very pregnant Lauren tended to fill one out as well, especially when she was in the last trimester. The thought of another grandchild had Lydia smiling as she set spots for two and folded each napkin into a shape she knew would make Morrie laugh.

Maybe Lauren and Jim would have a girl this time.

The cell phone on the counter rang interrupting her furniture and grandchild musings. She saw it was North Winds and answered quickly. Five minutes later she said goodbye and hung up, climbing up on a bar stool to put her forehead down on the cool granite counter.

It was all just part of being a volunteer there, she reminded herself. The woman had been sixty-four and a diabetic who refused to watch what she ate. And everyone at North Winds knew there hadn’t been anyone in the woman’s life to nag her to do the right things.

People died, and that was the end of it. Lydia well knew that, after years of volunteering in nursing homes and retirement centers. North Winds wasn’t even that bad compared to others.

Plus she hadn’t really known the person. All she had done was wash a few windows, sweep a few floors. It wasn’t like she had been a personal friend. A few months from now, someone else would be moved into the woman’s empty apartment—probably yet another lonely soul taking up residence at North Winds because they had no where else to go and no one to care.

Lydia thought of Harrison. Everything that happened seemed to hit her so much harder these days. If she was this distressed about the death of a virtual stranger, how would she feel if it had been him?

The woman had been younger than her. That’s what bothered her most about the situation. But the thought of Harrison passing did more than chill her. It made her realize that she was living an illusion, pretending to herself that the woman she saw in the mirror every day wasn’t going to end up like the people she helped.

Yet she undoubtedly would. It was just like Harrison said. One day they would all go into the hospital and it would just be too late to do anything more about anything important.

And here she was worrying about her lack of a sex life. Here she was trying—at her age—to have a relationship, as if she had all the time in the world at sixty-seven to even decide such things.

Maybe it was already too late. Maybe that part of life really had passed her by and the awkwardness of trying was one more exercise in futility. She wasn’t even able to read the book Regina had given her about seeking her own pleasure or to admit she was intimidated by a man’s erection—even when it was for her.

Lydia heard sniffling and realized it was coming from her nose. She touched her face and pulled away wet fingertips covered with make-up being washed off in the flood she suddenly couldn’t seem to stop. She stole a cloth napkin that moments ago she had artfully folded into a swan and put on Morrie’s plate. Shaking it out, Lydia dabbed her eyes, trying in vain to at least slow it.

It was all catching up to her, she decided. All the time she’d spent protecting her heart, protecting herself—really it had all been for nothing. Here she was hurting again anyway. She had won battle after battle in her life, but ultimately she was losing the same war everyone else lost.

And nothing had changed for her since the day she had given up and moved out of the master suite of this very house into the guest bedroom she still slept in to this day. The master suite was empty, a room set aside for ghosts that still haunted her. She’d had the room completely redone after William died but had never banished his memory from it enough to move back in there alone.

New furniture and accessories, in fact all the material possessions in the world, could never chase away the bad memories from a married life she had never wanted.

Lauren had been the only good thing to come of her marriage—her whole life really.

She probably should have divorced William when her mother died and could no longer judge her for it, but by then his heart condition had slowed him down. Her compassion kicked in, helped along by the residual guilt of believing she had failed him as a wife. Her fate ended up sealed by her gratitude for his promise to leave her his wealth if she stayed.

So she had done nothing. Absolutely nothing.

In all the little things in life, she held her ground, but when it came to the big risks—the ones that changed things for the better—she was a coward. Had always been a coward.

She was still being a coward.

She had told Morrie to do what he wanted, but she was afraid to tell him what she was feeling—what she wanted.

Thank God Lauren had turned out differently. If she hadn’t, there wouldn’t be a JD.

If Lauren had gone back to Jared, her daughter would have led the same miserable married life that she’d had with William. It would have been one more cycle not broken by taking a risk.

The thought of no laughing, well-loved grandson to adore her was even more chilling to her than the death of yet another North Winds resident. Sincere gratitude for her family brought on another fresh bout of tears and an ache in her chest that seemed to spread everywhere as she grieved the emptiness she had lived with for so long.

She was just reaching for the other swan when the doorbell rang. Glancing at the clock, Lydia slid off to go let Morrie in. The man was prompt to a fault and watched the clock as if being five minutes late came with some sort of penalty.

Not even bothering to check the peephole, she opened the door to the man who had pushed his way into what was left of her miserable life to share it with her. And what had she done for him? Nothing. She had failed him worse than William, because at least she wanted Morrie to find some pleasure in her.

She was simply being a coward—an emotional coward. For the hundred millionth time in her life, she was not taking the risk.

She watched the smile on his face disappear the longer he looked at her, only to be replaced by alarm. Lydia wasn’t surprised. She must look a frightful mess with her makeup ruined. He’d probably never seen a woman look so bad.

“You’ve been crying,” Morrie announced, his gaze darting over signs of her distress, trying to see the cause.

“My—aren’t you the observant man. Nothing ever gets by you, does it?” Lydia demanded as sharply as she could, but there was no heat in the sarcasm. “Stop staring, Morrison. Get in here and hug me. Haven’t you ever seen a crying woman before? I’m not dying. I’m just having an emotional epiphany. I’m blaming you and Harrison, but he isn’t here to fuss at over it.”

“Whatever you say,” Morrie said quietly, smiling shyly and coming in. He closed the door behind him and pulled her into his arms at the same time. “What’s wrong?”

“Just hug me and don’t ask questions for once.”

Lydia shook her head against his shirt, eyes still burning and hot with tears. She pulled away and saw mascara stains on the expensive fabric, even though they were swimming through blurry vision.

“Oh, shit. Look what I’ve done now. Your shirt may be ruined. This makeup was supposed to be waterproof,” she said, fingers touching the black smears on the fine fabric. She envisioned a hefty cleaning bill in her future. “And I probably look like one of those zombies everyone is talking about these days.”