Romeo Fails (18 page)

“Kitchen,” he said, gesturing with his injured arm. “I don’t want to bleed all over her carpet.”

He must have learned the layout of the house when he delivered the rocking chair, she surmised. He knocked on the wooden frame of the screen door with his good hand. They could hear low music playing inside the house and smell something good cooking. Pot roast, maybe.

“Shaw! What happened?”

Dr. Melba had flung open the door with all her usual vigor and seemed shocked by the sight of a bloody Shaw on her doorstep, although his scarlet stains were more Beaujolais than Type O.

“Well, come in, come in,” the doctor told the both of them before Shaw could explain. After a three-second examination of his cut, she took him off to the bathroom to clean up. During the approximately ten minutes they were gone, Dorsey checked her watch and the clock on the wall about five times. Sarah was due to meet her at the house at seven and she hadn’t even started cooking yet. She fidgeted while she waited, wandering around the kitchen and peering at Dr. Melba’s possessions. She hadn’t put much of a personal stamp on the house yet, but to be fair, she had been working hard on building up her practice in the six months she’d been in town.

Finally, the doctor and the patient returned to the kitchen. Shaw now sported a small bandage on his forearm and was wearing a clean T-shirt touting the Chicago marathon. Dorsey thought it was a bit above and beyond of Dr. Melba to loan Shaw a shirt, but maybe she was hoping to gain him as a permanent patient. In any event, he looked much better and had some color back in his cheeks.

“Well, thanks for waiting, Dorse,” he said, “but I’ve got it from here. You can go home now. I’ll settle up with Dr. Porter.”

“Don’t you want a ride?” she said.

“No, I’m cool. I can walk.”

Dorsey guessed he didn’t want her to drop him off at his date’s house because he didn’t want her to know who she was. Probably a Lucchese, although Shaw usually had better judgment than that. Yuck.

“Don’t you have raw chicken in the truck?” Shaw reminded her, clearly ready for her to be gone.

She did. And she was anxious to get home and start cooking. Not to mention she needed to change out of her work clothes herself.

“All right,” she said, “then I guess I’ll see you—whenever.”

“Whenever,” he said.

“Thank you, Dr. Porter,” Dorsey said politely to the other woman.

“Oh, call me Melba,” she replied, which surprised Dorsey a bit, but pleased her as well. Out of her white physician’s coat and work attire, she seemed more relaxed in her home setting. She was casually dressed in sandals and a sundress, which made her look younger and less intimidating. Almost kind of cute, Dorsey thought. Well, almost.

“Okay, thanks, Melba. Have a good evening.”

“You too, Dorsey.”

* * *

She was only halfway through chicken Kiev when the front doorbell rang at seven o’clock exactly.

“Come on in!” she hollered. “I’m in the kitchen!”

She heard the front door open and close. Heard the clunk of Sarah’s bag being dropped on a chair in the living room. Heard Sarah’s distinctive, unhurried, heel-to-toe gait approach. She’d read about women getting weak in the knees but always figured that was romantic bullshit—what she was feeling as her lover drew near was far from weakness and most definitely not in the knees.

“Sorry,” Dorsey called halfway over her shoulder. “I’m running a little late here and I’ve got my hands full of chicken breasts.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Sarah murmured in her ear as she came up behind her, encircling her waist with her arms, then sliding her hands up to gently caress Dorsey’s breasts. She kissed Dorsey’s cheek, then the nape of her neck, rubbing up against her back.

“Not fair,” Dorsey said, grinning. “Let me go so I can wash this goo off my hands and give you a proper greeting.”

“There’s a joke in there somewhere, I think, but I’ll settle for a kiss,” Sarah said, releasing her from the embrace. Dorsey washed and dried her hands at the sink, then pulled Sarah in for a long, slow kiss. And then another.

The kiss finally ended, but the moment lingered. Dorsey opened her eyes to find that Sarah’s were still closed. She tightened her arms about her and touched her lips to Sarah’s temple.

“Sorry about dinner not being ready,” she said. “I got caught up at the store, then I had to help Shaw with something and I—”

“Hey, slow down, slow down, take a breath,” Sarah said with mock alarm, sliding her hands down Dorsey’s arms as she took two steps back. “We’ve got all night together. Right?”

Dorsey took her advice literally and breathed in deeply, then out.

“Right,” she said with satisfaction. “All night. Goodman’s in GC overnight and I’m not expecting Shaw home, either, so we’ve got the whole house to ourselves for at least twelve hours. And Mags and her mother aren’t due back until Sunday afternoon, right?”

“Affirmative. So how can I help with this goo situation?”

Dorsey finished up the chicken while Sarah made a salad, then set the table in the dining room. They worked well together, Dorsey realized. There was no competition between them. They complemented each other, encouraged each other, razzed each other, had a hell of a good time together. It wasn’t any one big thing—it was all the little things. She laughed more with Sarah than with anybody else—even Mags, she thought, with just the tiniest twinge of conscience.

It was odd, when she thought about it later, that it was cooking with Sarah—cooking, of all things!—that first made her realize she had fallen in love. This wasn’t just a summer romance for her. It wasn’t just sex with the Naked Silver Lake Goddess. It had grown into something much deeper and wider. Something so huge it almost scared her. Something she had always dreamed about, but never thought was meant for her. True love? She had no way of knowing, nothing to compare it to. But when she looked at Sarah, it filled her up inside. She didn’t just want her physically. Something about being with Sarah made Dorsey feel like she was finally coming to life after a long hibernation. She loved touching Sarah, making love to her, exploring her body—but she also loved her patience, her kindness, her humor, her sense of adventure, her mischievous streak, her curiosity, her intelligence…

She put the chicken in the oven and set the timer, then got the fancy cloth napkins from her mother’s china cabinet. Sarah was just finishing setting out the silverware and crystal goblets. Dorsey stood by her side and admired the beautiful table. It was all very domestic. Very…tranquil. As Sarah entwined her arm in hers, Dorsey felt like she’d known her all her life.

“Are we done?” she said. “What else can I do?”

“Hmmm,” Dorsey replied, adding a napkin to each place setting. “Looks pretty perfect. Oh, wait, you can light the candles. Let me find some matches…”

“No problem,” Sarah said, “I’ve got a lighter in my bag.”

Surprised, Dorsey watched as Sarah returned from the living room with an ornate, heavy-looking silver cigarette lighter in her hand. She carefully lit both of the deep red tapers.

“Uh…do you smoke?” Dorsey asked her, hoping she’d hidden at least some of her disapproval of the habit. She’d never smelled any smoke on Sarah, though—surely she didn’t smoke?

“Oh, no. I quit smoking a few years ago, thank goodness. This was my grandfather’s lighter. He died when I was in college. It’s just a keepsake now, although it does come in handy once in a while, like for candles. I can’t quite bring myself to throw it out. It reminds of him, you know?”

“I know. I feel the same way about my dad’s workshop, I guess. Hey, would you like to see it? We’ve got about forty-five minutes until the chicken’s ready.”

“Only if you show me the rest of the house as well.”

Dorsey gave Sarah the full tour of the big old house in the waning daylight, saving the workshop for last. As they stood in the doorway, Sarah inhaled deeply, taking in the aromas Dorsey loved so much—the smell of the different woods, even the turpentine. She bent over the dining room table Dorsey was currently working on to look closely at the wood, then ran her hands over its shining, smooth surface. She looked up at Dorsey, who was standing there shyly awaiting her opinion, with something close to amazement.

“This is spectacular, Dorse. It’s just so beautiful. And I can’t wait to see what you’re going to do with the chairs!”

“Well, thanks,” was all a blushing, but delighted, Dorsey could manage to stutter in reply.

“No, I mean it,” Sarah earnestly insisted. “Seriously, Dorse, you should be selling this stuff for thousands of dollars, not giving it away. I don’t know if you know how talented you are.”

“It’s just a hobby…”

“Collecting stamps is a hobby, baby. This is art! I can see your heart, your soul in every piece of your work, Dorsey. I can see what it means to you. And it’s beautiful—just like you are.”

Dorsey looked at her for a long moment, her expression solemn, her eyes shining. But she didn’t speak.

“Did you hear me?” an impassioned Sarah demanded, taking a step toward her.

“Yeah, but…did you just call me baby?”

What could have been another epic make-out session was cut short by the shrill buzzing of the kitchen timer, heard across the yard through the open kitchen window.

After dinner, they sat entwined together in the oversized recliner in the living room that was Goodman’s prize possession. It was big enough so that even his extra large frame could stretch out in it and relax after a hard day at the store. It was more than big enough for the two of them. Sarah sat on Dorsey’s lap with Dorsey’s arm around her while they shared a bowl of ice cream and watched an old movie on cable, a favorite of both of theirs as it turned out:
The Deep
with Jacqueline Bisset, Robert Shaw, Nick Nolte and Lou Gossett, Jr. Okay, mostly with Jacqueline Bisset.

And when it was time, they went through the house together, turning off all the lights, then hand in hand, slowly down the stairs to bed.

Chapter Eleven

Saturday morning. Sarah was asleep in her arms. Dorsey relished the chance to watch her sleep. These moments with Sarah had become so precious to her. She carefully pushed a lock of coal-black hair away from Sarah’s forehead, then ran a fingertip lightly over her delicate eyebrow, just to feel the smoothness of it under her finger.

She had almost forgotten what it was like to wake up with someone else. She could feel the warmth of Sarah’s body next to hers under the covers. Could feel her breathing on her shoulder. She stretched lazily, trying not to wake Sarah.

Sarah stirred, then spoke without opening her eyes.

“Hey,” she said sleepily. “Are you starving? I’m starving.”

“I’ll be happy to make you some breakfast,” Dorsey replied. “Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want,” Sarah repeated drowsily, then turned to bury her face in Dorsey’s neck.

Dorsey waited a few moments, then when Sarah’s breathing became slow and measured again, she gently untangled herself and went upstairs. She was at the kitchen counter drinking a glass of orange juice when she heard Sarah coming up the basement stairs not too much later.

“Are your brothers here?” Sarah asked in a stage whisper from the doorway to the stairs. “Do we have to be quiet?”

“Nope, I know Good’s not back from GC yet ’cause his truck’s not in the driveway,” she said with a glance out the kitchen window. “And if Shaw’s here, he needs to be up anyhow. He’s supposed to be at the store by seven thirty this morning to open.”

“What about you? Are you working today?”

“Yeah, I’m due there at noon.”

There was fresh coffee in the pot. The kitchen was bright and warm with sunshine slanting in from the east-facing windows. Sarah had reclaimed her festival tank top, temporarily at least. Since their sleepover had been planned, she’d brought a few things of her own, including the flannel pajama pants she now wore. Dorsey appreciated just how low those flannel PJs rode on Sarah’s slender hips. Sarah poured them each a cup of coffee while Dorsey checked out the food situation.

“Looks like we’ve got some doughnuts here. Some melon too. What appears to be somebody’s sub sandwich. And eggs and bacon, of course, if you want the full deal.”

“The coffee’s fine for now,” Sarah said. “Do you mind if we check out the news? I’m curious to see what the weather forecast is. I was going to check it on my phone but I can’t find it. Maybe I left it at home.”

They went back to the recliner in the living room where Sarah sat on Dorsey’s lap with Dorsey’s arm around her while they drank their coffee. Dorsey tuned in the local news from a Grover City station just in time for the weather report. More storms were in their future, which was not surprising for that time of year. At least it wasn’t tornado season yet. She hit the mute button as a commercial came on and set the remote down next to her thigh.

“Hey,” Sarah said, as if suddenly remembering something, “I meant to ask you about your bed—did you build that yourself?”

“Of course,” Dorsey said. “Why? Does it matter?”

“Well, it just—” Sarah started, then stopped.

“What?”

“It just makes it even more special,” Sarah said slowly, looking deep within her coffee mug. She leaned over to set it on the end table without making eye contact.

“So…was it special?” Dorsey asked her.

Sarah met her eyes then. “Yeah,” she said, nodding. “It was.” She looked at Dorsey, studying her for a moment. “And for you?” she finally asked.

“The best I’ve ever had,” Dorsey said simply.

Sarah smiled a huge smile and leaned over to brush her lips against Dorsey’s. “I’m so glad I found you again,” she said.

Dorsey felt a burst of pure happiness. It just felt so right with Sarah—from the way their bodies fit together to the different ways they’d found to please each other already. It was like they had known each other in another life. Or for much longer in this one.

The kiss that followed was slow and tender and exploratory. Much was familiar after all the time they’d spent together in the week before, but there were still new surprises to be discovered. Dorsey’s hips moved in the chair, a slight moan escaping her as Sarah teased her with short, sweet, wet kisses with a pause in between each that was only a moment, but on the brink of unbearably long nevertheless. She loved the feeling of Sarah’s weight pinning her to the chair, holding her back while she strained ever forward, ever upward. It was then Sarah’s turn to moan as Dorsey’s hand moved up her flannel-clad thigh and in between her legs to first gently, then demandingly stroke and coerce. A gasp broke from Sarah’s lips as she twisted to receive the tantalizing touch of Dorsey’s strong fingers. Dorsey’s lips were on Sarah’s throat now, with Sarah’s arms wrapped around her with all her might.