Page 51 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

He waved a hand dismissively. “Not for this. For last night. For letting me love you. For giving me”—he shrugged as if lost for words—“yourself.”

“Oh, Merrill,” she said, and went over to him. Sitting on his lap, she buried her face in his neck and wept. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe that was the reason for her insomnia. Too much emotion walled up, and now her defenses were suddenly giving way.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to make you sad,” he apologized once she dabbed at her eyes with a paper napkin.

“You didn’t.” She moved off his lap and sat on the chair next to him. Motioning for him to eat and drink, she began to explain. “I was a bit emotional because I’m the one who should be thankful. No, I’m not just saying that. You have to understand, you released me last night, with your lovemaking.”

“Release? Well, that’s another word for it.”

“Not that kind of release, you fool. Last night was a first for me.”

“You weren’t a virgin.”

“No, not technically. But, in some ways, I was.”

He tilted his head in question. “This is all related to the one guy you’ve been with, your baby’s father, right?” he guessed.

She nodded. “Davie . . . David Zekus.”

“Has he ever been in your daughter’s life? Maggie’s life?”

She was surprised that he remembered her daughter’s name. “Never!”

“Because he didn’t want to be?”

“Because he’s in prison.”

He was clearly shocked.

She was shocked, too, that she’d blurted out that secret. She probably should have told him Davie was dead. Same thing.

“And when he gets out?”

“He’ll never get out.”

“What—”

“No, I don’t want to talk about Davie anymore. He’s past history. Long dead to me and Maggie. But my connection with him . . . we grew up together before we became high school sweethearts . . . and his betrayal later were more than just a ‘He done me wrong’ song. He hurt me more than I can say, and it changed me. Trust, or lack of trust, has kept me frozen.”

“So I thawed you out,” he teased.

“You could say that.”

“Wanna melt some more? That tiny shower of yours has to have been made for a scarecrow, but I bet if we’re really careful we could fit in together.”

“Oh, I don’t know . . .”

“Hey, here’s a better idea. How about a game of drizzle and lick?”

“Huh? Do you mean dribble and kick?” He’d been making all kinds of ball game references during the night.

“No, sweetheart, I mean drizzle . . .” He reached over and dipped his finger in her honey glaze again, then let it drizzle in a heart shape on her hand which was resting on the table. “. . . and lick.” Before she could react, he lifted her hand to his mouth and laved the sweetness off with his tongue. Holding her gaze then, his caramel eyes dancing with mischief, he asked, “Wanna play?”

“You’re crazy.”

“The shower would make more sense then.”

“You’re crazy.”