Dustin held her gaze, shook his head, and then pressed a kiss to her lips. He was going to say something but held back. She could see that. He opened the front door and she followed him out on the porch. They walked between the yards, his arm around her.
Up on her porch the rocking chairs creaked, empty and out of synch. The breeze had picked up and the clouds were moving across the sky, no longer white billows but gray cotton candy.
“Looks like we’ll finally get some rain.”
“How long has it been?” She stood barefoot, a good head shorter than him. Only when she mounted a step and turned were they eye-to-eye.
He pulled her into his arms, encircling and pulling her to him. Dustin’s eyes were darker in the pre-storm bluster except when a bolt of lightning flashed. Her chest heaved and thunder boomed, but that’s not what made her quiver. She wanted to pour out the words yet she kept biting them back. Claire pressed her forehead to his, willing that he might understand all that she felt—minus the crazy bleeps of insanity that kept cropping up.
Inside, she tried out the words. She loved him. But they were stuck, super glued to her tongue.
“You better make a run for it.” She smiled.
He patted her rear-end. “Hmm.” He glanced up at the sky and kissed her. He moved his hands over her bottom. He lifted her, scooting her closer to him, leaving no doubt that he was ready for another session of lovemaking. “Imagine what I’d do to you if there wasn’t a storm brewing.”
She gasped. Partially from the impression of his erection pushing into her abdomen and partially because she wondered if he’d picked up on her inner turmoil. “I’ll take a rain check.”
“For sure. Believe it.” He released her and walked down the last two steps.
She blew him a kiss, and when he pretended to catch it, his action reverberated louder within her chest than the thunder crashing around them. Jasper barked, and Dustin waved before he was gone from her sight. The sky was in a state of panic, and she was thankful to blame the weather on the commotion present inside her.
Never mind what she’d read or written. This scene of parting lovers was far from idealistic, not one filled with enchanting uplifting prose, not at least from her point of view. Instead of settled, she was a kite flying way too high, free at last but in the middle of a building storm.
The plant baskets swung on the porch, bumping and swaying. Claire reached up and removed each one, setting them on the cement floor, close enough to the railing to gather rainwater without damage. She wiped her feet on the welcome mat, preparing to cross the threshold, and stopped to admire the power and intense beauty of Mother Nature.
Inside, her phone buzzed. She picked it up and read a message from Fran’s assistant. Her sister’s plane was on time and had just landed. Her body compressed with the force of a bungee jump leap and rebound. She breathed out, relieved in a way that this moment was finally here. She replaced the phone on the entryway table and examined her revelation. This wasn’t the proverbial light coming on. This was more akin to a solar flare. Several shades of her confusion and emotional upheaval were very much related to Fran’s arrival if not their whole unbalanced relationship. No matter what she might tell herself, there’d be no more sweeping issues under the rug. Their issues were now the size of a T-Rex—forget the elephant in the room.
She gazed into the entryway mirror. “Hello, stranger. Welcome home.”
She was ready. Sort of. She still wore her dress from last night. She dashed up the stairs, tearing off her clothes, and jumped into the shower. She changed into jeans, a shirt, and sneakers. In the downstairs hall, she pulled out one of her mother’s rain slickers and opened the front door. Rain fell in fat drops, splattering the driveway, and soon would begin to fall in earnest. She raced down the steps and across the yard. She flung open the gate and ran past Dustin’s Jeep. She pressed the doorbell and half-turned to watch the dance of lighting, far off in the west.
He opened the door and before he could say a word, she began. “I write erotica. You asked me about my plans. I’m quitting my job. It’s a real mess but I’m glad. I want to return to Seattle, pack everything up and come back here to live. I’m ready to try my hand at writing fiction for real. But I’m not going to hide anymore. This is who I am. Claire Robertson and I write hot, steamy sex scenes. I’m one of those writers, and if you’d care to read one of my stories, I’ll share.”
She’d done it. She waited for less than a second as he blinked and her heart pounded. When he smiled, she grinned back—so hard she thought her face might break in two.