Kenny purrs as she washes those pale stone eyes over me. “Hey…anybody can do the back of the truck,” she whispers it smooth like a promise. “But the roof at sunrise…how would you like to build that memory?”
“The roof,” I muse. “You, my love, are frightfully brilliant.”
“And eager to please.” She peels off her shirt in one lithe move.
I pull the sleeping bag over us, slip off both my sweats and Kenny’s as though they were one. Kenny closes her hand over me and guides me toward my newfound nirvana. I cup her breast and give a gentle squeeze.
“This is my new favorite way to start the day.” I inhale sharply as she pushes me deep inside her warm body.
My hands ride over her smooth skin, and I pull her knees up high to afford maximum entry. I secure her by the shoulders and push in with soft easy waves, trying not to launch either of us off the truck in the process.
When Kenny walked into my life, she blew all of my bad luck away like dust. Kenny is the anti-Blair, the one I could love forever and then that wouldn’t be enough. Together we were ushering in a new day with all of our explosive passion, the frigid mountain air can’t cool the fire brewing inside the two of us. Kenny peeled away the old memories, the ones born of pain and yearning. She filled in the crevices of my thirsty soul better than my father could have, far better than any of those one-night stands could ever hope to do. This is a new dawn in our lives, the beginning of the best season—the very first bite of sweet, delicious fruit that would satisfy for a lifetime.
We ride the waves of our affection, and I hold out until she’s panting, just about to detonate. Then I release, and we shake uncontrollably for a few of the most blissful moments that love has to offer.
I always want to remember Kenny like this—the kiss of a new day, glowing over her skin.
“Good or great?” I heave the words in her ear through a ragged breath.
“Neither.” She plants a wet kiss over my lips. “It was perfect.”
Her hair encircles her marble features like a charcoal-colored wreath. Her eyes reflect the virginal morning light, clear as cellophane.
“I think we’re perfect Kenny.” I collapse over her just as the sun pierces us with its luminescent joy.
We birthed a new memory at sunrise. We made it happen.
With Kenny all things are possible.
Weeks sweep by, and the bed and breakfast, much like my mother, is hobbling on its last leg. Thank God for Molly, crutches, and home health nurses who are willing to pop in every now again. But, mostly, thank God for Kenny, who not only brings Mom and Molly hot meals, but is helping out at the salon when needed.
Mom and I sit in her bedroom, which she sacrificially ventured up to on my behalf.
She takes a breath after espousing the woes of the B&B. “I’ve got one couple next weekend, but after that, it’s dead.” She laments while digging through the top drawer of her antique dresser.
The furniture has been in the family for generations—sage and cream oak, inlaid with carvings that decorate the edges. Mom took the smallest room in the house to make sure the guests would have a great view of the stream out back and the sun as it sets over the hillside. Molly has a room downstairs behind the kitchen, and now that Mom is gimpy, she’s bunking in my old room next door. But today, she hobbled up a flight of stairs to gift me with what’s going to be one of the most treasured memories I have ever known.
“You didn’t give this to Blair,” she says, cradling my grandmother’s ring in the cup of her hand.
“Nope. Went store-bought, three months of imaginary wages down the drain, but I’m not too broken up over it.”
“That’s because I let you sell my vintage Beetle for the damn thing.” Her marionette lines depress as she holds back a laugh. “Honey, you sure you’re ready for this?” Her voice shakes as she hands me the round platinum band. It holds a simple diamond in the center and winks in the light as if my grandmother herself approved of the situation.
“I’m more than sure.”
“You could take your time—sew your wild oats. If she’s really the one, things will work out in the end.”
“Sewing my oats wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”
“I figured those bad boy shoes never really fit you.” She runs her fingers through my hair and lifts my chin in her direction.
My mother has aged decades these last few years. She used to believe in love, have men in her life, and brim with excitement each day, then the last one took off and she never recovered.
“How about you?” I toss the ring in the air and catch it. “Are you writing off that chapter in your life, or are the books still open to finding that perfect someone?”