Geoducks Are for Lovers (27 page)

Finishing in the bathroom, she throws on her nightgown, and walks back into the moonlit room.

She climbs on her side of the bed and faces the edge. Gil spoons her.

“We okay?” he asks quietly.

“I think so. We’re adults. We can handle this.”

“Mmm, we can handle anything. Together.” He dips his head to kiss her neck.

Her eyes are heavy and she snuggles into his warmth. “No Cocteau Twins this time,” she mumbles.

“Are you falling asleep on me?”

“Sorry.” 

“Sleep, beautiful.” He leans down, and she lifts her head to kiss him.

After a moment, he whispers, “I love you, Maggie.”

She tries to keep her breath steady and even as if she is asleep. 

He loves her. 

He loves her. 

He loves her.

Twenty-five

Gil’s soft snoring breaks the quiet as Maggie tries to fall asleep. Sleep eludes her while her thoughts spin with images of their lovemaking, past and present.

He shifts away from her on the bed, but his leg still touches hers after he rolls on his stomach. She curls up and watches him before her eyelids get heavy.

A soft scratching at the door wakes her up. She stares at the ceiling as the pale light of predawn slowly brightens the day. Curled on his side facing her, his arm is draped over her belly as she lies on her back. She carefully moves his arm and gets out of bed to let Biscuit into the room.

Biscuit jumps up and curls by Gil’s feet. She scratches the dog’s head before getting back into bed. Gil’s eyes open when she settles beside him. He blinks a few times. 

“Hey,” he says, reaching out for her.

“Hey.” She moves into his arms. Whatever chaos is inside her head and heart, she’s going to enjoy this quiet moment with him before reality sets in.

“So last night wasn’t a dream?”

“No. You’re naked in my bed.”

“Hmm. Good. What time is it?”

“Six,” she answers after looking at her clock.

“Way too early to get up.”

He leans down to kiss her, keeping his mouth closed, and his morning breath to himself. She responds and wraps her arms around him. Curving into one another, his arousal brushes her leg.

“Sorry about that.” He rolls his hips back.

“No apologies. Glad to know some things don’t change.” 

Kissing by her ear, he whispers, “Shame to let something like that go to waste given my advanced age.” He nips her earlobe.

Playful Gil is her favorite. Looking into his eyes, she sees no apprehension about his declaration as she drifted off to sleep. She kisses him more thoroughly—morning breath be damned.

Their movement disturbs Biscuit, who sighs and gets off the bed, curling up on his cushion by the window before turning his face to the wall.

“I think the dog judged us.” Gil laughs, leaning up to see Biscuit.

“He did,” she agrees, rolling on her side.

“Dog judgment kind of kills the mood, doesn’t it?” His arm covers his eyes.

“Does it? It’s not like he’s staring at us.” 

“There’s that. Come here.” He pulls her back into him. She yawns and tries to hide it behind her hand.

“Sorry.”

“More sleep?”

“More sleep.” She kisses the side of his mouth and lays her head on his chest. Stroking her hair, he lulls her back to sleep.

* * *

She opens her eyes again and the room is brighter. 

“Morning,” she says, as Gil stirs beside her.

“Morning part deux.”

It’s still early, but no longer dawn. She stretches out, catches him watching her, and yawns.

“Doesn’t seem right to be up this early on a Sunday.” He looks over at the clock: 8:00.

“It doesn’t. But we don’t need to get up because we are awake.” He moves toward her. She blinks at him, chasing the sleep cobwebs from her mind, and yawns again, covering her mouth with the back of her hand to avoid blowing morning breath in his face.

“Be right back.” She crawls out of bed and goes into the bathroom. Doubt, insecurity, and confusion are creeping back in as the day brightens outside.

When she returns, Gil is stretched out on his stomach across most of the bed, rubbing Biscuit’s belly. 

“Want me to leave you two alone?”

“I’d prefer you and Biscuit switching places.”

“You want to rub my belly?”

“Sure. I was more thinking I’d like you back in bed, but if a belly rub is what you want, I’m happy to oblige.” He pats the bed.

“I should let him out.” At the word “out” Biscuit’s ears perk up.

“Why do I have the feeling if I let you leave this room, whatever enchantment we were under last night will be broken?”

She looks at him without answering and senses her shell reforming. Wanting to avoid any talk of last night, or confessions, or what next, she moves toward the door, giving him a soft smile.

“I’ll come back, I promise.” She grabs a short, striped, gray robe from a hook on her door. Biscuit jumps off the bed.

True to her word, she returns a few minutes later without Biscuit.

“Looks like we are the first ones awake. The house is still quiet.” She gets back on the bed, but leaves on her robe. 

Stretching his body, he reaches out and touches her leg—the only thing he can touch of her as she perches on the edge of the bed.

“I guess more sleep is off the table.”

“I’m wide awake now,” she mumbles, another small yawn escaping.

“I can tell,” he says, laughing.

A quiet falls over them as he strokes her leg and she gazes out the window at the water.

Turning to face him, she opens her mouth to speak at the same time he does.

“About last night—”

“So—”

They laugh.

“Go first.”

“No, you go first,” she says, putting her hand over his.

“This feels awkward.” Brushing his other hand through his hair, he meets her eyes, and gives her a small smile.

“What is it about the bright light of day?” Her laugh is full of nervous energy. 

His nervous laugh mirrors hers. “Okay, I’ll go first.” Sitting up, he turns toward her, so she can see his face more clearly.

“What happened last night wasn’t a one-off thing for me. This weekend has been more than I could’ve hoped for. You need to know this. This wasn’t about sex for me. Not after all this time. Not now, not twenty-two years ago.”

Maggie watches his face while playing with her hands in her lap. She shifts her legs, tucking one leg under the other. Her silence encourages him to continue.

“I didn’t come here to win you over or back or anything. There was no winning on my mind. I wanted to see you again. Then I saw you and everything came into focus.” 

Maggie reminds herself to stay calm and listen to him. Should she tell him she heard his whispered words last night? Can she pretend she didn’t and hope this isn’t going where she thinks it is? She isn’t ready and feels her anxiety rising at the thought of facing her feelings. 

“Gil…” she says, touching his hand.

He continues, “I need to say these things and you need to hear them. I’m not waiting another twenty-two years.” 

She braces herself, remembering to breathe in, breathe out.

“Maggie, I couldn’t tell you when I fell in love with you, but this weekend has reminded me that I can’t remember a time when I haven’t loved you.”

A breath catches in her throat as she listens to his words.

“I think you know I love you. Not past tense, not friendly love. Love. Love that lassoes the moon and lays it at your feet.” His heart beats a steady, but nervous cadence.

Staring at him, she can only blink as his words wash over her. 

“I’ve loved other women and nothing compares to my love for you. Maybe we were meant to go off and love other people. Maybe now we realize what a gift we’ve been given. I love you, Maggie.”

He sits quietly, watching her face.

“You love me,” is all she manages. Her vocabulary and ability to string words together abandon her. Thankfully, nothing pithy or joking comes out either.

“I do love you.”

More silence fills the space between them.

“You’ve always loved me,” she continues.

“Pretty much. Yes.”

“You’re telling me this now.”

“I am.”

Her chest feels too small for the heart beating inside it. Controlling her breath, she tries to think of what she should say. Does she love Gil? Of course she does. 

“You know you love me, too,” he says, reaching out for her hand while looking in her eyes.

It’s overwhelming. She turns from his look, focusing on the small waves in the water beyond her windows.

She does love him. 

“You know I love you, Gil. You were one of my best friends at a very intense point in our lives.” It sounds lame even to her own ears. She is too scared to admit more.

“Yes, we were best friends. This is a different kind of love, though, and you know it.”

She nods.

“Maggie, be open. That’s all I ask. It’s a big thing to ask of you, I know.”

Conscious she is anything but open right now, she pulls her robe tighter and curls into herself. Her physical self mirrors her emotions.

“Open?”

“Yeah, the exact opposite of what you are right now.” Tugging on her robe sash, he leans in toward her. “Let me in, Maggie.”

“You’ve been in, if I remember correctly.” She blushes at the double meaning.

“Yes, I have. But I was talking about your heart, not your body.”

“My head is spinning. I just… I never expected all this.”

He still holds the tie to her robe. They both look down to where he is tethered to her.

“I need coffee. I need a shower. I need to think.”

“Coffee and shower sound good. It’s the thinking I’m worried about.” He releases the tie of her robe. “Hop in the shower and I’ll go start the coffee.” Getting up, he kisses her forehead and she leans into his touch.

* * *

Mind spinning, heart clenching, she walks into the bathroom and starts the shower. Facing the mirror, she reminds herself she is not a fickle twenty-something. She is a grown woman. She is wise. Hear her roar. 

Gil loves her.

Hot water pours over her, steam rises and fogs the mirror. She contemplates staying in the shower forever. It’s safe here, nothing has changed. Same soap, same shampoo, and the same pouf, which should have been replaced three months ago. Everything is same as it was yesterday, last week, last month. Safe. 

Her fingers are beginning to prune while she stands under the water.

Gil.

His name repeats on a loop in her head along with memories of his touch, his smell, and his taste. 

Gil loves her.

Foggy memories from college flicker in between the clear memories of last night. They weren’t drunk last night. There is no excuse she can blame. She simply wanted him in her bed again. 

When she remembers her house full of guests who might want showers, she turns off the faucet before she depletes all the hot water. She’s going to have to face Gil. She can do this. As long as he supports her plan to play it cool and not discuss it, she’ll be fine. She won’t freak out. She nods. Fine. Cool. Got it.

Fine.

Cool.

Gil.

Gil loves her.

* * *

Maggie finds a quiet kitchen when she walks downstairs. Biscuit basks in the sun out on the deck. The water is running in the outdoor shower. It must be Gil. 

Grabbing two cups for coffee, she makes one for herself and takes a long sip. The sound of the water shutting off alerts her to Gil finishing. She faces out the window above the sink, feeling shy, and wanting to give him some privacy. Yet she peeks when she hears him open the door.

“I wasn’t sure you were ever going to get out of the shower, so I figured I should bathe while there was hot water.” Walking into the kitchen, he dries his hair with the towel wrapped around his neck. He’s wearing his jeans from last night, but no shirt. 

Her eyes wander the paths of water drops on his chest.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart.” Breaking her trance, the realization she’s been sighing and staring at his chest flames her cheeks. “Not that I mind the staring. Just wasn’t sure where things stood this morning.” He ducks his head to catch her eye, smiling.

“Hi.”

Taking the mug she offers, he makes a cup for himself then leans against the counter, crossing his legs at the ankle—the picture of relaxed.

“Hi. Good shower?”

“Yeah. Sorry about the hot water. Was there enough?”

“There was, but if you weren’t downstairs when I finished I was going to break down the door to make sure you hadn’t fallen, and couldn’t get up.”

Attempting a laugh, she makes an off sound that is a cough crossed with a snort.

“So, this is awkward. Yes?” He stares at her over his cup as he drinks his coffee.

“It doesn’t have to be. I mean it shouldn’t be. It isn’t. Not really. Okay, maybe a little. Or a lot. Why is this awkward?” She babbles on for a bit before he stops her. 

“It doesn’t have to be. You were right the first time. I like you, you like me. We both liked what happened last night. We almost had a repeat of last night this morning. None of that was awkward. What changed?”