Behind me, I sensed a sudden dimming of light, heralding Natalie’s approach from within the house. Turning to greet her, I smiled automatically before fully registering the woman who stood before me in the doorway. For a moment, I could only stare, certain that I’d never seen someone more beautiful.
Natalie was wearing a low-cut, sleeveless burgundy pencil dress that clung to her slender curves. Gone was the chain around her neck I’d never seen her without, and she was wearing wide-hooped earrings and sleek, delicate pumps. But it was her face that mesmerized me. She’d put on mascara, accentuating her thick eyelashes, and her expertly applied makeup gave her skin a luminous quality. I caught the trace of perfume, something that hinted of wildflowers. In her hand, she held her empty wineglass.
My staring must have given her pause, because she wrinkled her nose slightly. “Too much?”
Her voice was enough to bring me out of my stupor.
“No,” I said. “You are…stunning.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, looking almost shy. “I know it’s not true, but I appreciate it.”
“I mean it,” I said, and all at once, I knew: This is what I wanted; I wanted Natalie, not just for tonight, but for a lifetime of days and nights like the one we were having right now. The feeling was undeniable, and I suddenly understood what my grandfather must have felt when he first saw Rose in front of the drugstore so long ago.
I am in love with her, a voice echoed clearly in my mind. It felt slightly surreal, and yet truer than anything I’d ever known. But I also heard that warning voice again, telling me to end things now, before they became even more serious. To make things easier for both of us. The cautionary voice was only a whisper, though, fading before the surge of my feelings. This is what it’s like, I thought. This is what my grandfather was talking about.
Through it all, Natalie stayed quiet, but for the first time, I knew what she was thinking. I could see in her radiant smile that she was feeling exactly the same way about me.
*
I forced myself to turn away as Natalie glided onto the porch. Clearing my throat, I asked, “Would you like another glass? I think I’d like one.”
“Just half,” she murmured.
“I’ll be right back.”
In the kitchen, it felt like I was finally able to exhale. I tried to get hold of myself, focusing on the simple act of pouring the wine as a means of slowing things down. I somehow made it to the back porch holding the two glasses, trying desperately to hide my inner turmoil.
I handed her the wine. “We can eat whenever you’re ready. I still have to sear your tuna, but that won’t take long.”
“Do you need help?”
“There are a few things in the refrigerator and the oven, but let me start your tuna first, okay?”
At the grill, I unwrapped the tuna, alert to Natalie’s approach. She stood close, enveloping me in the smell of her perfume.
“How do you like your tuna?” I asked robotically. “Rare or medium rare?”
“Rare,” she said.
“I mixed up some soy sauce and wasabi for you.”
“Aren’t you something?” she asked in a husky drawl, nudging me slightly, the feeling making me light-headed.
I really, truly have to get hold of myself.
After checking the heat, I put the tuna on the grill. Natalie took that as her cue, returning to the kitchen to bring the other dishes to the table.
I looked over my shoulder. “Could you bring me your plate? For your tuna?”
“Of course,” she said, sauntering toward me.
I plated the tuna and we walked to the table. As she took her seat, she nodded toward the food.
“You made enough for four people,” she observed. Then, leaning forward, she added, “I had a really nice time on the boat today. I’m glad you asked me to come.”
“A perfect day,” I agreed.
We served up, passing various sides back and forth with easy familiarity. The conversation roamed from the alligators and the eagles and life in Florida, to the places we wanted to visit one day. Her eyes sparkled with hidden fire, making me feel intensely alive. How had I fallen in love with her so quickly, without even being aware of it?
Afterward, she helped me bring the dishes to the kitchen and put the leftovers away. When we finished, we returned to the porch railing and stared toward the creek, my shoulder nearly touching hers. The music was still playing, a melancholy Fleetwood Mac ballad. Though I wanted to slip my arm around her, I didn’t. She cleared her throat before finally raising her eyes to meet mine.