short walk, he didn’t want the evening to end, not yet.
“Thanks. It’s not too far. Straight down Fairfield to Beacon.”
On Newbury, Joanna approached a sleek black late model Mercedes 500SL. The license plate read: ARTEEST. She clicked the keyless remote and the car chirped once, all the lights flashing. Brian held the door for her and then went around to the passenger side and got in. The interior, also black, had that rich smell of leather he loved. And it was spotless, not even a fleck of lint on the carpeting.
Joanna sensed his wonderment. “This was Erik’s idea. I wanted a Volvo wagon.”
“Nothing wrong with having a nice car,” Brian replied, trying to ease her discomfort. “And it certainly goes nicely with what you’re wearing.”
Joanna grinned and shook her head. “I need to keep you around. You really know how to make me feel better.”
“I do?”
She gazed at him tenderly. “Yes, you do.”
As if recalling the lateness of the hour, Joanna inserted the key and started the engine. It growled with suppressed power, as only a big motor could. Brian had to admit he was just a tiny bit jealous, even if a Mercedes was not his style.
“So, where on Beacon do you live?”
“Three thirty-four on the Storrow Drive side.”
Joanna glanced in the rearview, pulled the car out of the space, and sped toward Mass Avenue.
In the brief silence that followed, Brian wondered if he should ask the question uppermost in his mind. Would she consider it prying? And did he really want to know the answer? He decided he did.
“How did you meet your fiancé?”
Joanna seemed to measure her words before speaking. “I was a sophomore at Mass Art and Erik was called in to bid on some expansion plans they were considering at the time. I was on work-study and the administration selected me to show him around. He asked me out the next day.”
“And the rest is history?”
Joanna nodded, negotiating the turn onto Fairfield. “You could say that. We’ve been engaged for about six months.”
Brian tried to hide his reaction. Christ! Too late by a lousy six months. Up ahead, he spotted his building, suddenly regretting the turn in the conversation. Feeling like a prize fool, he stared out the windshield while she double-parked the Mercedes in front of 334 and turned on the hazard lights.
She turned to him, her expression a mixture of emotions.
“It’s a lovely building,” she said. “It suits you.”
Brian nodded. “Of all the places I’ve lived since moving here, it’s my favorite.”
He turned to her then, their eyes locking. His heart thudded in his chest and his mouth turned to sand.
“It seems I can’t help having a wonderful time with you.”
“Me, too,” she replied, her voice a near whisper.
She leaned toward him, ever so slightly, her eyes searing into his soul. Without knowing quite what compelled him to such reckless abandon, Brian kissed her. A soft moan issued from her throat, and she brought her left hand up, cupping the back of his head. The other caressed his cheek. Her lips were so gentle, so soft, yet they blazed with an intensity that dwarfed the memory of his first furtive kisses with Laurie McCurry when he was twelve, and the thousands of kisses that had come after them, burning into his mind and heart with a quiet ferocity that belied its tenderness.
All too soon, it broke; and Brian pulled away, not wanting it to end, his mind and heart aflame with so many emotions he couldn’t sort them out. Joanna’s deep green eyes reflected these same feelings, yet in those vibrant emerald depths they grew crystal clear: joy, longing, lust, hope, and something else.... Was it fear? For Brian, it was the fear of another heartbreak, and the fear of never seeing this incredible woman again. He reached for her hand, feeling those long graceful fingers lace through his.
“You’re trembling,” he said, swallowing hard.
“So are you.”
“I’d love to see you again, Joanna. Can I
“Thanks. It’s not too far. Straight down Fairfield to Beacon.”
On Newbury, Joanna approached a sleek black late model Mercedes 500SL. The license plate read: ARTEEST. She clicked the keyless remote and the car chirped once, all the lights flashing. Brian held the door for her and then went around to the passenger side and got in. The interior, also black, had that rich smell of leather he loved. And it was spotless, not even a fleck of lint on the carpeting.
Joanna sensed his wonderment. “This was Erik’s idea. I wanted a Volvo wagon.”
“Nothing wrong with having a nice car,” Brian replied, trying to ease her discomfort. “And it certainly goes nicely with what you’re wearing.”
Joanna grinned and shook her head. “I need to keep you around. You really know how to make me feel better.”
“I do?”
She gazed at him tenderly. “Yes, you do.”
As if recalling the lateness of the hour, Joanna inserted the key and started the engine. It growled with suppressed power, as only a big motor could. Brian had to admit he was just a tiny bit jealous, even if a Mercedes was not his style.
“So, where on Beacon do you live?”
“Three thirty-four on the Storrow Drive side.”
Joanna glanced in the rearview, pulled the car out of the space, and sped toward Mass Avenue.
In the brief silence that followed, Brian wondered if he should ask the question uppermost in his mind. Would she consider it prying? And did he really want to know the answer? He decided he did.
“How did you meet your fiancé?”
Joanna seemed to measure her words before speaking. “I was a sophomore at Mass Art and Erik was called in to bid on some expansion plans they were considering at the time. I was on work-study and the administration selected me to show him around. He asked me out the next day.”
“And the rest is history?”
Joanna nodded, negotiating the turn onto Fairfield. “You could say that. We’ve been engaged for about six months.”
Brian tried to hide his reaction. Christ! Too late by a lousy six months. Up ahead, he spotted his building, suddenly regretting the turn in the conversation. Feeling like a prize fool, he stared out the windshield while she double-parked the Mercedes in front of 334 and turned on the hazard lights.
She turned to him, her expression a mixture of emotions.
“It’s a lovely building,” she said. “It suits you.”
Brian nodded. “Of all the places I’ve lived since moving here, it’s my favorite.”
He turned to her then, their eyes locking. His heart thudded in his chest and his mouth turned to sand.
“It seems I can’t help having a wonderful time with you.”
“Me, too,” she replied, her voice a near whisper.
She leaned toward him, ever so slightly, her eyes searing into his soul. Without knowing quite what compelled him to such reckless abandon, Brian kissed her. A soft moan issued from her throat, and she brought her left hand up, cupping the back of his head. The other caressed his cheek. Her lips were so gentle, so soft, yet they blazed with an intensity that dwarfed the memory of his first furtive kisses with Laurie McCurry when he was twelve, and the thousands of kisses that had come after them, burning into his mind and heart with a quiet ferocity that belied its tenderness.
All too soon, it broke; and Brian pulled away, not wanting it to end, his mind and heart aflame with so many emotions he couldn’t sort them out. Joanna’s deep green eyes reflected these same feelings, yet in those vibrant emerald depths they grew crystal clear: joy, longing, lust, hope, and something else.... Was it fear? For Brian, it was the fear of another heartbreak, and the fear of never seeing this incredible woman again. He reached for her hand, feeling those long graceful fingers lace through his.
“You’re trembling,” he said, swallowing hard.
“So are you.”
“I’d love to see you again, Joanna. Can I
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