actually
grew to feel sorry for him as they cooked a meal together, though she knew from
past phone conversations with Francesca that his exile was likely well-earned.
She'd seldom seen anyone so condemned about his sentencing.
"Ren, it's
not as bad as you're thinking. Texas is a wonderful place to live," she
assured him, watching in awe as he chopped up fresh herbs like a professional.
He paused in his
chopping. "Well, you can be sure of this, Cara. I'm not 'living' here ...
just camping, thanks. No beach, no mountains to ski, and what passes for
a tree out here is a joke. The resources are not at all what I'm used to. What
the hell do you guys do for fun around here?" he asked.
"There are
hundreds of lakes in this part of Texas, so boating is fun. The fishing is
good. Austin has a great music scene ... whatever kind of music you like. The
weather is nice, too, though I don't guess we can really compete with
California in that regard," she admitted. He didn't look all that
impressed with the thought of fishing for entertainment, and having come from a
Hollywood point of reference, she couldn't say she really blamed him.
They ate dinner
round the pool, sharing wine and catching up. Cara enjoyed him thoroughly,
finding Ren to have grown into a talented, utterly charming young man. In fact,
Ren Maggio was on the cusp of becoming a really fine man, Cara believed. Uncle
Taddy was probably right to keep a firm hand on him, though. Ren had a lot to
offer the world, all right. He just needed a little harnessing to point him in
the right direction, she imagined. It would be fun to see how it all worked
out.
Ren moved on,
eager to see what south Texas had to offer. He assured her he wasn't expecting
much, and promised to stay in touch. Cara saw him off from the driveway,
wondering what south Texas would think of Ren Maggio. She thought it might be a
culture shock for all involved.
Wednesday endured
forever. She worked out, cleaned house, shopped for groceries and new lingerie,
telling herself one was as everyday as the other, though it didn't excite her
to think of him seeing her produce nearly as much it did thinking about his
reaction to some new "scraps of lace" she bought.
She ate a lonely
dinner, wondering if he'd changed his plans and stayed over another day in
California. The thought depressed her more than she cared to admit. Television
couldn't hold her interest after dinner, and though the steamy novel she had
been reading for a couple of days was great entertainment, it was not making
the wait to see him one bit more comfortable.
He finally
texted her from Dallas, having had a full and busy day, but told her that his
flight was delayed due to weather. He didn't know when he'd get home.
Disappointment turned her mood swiftly. She hated to admit how much she'd been
looking forward to seeing him. It gave her pause, this building need she had
for him. Not just physical, by any means. She had thought of a dozen things she
wanted to share with him in the past three days. She simply enjoyed his
company, she told herself, but finally acknowledged that there was nothing
simple about their relationship. Nothing at all.
She fell asleep
with the light on, steamy novel on her chest, but was awakened by another text
from Greg.
Is it too
late to come by?
She glanced at
the clock, then realized how ridiculous that had been. It didn't matter what time
it was. And though she had nothing much on her schedule for tomorrow, it
wouldn't have mattered if she had. She texted back.
Not at all. Come on
by.
Greg stood on
her front porch and wondered at the wisdom of coming tonight, but he'd not been
able to stay away. He'd thought of her dozens of times a day in the past four
days, still slightly amazed at how their relationship had changed in the past
three weeks. There was no portentous event that signaled a change was coming.
He just looked at her one day and knew that it had arrived. And there didn't
seem to be a damn
grew to feel sorry for him as they cooked a meal together, though she knew from
past phone conversations with Francesca that his exile was likely well-earned.
She'd seldom seen anyone so condemned about his sentencing.
"Ren, it's
not as bad as you're thinking. Texas is a wonderful place to live," she
assured him, watching in awe as he chopped up fresh herbs like a professional.
He paused in his
chopping. "Well, you can be sure of this, Cara. I'm not 'living' here ...
just camping, thanks. No beach, no mountains to ski, and what passes for
a tree out here is a joke. The resources are not at all what I'm used to. What
the hell do you guys do for fun around here?" he asked.
"There are
hundreds of lakes in this part of Texas, so boating is fun. The fishing is
good. Austin has a great music scene ... whatever kind of music you like. The
weather is nice, too, though I don't guess we can really compete with
California in that regard," she admitted. He didn't look all that
impressed with the thought of fishing for entertainment, and having come from a
Hollywood point of reference, she couldn't say she really blamed him.
They ate dinner
round the pool, sharing wine and catching up. Cara enjoyed him thoroughly,
finding Ren to have grown into a talented, utterly charming young man. In fact,
Ren Maggio was on the cusp of becoming a really fine man, Cara believed. Uncle
Taddy was probably right to keep a firm hand on him, though. Ren had a lot to
offer the world, all right. He just needed a little harnessing to point him in
the right direction, she imagined. It would be fun to see how it all worked
out.
Ren moved on,
eager to see what south Texas had to offer. He assured her he wasn't expecting
much, and promised to stay in touch. Cara saw him off from the driveway,
wondering what south Texas would think of Ren Maggio. She thought it might be a
culture shock for all involved.
Wednesday endured
forever. She worked out, cleaned house, shopped for groceries and new lingerie,
telling herself one was as everyday as the other, though it didn't excite her
to think of him seeing her produce nearly as much it did thinking about his
reaction to some new "scraps of lace" she bought.
She ate a lonely
dinner, wondering if he'd changed his plans and stayed over another day in
California. The thought depressed her more than she cared to admit. Television
couldn't hold her interest after dinner, and though the steamy novel she had
been reading for a couple of days was great entertainment, it was not making
the wait to see him one bit more comfortable.
He finally
texted her from Dallas, having had a full and busy day, but told her that his
flight was delayed due to weather. He didn't know when he'd get home.
Disappointment turned her mood swiftly. She hated to admit how much she'd been
looking forward to seeing him. It gave her pause, this building need she had
for him. Not just physical, by any means. She had thought of a dozen things she
wanted to share with him in the past three days. She simply enjoyed his
company, she told herself, but finally acknowledged that there was nothing
simple about their relationship. Nothing at all.
She fell asleep
with the light on, steamy novel on her chest, but was awakened by another text
from Greg.
Is it too
late to come by?
She glanced at
the clock, then realized how ridiculous that had been. It didn't matter what time
it was. And though she had nothing much on her schedule for tomorrow, it
wouldn't have mattered if she had. She texted back.
Not at all. Come on
by.
Greg stood on
her front porch and wondered at the wisdom of coming tonight, but he'd not been
able to stay away. He'd thought of her dozens of times a day in the past four
days, still slightly amazed at how their relationship had changed in the past
three weeks. There was no portentous event that signaled a change was coming.
He just looked at her one day and knew that it had arrived. And there didn't
seem to be a damn
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