“Okay. Okay.” She walked down the aisle between tables, then back again. “The thing is, I like Harper.”
Stella nodded encouragement. “Sure. So do I.”
“No!” Frustrated, mortified to hear herself say it out loud, Hayley set the water down and clamped her hands over her face. “God.”
It took her a minute for the light to shine. “Oh,” Stella said with her eyes going wide. “Oh. Oh,” she repeated drawing out the syllable. Then she pursed her lips. “Oh.”
“If that’s the best you can do, I’m going to have to hit you.”
“I’m trying to take it in. Absorb it.”
“It’s crazy. I know it’s crazy.” Hayley dropped her hands. “I know it’s not right, it’s not even on the table. But I . . . forget I said anything. Just highlight and hit delete.”
“I didn’t say it was crazy, it’s just unexpected. As far as not being right, I don’t follow you.”
“He’s Roz’s son. Roz, the woman who took me in off the street.”
“Oh, you mean when you were penniless, naked, and suffering from some rare, debilitating disease? It was saintly of her to take you in, clothe you and spoon-feed you broth night after night.”
“I’m allowed to exaggerate when I’m being a fool,” Hayley snapped. “She did take me in, she gave me a job. She gave me and Lily a home, and here I am imagining how I can get naked and sweaty with her firstborn.”
“If you’re attracted to Harper—”
“I want to bite his ass. I want to pour honey all over his body then lick it off an inch at a time. I want to—”
“Okay, okay.” Stella held out one hand, laid the other on her heart. “Please don’t put any more of those images in my head. We’ll just agree you’ve got the hots for him.”
“Major hots. And I can’t do anything about it because we’re friends. Look how screwed up things got for Ross and Rachel. Of course Monica and Chandler’s a different story, but—”
“Hayley.”
“And I know this isn’t a television show,” she muttered over Stella’s roll of laughter. “But you know how life imitates art? Besides, he doesn’t think about me that way.”
“The honey-licking way?”
Hayley’s eyes went blurry. “Oh God, now I’ve got that image in my head.”
“Serves you right. Anyway, are you sure he doesn’t think of you that way?”
“He hasn’t made a move, has he? It’s not like there haven’t been opportunities. And what if I made a move on him, and he was just, like, horrified or something?”
“What if he wasn’t?”
“That could be even worse. We’d have ourselves some wild jungle sex, then after we’d both be . . .” She lifted her hands into the air, waved them wildly. “Oh God, what’ve I done, and all awkward with each other. And I’d have to take Lily and move to Georgia or somewhere. And Roz would never want to speak to me again.”
“Hayley.” Stella patted her on the shoulder. “This is just my impression, just my opinion, but I’m fairly sure Roz knows Harper has sex.”
“You know what I mean. It’s different when he’s having sex with women she doesn’t know.”
“Oh yes, I’m sure she’s perfectly delighted that her son has sex with strangers. Strangers to her, anyway,” she added with a laugh. “And naturally she’d be appalled to learn that he might be intimate with a woman she knows and loves. Yes, that would be a real knife in the heart.”
“It’s a kind of betrayal.”
“It’s no kind of betrayal. He’s a grown man, Hayley, and his choices in relationships are his own business. Roz would be the first to say so, and the first—without a doubt—to tell you she doesn’t want to be one of the angles in this triangle you’ve formed.”
“Well, maybe, but—”
“Maybe, maybe, but, but.” Stella waved them all aside with such enthusiasm, Hayley had to duck and blink. “If you’re interested in Harper, you should let him know. See what happens. Besides, I think he’s had a crush on you from the get-go.”
“He has not.”
Stella shrugged. “Just my opinion, just my impression.”
“Really?” The quick bump under her heart at the idea was painful and nice. “I don’t know. I think if he has a crush on anybody, it’s Lily. But I could think about maybe giving it a little push, see what happens.”
“Positive thinking. Now, let’s get these dish gardens done.”
“Stella.” Hayley poked a finger in the dirt. “You swear you won’t say anything about this to Roz.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Stella held out her palm and, mimicking the sacred rite she’d seen her sons perform, spat in it.
When offered the hand Stella held out, Hayley stared at it, and said: “Eeuuww.”
IT MADE HER feel better. Having somebody else know what she was thinking and feeling took a weight off. Especially when that somebody else was Stella. Who hadn’t been shocked, Hayley reminded herself. Surprised, sure, but not shocked, so that was good.
Just as it was good to take a couple of days and think about it. In fact, she was thinking about it, a little dreamily, when with Lily down for the night, she stretched out on the sitting room couch to unwind with some TV.
Idly, she channel surfed and decided how nice it was to have nothing to do for an hour. Still, reruns, repeats, and other summer dreck, she decided, wasn’t what she wanted for a lazy hour of entertainment.
She flipped to an old black-and-white movie, something she didn’t recognize. It seemed like some kind of romantic drama, where everyone wore gorgeous clothes and went dancing every night at elaborate clubs where they had orchestras and voluptuous girl singers.
Everybody drank highballs.
Why did they call them highballs? she wondered, yawning as she snuggled down. Because the glasses were tall, okay, but why were the glasses called balls? She should look it up sometime.
What would it be like to wear those incredible gowns and glide around a dance floor with everything all Art Deco and glittering? He’d be wearing a tuxedo, of course. She bet Harper looked awesome in a tux.
And what if they’d both come with someone else, but then they saw each other. Through all that silk and shine, their eyes met. And they just knew.
They’d dance, and everything else would wash away. That’s the way it was in black-and-white. It didn’t have to be complicated; whatever separated you could be vanquished or overcome. Then it all washed away except the two of you together as the end music swelled.
And when it did, you’d be in each other’s arms, your face tipped up to his as your lips came together in that movie-perfect kiss. The kind you felt all the way down to the soles of your feet, the kind that meant you’d love each other forever.
Soft, soft kiss, so tender as his hand brushed over your hair, then deepening, heating just a bit when your arms locked around his neck. Up on your toes so your body leaned to his.
Line, angle, curve, all beautifully fitted.
Then after it faded to black, his hands moved over you, touching where it tingled and ached. Stroking over silk and skin so that your mouths met now with little gasps and moans.
The taste of that kiss was so potent, so powerful, the flavor of it streamed through your whole system, woke everything up, made everything swell.
And everywhere you’d felt cold and tired warmed again because you wanted, and were wanted.
Candles were flickering. Smoke and shadows. Flowers scented the room. Lilies, it had to be lilies. The flowers he’d brought her, bold and red and passionate. His eyes, deep brown, depthless brown, told her everything she wanted. That she was beautiful to him, and precious.
When they undressed each other, her gown melted away into a pool of glittery white against the black of his jacket.
Skin to skin, at last. Smooth and soft. Gold dust and milk. His shoulders under her hands, the length of his back, so she could feel those muscles tense as she aroused him.
The way he touched her, with such need, filled her with excitement so that when he gathered her up in his arms—oh—she was quivering for him. He laid her on the bed, the big white bed with sheets as soft as water, then sank into it with her.