4 comments/ 5692 views/ 1 favorites Just One Rose By: PayDay Author's Note: This is my story, I wrote it, stealing is lame. If you don't like it, don't read it. Feel free to comment with any errors you find, I will feel free to delete them and call you an asshole. Yes, this could have been a contest story, no, that isn't my style. Thanks for any votes, feedback, or favorites; Hope you enjoy: * Undeniably, it shouldn't be there. Pope glanced into the kitchen area; it stood out against the rising sunlight, just past the corner of the partially enclosed bedroom of the small one story home. He then turned his head to the side and out stared out of the glass that made the back wall for the umpteenth time. It just made no sense. He looked into the kitchen area again. It wasn't there yesterday, he was sure of it. Spinning his head from his morning vantage point once more, he stared at the back porch and the opposite riverbank. The trees were covered; all that snow outside and yet there it was inside, as if spring. It shouldn't be there. He had found it, to begin with, incidentally, while cleaning washed up trash and driftwood, just before the cold hit full force. It was in the most paltry state: Ignored, forgotten, hidden between two trees at the edge of his lower yard, and it shouldn't have been there either. It was as if, hundreds of years ago, some individual had put it there to accent a walk that no longer existed, and through some kind of miracle, he had never mowed it down, nor was it chewed to nothingness by the woodland creatures. Out of the kindness of his heart he dug it up, placed it in a pot, and put it on his counter in the kitchen near the window. It didn't have a chance in hell of survival, but maybe it had a chance in his kitchen. Months later - through some of the miraculous natural science of nature - the single branch of the rose, with the two leaves and the three thorns, far from wild and some kind of special hybrid, had sprouted a flower. It wasn't supposed to be there, it was out of season, and there was just one flower. As he sat, partially coffee'd with no extra daily agenda for days to come, he contemplated the oddity of such a thing. He would have seen a bud on it. There was no bud yesterday, he was sure of it. He had watered it yesterday, too, and it didn't look near to the extent of glory it had now. It just wasn't supposed to be there, the flower, let alone the leaves nor the extenuating circumstances in correlation. It must have doubled in growth overnight. "Unbelievable... Some kind of miracle." The parallels of the lone growth of the hidden flower to himself brought his empty morning mind to thinking about something other than javalust. "I could give it to someone..." Pope, all by himself at the time, did not, not in the least bit, feel odd about making statements aloud to no one in particular - at least he didn't answer himself - though as he contemplated his own words, the thoughts changed from parallels to compatible individuals. He had rubbed his chin in contemplation. "...but I don't know anyone." He really didn't, just business contacts, an ex-girlfriend or two. A customer? No way. As hetero as he was, he could only imbue such a thing to a woman. It had to be a woman, too: Pope was getting too old for attempts at the barely legal college girl bar hook-up: No cars, no responsibility, roommates, drama, drama, drama. A graduate student would be nice, but he carried too much pretense for a chance like that; they would eat him alive, or kill him first, either way, that is, if he didn't murder himself to keep up with their constant demands. At past thirty, he seemed stable: a house and a car and a job. He feared the disruption, though, and the disturbance, and the complication. Pope enjoyed the simplicity of his life and he feared the non disposable nature of the thing he was going to do. He knew that fucking was not a special talent, but that romance could be. "You don't just give a woman a rose, get laid, and then never call her again." He was looking at the floor, shaking his head from side to side, thinking mostly of slow dances and face to face sunrises full of linen. Pope was speaking seriously, still aloud, yet in a quiet tone so as if not alone no other would have heard him. It would have to be something special, special circumstances, something that felt right straight away. "Screwit." Pope had to shovel the snow that had accumulated through the night, from the front door of the small residence, up the hill to his signage and graphics shop at the top within what used to be the garage. He then had to clean off the van, and then he had to take care of the long driveway. Miracle flowers be damned, there was work to do. He shoveled everything by hand, because that's the kind of guy he was. It was early yet, and the county plow hadn't even come down the lonely road by the river. *** "If you can work with your hands, you'll never go hungry." It was something his father had told him over and over when he was younger. Up until this point in his life, Pope had always assumed it was about work and making money, maybe even about motivation. As he stood as the end of the squarely clean driveway, shovel in hand and exhaling visible wisps slowly, he discovered a third thing. "Shoot shoot shoot ch-sh-Sugar!!!!" The arm flapping and spinning movements to coincide with the near profanity looked exactly like that cartoon exaggeration of an animal from a foreign land that was in no way similar to the actual animal but nonetheless applied to the thing Pope was looking at at the time, and she was screaming. Her compact was far too tiny and far too low to the ground to escape to freedom, stuck with a huge car length pile of snow at the front. Apparently there was a driveway into the woods, and she had made it almost to the end, somehow. Pope, a five year resident, had not even known there was a house there, he thought it was an ATV dirt trail, barely as wide as his van. There were no mail boxes here, one had to go to the Post Office, but it was by no means extensively rural. There simply weren't that many houses in this part of the township, and this happened to be a lonely road. In his defense, he had generally sat on his back porch, as his small house was built on pylons and hung over the bank of the river. He couldn't bring himself to look at a hill when the short expanse of the water and surrounding area were out the back door. Maybe he should have looked up to the power lines, he would have seen the diversion. She was dressed like an advertisement for polar exploration, like a rescue worker in bright red, and with all those layers, Pope couldn't figure out how she fit into the car. Chivalrous as he was, though, he could not resist. "Need help?" As he waited for a response he couldn't help but notice how the small black car looked like a delicious cupcake covered in too much white frosting; the amount of snow piled on the roof was truly ludicrous, more than had actually fallen. Maybe with the hat and the earmuffs and the scarf she could not hear him. The marshmallow woman wasn't that far away, maybe as far as the length of his driveway. He decided to yell. "Do you need help?!" He waited again, he had to, for she was still trying not to curse and demonstrating her choreography skills. It had to be the yellow lenses of the goggles causing her to miss his attempted assistance. He was about to walk over, about to yell again, about to do something, but Pope froze when she tilted he head back and screamed wordlessly. He couldn't help but chuckle at her when she fell backwards into the snow and quit. Strangely though, none of her artic paraphernalia seemed to muffle that sound. The sound of his joy caught her attention. Nadia turned away from Pope at her first attempt to look for a source, becoming baffled. It was only an instant before she turned red below her gear - outfit matching - to the sound of all out laughter at her one-eighty. He stopped laughing at the speed in which she snapped her head around to face him, though; a surprising rate considering her choice of attire. He stood combat ready, a lone soldier, shovel hanging perpendicular - a rifle in slack arms - and holding watch on the frozen tundra with the earthy brown/green tones of his cover-alls contrasting the snow and rolling landscape; the emblem on the simple winter hat matched the coat. Her first thought was where he could have appeared from since there were no vehicle tracks on the road. She was so set on getting out of the driveway that she had not seen him just off to the side and across the way. "Do," he swung the shovel from one hand to rest on the ground and pointed at her with the other; "you," he smiled; "need," he was already wearing sunglasses and the sun was just coming up; "help?" Pope stopped pointing, or at least she thought he did - Nadia's goggles had gone all foggy. Her third thought, though, was yes, and she said it aloud: "Yes oh-flunking-yes-please!" Her gloved hands went to the sky, matching her verbal. "Some kind of miracle!" ...but Nadia couldn't see, so she moved the goggles to her forehead, sniffled, and popped out of the snow. "Doubly so," Pope was pointing again, this time to the county plow turning the corner to match the storyboard. Shoveling her out would have partially been an exercise in futility as the road was still too deeply covered for her driving choice. Nadia jumped one-eighty, absorbed the sight of the plow, screamed "Yes!" while throwing up her hands in gloved fists this time, and dove onto her back into the snow, again. A fit soon followed, accompanied by "Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes," and fist pounding. Nadia's problems melted away even if the snow wouldn't with the beating. Suddenly her possibilities were limitless. She popped up again in time to see the bright yellow plow pass by as the mystery man waved to it. Nadia, scarf pulled up over her nose and covering her mouth, blew a kiss to the driver through his passenger mirror; the driver was watching, hoping it was a woman under the cover. The scarf caused a tweaked look from Pope. All that noise and so easily audible with a scarf over her mouth. Regardless of it, he went to work digging from the road to the car before exchanging a greeting. "Hi," She pointed to herself, "Nadia, Nadia Furman, I know it sort of rhymes," and then stuck out her glove, "Thank you thank you." "Pope Archer, and no problem," he spoke softly, though his head cocked in search of the rhythm, reaching for her glove with his bare hand - the sizes were equal. "Really? That's your name?" "Yes? At least I think it is." "Celibate?" "What? No...?" "Oh, huh... odd." "It is?" "Maybe? So you work over there at that shop?" The sign said 'Archer's Graphics' in bold block letters "Live there too, just down the hill." He never stopped moving at the same pace, snow disappearing quickly, "my shop." "There's a house there!? I-didn't-even-know-I-had-a-neighbor!" Her words, jumbled together as if a single, stopped him for a second and he stood up straight, obviously taller than her. "I didn't know there was a house here," he looked around in the direction of her cottage, still unable to see it, "so I guess we're even..." He glanced her way, smiled at her , and went back to work. "Monkey-trumpets! No, I-owe-you, I have-to get this packet certified and in the mail first thing when the Post Office opens and I've been stuck-in-the-house-all-week! Because of this stupid-snow and-I-hate-stupid-snow and-I-need food. I would've lost my mind if it wasn't for you! It just won't go away!" Nadia fell into the snow on her back, again, and then got right back up. "Plus I could have starved to death, or fainted from all that work." she pointed to his effortless diligence. She was impressed, hard working men are impressive when they aren't whistling. Pope stopped, confounded at the sight; he was really unsure at just what he was looking at, in point of fact he could only see part of her eyebrow and one eye, escaping bangs and gear hiding the rest of her behind puffy red. Nadia was talking so fast, Pope had no basis of proof to the fact that she took a breath, not to mention her movements were jittery, almost erratic. If he had never seen a drug addict he might have thought she was one. "Screwit," Pope thought to himself, this was a rare chance meeting, he knew it, and he went for broke with a smile: "Well then you should know that your car looks like a giant chocolate cupcake." Nadia froze, then slowly turned her head to look over at her car. Her visible eye went so sweetly wide Pope almost yearned, then slowly she turned back to face his diligence. Her now hate-filled stare disappeared with the noisy growl from beneath her snowsuit, Pope heard it over the hum of her engine. Nadia's gloves flew to her stomach, anger broken. "Thanks..." She almost seemed sad, like Pope had ruined something, "...and thanks," she pointed to the clear square path to the road in front of her car. Fast work. "You're welcome, Nadia," he waved at she squished into the car and drove away, paying him no more mind. Pope stood for a minute at the end of his newly discovered neighbor's driveway as his newly discovered neighbor drove away, unsure if he had just ruined something or not. "Oh well," he said to himself, and continued to work shoveling the rest of Nadia's short but hidden driveway, all the way up to her little hidden cottage and then a space for her to turn her pastry around. Around the same time as he was finishing doing something for nothing and wondering what that woman looked like when she wasn't guarding her core temperature, Nadia was walking out of the Post Office: This time she laughed at her growling stomach and the sight of her cupcake with wheels. He was funny, she had been mean. The idea of a normal man across the street had stuck and wouldn't leave her mind. She pulled off her bright red rescue-esque hat and placed it onto the tippy-top of the snow pile on the roof of her tiny car and snapped a few pictures with the camera on her phone. *** Jimmy had stayed home, a snow day. He could have made it in, but was always slow this time of year, no big deal. Pope was ahead of the game, though, only pickups and payments. There would be none of that today, especially with more snow forecast, but he still had to sit by the phone with Jimmy at home, it would be nostalgic on his part. He had his feet up on the only desk/counter in the room reading the madness in the newspaper when the door burst open and Nadia squeezed through it, still prepared for her overland expedition. She had something in her hands as well. "Hi, again." "..uh... Hi." Pope's perplexed look was back, at least until she removed the scarf from her face after the goggles went up. She was gorgeous in every sense of the word. Her quirky personality and expressive eye suddenly coming into focus, matched by her smile and soft laugh lines. She had to be older than him, but it would not have mattered. Pope was unsure whether to go slack-jawed and open-mouthed at her beauty or laugh at the comical contrast of her head to the giant warming formlessness that almost prevented her arms from going all the way down, reminiscent of that kid from that movie. His surprise at her appearance went handsomely with his features, obviously fit underneath the jeans and plain thermal shirt, with the look on his face almost as if he were caught masturbating. "Look, I need to thank you for shoveling everything, that was wonderful, I'm not used to all of this..." Nadia pointed a finger in a circle at the ceiling while following it with her eyes, "...this is my first winter, I'm a sunshine city girl, this is cra zy!" Pope didn't let her finish. "S'ok. Like I said, no problem. I would have done it straight away had I known you lived there." Nadia did not mind his interruption, it had been some time since she had met a man whom wasn't pushing sleaze for her attributes. "Anyway, why don't you let me do something nice for you, to say more thank yous, that was a lot of work," slightly swooning at his confused look. It was as if he didn't understand what he did. He chose his words carefully, as if this were a verbal test. "What did you have in mind?" Pope tried as hard as he could not to let his mind hit the gutter. That rose was a sign, it had been a while, and it seemed the universe was telling him to be a dirty boy. "How about dinner? How does tonight sound? It's been a while since I had some good company, hell I haven't seen another person in weeks. What do you like? I just went shopping and I'm stocked, we are neighbors. I can make some great pasta and some chicken and a salad or do you want a steak or something, so dinner tonight? Yeah? I'll make you something. You'll eat anything right? You're a man, so yeah? At least let me feed you." "Dinner?" He was looking right at her, right through the storm of her words and fidgets, he had blue eyes, and he seemed younger without the cover-alls. "Yeah, tonight" She was beaming a smile and thinking about his hair and his plain miscolored sneakers, almost possessed. "Tonight?" "Yeah." "Sure. What time?" "Six?Seven? Seven... Yeah, Six-thirty." "Six-thirty? Four hours from now?" "Yeah, my place." "Six-thirty it is, then." He had stood after her arrival, but was almost knocked to the floor as she thrust the thing she carried into his hands. "Here, a memory for you, first meeting with the new neighbor, even though I've been here for like five months. Did you know the grocery store sells picture frames?" "I did, actually." "Oh, well, I didn't. So-odd... anyway, seven-wait, six, I mean..." Nadia took a deep breath, exhaling: "six-thirty." She tapped her gloves to her thighs at each syllable of the reassessed time. Before Pope knew what was happening, Nadia sped around the counter/desk and stood on her tip-toes, softly kissing him on the cheek. She was about to run out of the door, but instead looked down at the newspaper. "Oh, you like politics?" She was too close, smelled wonderful, and was fingering the headline. "Not that kind of politics. I just like to know the names, I make those signs for both sides, well, all sides." "Those roadside election signs?" "Yup." "I hate you." Nadia quietly looked around the small office attached to the shop, absorbing what she could; Pope only in awe. "So... Seven?" She asked as if he had not answered already. "Six-" "Six-thirty, right. See ya', wait. What-do-you-mean 'not that kind' of politics? Oh... never-mind," and then she bolted to the door of the shop as quickly as her getup permitted. "Hey, that rhymed," and then she was gone. In solace once again and snapped to reality by the chill from her exit, Pope looked down at the picture in the frame thrust into his grip, specifically to the beautiful face about to sexily munch on a tiny car sitting in the background, trick photography - the small compact auto looked like a cupcake with a cherry on top - thanks to her hat. Her tongue was out ever so slightly in the image, and it was one of the hottest photos of a woman he had ever layed eyes upon. Nadia appeared to not even be trying to do so. "Wow..." He would have to wear a collared shirt. *** "Ahh... Right on time, I-think? Seven?" "Six-thirty." Nadia looked at the clock, "six-fifteen?" "Sold?" The pair shrugged their shoulders in unison. "No... I'm early," his teeth beaming, "I didn't have other plans, and I would merely be waiting on time. I figured that worst case it'd be weird?" "It's not weird, come-in, Mister Archer, come-in, tsk, more snow." Slowly it was falling again, and would, on and off, for the next few days. Just One Rose Pope, on the other hand, was trying quickly not to rise. The air smelled of tantalizing perfume and of well prepared food, and her dress, to say the least, was painted on by a professional. It was all so unexpected; first a plainly colored slightly chipping wooden door, then something out of a dream of placement and sophistication. "Wow..." was all he could muster under the assault from the entrance before him, at least that's what he thought he said. Her snowsuit did her no justice, and he might have been wrong about her age. "What?" Nadia was looking everywhere, left, up, she spun around, then back, then left again. Before he could explain she had taken a step out of the door and looked behind him as if something was hidden, then off to the right of the front of her cottage. Nadia moved like a cartoon character, Pope was sure of it. He always did enjoy cartoons, and her personality was infectious. "No, I mean, You look great, and.. wow." He tried to lay out the scene before him with his hands, or at least to illustrate it. Nadia looked up to her side, from hanging out of the door, to stare at him and gleam, feeling silly and thinking: "Calm down, you're getting too excited, and solitude is no excuse." "Oh, thank you. Come in, come in, let me take your coat. Is this for me?" "Yeah, I um, I don't know anything about wine, but this is good stuff." He held the bottle of scotch while she hung his coat. "Well, welcome to my abode," waving her hand behind her head as if it were an unimportant detail, "as humble as it may be, make yourself comfy." She snagged the bottle from his hands and sashayed to a tune towards the kitchen, humming and grinning devilishly to herself. Pope was in the same clean sneakers, miscolored to the plain white button shirt and black slacks - with which he rocked a cuff and a crease. When Nadia nearly made it to the kitchen, he noticed the tattoo between her shoulders just above the low back of the dress and too high to be a stamp. It was a small black number eight. "That really is a killer dress." Her hair, up in a pony tail with her bangs tucked behind her ears, bounced and floated, her earrings and necklace were diamonds - he could see them from across the room - and the furniture, as sparse as it was, was designer. "Think so?" "Absolutely." "Thanks," Nadia twirled a show, near a pirouette, "I've been looking for an excuse to wear it for quite some time." "Glad I could help." Ecstatic would have been a better description, he strained to keep his eyes off her caramel skin from a lifetime of sun. The rug that could have been a knock-off was probably real and she walked on it as if it were nothing. The room was very warm, fire in it's place surrounded by brass accents, and Nadia wore no shoes. "Dinner will be a bit, I started late, I-think." Pope stopped on the bar side of the open kitchen counter that served as a wall. Nadia had pulled out two clean delicate glasses to pour him and herself a drink, throwing her head back and laughing at his bare feet. "When in Rome, I guess?" He felt kind of silly but decided to roll with it since the carpet felt like walking on kitten stuffed angels. This was a woman of wealth and taste, her car and tattoo made little sense in his simple mind. Neither did the ring on her toe. "Hardly," she spoke in a kindly cynical way, handing him a shortly poured glass of amber goodness. "I took a glance at your house, on the water is an understatement. It's so cute, so cute. How long have you lived there?" "Almost six years now." "Really? Plus a business? You're not that old-" "-I'm old enough," Pope was glancing sideways at her from the corner of his eye, attention pulled away from her decor, slight smile touching his lips. "It was my grandparents fishing cabin, and a hobby I had that paid off as a career. I finally got everything to where I want it, calm and steady and comfortable... Easy." "Well done," She was leaning on her elbows on the counter, enough to make her ass stick above her lower back and her cleavage strain against the material of the dress, all of it daring Pope to look down at the exposed skin past the openings in search debauchery. The arch and angles of her form were mathematically correct, so to call her lithe would have been accurate if it weren't for her thick and ample assets slightly bigger than they should be for the equation. Nadia was built to hold attention; Pope had to look around the room just to think. He would have thought she shouldn't be here, less than a few acres from his own front door, had she not been here for months already. In point of fact, he was thinking that he got here late. "Thank you, this was kind of my goal point, I really don't know what I'm going to do from here, or what else I might want, but the possibilities, as I see them, are limitless." "Amen." The word escaped from her compulsively, his mindset infatuated her, simple and visionary. "Think so?" He asked. Nadia nodded in reply to which Pope shrugged his shoulders. "I'm young yet, and I like the quiet out here." He was holding something back again, but she had figured him out. He was a sly tease, and he was listening to every word she said while trying not to laugh at his own jokes. "Well there's always the ladies to waste your time on..." Nadia had a smirk: it was obvious, practiced, tactless. She rose to rest one hand on the edge of the counter, laying all of her weight on it, dropping a shoulder and holding the glass to her lips, pausing and testing the distance to it with her tongue, but only for a moment before sipping. Her posture could have been drawn by a modernist. "Yes, yes there is." He stared her straight in the eyes, so hazel that they almost seemed green, not taking her bait, mentally daring her to say something. "So what about you? This," he pointed around the room, "is..." He didn't finish, looking at her and formulating a thought proved to be too much. Nadia sighed, she was just getting interested in his late evening stubble and wondering how he kept his hair that way without products as well as how he was able to master cutting his own hair. "Might as well," she huffed herself up to the proper feeling. "My ex-husband bought this place in some kind of time-share thingy and then bought the whole of it as some kind of a tax write off thingy and then I got it in the divorce and it just so happens to be closer to my daughter's college than LA was." She then took a breath. "He's never actually been here, I don't think anyone has been here in a long time considering the state of the place when I arrived, I didn't even know he had it." "Oh, is that all... You did a nice job, at least." "Thanks," her mood relaxed back, mentioning the ex alone did it, Pope took a mental note. "Still, painting and cleaning isn't so hard to do, come spring it'll be more, I've never had to garden. I've never used a lawnmower either." Pope couldn't help but watch mystified, Nadia seemed to him to be excited by the idea of self reliance and chores. "This is all a first for me, living alone. I've been a bit pampered, but, you have to grow up sometime, right? I sure did not realize how much paperwork is involved with living alone." "Gets worse every year." "Can't wait." They smiled in tandem, he almost thought she said something else, but decided to look around the open rooms, from his vantage, some more. The painting were intriguing, soft, horrifically simple, and strangely fitting. The art matched the furniture, the furniture matched the walls, the walls matched the fire, and the fire matched the carpet. "So... LA, huh? Nice name drop." The room did have the look of a Television or magazine depiction of the perfect getaway cottage, but it felt different, like home, not just a visual. "Thanks, compared to the city this is the Boondocks as they say, but it's nice to have my life turned down." Pope smiled at that, he may even have gotten the reference. "So... Divorced? Elephant in the room..." Pope didn't want to ask the question, but he had to for his own posterity, to get it over with. "Aren't we all these days?" Pope sat quiet for a moment studying her lowered eyes. "I have no response to that." "Oh-it's-fine," and she batted a hand at him, "I don't think a man in your position would. I was married twenty years, then two years ago he traded me in. He was younger than our daughter." "He?" "Yeah... Long time coming." "You're not that old-" He regretted the words before they were finished their utterance, but it all seemed to confuse him. She rescued him, though, before he could properly regret the phrasing: "-I'm old enough." She winked, she was letting him off the hook and not at all being a woman about it, "Besides, I'm young yet, and the possibilities are limitless, right?" Pope held his glass up for a toast, Nadia obliged. "Your daughter, how old is she?" "Why? Are-you interested?" Nadia was overcome, she was getting hot, and she hadn't expected the flirts to happen with so much flow. "I'd say curious." He had already found the picture on the fridge that she was pointing to, he assumed it was Nadia's slightly younger sister, friend, or cousin. It would be a crime to choose one over the other. "Her name is Felicia. She's twenty-one, three years into her degree. She's a good girl." After a quiet thought she went on: "Are these winters here always this bad? I went skiing a few times but this..." "Truth?" "Sure, why not," Nadia shrugged her shoulders, playing along. "This isn't that bad. Gets worse." "Ugh," was her response, and she acted out the sound in accompaniment. "But..." He raised a finger, "...the summers make it worth it. I've lived here a long time, born and bred. I grew up on the other side of the township, by the shopping plaza and outlets. You just need a hobby to keep you busy when you're stuck inside." "Like what?" She was baiting him again, but didn't let him answer in the friskiest possible way: Nadia changed the subject and swapped hands on the counter at the same time, gender equally alone dictated that he should be as excited by her as she was by him. "So you know the area well?" Pope went temporarily agape, she was too fast, his mind went right to the naughty bits with the words and skin reveal of her new arrangement, some kind of miracle allowed him conversationally recover: "Sure sure. I'm no cartographer, but this is my kind of place. Rolling expanses versus houses and developments on the other side. The view of the river valley, here, off the hill," Pope pointed at the hill, in the direction of his house, past the road, through the small section of trees that hid her driveway and the view, and through the wall of the cottage, then brought his gaze back, "is the best." Pope's eye caught a desk in the corner soon after, folders stacked to one side of a monitor. "So you work at home too, eh?" He pointed to the desk with his glassed hand, somehow not sloshing the liquid in deft travel. "Yup, I am a draft editor, I used to be senior editor at my publisher, but after the divorce, I wanted out of town. I took all of his money so I don't need to do it, but it's nice to stay busy even if it can't keep me sane." "So then that hubbub this morning?" "...was just because I was stuck in the house. First deadline I almost missed in ten years. I didn't even know they made so many kinds of shovels, let alone ones for snow." As engaging as the turn in the conversation had become, the 'ding' from behind pulled her away, "Work work work work," she said sarcastically, bobbing her head in quirky tune. Pope did always like vivacious, it made him feel alive. "Want some help?" "Sure, why not? Chopping or mashing?" "Mashing." "Good answer, going for the knife first would have told me too much." Nadia had almost forgotten how to flirt, Pope was easy. "That's what I figured, but I can just grab it later when you aren't looking." Nadia, with all of her intuition, couldn't tell if he was joking, at least not right away, not until the shifty eyes and smirk as he came around the counter. "Well that's ok, I'm not taking my eyes off of you... plus your fingerprints are everywhere." Her chest lifted with her humor, and with her movement through the space, offering to help might have been a bad idea. The no pressure air and increasing proximity in the cramped kitchen were making the weeks of solace, at least to Nadia, worth it. He was making her happy and he felt good, which only served to amplify the situations at hand. She had to know. "Really, how old are you." Nadia went all serious. "Thirty-six." He continued mashing tubers with ease, and he had rolled up his sleeves. His forearms were natural, solid, and his muscles danced with the tedious job. There would be no lumps here; he said nothing else. "Don't you want to know how old I am?" She watched in silence, paused in her chopping as he tossed her words around his mind. "Do you want me to ask? Does it matter?" He caught her off guard this round, Nadia temporarily speechless. She was going to say something, what exactly she did not know, but he beat her to it. "How old are you?" He was serious, furrowed brow and all. "None of your business young man, and that's a rude question to ask a lady." She was pointing the knife at him and twisting it in the air. Pope laughed so hard he snorted. "...and a lady you surely are," he almost whispered the words. "By the way, beautiful, we don't have a CSI out here in the Boonies, and I can always wipe the place clean before I leave." Nadia blushed at the comments, murder jokes aside, the emotion of the flattery came faster than she could brace for. It wasn't until her skin went patchy rouge that Pope noticed the soft and catchy blues music in the background. It sounded like Taj, and he'd been there for a half of a hour. *** As small as the cottage was, they ate side by side at the split counter top. The layout was simple enough, cathedral ceiling living room, balcony bedroom and bath, kitchen and office below: not a book let alone a bookcase in sight. When he asked about that, the simple reply was: "I don't read." They had eaten their fill, done the dishes side by side, and chattered in conversation endlessly; more and more often Nadia moved to touch Pope here or there with comments and reactions. Pope, out of character, even followed her lead for a quick spontaneous dance with soapy hands, breaking free with an expert ability just before he was about to uncontrollably kiss her, leaving Nadia slightly disappointed. Back at the sink he repeated "You just met this woman" in his head, but never missed a beat on the outward. The progression of conversation brought them across from each other in the small living room, opposing love seats with a table in-between. A matching chair was to Pope's left, the fireplace to Nadia's. She had just turned up the music ever so slightly with a slim remote, the only thing on the table, bringing along a third glass of scotch for each before sitting down. The first two glasses were short poured, sip-able. It was only when he noticed how the art on the walls had changed in light of the fire that Pope realized the lights had been dimmed. The glasses she brought this time around were refilled for drinking, not neat. Pope at least knew it wasn't the booze that made her flirt and that turned her on, though after this glass it would be questionable. Throughout dinner, while doing the dishes, and as the evening progressed, Nadia had begun to break free from her dress, the zipper had fallen slightly down, exposing the dimples on her back; a shoulder strap had also fallen to the crease in her elbow, the other strap, fighting the weight of her mammary, and not to be left out, was on it's way down as well. At no point did she attempt to fix the dress, and the bottom of it, once mid-thigh, already short, had risen close to the danger zone with her seating. The casual nature of the way it disheveled, combined with her apparent indifference of it, oozed sexuality. Pope, obviously out of his league, decided playing for the minors was for chumps. Women like this were in movies or in print, and she wanted him to be here. It appeared to be time to move up ranks in an all-star debut. Pope summoned the willpower he wished he had more of to keep his view on hers, and he desperately wanted to leer and ogle this woman. The dress was satin black, her panties were cotton, white, thong cut, and pointed right at him. She sat on her legs on her opposing couch, both arms stretched across the back of it; one holding the edge, the other dangling the glass from a hand. The room had gotten unusually warm though the fire simmered evenly where it had been all along. Nadia couldn't help but be impressed. He had managed to keep his composure despite her years of trophy wife training. Enough years around a man that didn't want her let her see just how much this one did. Pope was on the verge of squirming, yet still sipping scotch slowly and studying her gaze to a palpable tension. He, even as a rookie, could play, too. "Wanna go cards out?" "You want to play cards?" Nadia made a frumpy face, as if disappointed. Pope smiled at that, "Cards, out, go cards out." "No I heard you, I just don't understand." "Oh, I'm sorry," Nadia rolled her eyes to the word. "Don't be." "Well, yes or no first. I'm going to do it anyway, I just want to see what you think." "About what?" Nadia was giddy, confused, and squirming. Her bottom was peeking from her dress, her legs were all out now, and Pope still wasn't looking at anything but her pupils. "Cards out." "Which is what?!" "I think you are the finest looking woman I have seen in my life, and I find you fascinating." He slowly sipped scotch after the words, her eyes caught on the movement of his closed lips, his tongue obviously rolling the liquid for a moment, her jaw hanging down in stupefaction. Not that it had, and not that it would, but this could go badly. Nadia thought it quickly through. He lived far enough away, that if this went all wrong, it could be fixed. They sat eyes locked for a minute or two of musical silence, his words hanging. She studied him, he looked calm, he was smiling, and appeared comfortable and, like her, was halfway into the scotch glass, but he could obviously pop at any moment. He had left it to her; her call: They were both adults despite an age gap. "Yes. Cards out. Sounds fun." Pope sort of puckered his lips and nodded his head, as if impressed by her. "Well then, your turn." "Are there rules?or-something-like-that, I mean, just say something flattering?" Nadia was beyond anxious, somehow he was making her squirm more, and she was already wet from anticipation alone. She was going to sleep with this man, tonight, because she had zero reason not to, and suddenly she couldn't remember foreplay or sexy talk. "If only. Has to be the truth, no limits. Be bold. Might as well do it now? This is the only date like this I've ever had." "This is a date?" Nadia licked her lips. "Absolutely, I feel like I've done something right." "Explain." "I know what I want. Every other date I've ever had has built up to this one." "Which is...?" She knew. He knew she knew. He took a last sip of the scotch, setting the halfway full glass onto the table., then sat up straight and square and cross legged on his opposing couch. "My turn?" Nadia pointed to her chest using her empty hand, the second shoulder strap falling down to join the other. Pope nodded. "Well, it's been a long time since I was around a man, selfless and gentle and sweet like you are. I know we just met, but do you want to see more?" She was offering her body to him with a wave of a hand, posing on the couch. Just One Rose Pope took a mental pin-up, she could have been painted on the front of a bomber. Her waving empty hand then slid down her ribs, almost touching the underside of her breast from the start before moving all the way to her bare thigh. Her hand stopped at her knee before moving back again. "No." Pope was almost stern. "Wuh?" Nadia lost her breath at his utterance, unexpected to say the least, almost beyond no idea what he could mean past rejection. "How much sexier can you be with that dress on?" Pope's eyes finally traveled down her body, one of his eyebrows lifted to mirror one of her own. "..oo..." she understood now, "kinky boy," she almost spoke in silence before letting out "tsk tsk," with an upturned pointer, waving it in time to the clicks. "Sometimes... Do you like it, Miss Furman?" He watched her smile and then slam half a glass of scotch, setting it empty onto the table. She also mirrored his seating, sitting cross legged, obviously braless. Her tits spilled near entirely out, one nipple almost showing, the triangle of her undergarment moist and in his face. He could feel the sex in the air. "Good answer." "So do you do this with all the girls?" Nadia began cupping the more covered breast, teasing it slowly with her fingers, paying attention to it yet listening for his answer. "Never." Her free hand began to move slowly down her belly, more abruptly jumping short distances than actually sliding. "Oh really? Well-are there lots of girls? Handsome man like you probably has women everywhere..." Nadia closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip, feeling sexier than she looked, and hot all over. "Quality over quantity." Pope couldn't help but follow his words with a groan; Nadia was making a show of loving his eyes. "Good answer... mmm..." "What about you? Beautiful, well off, single," Pope's hands gripped his thighs, he was trying to stay sane at the sight before him. Nadia was begging him to ravish her like an animal by merely existing. "Less than you'd think but more than I would like, mm, I've been hoping for a man like you to come... around..." Suddenly, enough so to make Pope jump slightly, she gasp with mouth going wide, placing her fingers from the hand on her breast to cover her mouth. "Oops," her nipple had snuck out of the other cup of her dress and come up for air, her whole breast in actuality, weighty and perfectly formed. Nadia fawned surprised, glancing this way and that to hype it up in the style of a bad actress. Pope lost his breath when she placed it back into hiding behind the dress. "Oh I'm so sorry!" She shivered slightly as she began to speak again, hands in constant jumpy slow motion, focusing on her stomach and traveling down again. "My ex husband couldn't keep it up, so we got a little... adventurous... I..mmm... wasn't enough for him." "What an idiot." "I thought so," she whispered as her mouth parted again. A tiny sound escaped her lips as she touched the fabric apex down below with two painted fingernails. Her tongue danced out for a moment, as if she were kissing herself. "Adventurous?" "I was loyal, but sometimes he brought men, mm... sometimes women..." She was silent for a time, slowly feeling herself while watching him watch her. "You should take your shirt off." The words came in unison to her hand disappearing below white cotton, the other moved to hidden behind the cup of the dress, barely moving. "What if I don't?" His words were somehow timed to her pleasure and Nadia yelped. She was biting her lip hard, pleading eyes thrown open and locked onto his body as he stood. "Oh-fudge-are-you-serious," the words came in a jumbled hiss, and she was squeezing her melon hard to go with his teasing. "Absolutely not. I would have to be a madman psycho killer to pass this up, and the knife is way," Pope tossed his head in the direction of the kitchen, "over there." His shirt was already unbuttoned before he stood up, her whole body tensed when she caught that fact and then a little more when he pulled his shirt out of his pants. Pope was already hard, and well built. "...some kind of miracle," Pope whispered the words as her moan went raspy; her fingers had made it inside. When he started to move towards her, shirt gone, Nadia collided with him halfway around the table, pushing him hard into the chair and tearing at his belt like she had planned it. "...I just happened to have a condom," he had reached into his pocket before she pulled his pants to the floor, both trying to appear nonchalant. Nadia laughed aloud, throwing her head back when she grabbed the condom and tossed it over her shoulder towards the fireplace, and, without missing a beat, grabbed his shaft at the base in the rebound of the kinetic motion. "You wish, as if I'm going to sleep with you, you're just a kid." "Right, plus you're too young for me, still lots of growing up to do." Nadia huffed in return, acting offended, loosening up a moment, staring into his eyes the whole time. Just as smoothly, she was licking her lips and angling down, switching to lick from her thumb to his tip, dribbling spit when she reached the top. From between her legs, an already wet hand grabbed above the other, the two working in twisting time. His manhood went instantly slick; satiated, her hand disappeared back between her legs as rapidly as it appeared; to orchestrate the movements, her colored lips engulfed him to her fist, not an easy task as it was. Nadia almost coughed a little as she pulled up and settled into a slow rhythm moving her gripping hand slowly up and down, flicking her wrist and staring Pope right in the eye; no rush. The lipstick had to be expensive, it left no smears. Pope, near speechless, exhaled: "..are you fucking kidding me..." This was a porn star moment and it was happening to him. The corners of her mouth rose to smile, pearly whites slightly teething the end then back to a grip with her lips, coming off his rod with a pop and allowing her to make slow full length strides with her hand. "Baby boy this is nothing..." She stared at her hand moving, thumbing the underside of his head with every stroke, "I could do this all night." "I wish, but good, wuh, good luck, this is..." Her ex-husband seemed to look off in space while she performed unless he was pulling her by the ears, as had the other men she had known, but Pope was intent on her studying her handiwork. That alone brought near a puddle to her hand betwixed. Out of nowhere, mid talent, Pope grabbed her hair in both hands, pulling her up roughly but sharply to press her face to his - and then they were making out like two squirrels going round a tree. His hands grasp her bare ass with full force, pulling her harder into the wet kiss. Nadia started squirming, pulling away from him, sliding her lubricated hands down his arms, back to the prize. Nadia wanted a mouthful of this man and she wanted him inside, they could kiss later. Pope had less than a minute more before he filled her mouth. He tried to pull her off, to warn her. He lost it as she batted his hands away. He was barely finished delivery by the time he had lifted and thrown her onto the couch she had been on. "Oh-flunking-yes!" Nadia was in heaven, Pope's tongue flicked one nipple as fast as possible while he massaged the other. He pulled her soaked thong off when he swapped to licking the neglected twin peak, leaving them around one ankle. Just as suddenly he hiked her skirt over her belly button. The dress would stay on. He held his face above her trimmed patch, a short distance from her, drinking in her body and it's perfect form. With one hand supporting his weight on the couch beside her hip, Pope slowly began to slide his fingers across her wetness, teasing. "See, winter around here isn't all bad..." "Mmhmm..." "Being stuck inside," he slipped a finger into her - she squeezed in response, "can be a good thing." Pope glided downward, lifting the backs of her legs with his hands, pushing them up while licking the length of her moist lips. He sucked her tiny clit into his mouth when his hands hit the back of her knees. "Motherfucker!" Nadia screamed in the sexiest voice ever, equally sexy giggles following the words. Her hands ran through his short wild hair, grabbing two handfuls and pulling him into her. She was in for a treat. Half prepped from her own fingers, she was in wonderland when the flat of his tongue pressed and rubbed her hood up and down at a furious pace, the perfection of it all was just the trigger she needed. Pope didn't miss a beat, and swung one of her legs around his body before she even came to rest. Her butt and back were on one cushion, her head on another. The arm of the couch shadowed her form, accenting her beauty, while the fire made Pope glow as if empowered from another realm; the dim lighting from the ceiling lamps seemed to make everything around the pair disappear into formlessness. He never lost his hardness. He gripped it now, staring her down. "Do it, put it in." Her shining painted lips were closed, but she was still biting the bottom one. Pope wasn't huge, but this would be something. His free hand moved up to touch her cheek lightly, his thumb grazing the smear proof make-up of her mouth. Pope slid into her slowly, deliberately at a pace, but stopped halfway, face sly. Her face, though, twisted at the pause. Nadia's eyes had been closed, but no more, her hands started clawing at his hips. Pope, though, resisted, watching, waiting, one hand on her hip one on her cheek. When Nadia could take no more, he still waited. She squeaked, moaned, wiggled. "Please!" Pope's smile grew and he moved his face closer to hers. "Say it again." He was whispering. "PleasePoPlease!" He ignored her, she was becoming frustrated. "Please!PL-!" She never finished. He grabbed a handful of hair and forced his mouth to her own, sinking his length in. Their tongues danced as he thrust his hips forward and pulled hers to his - as deep as he could - before pulling entirely out. He tugged her head back as he returned for another thrust, aiming for maximum depth, just as before, licking her throat and nibbling her shoulder in tune. She was lost in sensation and he was consistent in his bombardment. Slowly they made passion filled love. The strength behind their mutual thrust forcing him to stop at some point and yank her body back down the couch lest she twist her neck against the armrest, sweetly aggressive. Their bodies shined from mild perspiration, barely enough to smooth the contact. She had already crested from his mouth, and member, yet on the verge again, balancing at the edge - and then his words rang out. The pair had been near silent up to that point, only wet sounds filling the room beyond the perfect music. "Turn over." Pope was licking his lips now. "...on the couch, or..." a pointer finger touched her lips in an overly acted thinking act, her other hand on his chest, "...or on the floor in front of the fire?" Pope smiled like he was on a roller coaster, saying nothing else, but pulling out of her and rubbing his slick length. Nadia sat up, pulling the panties off of her ankle. she was about to shimmy out of her dress as she crawled over to the fire place, but he stopped her. "Leave it on, it's sexy." Nadia obliged, laying her head on her crossed arms, just close enough to the flames to warm her slightly more, she circled her ass in the air, watching him as he approached. It didn't matter, the dress was dry-cleaning only. Pope leaned down, kissing a perfect globe, then slapping the other open handed as he moved his face away, followed by a teasing finger to tickle her flesh. Nadia was screaming, she was caught off guard. "You-sexy-motherfucker!" Pope stuck his tongue out of the curve of his grin and bit it softly with his teeth, amused with himself and the moment. He grabbed a handful of dress, holding it bunched below her tattoo, and a hip, using them to leverage his way back into her depths. He danced digits across the bumps of her spine, her tattoo; he tugged the hair that used to be in her ponytail; resistance to doing it was futile, so he spanked her ass again; all randomly between thrusts. Nadia, in pleasure, closed her eyes and floated away. Pope was impressive, intense, to the point where she didn't know if they had been at for minutes or hours, as if that mattered. She was losing it again, before she expected it she could take no more, pulling away and rolling onto her back, if only to catch a fleeting breath. Pope never ceased, quickly holding her legs pressed to his chest, lifting her ass off the floor. Breath would not be caught. "I do, I want it," she was clamping her chest, the backs of her hands squished by her knees, pawing near painfully at the area of her nipples. "It's going to be hot, Po" she was almost hurting herself trying not to hit fruition; she never forgot the word mutual. "I want it. Do it, I want it." Pope, face to mirror her own, was as well already on edge, and could take the sight of her glowing from the fire no more. His eyes went half closed as he leaned forward, placing a hand on the floor next to her shaking orb, the other next to her head. Her legs flew locked around his hips the instant he released her; the last thing in his vision before losing it with a quiet groan was the rippling of her flesh, rippling the way that only a woman's breasts could. Pope didn't fall on top of her, using much effort not to do so, he merely reveled in the sensation of her internal spasms from above, his breathing coming down at a steady pace much like her own. She looked up at his damp face, waiting for his eyes to open again. When they did, she pulled him down to the floor, next to the fire and next to her body, rolling on top of him soon after. Pope, still full strength and inside her, slowly thrust, taking the overly sensitive sensation and giving it back to her through a kiss. She broke the sensitive embrace first, playing against the strength of youth, pushing herself up with both hands as leverage against his chest. Astride him in front of the flames, Nadia slowly lifted off of his waist, preparing for the slow grind; her dress still encircled her belly, held up by the swell of her hips. She closed her eyes while lifting her arms to run her fingers through her wavy locks, long out of it's bondage - Nadia used her hands to hold it up, her breast appearing more round as she did - and slowly began grinding her hips, almost too slow; slow enough to make his grip jet to her thighs, slow enough to heighten the sensation with his slightly rough hands. "Nadia, this is... great, uh, but we have a problem..." "We do...?" She didn't stop her motions, he could have murdered her at any time and she would have been ok with it, she would have probably gotten the knife had he asked for it. "Well, yes, um..." His tone stopped her; she caught his gaze, almost worried. "What, what is it?" She started to look around again. "There's a condom package stabbing me in the back." Somehow he kept a straight face. She didn't, falling and slapping him in the chest. She rested her head where her hand hit, and spoke with her subsiding laughter as she kept it there: "Bedroom is upstairs." She timed hand taps in front of her face to go with the syllables. "Silly man." *** For the first few seconds that her eyes were open, she wondered why she felt sore in the best possible way. She was definitely not a teenager anymore, but the feeling made her smile none the less, her breath did not. It was then, as she lay looking at the brightening sky of the early morning through her bedroom window that she remembered Pope Archer, Po, her neighbor down by the river. She rolled over onto her back, audibly saying "Yuk!" at her own breath and stretching with a squeak. It became apparent that Nadia was alone. Her dress was no where in sight, and she was naked and half under her blanket. When she turned her head to the pillow where Pope should lay, just as groggy as she, Nadia saw the space occupied with a thing wasn't supposed to be there. Nadia cuddled under the blanket and stared, running her chilly hands across her warm body, feeling perky. Instead of Pope, there sat, on the pillow, a red flower with the stem clipped short and a business card folded in half. A smiley face had been draw on one part of the blank side of the card and set to face her. The other half, as she found, said: "Had to do some shoveling, I'll be back with coffee." "Mm,mm,mm," still stretching and reading the card aloud, "where did that man get a rose?" The thoughts of the night before causing her to ball up and hug herself. ...and then Nadia smacked herself in the forehead. "Oh-rumblefish-I-am-so-stupid. Lay all of the cards out on the table..." Soon she was laughing, uncontrollably, joyously: "...if Felicia could see me now."