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Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 02

By: LettersFromTatyana



This is an edited version of the original chapter. I've fixed the grammatical errors and made minor alterations to the text. Since I resisted making major changes, the chapter is still quite wordy. 

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Maisie Barnes rolled over in her lumpy twin bed and squinted at the clock on the old bedside table.

5:00 am. 

She pulled a pillow over her head and groaned, hoping to stop the morning's first rays of sunshine from reaching her eyes. Her head hurt way too much for light right now.

Stupid Maine. Stupid eastern edge of the time zone. Stupid early summer sunrise.

"Maisie, are you up? Come on, it's time to get up and pick," her brother Ben barked from behind the closed bedroom door.

"Mmmph."

Maybe he would go away if she ignored him?

"Maisie! Get up and out of bed, now! I mean it! You know those strawberries need to be picked early in the morning, and you know we are short on labor right now. We need you in the fields, so get your ass up and out of that bed." This time a few bangs accompanied his voice. 

Maisie didn't answer. She prayed that some excuse would pop into her head to get her out of picking. 

More bangs.

She groaned again. "I'm up, I'm up, ok? I'll be down in a few minutes." Her assertion was somewhat ruined by the muffling effect of the pillow. Perhaps he wouldn't notice?

"Bullshit. That's what you said ten minutes ago, and I know full well that you went back to sleep. Get your ass out of that bed and into the kitchen right now, or else I'll come in there and grab you and toss you in the ocean. And in case you've forgotten, the water temperature is still in the 50s." He paused, giving his words time to sink in. 

Maisie threw the pillow back away from her head, cursing to herself as she did so. 

"Ok, ok. Tell mom I'll be down for breakfast in five minutes," she replied grumpily. 

Ben was the oldest of Maisie's three older brothers, and had been in charge of waking her up for as long as she could remember. He'd tossed her into the ocean so many times over the years that she no longer took the threat idly. She would have to get up.  

"We start in fifteen minutes. I've marked you down for the east fields today," she heard him say as his steps faded down the back stairs.

She hated mornings. How she could have grown up on a family farm and never become accustomed to morning chores had always been a humorous mystery to the family. Waking up at 6:30 for her job in the city was bliss compared to this. 

Ben had inherited the farm when her father died three years ago, and now ran it with his wife. He hired help each summer, mostly high school kids looking to pick up a few extra hours to supplement their tourism-oriented summer jobs in the harbor, but the local high school was still in session due to a record number of snow days the previous winter. Classes wouldn't end for another week because of the makeup days, so his hired help could only work for an hour or so before heading off to school. Her other brothers had been rotating through in the interim, but helping out on the farm was hard for them since they now had their own jobs and families.

So even though it was her vacation this week, she had offered to help. She would be up at five each morning; it was the least she could do for her room and board. At least she could sleep in on Saturday, since the high school students could stay all morning. And thankfully, they didn't pick on Sundays.

Not that the thought of sleeping in five days from now was much comfort. She lay in bed until the clock said 5:10 before throwing back the covers. 

She shivered as the morning air hit her. God, it was cold!

She grabbed her ancient, mustard-brown Carhartt pants and pushed her legs through, cursing those extra pounds she'd put on over the past few years. In recent years her hips, upper thighs, and rear had all filled out, making her old pants a bit tight. 

She hopped across her room's faded old rag rug as she struggled to pull them on; after buttoning them up, she reached for her socks. She couldn't see her work boots anywhere, and hoped they were downstairs by the back door. 

She whipped her shirt off and threw it across the room into the hamper, only to regret her actions as soon as the shirt left her fingertips. The unseasonably warm daily highs had reached the 80s, but the nighttime lows were still in the upper 40s and their old farm house didn't have a lot of insulation. 

She whimpered when the drafty cold air hit her chest. Why had she taken off her shirt before finding her bra? And where the hell was that cursed piece of clothing? 

She crossed her arms against her chest and felt her teeth chatter. She looked around the room through her mass of matted reddish-blond hair, but it was no use—she had no idea where it was. 

She looked at the clock: 5:13. She was running late. Ben would be back soon, and her pounding head could only take so much yelling and banging this morning. 

Giving up, she pulled on a tight-fitting tank top, a long sleeved shirt, and a fleece in rapid succession. It would have to do. Her breasts were larger than they had been in high school, but were still small enough to allow her to go without a bra if she wore a tight-fitting tank top. Yet another place those extra pounds had gone, she supposed. 

She grabbed a hair tie and tossed some aspirin into her mouth before stumbling down to the kitchen. Her head throbbed as she grabbed the homemade breakfast bar and mug of coffee her mother held out for her in the mudroom. She was too late for the bacon, eggs, and toast she could still smell in the kitchen, but she wasn't sure she could handle a full breakfast anyway. She had slept precious few hours last night, and her raging headache—a result of too many glasses of wine the evening before with her youngest brother, Rob, and his wife—wasn't helping matters. 

She thought her head would split open as she leaned over to lace up her old boots, and almost cried when she realized she wouldn't be lucky enough to escape her fate in the fields with the excuse of a split-open head. Instead, here she was, heading straight out into the sunrise in the morning chill, ready to start a morning of picking at 5:15. 

How many glasses of wine had she consumed? Two or three, at most. And why, at the age of 25, was she still such a lightweight with alcohol?

Better yet, why did he have to come home? Yesterday's confused emotions had pushed her to have that final glass of wine, and she blamed that last glass—and hence, him—for her current condition. 

Why did he have to take that damn train? Maisie had been settled in her seat on the train with a book on her lap, looking forward to seeing her family for the first time since Christmas, only to glance up and see him walk past. His head had been down but she would know him anywhere, even from behind. 

She had been forced to look at the back of his head for the entire ride. He hadn't even noticed her, or if he had, he had ignored her. 

Typical of their years of interaction in high school, really. 

As she sat on the train and remembered him mastering the art of ignoring her in high school, that entire night had come rushing back to her. He certainly hadn't ignored her then, had he? 

She had relived it all on the ride from Boston to Portland: her surprise at running into him that night, her initial nervousness and awkwardness around him, the subsequent mind-blowing pleasure she had found with him, and the bliss of snuggling together throughout the night. 

Then she had remembered that awful morning, along with the weeks of misery that had followed and the tears she had shed while struggling through her first semester of college. 

By the time the train had pulled into the station she had been furious with him, both for what he had done that next morning and for breaking her heart. She'd grown up and moved on from him, but she hadn't forgiven him. 

Maisie emerged from her thoughts when she reached the east fields. She stopped and stared down at her hands. 

She had forgotten the baskets she had to fill with strawberries for today's farm stand and preserve making.

Cursing, she turned and headed back towards the house and barn. Damn that Alessandro Conti! It was going to be a long morning, and it was all his fault.

----------------------

Alessandro stared ahead as he ran along the trail, dodging tree roots and rocks as he climbed the rolling coastal hills. He focused on the sound of the steady and calming cadence of his breath against the silent morning air. Running alone in the woods—especially when the air was crisp, cool, and quiet—was his favorite way to spend a morning. 

Well, one of my favorite ways to spend a morning, he thought with a smirk. Still, at least this—his early morning run—had gone according to plan. 

His grandparents had spoiled his dreams of a true Maine meal last night. He had forgotten that they both hated steamers. Worse, since they had the ridiculous idea that soft shell lobsters provided inferior meat, he'd had a lobster-free meal; it was soft shell season, and the local lobster pound had sold out of hard shell lobsters. 

Instead of the relaxing evening on the porch he had envisioned while on his flight to Boson, he had been stuck inside with his grandparents, explaining over and over again why he wouldn't be going to Wharton for his MBA, reminding them that he didn't even have a bachelor's degree, listening to their not-so-subtle attempts to interest him in their friends' granddaughters, and eating chicken, since his grandfather was convinced that eating red meat would shorten his life. 

He shook his head in amazement as he turned to his left and ran down a short, steep hill. Chicken instead of lobster and steamers. He couldn't believe it. 

It wasn't just the meal that had been off, either. Even though his parents hadn't undertaken any major renovations in the years he had been away, everything in the house seemed to have changed. The stools at the kitchen island were new, the paintings in the dining and living rooms had been switched, the furniture on the front porch had been rearranged.... Everything was familiar enough to be recognizable, but different enough to make it seem like he was in some sort of alien version of his childhood home.

Those things aren't important, he chided himself. It was true; as much as the food annoyed him and the furniture unnerved him, they didn't matter. He'd been silly to dream about food and furniture on the airplane. Who goes home for that? He'd come home to see his family, not things. 

He had visited with his family over the years, in New York or in Italy. He'd always enjoyed their company during these visits, but there was something special about spending time with his family in Maine. Besides, he, Carolina, and Gemma had all been teenagers when he left home; he'd never had the experience of spending relaxing moments in his childhood home with his family as an adult. 

Last night, they'd lingered over strawberry-rhubarb pie, ice cream, and coffee, teasing one another and catching up. After his grandparents had retired, the five of them had rotated through games of bridge, an old family tradition. They'd stayed up well past midnight on the front porch, drinking beer and playing cards, chatting and laughing. 

His mom hadn't been able to stop hugging him and kissing his cheek. His father, who had never been very talkative, had sat beside him throughout dinner. Alessandro had caught his father staring at him on more than one occasion; it was as if his father couldn't believe he was home. Now that he thought about it, Alessandro realized both his parents had done the same things through high school, whenever he had come home for a holiday. It had annoyed him then. But now... now it made him feel fortunate. 

It also made him feel guilty for staying away so long. Like an idiot, he'd been moping around for months, feeling sorry for himself. He'd needed this time with his family. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to leave after just one week.

Alessandro looked around once he reached the bottom of the hill, and realized he had only one more mile to go. He was on the same six-mile trail he had run every morning during his summer and winter high school breaks, staying in shape for school athletics. He knew these wooded trails by heart. At least they hadn't changed much.

As soon as he thought these comforting words, he stopped in shock. He stared straight ahead, blinking. The wooden footbridge over the stream was gone. Where the hell was the footbridge? It had been there for decades!

The stream was only a few yards wide, but it was deep and swift, too deep and swift to wade across. Finishing his route as planned was out of the question. He supposed he could turn back and retrace his steps, but he wasn't excited about an additional five miles—he hadn't brought any water or energy gel with him, and ten miles was too much to do on the light breakfast he had consumed earlier that morning. 

There was only one option left; he'd have to use the old stone bridge that stood a mile downstream. 

He looked up at the sky. It had been cold when he left home this morning, and he had donned shorts and a thermal long sleeved shirt. Given his expanded route, he would be overheating by the time he got home. 

Annoyed at the turn of events, Alessandro stripped off his shirt, tied it around his hips, and headed downstream.

Would anything go right this week?

--------------------------

Maisie didn't know how much more time in the field she could handle this morning. It felt like she had been out here for hours, and her headache was getting worse; the aspirin she had downed earlier wasn't helping. She looked at her last basket, exhaling in relief when she saw that it was almost full. She only had one side of one row left; if she was lucky, she'd have time to take a bath and a short nap before helping her mother make preserves.

She had removed the fleece almost as soon as she'd gotten to the field, and was now warm in her long-sleeved shirt. She peered up at the sun; by the time she finished the next row it would be hot. She might as well remove the long sleeved shirt now and pick in her tank top. 

As she was pulling the shirt over her head she heard a noise behind her, coming from the woods that bordered the fields. Startled, she tried to turn around to see who else—or what else—was in the field with her. It was too late in the morning for either a deer or a bear to have somehow breached the fence, wasn't it? 

The combination of removing her shirt and trying to turn towards the sound caused her to lose her balance. She let out a small squeak as she stumbled sideways, and she prayed that she wouldn't crush any strawberry plants when she landed. Ben would kill her if she did. 

She never hit the ground. Instead, she fell into something. Or someone, she thought, as she felt the heat of another person enclose her.

She gasped as she whirled around and came face to face with a chest. It was strong and tanned, rising and falling rapidly, and glistening with beads of sweat in the summer sunshine. 

She knew that chest. True, it was harder and bigger than it had been the last time she had seen it, but she knew it just the same. She had looked up into that bare chest before. It was Alessandro's chest.

As she stood and stared at it, panting from the adrenaline that was pumping through her body, she noticed that there were warm, strong hands gripping her upper arms. He was holding her upright. With a start she stepped back to break free of his hold, and watched as his hands hovered in the air before dropping to his sides. 

Before yesterday, she hadn't seen him in seven years. She hadn't been this close to him in just as long. Her brain was screaming at her to walk away from him, or at the very least look away from him, but she found that she couldn't. From the intense look she saw in his eyes as they bore into her, it seemed like he had the same problem.

She had seen him yesterday, but she had been in her office clothing and sunglasses at the time. That outfit was a suit of armor compared to her tiny tank top and too-tight pants. 

The combined effect of his closeness, touch, and gaze sent a series of confused emotional jolts through her veins. She was surprised to see him, and was still angry with him. 

That wasn't all she felt. She felt lust. She was shocked by the strength of her desire. A vision of the two of them naked together flashed into her mind, and for one insane moment, all she wanted to do was crush him into the strawberry plants as she rode him in the humid summer morning. 

Appalled, she tamped the thought down. Remember what a bastard he was, she thought. You're a grown woman, not some silly schoolgirl. Snap out of it. 

She bit her lower lip, and shifted her legs as she felt desire begin to pool low in her belly. Sheer instinct caused her to clamp her legs together. She hoped the action would stop the flow of blood and wet warmth to the apex of her thighs, but if anything the pressure only intensified her rising need for him. She wanted the man standing before her, here and now; reason might control her actions, but it couldn't stop her imagination.

She tore her gaze away in a flash of sudden embarrassment—for goodness sake, there might be people in the fields and barns around them!—only to have her traitorous eyes land back on his chest. Sweat dripped down in tiny rivulets, accentuating both his hardness and the curves of his muscles, as if in some sort of mocking invitation to the viewer to try and find fault with his body. 

She couldn't. 

It wasn't just the chest that was perfect, either. She felt her hands twitch by her sides at the thought of running her fingers through the delightful light dusting of hair that trailed down from his navel and disappeared underneath his sweat-soaked shorts. She wanted to run her hands over his chest, following that line to the goal that lay beneath the wet cloth. 

She managed to pull her eyes away from him and stare at the ground next to his feet, but only after she had an image of licking him in that wonderful area that all gorgeous men seem to have, where the outer abdominal muscles—the obliques? is that what they are called?—met the hips. It was just above the line of his low-slung shorts. Again, she had to chide herself as a vision of her body lunging forward, grabbing him, and worshipping that spot with her mouth, teeth, and tongue flashed through her mind.

She wasn't surprised that these fantasies were marching through her mind at such an inappropriate time. She had spent years fantasizing about learning every inch of him with her mouth, something she had lacked the nerve to do in the motel all those years ago. Images of them together had haunted her through college. They still lurked in the shadowy corners of her mind, like some sort of lewd gift she kept tucked away for her own pleasure. Some were mere flickers, grainy reruns of what had happened between them that night; others were inventions of her imagination, usually the fulfillment of an unsatisfying encounter with another man in the intervening years. 

It didn't matter if she was alone in her room in the middle of the night, staring up at the ceiling as she relented and reached her frantic fingers beneath her panties, or if she was desperate and striving for completion as a boyfriend came inside her. She was loath to admit it, but no matter how her fantasies started, they somehow always ended with erotic images of the man who was now standing a mere foot away from her, gleaming in the sunlight and wearing nothing but a pair of sopping black shorts and mud-caked running shoes. 

The embodiment of seven years worth of pent-up fantasies was within her reach. A low whimper sounded in her throat, and the heat and wetness between her thighs was reaching embarrassing levels. She looked around, hoping that something—anything—could distract her. 


Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 02



Her gaze landed on the path behind him, the one he must have been running along only moments earlier. As children, they had often run along that path to the top of the cliffs, playing cops and robbers, cowboys and Indians, or whatever else their imagination supplied. The old stone bridge that lay just a mile beyond the fence had featured in many of their plots, usually as a drawbridge to a castle that one of them had sworn to protect against the other's invading barbarians. They had played for hours on the bridge, using sticks as their swords and the surrounding trees as their turrets.

The memories sparked something much more profound than lust in her, and a wave of sadness washed over her as she remembered those long-ago afternoons. As much of a bastard as he had been to her in high school she still longed for the friendship they had shared in their youth. No matter how hard she tried to tell herself that dwelling on him only led to heartache, she had never been able to push their former friendship from her mind, not even in those dark, early days of high school or the fall of her freshman year in college. 

They had been inseparable as children. She had been an outgoing and happy girl, the instigator of minor mischief and practical jokes. True, she had been a tad melodramatic and bratty at times, but only in an effort to irritate or annoy him into retaliation. It had always been a thrill to push him past his serious childhood personality; besides Carolina, she was the only one who could manage the feat. But her teasing had always been playful. She had been fiercely loyal to him whenever their classmates had picked on him because of his famous family. 

He, on the other hand, had been quiet, shy, and wary, providing the voice of reason whenever she had a harebrained scheme for an afternoon adventure. Of course, he had always gone along with her plans in the end; wherever she went, he followed, though often with reluctance. 

In short, she had been the ringleader of their little gang of two, always.

Well, almost always. There had been one time in middle school when he had switched their roles by kissing her. She had been shocked, both by the kiss—an awkward first for both of them—and by their role reversal. He had been the instigator of that kiss, and he had set the pace and tone of the entire encounter. 

That day was a watershed in their relationship, and the Alessandro-controlled dynamic had continued through high school until that night. Given the misery that meeting had caused, she'd be damned if she let their interactions continue that way now. 

The sound of him clearing his throat snapped her out of her daydreams, and her eyes shot up to meet his once more. How long had she been staring at the woods behind him?

"Maisie. I, um... hi." His amber-flecked brown eyes were wide with shock. Shock and perhaps something else. It had been a long time since she had been able to read his emotions, and he was now standing with the sun behind him.

"Um, Maisie? Are you ok?" he asked again. "I'm sorry if I startled you. I, uh... I didn't expect to see you here."

His last statement cleared away the remaining remnants of her daydreams, and she answered without pausing to think. 

"Surprised?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm sorry, I thought this was the Barnes farm. And you're surprised to see a Barnes on it?" She looked around in mock wonder before tilting her head up at him and raising an eyebrow. 

She groaned to herself. Had she really said that? Why the hell was she still goading him after all these years? It was cruel and immature, but she seemed unable to stop herself. 

Alessandro didn't answer. He just stood where he was, looking down at her with a blank look on his face. His hands were on his hips—those gorgeous hips of his—and for a moment she thought she saw a flicker of that unnamed emotion flash through his eyes again. 

"Sorry Maisie. Like I said, I didn't mean to startle you or anything. I was on a run but the old wooden bridge must've washed out at some point." He flicked a thumb over his shoulder and pointed back towards the woods. "I had to use the stone one and, well, it dumped me out here."

His tone was calm, as if they were casual acquaintances running into each other in the grocery store and catching up on their day's activities. It pissed her off. Why was it that she was struggling so much with seeing and talking to him, while he wasn't bothered by her presence at all? It was like high school all over again; he had moved on without giving her a second thought, while she was left behind, confused. 

Why did he have to look so damn good, standing there in his shorts while she wore ratty old farm clothing that barely fit her anymore, with a headache that bordered on a hangover? He looked like some sort of god and she looked and felt like hell. It wasn't fair. Even worse, she knew she was being a total bitch, but couldn't seem to help it.

"Yes, I know that. There were heavy snows this past winter, and it all melted over a couple of days in March when we had a massive rain storm with high temperatures. It did a ton of damage up and down the coast." She kept her head tilted, and spoke in a tone that one would use when speaking to a dim-witted person. 

"Oh, right. I, uh, I forgot." His face twisted into something between a grimace and a sheepish smile.

"Must be nice, not having to worry about the weather for your family's livelihood." 

Alessandro let out a snort and looked away, rolling his eyes before shaking his head and turning back to her, his jaw set. She knew she was pushing him, but she was desperate to make him feel some level of discomfort. She didn't want to be the only one struggling with their reunion. 

"Well, it's certainly been good to see you, Maisie. I'm really glad we've had this little chat. I'd forgotten how pleasant you can be in the morning." 

"It's good to see you, too, Alessandro. I was so thrilled to see you yesterday. I mean, I just can't believe that I get to spend time in the presence of the famous Alessandro Conti this week. Who knows, I might even get an autograph at some point." She crossed her arms in front of her. 

The crack about her morning personality had been like a kick to the gut; had he forgotten what he had done to her that last morning they had been together? Why was he here, in Maine, on the farm, talking to her? Pretending that nothing had happened between them? 

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Alessandro snapped her out of her thoughts. 

"I don't know. I guess seeing you doesn't exactly put me in a cheerful morning mood." 

"What the hell did I do to deserve this? Tell me, what the hell did I do to set you off?" 

She stared at him. That was not the response she had been expecting. Was he really asking? How could he have forgotten? 

"Hmmm, I don't know. What could you have done? Let's think back, shall we?" She screwed up her face as if in thought and tapped her finger at the side of her jaw.

She was furious with him. From the look in his eyes, he was just as furious with her. Both of them had their hands clenched into fists at their sides as they squared off in the field. One thing was certain: she had certainly succeeded in pushing him beyond his usual easygoing persona. 

He was the first to break. He spoke slowly. She could tell he was angry, but his tone was quiet and calm. 

"I don't know what the hell I did to set you off this morning. Maybe you've been holding a grudge for a long time? Do you want apologies? I'll give you apologies. I'm sorry I didn't talk to you for all those years. I'm sorry I ignored you in high school and was mean to you when I did talk to you. I was an immature asshole. I thought I'd already apologized for it, but I will again. I'm really, really sorry."

After staring at him for what felt like several long minutes, she ground out a reply. "Is that really why you think I'm angry, Alessandro?" 

He narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. Just moments ago, a small part of her had reveled with the thrilling knowledge that she could still set him off, that she still held some degree of power over him. No more. 

"Still not enough for you, Maisie? You want me to apologize for more? Well, here you go. I'm sorry I ran into you in that motel hallway and invited you to my room. I'm sorry I kissed you. I'm sorry I went down on you and made you come, again and again, begging for more and screaming my name until you were hoarse. Want more still? Well here you go, then: I'm sorry I fucked you and took your fucking virginity. Happy now?" 

She couldn't keep looking at him, not when he was saying those awful words. His tone was still calm and even, but there was venom in his voice now, as if he couldn't stand to even look at her, let alone talk to her. She dropped her gaze to the basket of strawberries on the ground in front of her, her mind grinding to a halt. 

He didn't stop. Instead he leaned closer to her and grabbed her chin in his hand, jerking her head up so that she had to look at him. He dropped his voice to a whisper, but she could still hear the anger in it. 

"Look at me, damn it. Have you been waiting for me to apologize for that for all these years? That's fucking pathetic, Maisie. Do you want to hear that I wish that night never happened? Fine. I wish that night never happened. It was a miserable experience."

His last words made her feel ill. She pushed his hand away and she wrenched her chin out of his grasp. As she stood there, head lowered to the ground and arms wrapped around herself, it occurred to her what she wanted him to say, why she had pushed him so much with her words. She wanted him to tell her what he told her that night, all those years ago: that he had wanted her for years, that sex had never felt as good as it had with her, that he never wanted to be apart from her again, that even though they barely spoke to each other through high school, after just one night together it felt like he had his best friend back. 

She wanted him to apologize for the morning after, not for that night. Not for one moment of that glorious night. Instead, he had said the opposite of everything she wanted to her. 

Still, she didn't feel as wretched as she had all those years ago; she was no longer the naïve girl who had just given her virginity to the boy she had adored, perhaps even loved. She'd dated other people; she had even moved in with a boyfriend, and imagined marrying him. She'd moved on.

None of that changed the fact that it still hurt. She had always thought that he had just freaked out the next morning, that he had enjoyed the night but then had second thoughts. Now she knew better. For all these years, she had been remembering a night that never happened, not as she knew it at least. 

"Shit, Maisie, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all of that. I didn't mean it. I don't know why I said it, or where it came from. When I think about that night, I just—" He stopped as she held up a hand. 

They stood there for what seemed like ages. She saw his hands make a movement towards her, and then stop as she bristled and shifted away. She knew he was looking at her and that he wanted to say something else, but she couldn't look back up into his face, and she certainly couldn't handle hearing his voice anymore.

She stared at the ground as tears welled in her eyes. Why couldn't she stop herself from tearing up? She hadn't cried for the past three years, not since her father died. Before that, she hadn't cried since those terrible weeks in college. She never cried, so why now? 

With that last thought, Maisie realized that she was exhausted. It wasn't just the fatigue she had felt earlier that morning when she got out of bed. She was emotionally drained, all due to this damned man standing before her, and the stupid, childish grudge she'd be holding for seven years. 

He had taken her virginity and then been cruel to her the morning after, and yet he still burst into her mind whenever she came. He was right; she was pathetic.

All she wanted to do was run home, sit in the old claw foot tub, and cry. After that, she'd chastise herself for being such a ninny, and return to her normal self. Right?

She couldn't—she wasn't done with the stupid strawberries yet. She turned away from him, trudged over the plants, and started picking that last row, silently willing him to leave her in peace. 

Minutes later—one? five? ten? she had no idea how much time had passed—she was startled out of her thoughts by a small snort. Looking up, she saw him come over and crouch next to her on the ground. He didn't say a word as he reached out, grabbed a strawberry, and placed it in the basket by her feet.

"What the hell are you doing?" 

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He reached for another ripe berry and placed it in the basket. "I'm doing what I did every morning growing up: helping you pick these damn berries. Move over so I can have more room."

She stared at him. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. 

"Maisie, I swear to God, if you don't move over right now I'm going to move you." His voice sounded annoyed, but as she looked at him she saw the edges of his lips quirk into a small smile. 

She turned back to the berries, and together, they moved down the row in silence. She was too tired to protest. The fact that he was the reason for her unhappiness didn't mean she wouldn't accept his help; the more he helped, the sooner she could get away from him and into the tub. 

They picked in silence, moving together as if they had done this every day for the past decade. In reality, Alessandro hadn't picked with her since middle school, when he would come over and help so that they could have more time to play together in the afternoons. 

She didn't know why he was helping now, but her head hurt too much to think. 

"Truce?" 

She wasn't sure if she had heard him—maybe her mind was playing tricks on her? When she didn't answer he continued to talk.

"Look, I'm sorry for what I said earlier about that night. I don't know why I said it, I just... it was stupid, and I didn't mean what I said, honestly. I meant to say something completely different, but then I—"

He stopped as she turned and glared at him, but then continued.

"I know you don't want to talk about it. But you know, we were good friends growing up, best friends. And then I went and messed things up in high school, and then I guess I went and messed things up even more at the motel, and not surprisingly, I messed things up again this morning. But we're both going to be here for the next week, and we'll probably be seeing each other a lot." 

He pressed on in the silence. "You know, it'll be really awkward if we just avoid each other when we're in the same room, or scream at each other every time we meet," he said, finishing with a small, forced laugh.

He stopped talking for a while, but started again when she didn't reply. The humor was gone, and his tone seemed almost desperate. "Look, can we just try and go back to the way things were? You know, before I screwed everything up, repeatedly?"

There was a long silence before she finally spoke, interrupted only the by the intermittent snapping of strawberry stalks.

"We can't go back to the way things were, Alessandro. You know that." Her voice was soft, and silence greeted her words for so long that she wondered if he'd even heard her.

He sighed. "Yeah, maybe. But for now, maybe we can just try and be civil to one another, and see how that goes. Seems a lot less painful that way, for both of us." He turned to smile at her. "I've been a bastard, but I've missed you. So, what do you say. Truce?"

"Ok, truce," she replied after a while. She didn't know what to make of this entire "truce" thing. He sounded sincere, but given his earlier words.... well, at the very least, she hoped a truce meant he wouldn't mention that night again. She couldn't handle any more of his... apologies. Maybe their farce of a truce would be better for both of them.

They continued to pick in silence, but a low rumbling roused her from her thoughts when they were about three-quarters of the way down the row. She dismissed the sound as the engine of a distant tractor, and went back to picking. She heard it a few more times as they moved down the row, but she couldn't see Ben's tractor anywhere.

She snorted. It wasn't a tractor—it was Alessandro's stomach. She had forgotten that when they were in middle school, his "help" often involved him eating just as many strawberries as he put in the basket. It looked as though he had decided to behave himself today and put all the berries in the basket, but it was clear his stomach did not appreciate this new attitude towards the berries.

"Here," she said with a small, teasing laugh, holding out a strawberry to him with her right hand while continuing to pick with her left. "I don't want to listen to your stomach for these last few plants, so why don't you go ahead and have a little sample." 

She had been holding out the warm berry, expecting to feel it slip out of her grasp as he took it. Instead, she felt something hot and wet on her fingertips.

She looked down at her fingers, knowing what she'd see but still shocked at the sight. Alessandro's head was lowered, and she had a breathtaking view of his short, coffee-brown hair gleaming in the sunlight. His long, dark lashes were fanned out against his tanned cheeks as he looked down at her hand, examining his own actions. 

She followed his gaze and saw that his lips were wrapped around the fruit, and she watched as he pulled her first two juice-stained fingers and thumb into his mouth as he suckled the ripe berry. She felt the pressure on her fingers as he bit down, and then felt the rasp of his tongue as it flicked out to catch the bright red juice that had begun to drip down her thumb. She heard herself draw in a sharp breath as he flicked his tongue out again and again onto her thumb, long after the juice stopped running. 

She was catapulted back to that night, remembering what kind of joy that tongue could bring her. Did he mean to make her remember that now? What the hell kind of a truce was this, anyways?

He looked up into her face and smiled. It was a slow, sultry smile. She recognized at once; it was the smile of promised pleasure. He had given her that smile before, and he had more than held up his end of the bargain in the hours that followed.

She stared at him, watching as that seductive smile curved across his face to meet his eyes, which seemed to be silently laughing up at her in the morning sunlight. He was close to her as they kneeled on the hard ground in front of the plants, but no other part of their bodies touched except for her fingers and his lips and tongue. He chewed on the berry, still looking at her from a few inches away, still allowing his tongue to play with her fingers. 

She was going to faint. Either that, or she was going to reach out and grab him and hope to God he used that tongue on other parts of her body. To hell with Ben's precious strawberry plants, and to hell with her exhaustion and bruised ego. 

A distant shout reached her ears.

"Maisie! Are you almost done? The stand opens in fifteen minutes! What the hell have you been doing?" It was Ben, shouting as he strode across the fields towards them.

She turned back to the plants—her right hand was hanging in the air; Alessandro had moved away from her at the sound of Ben's voice—and grabbed for some berries with shaking hands.

"All done." She looked up into his annoyed face and held out the last of the morning's baskets. "Sorry Ben."

Ben took the basket and opened his mouth as if to yell again, but then clamped it shut. He closed his eyes for a moment before speaking to her. 




Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 02



"Don't apologize, Maisie. I know I was a bit of a bastard this morning, and I'm sorry. I appreciate your help. I haven't forgotten how much you hate mornings."

"You threatened to throw me in the water! That's beyond being a bit of a bastard, don't you think?"

"Yeah, well, that's what you get for being the runt of the family." He pulled her into a hug. Knowing what was coming next she tried to wriggle free, but the noogie she felt on her head let her know she had been too slow. 

"Stop it." She laughed as she batted him away. "You're lucky I didn't come out there and tickle you." She reached for him, but he jumped back in time to avoid her hands; while he was the largest of her brothers, he had always lost wrestling matches because of his susceptibility to tickles.

"Well, it got you out of bed, didn't it? Besides, did you really think I would have thrown you in? I haven't done that since you were eleven, when the two of you took my unicycle after I specifically told you not to. I threw him in, too, in case you've forgotten." 

Ben turned to Alessandro at that point, and shook his hand. "Unlike my sister, have you forgiven me for tossing you into the ocean?" 

Alessandro grinned and opened his mouth to answer, but another voice cut across the fields before he had a chance.

"Maisie, if you're done you can come in and have some quiche—I know you didn't get much of a breakfast this morning because you slept in," her mother said, wiping her hands on her old floral apron as she walked towards them. "It's almost cooled, and there's a fresh pot of coffee waiting for you, too. Oh, is that you, Alessandro dear? How many berries did you eat this time? Never mind, never mind. A small price to pay for your help, I'm sure. Come on in and have some breakfast with us. I haven't seen you in years, dear, and I want to hear all about the adventures you've been having."

Maisie stared as Alessandro smiled at her mother, pulled on his shirt, and began to follow her back to the house. He turned as he reached the end of the fields.

"Coming, Maisie?" A smirk danced across his features.

Maisie rose and walked towards him, leaving Ben and the berries behind. It was going to be an interesting breakfast.

--------------------

Thanks to PennLady and sillypanda for their suggestions and editing. If there are mistakes, it's because I made some changes after they looked at the text!



Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 03



While revising chapters one and two, I found a mistake. If you read an earlier version, please note that in chapter one Alessandro should have thought that Maisie lived in Boston.

-----------------------

Alessandro's heart hammered in his chest as he walked towards the Barnes' kitchen. Over the past couple of hours, he'd run six miles, collided with the woman who'd haunted his dreams for months, spat cruelties at her, apologized, and proposed a truce. Well, he supposed it would closer to the truth to say that he proposed a truce, and then licked and nibbled at her fingers as he ate a strawberry out of her hand. He still had no idea what had possessed him to do that, and in all likelihood his racing heart had more to do with the latter event than any of the former. 

He turned to face the strawberry field, and grinned. 

"Coming, Maisie?" 

Maisie stood next to the last plant, her mouth agape as she gazed after her mother's retreating back. She remained still for so long that Alessandro wondered if she was going to refuse to come to the kitchen for brunch. An image of her standing outside of the kitchen, arms akimbo as she tapped her foot waiting for him to leave, flashed through his mind.

Not that he would blame her if she chose to stay outside. He'd been awful to her. 

He had been surprised to see her in the field. She had been correct in her rebuttal, of course; he shouldn't have been surprised at all. She was home for a visit during strawberry season, and it had always been her job to pick in the mornings. Nonetheless, he had been shocked to see her standing there, hands on her narrow hips as she surveyed the field in the morning's sunshine. 

He cringed as he remembered telling her that he wished that night had never happened. What a stupid thing to say! That night had been great—amazing, even. Maisie hadn't had a clue what to do; looking back, he wasn't sure how great of a lover he had been. They had both been fumbling nineteen-year-olds, yet it had been one of the most incredible nights of his life. 

He had tried to be cordial to her this morning, even friendly, but then she had goaded him. She'd thrown his mind off balance, and he'd remembered only at that moment—when she'd opened that damn ripe-raspberry mouth of hers—that the same mouth had featured in yet another erotic dream of his the night before. 

It had thrown him into a state of lust and confusion. Not a good combination, in retrospect.

Without warning, Maisie snapped her mouth shut and approached him. She stopped several inches away and stared up at him, searching his eyes with her own. He stared down at her, not sure what she was looking for. He was relieved when a lazy, teasing smile broke across her face. 

"Come on, golden boy. Mom's been talking about you coming back for weeks. She wants to see you at breakfast far more than she wants to see me, I'm sure."

He fell into step beside her as they walked to the kitchen, not talking but in a companionable silence. Maisie breezed into the kitchen, but he stopped at the doorway. 

The small kitchen was exactly as he remembered it. The main farmhouse was over two hundred years old, but the current kitchen was a 1970's addition. A quick glance confirmed that the room hadn't been updated since; yellow-gold laminate countertops, patterned green linoleum, and dark, country-style wooden cabinets dominated the sunny room. Even Mrs. Barnes stood in her usual position in front of the old farmhouse sink, the only item kept from the original kitchen. 

Alessandro watched as Maisie washed her hands, helped herself to a cup of coffee and a slice of quiche, and then slid across the horseshoe-shaped bench that surrounded the table and settled into her traditional position in the corner. He expected her to begin eating, but she didn't; instead, she rubbed her eyes and forehead with her hands, as if she were trying to relieve a headache. 

Now that she wasn't looking at him, he took the time to scrutinize her appearance. Her face was a brilliant shade of red, though he didn't know whether the color was a result of the sun, exertion, or annoyance with him. The previous day's mascara was smudged around her eyes, and one particularly long streak of black reached halfway from her left eye to her ear. Streaks of strawberry juice stained her hands, arms and the ratty old tank top she wore, and he could see some dirt and a few streaks of green from the plants on her forearms. Tendrils of knotted hair clung to her face with sweat, and her loose ponytail looked slightly off center. She even had a piece of plant stem above an ear.

She looked like hell. He fought to suppress a laugh as Maisie looked up at him and glared across her coffee, as if she'd read his mind. He felt a strange urge to go to her side and wrap his arms around her. He wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or commiserate with her, but he knew he wanted to be close to her. She was rumpled, but cute; beautiful, even. 

Instead he turned to Mrs. Barnes, who beamed at him as she held out a cup of coffee and a plate of food.

"Help yourself, dear. I know it isn't much, especially compared to the food I'm sure you're used to eating, but sit down." She flapped a hand in the direction of the booth, and waited until Alessandro took a seat across from Maisie before continuing. "I'll strain my neck if I have to keep looking up at you. I can't believe how much you've grown since you were a boy! To think, I can still remember changing your diapers and giving you baths when you were a toddler. I used to put you and Maisie in the same bath, and the two of you would splash and splash as you wrestled for that squeaky rubber duck. And just look at you now! Maisie, can you believe how big he's gotten?"

Maisie clanked her mug onto the table as her mother finished speaking, sloshing coffee over the sides. 

The expression on Maisie's face was priceless; she looked like she'd sipped sour milk. Her blue-green eyes were wide and her face had somehow attained an even brighter shade of red than it had earlier. Until this morning, he'd forgotten how easily she blushed.

He knew exactly what Maisie was remembering. She had seen him naked quite a few years after their old battles over Mr. Ducky, sharing her shower in a cheap motel room. She knew exactly how big he could get.

Recovering, Maisie looked down at her plate and shoved a huge forkful of quiche into her mouth. She mumbled something unintelligible, but the response seemed to satisfy her mother.

"Oh and Alessandro dear, before I forget, I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed watching that last movie of yours."

It was Alessandro's turn to flush and drop his mug onto the table. His mouth went dry as he looked up at Mrs. Barnes.

"My last movie, Mrs. Barnes?" 

"Oh, well, I suppose it isn't the most recent one. I meant the one your mother has a DVD of. I watched it at Christmas with her. It was such a lovely story." 

"Oh, right. Well, thanks, Mrs. Barnes. I'm, uh, I'm glad you liked it. I liked that one, too."

Thank God she hadn't seen his last movie. That would have been embarrassing. 

He'd been nude in his last movie. The director had assured him that the movie would include just a brief flash of flesh, and the cut of the movie Alessandro had seen had featured just that. Instead, the film included ten whole seconds of head to toe, full frontal nudity. The sex scene that followed bordered on pornographic. While he'd since switched agents and learned his lesson about working these sorts of things out in a contract ahead of time, he hadn't known about the extended shot until he received a phone call from an irate Carolina. She'd informed him that she and Gemma had gone to see the movie at a film festival, and that she had shrieked and spilled her popcorn all over the man in front of her in an effort to cover her eyes. 

However, the movie had only been shown at a few festivals so far. It certainly hadn't come to Maine, so Mrs. Barnes couldn't have seen it. Even if she had, the extended scene wouldn't have been there; since the festivals, the scenes had been altered so that the movie could qualify for an "R" rating.

"But Maisie saw your last movie, didn't you, Maisie dear?" Mrs. Barnes continued, flashing her daughter a cheerful smile. 

He raised an eyebrow as he turned towards Maisie. He wasn't embarrassed that she had seen the movie—after all, nothing in it would be new to her—but... no, Maisie couldn't have seen it either. 

"Really, Maisie? I thought it was only shown in—"

"In Manhattan, yes, at Tribeca this past spring. There are trains from Brooklyn to Manhattan, you know." Maisie leaned over the table, placing both hands palm side down on the table as she spoke. Her earlier look of exhaustion was gone. She now had a pleading, almost desperate look in her eyes, and her smudged mascara made the look border on madness. 

He stared at her, dumbfounded. What the hell was she talking about?

"Trains from Brooklyn to Manhattan?" 

"Yes, trains. And as I've told you countless times over the past few years, Alessandro, you shouldn't be afraid of underground trains. They're really quite safe." 

"Alessandro, dear? Are you afraid of subways? Oh, you poor thing. That must be terrible." Mrs. Barnes reached over and patted his hand, oblivious to both his confusion and Maisie's desperate attempts to send him a message.

"Uh, yeah." He watched as Maisie slumped back against the bench, her face relaxing. "Well, you know... um... some people are afraid of heights. I'm just afraid of... tunnels."

"Really? But you always loved tunnels as a boy. Don't you remember playing under the old abandoned railroad tunnel out on Palmer Street?"

Alessandro winced. He had forgotten.

"Yes, well." He glanced up at Maisie. He hoped she would give him some sort of help or hint, but instead he saw her shaking with silent laughter. What was going on? 

He'd been in the similar situations countless times as a boy, covering for whatever trouble Maisie had caused. Instinct kicked in. Thinking fast, he turned back to her mother and produced what he hoped was a sincere smile. "Too much time filming in Russia last year. Those stations are really far below ground. They're kind of creepy, and I've been afraid of tunnels ever since" 

"I see." Mrs. Barnes nodded, but she looked unconvinced. He had to move the conversation away from tunnels and trains, and fast.

"So Maisie." The laughter died from her face, and was replaced by a wary look. "You enjoyed the movie?" 

Maisie pursed her lips together. "A bit."

"A bit, Maisie dear?" Mrs. Barnes gave her daughter a surprised look before leaning towards Alessandro and giving him a conspiratorial wink. "She's just being shy. Maisie liked it so much she saw it twice." At that, Mrs. Barnes walked over to the sink, calling over her shoulder, "I remember you telling me that you saw it once with Carolina and Gemma, and then didn't you go with another friend after that?"

Maisie didn't answer. Instead, she shoved another gigantic piece of quiche in her mouth. 

She had seen it with Carolina and Gemma? Alessandro was puzzled. That was odd; they hadn't mentioned her being with them.

"Twice, Maisie?"

She spent a considerable amount of time chewing, and then downed a large gulp of coffee. 

He kept his gaze on her, letting her know that her trick of stuffing her mouth with food wouldn't work on him. Her eyes darted around the kitchen, as if looking for something to distract them. When she failed, she turned to speak to him.

"Carolina ruined the first time by shrieking and spilling popcorn all over the guy in front of us when... well, um, anyways." She snapped her mouth shut, and cleared her throat. She had a stunned look on her face, as if she had just realized that she had said too much. "Like I was saying, I thought it might be nice to go back and watch it again, without any interruptions." 

Alessandro raised his eyebrow further at this. 

"You went back because you missed a few seconds? Or you went back to see a particular scene, uninterrupted?"

"Yes, I mean no! I mean, I went back to see the movie, the whole movie, uninterrupted. I've always liked the story, and after... you know, your sisters had a hard time sitting still."

"But twice, Maisie? There must have been something in particular that you liked in the film, something specific that made you go back and see it again." 

She glared at him, but then a slow smile crept across her face. She snickered. "Something in particular, Alessandro? You mean, some sort of... big attraction? Or perhaps a spectacular performance?"

He raised an eyebrow and grinned. "Something like that, yes."

She screwed up her face as if in deep thought before turning her attention back to him and flashing a teasing grin. "No, I can't seem to remember anything big or spectacular, not with you anyway."

"Maisie!" Alessandro looked up to see Mrs. Barnes facing them, her hands dripping dishwater onto the floor. He had forgotten that there was a third person in the room, and from the chagrined look on Maisie's face, she had too. "That wasn't very polite, dear. Surely, you must have enjoyed the movie, or else you wouldn't have gone back to see it again." 

Alessandro recovered first, and took advantage of Maisie's surprise. "Yes, I'm quite interested to know if you enjoyed a particular scene, or if something drew you back for more. I'm always interested in improving my, ah... technique."

She stared, and he began to wonder if she was going to give him a lame answer just to move the conversation along. He hoped not. He was enjoying their banter, and felt a strange sort of excitement rise within him when she lifted the left corner of her mouth into another smile. He'd forgotten how much fun it could be when Maisie teased him. He had loved it as a child, and this new, adult content teasing was even better.

"You know, you're right, Alessandro. There was one scene that I particularly enjoyed."

"Really? Which one? Not the one where I stood in the doorway, with one hand on the doorframe above me, while the other—"

"No, not that one."

"Or, perhaps the one right after that, where Lizaveta and I—"

"No, not that one either. I believe it was the closing scene, when you were confined in a padded cell at a mental institution with nothing but a deck of cards to entertain you. I found the scene quite satisfying. In fact," she paused, and he could tell that she was savoring her final words. She smiled at him as she spoke, "I think I received more satisfaction from that scene than I have from any other time with you."

He blinked, pondering her words, and then burst out laughing. 

Just as he was about to reply, Maisie spoke.

"So, mom, Ben was in an awfully bad mood this morning. What's up with that?"

Her mother sighed and shook her head. "Poor Ben's worried about the farm, dear. It's a lot to handle, especially with... well, anyway. He's worried about the apple crop because of the late frost we had, the labor shortages are taking their toll on the strawberry fields, we've been drawing too much water from the well because we haven't had rain for over a week, and we just found out that two of the goats are sick. Oh, and the chickens are starting to revolt against the heat, much earlier than they normally do; we'll only be able to sell a few dozen eggs at the markets this week, and that's quite a blow."

Mrs. Barnes continued to speak, filling both of them in, but remained facing away from them at the sink. 

After a few minutes, Alessandro managed to catch Maisie's eye. He placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, lifting himself off his seat until his face hovered just inches away from hers.

"This isn't over," he whispered.

---------------------

Maisie tapped her foot under the table and looked up at the clock. The three of them had been chatting for close to an hour.

Why won't he just leave, she thought. If he stayed much longer she would have to choose between a bath and a nap, and that was a decision she did not want to make. 

She supposed she could go upstairs now, but she didn't want to leave him alone with her mother. Maisie knew her mother well, and this morning's innocent act wasn't fooling her for a second. She knew her mother was playing dumb. She had pushed and prodded the conversation along in her own subtle way the entire morning. She was up to something. Who knows what the two of them would talk about if she left them alone.

"Well, I should get going. Mrs. Barnes, thanks for the coffee and the quiche. It was great, really. You make a killer crust. I don't know how you manage to make it so flaky." 

"It's the lard, dear. One should always use both butter and lard in crust. Why so many women stopped using lard, I'll never know." She shook her head and tutted before giving him a fond smile. "Alessandro, come back whenever you'd like. I'll make sure to have a quiche or pie waiting for you, or whatever it is you want."

Alessandro stood and gave Mrs. Barnes a quick hug before turning towards the door. 

Maisie sighed in relief as she imagined the scented bubbles that awaited her upstairs. She opened her mouth to say goodbye, but then he paused at the door and turned towards her. 

"Maisie? Want to walk with me?" 

She stilled. She knew he had meant it when he had mouthed that it wasn't over, but she had hoped that he wouldn't want to talk now. 

His lips twitched. She realized that he could see her hands, which were now gripping the edge of the bench as if she expected him to come over, throw her over his shoulder, and haul her out of the kitchen. 

She forced her fingers to relax, and smiled. "No, thanks. I think I'd like to stay here. Thanks for helping me pick this morning, though. I appreciate it, really." 

He shrugged. "No problem. Maybe I can put off going home a bit longer. I'll come and sit by you, and we can talk about your place in, ah, Brooklyn, and, you know, catch up a bit." 

She scooted off the bench in a flash. 

"You know what? You're right. Maybe a little walk would be nice after all that sitting."

She groaned to herself as she walked out the door. How could she have forgotten about her little scheme? No, she knew how she could have forgotten about it; she'd been pulling it off for so long that it no longer seemed abnormal to her. It was a part of her everyday life.

Still, why did she never anticipate how her plans would go awry? They always did; as much as she hated to admit it, there was no doubt about that. So why hadn't she figured out how to handle this earlier? Why was she always flying by the seat of her pants?

She headed towards the path that led to his house, her head down as the thoughts sped through her brain. She shrieked as she felt his hands grip her around the waist. 

"Hey!"

"Maisie Barnes, I'm going to figure out exactly what happened back in that kitchen. Come on."

She glared for a moment, but then shrugged and followed him. Best to get it over with, Maisie, she thought. You have no one to blame but yourself for this mess.

They stopped when they reached the rear of the old, gambrel roofed barn.

Alessandro sighed as he turned to face her. "So, what was that about, Maisie?" He wasn't angry. He had assumed a matter-of-fact manner and seemed almost amused with her, like he had when they were children and he had caught her planning another afternoon's activity. "Come on Maisie, what did you do?"

She hesitated. She knew that what she was about to explain went far beyond an innocent afternoon activity. "I called her that night." 

He wrinkled his brow in confusion. "What night?" 

She gave him an exasperated look. "What do you mean, 'what night?' How many 'that nights' have we had? You know what I mean."




Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 03



"Do you mean, the night at the motel?" His jaw fell open when she didn't reply, and he sounded incredulous when he spoke again. "You called your mother? You told her what we did?"

"No! I've never told anyone about that night, certainly not my mother. I called her after we ran into each other in the hallway, but before... well, you know."

"Why? Why the hell would you call your mother?"

"It's complicated." She stopped, puffing her cheeks out with air as she exhaled. She kicked at the ground with the toe of her boot as she spoke. "She never understood why we stopped being friends in high school. She gave me a hard time about it all summer after we graduated, and was furious when I left for school that fall without talking to you. She knew we would both be there that weekend. She called me every day in September, begging me to talk to you. She knew you were deferring for a year and that you'd be in Italy with your grandmother, and she didn't want us to leave things as they were. When we ran into each other that night in the hallway... well, I don't know. I just called her and told her that we had talked, and that we were going to talk more that evening. My dad was sick. They didn't know why at the time, but they knew he was sick, and she was already worried so much about him and the farm. I didn't want her to worry about me, too, so I told her that everything was going to be fine."

Alessandro stared at her, his face expressionless. "And?"

"What was I supposed to do after that?" She was annoyed; couldn't he see where this was going? "Should I have called back the next day and said, hey mom, just kidding? It turns out that he didn't want to talk. Instead, he, oh how did you put it earlier... ah yes. He 'fucked me and took my fucking virginity?' That, rather than going back to being friends, it turns out that it was a 'miserable experience' for him, one he wished had never happened? Yeah, that would have been a great conversation to have with my mom."

"I'm sorry, Maisie. If I could take those words back, I would. I think I was angry about how we left things afterwards, and it led to me say some horrible things to you. I didn't mean what I said, really."

Her sudden flare of anger ebbed at his words and the ashamed look on his face. She shrugged, and turned to pick at a piece of peeling red paint on the clapboards. 

"It doesn't matter, Less. It was seven years ago. I'm not angry with you anymore. You don't have to apologize." 

She had meant for her words to make him feel better, but as she spoke she realized they were true. Just a few hours ago she'd been angry with him; though she had buried it as a freshman in college, a small, perhaps even subconscious part of her had always held onto that long-ago heartbreak. Both feelings had come to the forefront this morning, but then slipped away, as if she had gone through some sort of clichéd closure in the fields. She still mourned friendship they had lost—how could she not?—and she might always wonder what could have been if the next morning hadn't occurred, but she was no longer heartbroken or angry with him. She felt liberated, in a strange sort of way.

Well, almost liberated; she still wanted him. Who knows if she'd ever get over the physical desire she felt for him. Even now, his proximity sent a steady stream of desire coursing through her body. She tried to tamp it down, telling herself that while they might be able to rebuild their friendship it could never go any further—she'd never been one for flings, and that's all she would be to him; he'd made that clear at the motel—but it was useless. She'd just have to learn to live with the attraction she felt towards him. 

His words snapped her back from her revelations. "That still doesn't explain whatever the hell happened in the kitchen."

She gave him an exasperated look. 

"Think, Alessandro. I had just told my mom that we were friends again. I couldn't tell her the truth, because then she'd want to know what happened. And I wasn't about to tell her that." 

He nodded, but she delayed her explanation, knowing he wouldn't like it. "I know what you're thinking, that I came up with some sort of ridiculous plan. But it wasn't like that, at least, not at first."

He raised an eyebrow. "Go on. I'm listening."

"Well, you knew that by the time I started college, your sisters and I were good friends, right? I saw them pretty soon after the motel. Like I said, I told my mom everything was fine between us. Well, she apparently told your mom, and your mom told your sisters... only your sisters, who talked to both of us on a fairly regular basis, knew that we weren't exactly chummy." 

She paused. "I don't know for sure—I've certainly never brought it up—but I think they guessed what happened that night. They knew I hadn't had sex before I left. And you know how precocious Carolina was; the first words out of her mouth when I got back were, 'did you finally lose your virginity,' and, well, I burst into tears." 

"Oh Maisie, I'm so sorry—"

"Don't. It's fine, really. It was a long time ago. I think... I don't know why they did, but a week or so after that, they just started filling me in on what you were doing abroad. I got used to hearing about you, and it just became a natural part of the conversation. And then... then I would tell my mom. I don't think I ever told her that we had those conversations or anything like that. I just sort of let her assume we talked."

She took a deep breath as she saw the dawning realization hit his face. "My mom thinks we talk to each other on a regular basis. You know, every couple of weeks or so. It just seemed logical to let her think we did, and I never knew how to correct her assumption. My dad was sick for so long, and we had terrible droughts for a couple of years after he died. Between the weather and his medical bills, we almost lost the farm, more than once. Heck, they're already worried about this year—you heard my mom in the kitchen. I never knew how to tell her the truth; I just couldn't give her something else to worry about, and it made her so happy to think we were friends. So I just sort of kept on with it. Honestly, it felt normal to me the majority of the time. I would just chat with your sisters, and then with my mom. But that's why you had to know that I lived in Brooklyn. It would have been weird if you didn't."

He stared at her, and she could tell that he was thinking fast. 

"Hold on. How come I don't know anything about you?"

She grimaced. "Like I said, I was sort of a mess when I got back from that weekend. I sort of... requested that your sisters not tell you anything about me. I didn't want you to know." He opened his mouth to say something, but she rushed on before he had a chance. "Don't apologize again, please. They were fine with it at first, but after a while, they pushed back a bit. We actually worked out conditions." She gave him a wry smile. "Let's just say that Gemma's future as a lawyer was clear even then." 

He looked stunned. "But they never told me anything of substance about you."

"They didn't? Did you... did you ask about me?" 

He shook his head.

"Well, there you go. The basic rules were that they could mention me in passing, but they couldn't tell you anything of substance unless you asked. They were adamant that they would never lie to you, and I agreed with them; I never wanted them to deceive you. If you had asked, they would have talked about me. You knew your sisters and I were close; it's not my fault you never asked about me." 

He stood in silence for a long time, a thoughtful expression on his face. "So... does that mean you asked about me, Maisie?"

She looked at him. "Yeah, Less, of course. We weren't friends, but it's not like you were nothing to me. You were my best friend growing up. I still cared about you, and I still do." She let out a short laugh. "Don't I feel stupid now, knowing you never asked about me."

He reached out placed a hand on her arm. 

"Don't feel stupid. When I left, I cut everyone from high school off. I wanted to start over. I met Isabella about a month after I got to Italy, I got my first job on an Italian soap a couple of weeks after that, and I just got swept up in it all. I realize now that I was stupid, but I can't change it. After that night... it just felt weird to ask about you. But it's not because I didn't care. I remember lots of passing snippets my sisters mentioned, like how you fell off your bike a couple summers ago and broke your collarbone, or how after you graduated you got a job in finance in Boston... speaking of which, how long have you lived in New York? I thought you lived in Boston?"

"Oh, um, I only lived in Boston—well, Somerville, really—for a few of months after I graduated. It was a crappy job, and I moved back to New York, well, Brooklyn, when I got a better one."

He let out a short laugh as he shook his head, but she noticed that he had a smile on his face as he continued. 

"I should be pissed, but I'm not; you're insane, you know that? Of all the ill-conceived plans you've dreamt up over the years, this—letting your mom think we were friends again, getting my own sisters to go along with your plan, and passing information along to your mom as if you'd received it from me—has got the be the most... well, I don't even know what it is. The most unbelievable? The stupidest? The craziest? Regardless, I don't know how you get people to go along with these shenanigans of yours. You're a menace, you know that? The State Department should hire you."

Her lips twitched and she smiled at him. Having him call her on her ridiculous scheme made it feel like old times again. 

"The craziest? Are you sure? 'Cause we did some stupid stuff growing up. This can't be worse than that time we went sledding down Palmer Street and you got a concussion."

He shook his head. "I still don't know why you thought sharing a sled was a good idea. I should have made you sit in front." He paused. "Though that was pretty damn fun before we hit the tree. This was crazier."

"I made you sit in front because you weighed more than me." She stopped and thought, and a smile broke across her face at the next memory. "Ok then. This can't be crazier than that time I decided it would be a good idea to ride our bikes up to Passaquid. Do you remember that? We got lost on the way back and had to hide in the woods during the hailstorm."

He laughed. "Yeah, well, that was a disaster—I told you we didn't know the way well enough, and I told you a storm was coming, but of course you didn't listen to me. And I couldn't let you go alone... but still, this was crazier." 

"Well, was this crazier than that time I convinced you to row me out to Steward Island so we could look at that abandoned shack? And then you stepped on that old rusty spike, and I couldn't row us back against the tide, and Billy Thompson had to come and rescue us in his lobster boat?"

He pretended to cringe. 

"Don't remind me, Maisie. Don't you remember how that spike got stuck in my foot, and you had to pull it out? Ugh. I still have the scar, you know. Maybe you're right; at least with this scheme of yours, no one ended up getting stitches or a tetanus shot, or—" She didn't know what he saw in her face, but he stopped speaking and gave her an incredulous look. "Wait, what? Please tell me that you didn't cause that much damage."

She grimaced. "Well, you see, remember how I told you that Gemma and Carolina kept me updated?"

"Yes, go on." 

"Well, I moved last fall, right around the time you broke up with Isabella. They helped me move my stuff, but as they helped they told me they wanted to renegotiate. I got angry at something Carolina said and pushed this cart I was using away from me. It hit the wall and bounced back, and, well, this rusty piece of metal cut the bottom of my calf." 

He began to laugh, and she could feel an answering chuckle at the back of her throat. She gave him a playful slap on the back in an attempt to make him stop, but it just made him laugh more. 

"Really, it was awful. Your sisters had to move all my stuff in, and I was all sweaty and gross when I went to see this cute doctor at the ER, and he laughed at me when I told him what happened—you know how much I hate shots, I babbled the entire sorry tale to him. I had to lie on my couch for a week, and now I have this hideous scar on my calf." She tried to scowl at him, but his laughter was infectious and soon she was giggling along with him.

"ERs, scars, and shots... I guess I'll consider us even then, Maisie." He shook his head as he looked down at her, the smile fading from his face. "Maisie, how could we have been such idiots for the past seven years?"

She was silent for a long time. "I don't know." She scrunched up her face as she peered up at him. "I guess... I guess we were kind of silly, huh?"

He gave her a wry smile. "Yeah. Just a bit."

They stood, gazing into each other's eyes. Every moment they had been together over the past day, there had been some distraction: his sister, surprise at seeing one another this morning, then yelling and apologies and strawberries, her brother and mother, and finally, her ridiculous explanation. Now, nothing but a stretching silence filled the air between the two of them. 

Scenes from the motel began to flash through her mind. Not now, she thought. Please don't think of that now. Even worse, scenes from earlier that morning—from the field, when he had lapped the juice off her fingers, using his tongue with a rhythmic perfection—joined the old memories. She knew her pale complexion was growing redder with every passing second. 

Her eyes widened as she saw the expression on his face and in his eyes change. She had seen that look before. It had been years ago, but she recognized it. Was he thinking about what had happened all those years ago, too? Had he meant for her to remember everything from that night earlier this morning, when they were in the field? 

They were standing too close. She uttered the first words that popped into her mind.

"So, um, did you have a good flight?" She turned from him and began to walk to the front of the barn.

After a moment's pause, he fell in alongside her. "Yes. In fact, I slept the whole time."

She cringed. Had they had this conversation yesterday? 

"Oh. Right. That's good. I've, um, I've heard those tiny seats can get really uncomfortable during long flights."

"Um, yeah." 

She stopped and peered up at him. When she saw the amused expression on his face, she scrunched her eyes closed. "You fly first class, don't you."

She peaked, and saw him trying to suppress a grin. "Not always." She raised an eyebrow in disbelief and he shrugged, only answering when she began to chuckle. "It's true. Sometimes planes only have business class."

"You're terrible, you know that?" She started to walk again, kicking at the gravel beneath her feet.

"What was I supposed to say? You're the one who brought up yesterday's subject."

"Yeah, well, it was a bit weird to see you yesterday, and I don't really remember what we talked about at first. I mean, I had seen you on the train I guess—"

"So you did see me on the train!" He whipped his head around to look at her as they walked. "I've been wondering about that. I didn't see you, you know. Why didn't you say anything to me?"

"What, and have that lovely conversation we had earlier in the field in front of an audience? No thanks."

He winced. "Touché, Maisie. And I know you don't want to hear it again, but I am sorry about that." 

"Forget it. I deserved it, if not for my earlier bitchiness then for the deal I roped your sisters into. Sorry about that, by the way. "

She blinked as a glare of sunlight off the water hit her eyes. She'd led them down to the old boathouse. It sat high on the cliffs to avoid the rising tide and waves from hurricanes and nor'easters, but close enough so that the water could be reached at the end of a long, wooden deck. The building stood on her family's property, but they allowed both Alessandro's family and some of the local fishermen to use it. They were the only people here, though; the fishermen were still out. Alessandro's father's old sailboat was the only vessel bobbing at its buoy in the waves.

He hopped up on the dock, and reached out a hand to help her up. He sat on an old bench in front of the boathouse, and after a moment's hesitation, she joined him. They reminisced about their time together as children and chatted about the town, and Maisie filled him in on the gossip he'd missed. The harbor was thrumming now, and provided ample distractions; they waved at several returning lobstermen they knew, watched a couple whale-watching boats leave, and critiqued the few sailboats that passed. 

Now that they weren't looking at each other, the tension she had felt behind the barn was gone. It was nice, sitting on the dock with him, looking out at the water. She felt comfortable with him.

"I would ask if you wanted to go sailing with me, but there doesn't seem to be much wind right now." 

"Mmmm. Ben said the water was still pretty chilly. Seeing as I hate being splashed with cold water, I think I'll leave the sailing to you and your grandparents this afternoon."

"Are you kidding me?" He turned to her with an incredulous look. "Don't you remember what happened the last time I went out with them? I was with you, and not surprisingly, things went awry."

She paused, trying to recall being out with his grandparents but not having much success. "I have a vague recollection of being really, really cold, but I don't remember much else."

"Yeah, well. Carolina was too young to remember—probably why she mentioned it yesterday—but suffice it to say, I'll never get my grandparents in that sailboat again. You and I took them out, and we capsized."

"What? No. No, you have to be wrong."

"I can't believe you don't remember! I've never seen my mom as furious as she was when my grandparents straggled into the house, shivering and covered in dried salt and seaweed, their shoes lost in the Atlantic."

She groaned and buried her face into his shoulder. "Please tell me we didn't dream up something really stupid."

"We?" He laughed. "No. As always, you. I was just always dumb enough to go along it. Want me to remind you what happened?"

"Maybe," she said, her voice muffled into his shirt.

"Well, it was an America's Cup year, and you thought it would be fun to make our own racecourse with the lobster buoys. Somehow—and for the life of me, I don't remember how this happened—the boom knocked my grandfather off the boat and into the ocean. You screamed, my grandmother panicked and stood up at the worst possible moment, and somehow we capsized. It was bad; we almost turtled, and that would have been a disaster. It took me forever to get the boat upright again. We didn't sail back; I think Billy Thompson came the rescue again, and towed us back."

"Oh God. I remember that day, but I completely forgot that they were with us! I don't know how I'll face them this week." She paused, sniffed, and then pulled her head back. "Ew. You kind of smell, Less. You know that, right?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You're one to talk."

"What?"

"Well, you don't smell. Much." He smirked. "But you are a bit dirty."

"No I'm not. I washed my hands." 

He took her hands in his own and pulled them towards him, holding her arms out in front of her. She looked down and gasped; she was a mess! And her tank top....

She glared at him. "Is this what you were laughing about in the kitchen earlier?" 

"Yes. Can you blame me?"

"Yes. No. I'm not sure." She rubbed at her arms, trying to get the smudges off. She had some success, but her fingernails... she'd need a lot of time in the tub. "Anything else?"




Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 03



"Erm." He indicated a spot near his eye. She began to rub at her face, and tried to contain her own laughter as she watched him struggle not to laugh at her. "I don't think that's going to work, Maisie. I think we both need a shower." 

She stilled, losing all thoughts of laughter. "A shower?"

There was a long pause before he answered. "Separate showers, Maisie."

"Right. Obviously."

She couldn't believe she thought he had meant together. True, they'd done that once—excluding the Mr. Ducky baths, that is—but of course he hadn't meant together. All she had managed to do was make things uncomfortable again, for an awkward tension—the same awkward tension that had been in the air before she asked about his flight—was back. She looked around, trying to think of something else to say, but of course for some inane reason all she could think of was his flight.

She felt his hand in her hair. Her heart stuttered, and then began beating so hard and fast she was sure he could feel it. She whipped her face back to his. 

"Sorry. It's, um, it's been in your hair all morning, so I thought you might like me to...." He trailed off, holding out a dead plant stem in his hand.

She stared up at him, unmoving. He reached out his hand again and began to stroke her hair. The memory of him doing that same action came rushing into her mind. As they stared at one another, she again had the sense that he was somehow sharing her memories. She closed her eyes, playing that moment back in her mind, over and over again. It had felt so good, and so right; that had been the moment when she thought that they belonged together. It felt good and right now, too. It shouldn't though, right? They didn't belong together, right?

She felt the pressure of his lips on her temple. He kissed her there once, and then again. She felt his breath against her face as he moved across her face, down to her lips. They brushed across hers, with a touch so light she wasn't sure if she imagined it. She felt his other hand at her waist, and his thumb brushed the side of her breast as he moved up her back. 

The feeling jolted her back to her senses, and she jumped up. They'd done this before; she needed to make sure they didn't do it again. "Um, I need to go. My mom, she's expecting me to help with the preserves. Bye."

She turned to leave, but didn't get far.

"Maisie?"

She paused, and turned to face him. It was his turn to grip the bench, just as she had done earlier that morning.

His voice sounded tight when he spoke again. "You can sleep in a bit tomorrow. I'll join you after my run." 

"What? Why?"

He let out a single harsh laugh. 

"I said, I'll join you after my run tomorrow. I believe we have seven years of your life to catch up on." 

She stared at him, her brain catching up with his words until the realization hit her. Of course; her conversations with her mother had left him in an odd position.

"Right. Till tomorrow, then."

She hopped off the dock, struggling to stay upright on her jellied legs when she landed. She needed to think, to figure out what to do now that Alessandro Conti was back in her life. 

She needed that bath. 

-----------------------

Thanks to PennLady for editing. I appreciate your votes and comments.



Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 04



I'm afraid these two are still stuck in a present-day holding pattern. I've given you a dream sequence flashback (the third section, to avoid any confusion) to make up for it! 

In case you've forgotten, they're both nineteen during the flashback, so there's no underage activity.

----------------------

Alessandro shook his head in disbelief. Maisie was kneeling next to a strawberry plant halfway down a row, her hand hovering in mid-air as she stared off into space. She hadn't noticed him, even though he'd been standing next to her for a full minute.

"Good morning, sunshine." 

Maisie let out a startled gasp as she jerked her face up to him. He saw a flash of a glare, but then she smiled as he waggled his brows at her; he'd spoken in his most cheerful tone, and hadn't been able to suppress a wide grin.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack, Less. I don't know how you can be so friggin' cheerful. It's not even seven yet." 

"Yes, well, I've always been a morning person. You know that. How's day three of picking going?"

She began to stand, albeit with some effort after her time on the ground. He reached out a hand, which she took after the briefest of pauses. 

He pushed the fleeting image of kissing her from his mind. You did that on Monday and she was strange all day Tuesday because of it, he chastised himself. Today's a brand new day. Don't fuck it up.

They turned to look across the field as Maisie spoke. "OK, I guess. Ben opened this field for pick-your-own last Sunday. I kinda wonder if, instead of moving to another open field after they'd picked all the ripe berries here, people picked a bunch of berries that weren't really ripe yet. 'Cause there aren't that many ripe ones now." 

She gestured to the baskets at the end of the row. She was halfway through the field, but had filled only one-third of the baskets. 

"It isn't the best news for our sales at this afternoon's market, but on the plus side," she grinned up at him as she paused, "it means I can go and take my nap sooner."

He shook his head. "Are you still unable to function before ten o-clock?"

"No. I can now be a fully functioning member of society after nine in the morning. Anything before nine, however, is uncivilized." 

She tried to look dignified, but her face dissolved into laughter. "Honestly? It's a good thing I pretty much set my own work schedule. I get to work a little after eight-thirty, but don't set meetings before nine-thirty." 

She paused and wrinkled her nose. "Except on Saturdays. I work every Saturday morning from seven 'til noon. Yuck. Have a good run?"

"It was OK." Alessandro motioned back to the plants, and knelt beside her as they began to pick. "You know, yesterday you never got around to telling me what you do for work. We seemed to talk mostly about your brothers, and about me. Seeing as it's now Wednesday, I think it's high time we talk about you." 

She flashed him an impish grin. "I was wondering if you'd notice our odd choice of topics yesterday, seeing as learning about me was the point of picking."

He stared as she turned her attention back to the plants. What she said was true; on Monday after breakfast, he'd said he would join her to learn about the past seven years of her life. 

But it hadn't been the whole truth. 

While sitting on the docks with her on Monday, he'd remembered coming home that weekend, after the night at the motel. He'd sat on that same bench for hours, replaying what they'd done over and over as he'd watched the boats in the harbor. He'd done his best to have a normal conversation with her on Monday, but sitting on that bench had set off a kaleidoscope of images in his head. By the end of their conversation, he'd wanted nothing more than to recreate every single one of those images there on the dock. 

His gaze lingered on the freckles that had formed on her nose over the past few days, and on the light blushes of sunburn that spotted both cheeks. Her lashes followed her eyes down to the plant before her, and her lips were curved into a tiny smile as she picked. 

The wind had whipped a few strands of her strawberry-blond hair out of her loose ponytail. He reached out a hand to push it back from her eyes.

Maisie snorted beside him, "Well, you don't have to seem too interested." 

He blinked and moved his hand the nearest plant, relieved that she'd interrupted him with her words. "Huh? Interested? Interested in what?" 

She shook her head at him, an amused look on her face. "And you think I'm the one who can't function in the morning?"

"Oh yeah, sorry. My mind wandered off a bit." He turned his attention back to the plants. "So, I thought we were going to talk about your career?"

She shrugged. "It's nothing major. I work as a liaison between farmers, their organizations, and various government offices in New York City."

He turned to her, surprised. "Weren't you working in finance or something after you graduated?"

"You were listening to those tidbits from your sisters, weren't you?" She smirked as her hands moved in the practiced motions of picking berries and placing them in the basket. "Yeah, I worked in the exciting world of corporate finance for a few months, but I hated it. I might not want to be a farmer, but I can't completely leave it behind and go all corporate."

"So, what exactly does your job involve?"

"A lot of different stuff. Sometimes I help farmers navigate their way into the city's various markets and kiosks. Sometimes I help new farmers' markets start, which means I work with various neighborhood organizations to target new locations. Let's see." 

She sat back on her haunches and held up a hand, ticking off fingers as she listed her tasks. "I also help with marketing, compliance with everything from zoning regulations to health and safety ordinances, identifying the products that will sell in whatever neighborhood they're in . . . you know, stuff like that. Other times I take their concerns with certain rules to the relevant branch of city or state government and lobby on their behalf, and other times I go the other way around." 

She rolled her eyes before giving him an exasperated look. "Honestly, I do a lot of translating. You know, turning farmer-speak into political terminology so that the politicians don't turn their noses up, and turning wonkish terms into phrases that farmers understand. I mean, the two groups use completely different languages. One isn't better than the other, but they don't communicate well, at all."

He stopped picking and looked at her. "How'd you get a job like that? It seems perfect for you."

Her eyes twinkled in the sunshine as she beamed at him. "Isn't it? Well, besides having to be at a different market every Saturday morning, it is. I volunteered with the organization when I was in college. I like New York, but I needed some sort of connection with this," she said, spreading her hands out in a gesture to the fields surrounding them. 

"I got a lot more responsibility during my senior year when my boss went on maternity leave. I had hoped they'd have a spot for me when I graduated, but they didn't. They called the August after I graduated, when I was in Boston; my old boss had decided to quit her job and stay home with the baby. I moved back to New York, and I've been there ever since."

"Wow. Your job, it's so . . . useful."

She raised an eyebrow. "Um, thanks? Are you growing into that patronizing Hollywood role already?"

"No, I mean it." He laughed. "I mean, come on; I walk across a set or stage and repeat phrases that someone else wrote. Sometimes I flap my hands or sit down, but that's about it. I don't deny that I do it well, but at the end of the day, it's just acting. You're doing something useful with your life. You're helping farmers stay in business by selling their products, and you're helping people in New York get access to great food. You have a role in life, a useful one; I can't say that about my job."

Maisie stopped picking. She fidgeted in the silence that stretched between them, and licked her lips as she stared at the plants before her. 

She was blushing, too. He was relieved to see it wasn't an angry or humiliated blush, like the ones he'd caused on Monday. Today she blushed from his praise. 

He felt rather pleased with himself.

"Your job's useful, too, you know." Her words were quiet; had he not been staring at her face and seen her lips move, he might have missed them. 

"Mine?" He laughed. "Maisie, like I said, I say a few lines and walk around. I'm not sure what's so useful about that, even if I do it well. Just because I have fans—and God, that's weird to say—well, it doesn't mean I'm useful."

She stopped her fidgeting and gazed up at him. "That's not what I mean." She paused and bit her lip, as if weighing her words. "I meant what I said that night. About you? About acting and Shakespeare?" She looked up at him, her eyes wide as she met his. "Do you remember?" 

He drew in a sharp breath at her words. "Yeah, I remember that, Maisie." He paused. "I owe my career to you. I never thought I was any good, until that night when you said, well, what you said."

"Oh?" She seemed nervous. He suspected he knew why; neither of them had mentioned that night at all yesterday. Perhaps this was her way of saying they could talk about it, like adults? 

"Yeah." He stopped and took a deep breath; he hadn't talked about Isabella with Maisie at all, unless he counted the car ride with Carolina. 

"I met Isabella a few weeks after I arrived in Italy. One day, I accompanied her to a casting call; some daytime show needed models, and she was auditioning for a part. While I was waiting in the hallway, a man approached and asked if I could act; some guy hadn't shown up for a bit part, and I guess I had the look they were going for." 

He turned to her and smiled. "I almost said no; I mean, I'd only been in school plays until then, you know? Then I remembered what you'd said just a few weeks before. So I said yeah, I can act. And that started . . . everything."

"Really?"

"Really. So thanks."

They picked in silence, until Maisie started giggling.

"Does this mean I get a royalty check?"

"Consider this," he gestured to the basket at his feet, "your in-kind payment. Is that good enough?"

She let out a dramatic sigh. "I suppose so."

They chatted more about her job and her life in the city as they moved down the rows, but there was one topic they avoided. He knew he should ask—he wanted to ask—but he didn't have the guts. He'd come close a few times when asking about vacations and apartments, but hadn't been able to ask the next logical question.

"So . . . what else have you been up to?"

She shrugged. "I still run a lot, I play bridge with Carolina and Gemma and some other friends every week—"

"Bridge? I always thought only my family and sixty-year-old women played bridge."

She looked abashed. "Yeah, well, Carolina and Gemma taught me to play, and, ah, I thought it would be a good idea to get a group together every week. And you know how I can be convincing." 

He snorted. "That, I do know." He paused, gathering his nerves. "Anything else? I mean, anything else important?"

They stood. They had finished the final row of picking, and were done for the day.

Her lips quirked. "You trying to ask about my love life, Less?"

"Maybe." He forced out a laugh. "It seems only fair, if you've been getting updates on mine from Carolina and Gemma."

"Lessi, about that, I'm still really sorry—"

"I'm teasing, Maisie. I didn't say it to make you feel bad." He paused and looked off across the fields. "You don't have to tell me, you know. It's none of my business."

She handed him a couple of full baskets and headed towards the barn with the others in hand.

"No, it's fine. I mean, I guess we're friends right?" She gave him a quizzical look, and smiled as he nodded. "I dated a lot through college and afterwards, but mostly short term stuff. Then I moved in with someone . . ." she shrugged.

"Oh?" She was dating someone? His stomach clenched; how did he not know this?

"Yeah, but it didn't work out. He's a nice guy, we just drove each other crazy." She grinned up at him and laughed. "And not in a good way."

"Right." He felt himself relax. 

"Well, um, thanks for the help. I like having your company, you know, but you don't have to do this, if you don't want to."

"No, I want to." 

"Yeah?" Her quizzical, almost hopeful look was back.

"Yeah." He smiled. "I do."

"OK." She smiled in return. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow, then."

His stomach lurched as she turned to walk away. He didn't want her to go, not yet. "Hey, Maisie?"

She turned. "Yeah?"

"Do you want to, I don't know, go sailing or something this afternoon? The waves are supposed to calm down around three or so. And it's certainly hot enough to be out in the breeze."

"Didn't I tell you I don't like being splashed by cold water?"

"Oh. Right."

"I'm teasing, Less. I'd love to, really, but I can't. I offered to take my sister Marie's place at the farmers' market today. She's pregnant; she and Ben told us yesterday. My mom said she's known for weeks, but . . . anyway. She's not that sick anymore, but she's exhausted all the time. I think it's really hard for her to be on her feet and deal with customers for a few hours in the heat, so I offered to take her place. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Oh, OK. Tomorrow."

-------------------

Alessandro shoved his hands in his pockets and pressed his forehead against the third floor dormer window. He was in his father's library, a room that had always been among his favorite places in the house. It had been his retreat when he'd wanted to be alone or needed to think; his father had always seemed to know when to stay away from his own library. 

Alessandro hoped the room could work its magic this morning. He needed an epiphany. 

He'd achieved clarity on a few things over the past few days. He no longer cared that Maisie had left him that morning in the motel without so much as a goodbye. Seeing her—talking with her, touching her, kissing her—had somehow allowed him to focus on that night, and not on the next day. 

But what did he want from her now? He knew he wanted friendship and he wanted sex, but where did that leave them?

A friends-with-benefits arrangement? He'd never done that. He'd had flings when he and Isabella had taken one of their many breaks and he hadn't been celibate since their relationship ended, but none of those encounters had been with women he'd had solid, platonic friendships with beforehand. He didn't know if Maisie could handle an arrangement like that, but he knew he couldn't. Not with her, at least. It would be too weird. 

But if not a friends-with-benefits agreement, then what? The remaining choices were either a platonic friendship—he groaned aloud at the thought—or a relationship of some sort. 

Did he want a relationship? Did she?

He moved away from the window and flopped into an old armchair. He tried to think, but didn't get far. He was exhausted; his morning runs had been long, and he still wasn't quite adjusted to the time change. Plus, it was warm in the attic room; the sunshine was streaming in through the dormer, and he could hear the distant, rhythmic sounds of the ocean and the hum of the cicadas through the open window. 

He couldn't think straight now. He'd figure out what to do about Maisie after a short nap. 

He tipped his head back against the armchair, closed his eyes, and slipped into a dream.

-----------------------

Alessandro was drunk. Not falling-down, can't-speak, going-to-be-sick drunk, but drunk nonetheless. 

That wasn't the problem. The problem was that it was only 4:30 in the afternoon. 

It had been stupid to have those shots earlier, but he'd been looking forward to this weekend—his former high school's Homecoming—for four years, ever since his freshman year. He hadn't seen the harm in starting the celebration early. 

The early morning ceremony hadn't seemed any different than it had last year, when he'd still been a student at the prestigious boarding school. Just as he had in the previous four years, he'd listened to speeches from the headmaster and deans, and joined in rounds of cheering and clapping as the football coach spoke of trouncing their rival later that afternoon. The old Latin teacher had stood up to lead a few school songs, and as always, the singing had fizzled into murmurs after a minute or so; despite the old man's pleadings, no one ever learned the words past the first verses. 

Alessandro supposed that, at one point, the day had been a solemn occasion. Or at least, that's what he'd imagined after seeing pictures of the day from the 1950s, featuring sober-looking men with identical short haircuts, khakis, dark blazers, white shirts, and the Academy's official tie, all sitting in neat rows and staring with rapt attention as the school's old lion of a headmaster gave a speech from the podium.

The day was still marked with tradition. Only now, the traditions were sex, drugs, and alcohol. 

As per this tradition, he and his former classmates had returned to the Academy for the weekend as a sort of last hurrah, one that after four long years was finally without curfews, the gender-separating parietals system, and any number of other school rules that had curtailed their high school social lives. In short, Homecoming was four years of pent up hormones rolled up into a weekend-long, alcohol-fueled orgy. 

Like everybody else in his class, Alessandro had headed back to the motel after the game. Now that he was slightly inebriated he could see the humor in their lodging choice. Where else would the children of America's governors, hedge fund managers, and cultural icons stay but at a dirty, cheap motel? 

He had to admit that the motel was a logical choice. It was minutes from both the interstate and the school, and was the type of establishment that was more than willing to turn a blind eye to drugs and underage drinking in the hopes of filling up for this one weekend every year. 

Even better, the older alums stayed at nicer hotels in neighboring towns, so he and his former classmates didn't have to worry about being spotted by their parents or their parents' acquaintances, a serious danger given the number of legacies and tight-knit, upper-class social circles. Still, one didn't expect a $45-per-night motel to have a parking lot full of BMWs and Mercedes, even if most were parental hand-me-downs.

Try as he might, however, Alessandro wasn't sure what had happened after he'd left the game. He remembered sitting in the passenger seat of his car; his friend Jack had been sober, and Alessandro had handed his keys over without argument. They had stopped someplace, but he didn't know where. 

Had it been a convenience store? That seemed likely; there was one in between the Academy and the motel. But why had they gone to a convenience store? 

He pushed the thought from his mind. It didn't matter. 

He remembered plastering a stupid grin on his face as he walked past the motel's front desk clerk, and then eating some greasy Chinese delivery in Jack's room. However, he couldn't remember why he'd left his friend's room just a few moments earlier. Had he been kicked out? 

Maybe he was a little further over the line towards drunkenness than he had thought. Not that it mattered; he was sure that after a nap and a shower he would be ready for a night of drunken debauchery. 

As he stripped off his clothing in his motel room, he had a vague recollection that something else had happened over the past several minutes, after Jack had kicked him out. Something had happened in the hallway, something with a girl, someone he knew. He closed his eyes and tried to remember, but it was no use; the room spun too much when he closed his eyes. All he could remember was that she'd been pretty. 




Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 04



He smiled as he flopped onto the bed. Maybe he'd run into a pretty girl, and told her to come visit him later? He wouldn't put it past himself to do something like that. In fact, he hoped he had; there were worse things in life than having a pretty girl show up at the door to your motel room. 

He awoke from a nap about three hours later. Within fifteen minutes, he ate some food, downed some aspirin and Gatorade, and showered. By the time he padded out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, his headache was gone and he was darn close to sober. 

He heard a knock on the door. He figured it was probably Jack, here to get him for whatever their friends were planning on doing that night.

"Just a sec," he yelled as he headed towards the door. "Hey, did you kick me—"

Maisie. Maisie had knocked on his door, not Jack. And Maisie was now standing in his doorway, looking him straight in the eye with her own wide open, a blush creeping up her face. 

"Hi—"

"Hi—"

They both stopped when they realized the other was speaking, though neither resumed in the long silence that followed. 

Maisie spoke first. "Um, I figured now was as good a time as any, so . . . ." 

She looked nervous. He wondered how long she'd stood there, building up the courage to knock. But why was she here? 

"Right. So . . . do you want to come in?" He stepped aside and gestured with his hand. He was surprised to realize he wanted her to come in; he wasn't just being polite. 

"Oh. OK, yeah. If you want me to?" 

He exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Yeah, of course." 

She was wearing a pair of dark jeans, a peacock blue t-shirt, and last season's cross country sneakers. It was a typical Maisie outfit, and he appreciated the way the jeans and shirt hugged her slender figure. Her long hair hung in a ponytail, and as she brushed past him he found himself mesmerized by the sight of her reddish-blond locks swaying back and forth in time with her steps against the blue background of her shirt. 

His fingers itched to reach out and touch her, to find out if her hair was as soft as it had been when they were children.

He stared at her retreating back, dumbfounded. She was stunning, even in jeans and a t-shirt. Had she always been this beautiful? Why had he never noticed? 

Maybe he had noticed. He realized with a jolt that he had stared at her hair—and her body—quite a bit this year. Not that it had done much good; she'd rejected all of his attempts to talk. Maybe she was here to set things right, friendship-wise? Had that been what she meant when she'd said that this was as good a time as any?

He shook his head as he turned towards the room. Maisie had stopped in the middle and was chewing her lower lip. He saw her gaze flicker down to his towel, her face growing scarlet as she did so. 

He couldn't help but smile. She was nervous. They'd known each other since birth, had bathed together as babies and gone swimming in their skivvies as grade-schoolers, and she was nervous around him. It was kind of endearing.

"Sit down, Maisie." He laughed, waving his hand at an empty chair in the corner. "I'll put some pants on, OK?" 

When he looked back after throwing on a pair of jeans and a shirt, he saw her perched on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were flitting around the room, looking anywhere but at him. She'd placed her hands by her sides on the bed, and was keeping some weight on her feet. She looked as if she couldn't decide whether she wanted to sit or stand back up. 

He moved to sit next to her, but stopped in front of her when she lifted her face to look at him. Her eyes looked wider than they had earlier; she looked nervous, curious, and . . . something else. It frustrated him to realize he couldn't place that last emotion. It had been so long since they could tell what the other was thinking. 

"Do you want something to drink?" He was surprised to hear that his voice sounded strained. 

"No," she whispered, still staring up at him. 

Her eyes flicked down for the briefest of moments, which, given that he was standing in front of her, meant she looked right at his crotch. She swallowed hard and pulled her eyes back up to his face. 

At last he saw it, that last emotion: desire. 

His left hand acted in some sort of automatic response to the look. He ran his fingers back along her scalp, twirling them through the few soft tendrils that had fallen out of her ponytail. 

She leaned her head into his hand and smiled. Given her earlier nervousness he'd expected a shy smile, but she surprised him. Her smile was the teasing grin he'd seen countless times in their youth, the one she'd always shown him before launching into some crazy plan for a summer afternoon. 

As if in some automatic childish response, he reached for her ponytail and yanked. 

"Ow! Hey, stop that!" She batted his hand away, but continued to grin as he moved to sit next to her on the bed. 

He must've misread her. There was no way she wanted him, not in that way. That grin she'd just flashed him . . . she must be here for some other reason. Surely she wasn't thinking about that sort of adventure? 

Unfortunately, his brain disregarded these logical thoughts and instead went hurtling along a libidinous path. He found himself mentally undressing her, trying to create an image of her beneath her clothing, beneath him. 

Desperate for some sort of distraction, he looked around at the room. 

Textured, cream-colored wallpaper surrounded them. He tried to focus on how it was peeling in a few places, but imagining her nude form was far more interesting. Mismatched floral bedding and curtains dominated the room. Both seemed to be at least a decade out of date, as did the worn, teal carpeting under his feet. The bedding was pilling, and there were several dark stains near the middle. The drawn curtains let in quite a bit of light from the fluorescent bulbs in the parking lot outside, and the overhead light in the room was harsh and bright. He could hear the pulsing of the Jake brakes from the tractor trailers on the hilly interstate beyond the glass, as well as random drunken shouts from his former classmates in the hallway. 

The dingy room brought him back to reality. They hadn't seen each other in over a month. It was the longest they'd ever gone without seeing each other, even when they weren't speaking. After today, they wouldn't see each other for months, maybe even years; he'd deferred his acceptance to college for a year, and would be leaving next week for his grandmother's in Italy. 

The prospect of not seeing her was a strange, gut-wrenching thought. She'd probably realized it, too. Perhaps she was here to say goodbye?

He was about to turn towards Maisie and ask why she'd knocked when his eyes fell upon the room's tiny set of table and chairs. They would have been right in front of her when she'd walked into the room, and he'd waved his hand at them when he'd told her to sit. A chair was even pulled out from where he'd sat earlier in the day to put on his shoes. Yet she'd ignored it; she'd looked straight at that empty chair, and chosen to sit on the bed.

He needed to clarify why she was here. His brain was beginning to run away from him again.

He turned towards her to speak. "Maisie, why—"

Her lips brushed his, cutting off his words. He blinked, yet when he opened his eyes she was still there, inches away, looking back at him with big, beautiful, blue-green eyes. Her lips were open, and her breath was on his lips. He couldn't believe she'd done that, but it had felt . . . good. Amazing, even.

Unblinking, they both leaned forward, and their lips met once more in another short, simple kiss. Then they met again, and again, and again, allowing their lips only the smallest of touches. Alessandro reached his hand out to stroke her hair, savoring the feeling of soft silkiness sliding through his fingers as he dropped her hair tie onto the floor. 

Their eyes remained open, as if each were waiting for the other to jump up and laugh, proclaiming the kisses jokes or dares, though neither of them did. 

Alessandro broke first. He slid his hand down to the nape of her neck and pulled her towards him. He closed his eyes and licked her bottom lip, hoping for an invitation into her mouth. 

He heard a sudden intake of breath and a moan as his tongue slid inside. She tasted incredible, like something in between the sweetness of her mother's strawberry preserves and the salty tang of the ocean. Her lips were full, wet, and soft, and her tongue kept meeting his with hesitant little touches. He didn't know how long they kissed for, but before long they were both breathing hard as they explored one another. 

He needed much more than a kiss, but as the realization that this was Maisie—Maisie Barnes, the girl he'd grown up next door to and hadn't had a single conversation of substance with in years—hit him, he broke away. 

They were still sitting on the edge of the bed, wide eyed and panting as they stared at one another. At some point one of his hands had fisted in her hair. The other spanned her ribcage, his thumb brushing the side of her breast. Her hands had wandered, too; one rested on his chest, while the other squeezed his upper thigh.

"Maisie?" He cleared his throat; her name had stuck in his throat. "What are we doing, Maisie?"

She searched his eyes, her lips wet and swollen from their kisses. "I thought you . . . I mean, don't you want to? Do you want me?"

"Yeah, I do." Her fingertips pulsed on his legs and chest at his words, making it hard to concentrate on his answer. "I've wanted this—you—all year, I think."

"Yeah?" Her lips curved into a smile, and her eyes sparkled under the room's fluorescent lights. "Me too. For a long time, I think."

"Good." He'd had enough with talking; there'd be time later. 

He stood and pulled off his shirt, and watched as her eyes flared and flitted across his chest. He straddled her legs with his own, put his hands at her waist, and grinned as he moved them both up to the center of the bed. 

He yanked her shirt over her head but then stilled at the sight that greeted him, a brilliant burst of cream complexion against the dark greens and blues of the bedspread. Her graceful arms, trim waist, and tiny, rounded tummy were splayed out before him, as were her glorious breasts, which overflowed her lacy bra as her breath heaved them up and down. 

He could feel her eyes on him, watching and waiting for his reaction. He wanted to say something eloquent, but couldn't seem to find any words to describe her, besides . . .

"Perfect," he said in a rough voice. "You're beautiful, Masie. I'm such an idiot; I don't know how I could've missed it for so long."

She smiled as he straddled her hips with his knees. He stretched out a hesitant arm and traced the cup of her bra with a finger, reveling in the soft flesh beneath the tip of his finger. Her skin was pale against his tanned hands, and he moved his finger back and forth, over and over, as slowly as he could make himself, until she began to squirm beneath his touch.

She licked her lips as he pulled a cup down, and gasped when he began to massage her breast. He rolled her hardening pink nipple between his fingers and gave it several gentle tugs, before reaching out his second hand to repeat the process with her other breast. He didn't know how long he played with her, stroking and kneading and tugging and rolling, before he heard her.

"Please, Alessandro." 

Her words were halfway between a whisper and a whimper. His eyes flew up to her face; he'd been so enthralled with her breasts that he hadn't been paying any attention to her reactions. Her hands were fisted in the bedspread, her knuckles white as she gripped the fabric. Her head was arched back, and her eyes were closed. He wondered if she'd even realized she'd spoken. 

She looked as desperate as he felt. His pants were tight and uncomfortable, his erection hitting the unforgiving material of his jeans. He reached down for the button and paused, looking down at her.

Did she want to do this? Should they do this? She'd said she wanted to, but something didn't feel quite right. 

He didn't know how long he stayed like that, staring down at her. As if in answer to his unvoiced questions, Maisie opened her eyes and smiled. She pulled herself up so that they were kneeling on the bed, face to face. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard on the lips before pulling away and trailing her fingers down his chest. She lingered over the muscles of his stomach, causing him to suck in a sharp breath, and grabbed the waistband of his jeans. 

She was breathing hard, but she looked him straight in the eye as she spoke with a clear and steady voice. "I want this. I want you." 

That's when the memory hit him. He had been kicked out of his friend Jack's room earlier because Miranda—Jack's girlfriend—had stumbled in. Jack had rushed him to the door . . . and asked if he had any condoms. 

That's why they'd stopped at the convenience store. Alessandro had purchased more condoms, but Jack had been in a bad mood and remained in the car, grumbling about how Miranda still wouldn't sleep with him. 

Alessandro had given him the entire box; he'd been too drunk to take the time to consider his own needs. 

"Maisie, I don't have any condoms. And I don't have my car keys. Jack Crowley has them, and I don't think I'm getting them back tonight." His voice was hoarse as he slumped onto the bed. 

"What? How can you not have any?" She was still panting as she knit her brows together in confusion.

"It's a long story."

They were silent for several moments before she spoke.

"I'm on the Pill. You know, because of Peter." 

Alessandro screwed up his face in thought. "Peter Reynolds? The guy you dated this past spring?" 

"Yeah."

"Oh, OK." He shook his head, trying to get the image of Maisie and Peter Reynolds out of his mind. "Well, I've always used condoms. Have you? With Peter and every other time, I mean?"

She began to pick at a pill on the bedspread, but didn't answer.

"Maisie?"

"Um, there hasn't been any other time. I mean, there hasn't been any time," she whispered as she stared at her fingers.

"No other time?" His brain couldn't comprehend her words. "You mean, you haven't? You're a . . . you're a virgin?"

She nodded, but didn't look up. She just continued to pick at the pill.

"Right. So . . . do you want to? I mean, if you don't, that's OK—"

"Yes, I want to."

"Really, we don't have to, you know. We could—"

"Yes, I want to. Don't you think I thought about that before I came here tonight?" Her voice was weak, but held a hint of annoyance.

He was stunned. Maisie Barnes? A virgin? And she wanted to sleep with him? Lose her virginity to him, the neighbor who'd been so awful to her, whom she'd barely spoken to in four years? 

"OK." 

Maybe he should have pressed the point further, but he was well past the point of logical thought. 

But the flow was gone, and the silence was awkward. He was at a loss; none of his past experiences were any help to him now. He'd never been with a virgin, let alone one with whom he had such a long and complicated past. 

The fact that Maisie's earlier bravado had fled wasn't helping matters, either. She was picking at the pill on the bedspread, staring down at it as she gnawed on her lip. He smiled as the sight kicked a memory into his head. He hoped that reminiscing together might take the awkwardness away, and he started talking without giving much thought to his words.

"Remember when you convinced me to borrow your brother's unicycle, Maisie?"

"Yeah. We took it to the barn. You figured it out on your second try, but I just couldn't get it." She let out a tiny laugh as she glanced up at him, but then returned her eyes to the bed. "You tried to teach me, and to get me to fall against some bales of hay, but I landed on the wooden floor and split my lip open."

"I've never head your curse like you did that day. But you figured it out eventually." He grinned, but she hadn't stopped looking down or picking at the bed. "I thought Ben was going to kill us after that. He blamed me for your lip and tossed me in the ocean; he threw you in, too, after you refused to apologize for taking the unicycle."

"I know." She was still looking down, but he saw her smile. "You said you never knew I was so stubborn."

"I didn't. But it was . . . well, it was fun to learn with you, about you." He paused and swallowed, gathering up his courage to continue. "I'm really sorry about how I treated you the past few years. I tried to make it up to you this year, but, well, that didn't work so well. Maybe we can, um, I mean, maybe here, the two of us . . . ."

He trailed off as he saw her hand still. He'd wanted to somehow convey that they would be able to be friends again, but it wasn't like they were about to go out for a coffee. How the hell would he make things up to her by taking her virginity? He wanted to kick himself; what an asinine thing to say. 

He held his breath, waiting for her to reply, and was relieved to see small smile creep across her face as she looked up at him. 

"Why, Alessandro Conti, are you offering to teach me how to ride you?"

He choked—he hadn't thought of it quite like that—but gave her what he hoped was a lecherous grin. 

"Absolutely." 

She flashed him a genuine smile, and he found himself mirroring her expression.

Her smile turned wry. "I'm never going to live this down, am I?" 

He chuckled. "Nope. But this is certainly one harebrained idea of yours that I'm damn thrilled to go along with."

Her smile faltered, and her eyes began to flicker away from him again. "Yeah? You're not just saying that?"

"Yeah." He leaned forward, catching her wandering gaze. "Make that, so fucking excited that I'm about to burst out of my pants."

"Hmmm." She gave him a tentative smile as she reached out and stroked him through his jeans. "I can see that."

He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. Her touch was light, but the knowledge that it was Maisie made up for the lack of sensation. Her smell was intoxicating, too; it was a mixture of the strawberry he'd tasted earlier, and some sort of herbal soap. Verbena, maybe. 

He gave her hand a playful smack. "You'd better stop that. I have a feeling I'm going to have a hard enough time not embarrassing myself with you." 

He waggled his eyebrows as her face flushed, and stood and reached behind her to pull down the stained bedspread. It was a cheap motel room; clean sheets were the least he could do for her. 

She sat on her heels and grabbed for his jeans, and had them unzipped and yanked down before he could stop her. She stilled as his cock jumped up in front of her face.

"Um." She knit her brows together. "You're bigger than Peter."

He snorted. "Good to know, I guess? Trust me when I say that I'm not exactly a porn star."

"Oh. Right."

"Relax, Maisie."

She looked away from him and stared at the curtains. He grimaced; this was getting them nowhere.

"You trust me, Maisie?"

She chewed her lip and remained staring at the curtain, but he saw her smile.

She forced a laugh. "I don't know. You will need to find my . . . well, I mean, you'll need to put yourself in . . . um, you're kind of crappy at finding things, you know? You have no sense of direction."

He held up two fingers in a Boy Scout salute, trying not to laugh at her inability to put what they were about to do into words. "You have my solemn promise that I know where I'm going."

"Right." She flushed and laughed again. "I can't believe we're doing this."

"Yeah, it's kinda weird, huh?" He ran his fingers through her hair, and leaned over and gave her a long, lingering kiss on the lips. "But it'll be good," he whispered as he looked into her eyes.




Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 04



Her hands threaded through his hair as he removed her remaining clothing, picked her up, and moved up the bed with her. Both naked, he rested his forearms on either side of her head as their mouths tangled in a kiss. They lay like that for long minutes, their kiss becoming more frantic with need as time passed. 

He felt her still as he shifted and his hardness touched her thigh. She opened her eyes; he saw a momentary flicker of panic, but then she attained the defiant, devil-may-care look she always had when embarking on one of her adventures.

"What are you waiting for?" 

He blinked down at her, and then buried his face in her hair and laughed. He tried not to, but couldn't help it. He could tell she was nervous, but she was egging him on; he supposed that when one had four older brothers, one learned never to show nerves. 

"Believe it or not," he murmured through lingering chuckles, interspersing his words with kisses to her cheeks and forehead, "we aren't quite at that moment yet, Maisie."

"Oh." He could feel her breath begin to speed up as he kissed his way down her neck. "Right." 

"We have all night, Maisie," he whispered into her ear. "There's no need to rush."

"Says you," she muttered.

He could feel her eyes on him as he kissed his way down to her chest. He smiled up at her as he lowered his mouth to her breast, keeping eye contact with her until she dropped her head down to the pillow. She sighed as he began to lick, twirling his tongue around her pink nipple and resuming the attention he'd given her earlier with his hands. Soon she was moaning and pushing herself up into his mouth and hands, her legs squirming beneath him.

Wanting to taste her, he moved off her breast and kissed his way down her abdomen. 

"What are you doing?"

Surprised, he looked up from her navel. Her voice had been harsh, nervous, and almost afraid. "I thought you said you and Peter . . . ."

"Oh." She gave him a confused look. "Well, I did, um, some stuff to him, I guess. But he didn't really . . . do stuff back. If that's what you're doing, I mean . . . ."

"Right." He had to remind himself that now wasn't the time to berate her ex for his selfishness. Instead, he moved to give her another long, lingering kiss on the mouth. "For once, Maisie, let me take the lead. Let me do the work and make this good for you, OK?"

Grinning, he moved down her body again. He tipped his head back to look at her as he took her breast into his mouth once more, flicking his tongue across the nipple between his teeth. Her eyes bulged as he popped it out of his mouth. 

He heard her suck in a sudden breath as he slid his hand down her body, and whimper as his finger made contact with her flesh. He groaned into her breast as he felt how slick and hot she was, and ran his fingers up and down while rubbing her with his thumb until she began to fist the sheets again. She stilled when he slipped a finger into her, but soon began to move with him as he worked first one, and then another, finger slowly in and out. 

She was grinding against his hand, though in a tentative sort of way. Her body was tense and her face was screwed up in concentration. He could tell she was close, that she was searching for release. He couldn't understand why she wasn't there already, but then the realization struck him. Did she know what she was searching for?

"Maisie, let go."

She was panting. "What?" 

"Let go, Maisie, let go."

"What? I don't know what you mean. I have to . . . I want to . . . I don't know how, but I want to," she wailed.

Keeping the rhythm with his fingers, he lowered his head to her sex. He licked his tongue down her length once, twice, and then pulled her clit into his mouth between his teeth as he flicked his tongue over her, savoring her salty strawberry taste. 

She pushed herself into his mouth as he worked, and he felt her tighten around his fingers as her gasps and moans increased in speed and volume. 

She groaned out his name as she reached her release. He moved his fingers with the rhythm she set, and flicked his tongue over her as he held her thighs down, trying to watch her face as she writhed on the bed before him.

He let her down slowly, spreading kisses along her quivering inner thighs as he drew first one and then the second finger from her.

He sat back on his haunches and gazed down upon her, reaching out a hand and stroking her leg and hip. She was panting, her arched back thrusting her flushed breasts into the air. Her legs were spread out before him, a mixture of her juices and his saliva coating her swollen sex and thighs.

All the blood in his body had to be in his cock; he thought he would burst just form looking at her. He didn't trust himself to speak; no matter what words he started with, he'd likely end by begging her to let him fuck her, and he didn't want to do that. 

He watched as she returned from her relaxed euphoria. Face flushed, eyes closed, head tipped back, hair spread like some sort of honey-red halo around her . . . he'd never been in awe of a woman before this. He couldn't believe that she was here, with him, in this room. 

Her lips were parted, and looked dry; he leaned over and brushed his own across them, and watched as she peeked through heavy lids to look up at him. 

She smiled. It was such a simple expression, but he felt his chest constrict as some strange emotion came rushing in. It was like the affection he'd felt for her as a child, but a thousand times stronger, and with a complementary sexual energy. It was overwhelming; he wanted to please her, to make her feel that same wonderful feeling, whatever it was.

She opened her eyes fully and looked up at him. "Now?"

He leaned over her and laced the fingers of his right hand through her left, and pulled their hands up next to her head.

"You're sure?" he whispered into her ear, kissing her temple as he waited for her response.

"Yes." He felt her right hand on his back, pushing him towards her. 

"We can wait."

"No."

She gave him another glorious smile as he reached his hand down to pull her legs up around him, and he leaned over to kiss her. He felt her suck in a quick breath as he nudged at her entrance, and she gasped and let out a tiny whimper as he pushed further in. He stopped, but had to break from the kiss as he struggled to stay still. 

She wrapped her free hand around his neck. He felt her rest her forehead against his throat as he threw his head back, and felt her lips against his shoulder as she kissed and nibbled him. 

He groaned as he continued to move into her. She was tight; that, he had expected. But he had never imagined that everything else would feel this good. The smoothness of her legs against his hips, the way her nipples rubbed against his chest, the feel of her left foot on his leg, her breath against his shoulders . . . not to mention how warm and wet she was inside, a feeling he had only experienced through a latex barrier before this night. 

He paused as she squeezed her fingers tight around his.

"Is that it?"

He chuckled. "Geez, Maisie. You really know how to knock a guy's ego down, don't you?"

She opened her eyes and pulled her head back to look at him. She looked mortified. "No, I didn't mean it like that, I just meant—"

"I know." He kissed her. "I know what you meant, I was just teasing you. Yes, all the way in. Told you I could find my way, didn't I?" 

"Oh." 

She was staring at him, her expression a mixture of curiosity and expectation. He slid out and back in, only a few inches or so, but he saw her flinch and felt her hand tighten around his again. 

"Not OK?"

Her brows knit together in confusion. "Um, I don't know?" 

He shifted and reached his hand between them. She closed her eyes and kissed him, moaning into his mouth as he began to rub her. She lay motionless as he stroked her, her hands still in his own and on his neck. Only her lips moved against his. 

He wanted to wait for her, but didn't know how much longer he could. She felt too good. 

Finally, she moved. It was subtle, and he wondered if he'd imagined it out of desperation. He hadn't; he felt her hips tilt up and then back down again, and she began to experiment with her muscles around him. He waited as she moved again, and again, and again, before he began to move with her. 

He hoped she was ready; he couldn't wait any longer. He kept his movements slow and shallow at first, before pulling his hand away from her and picking up the pace and depth.

She gasped and pulled her head back from his lips, staring up at him with wide eyes. "Oh wow. Oh wow."

She repeated that phrase a few more times as he thrust into her, before staring at him with an open-mouthed grin, her eyes wide and shining. He matched her expression as he moved above her, the same adjectives running through his head as he leaned over to kiss her face and neck: amazing, incredible, beautiful, perfect . . . he didn't know how long he'd last. 

Her grin faded as her hands began to claw at his back, and she began to whimper. "Oh God, that feeling, again . . . I'm going to . . . don't stop, please don't stop, it feels so good, Less. You feel so good." 

He knew he didn't have long; the tight heat around him was too much. He reached his hand back between them and rubbed, and watched, wide-eyed, as she threw her head back and cried out. She clenched around him; it felt like she was pulling him deeper than he'd ever been in any woman before, and she pulled him over the edge with her. 

He collapsed on top of her, panting against her forehead as he felt her lips against his shoulder, until he gathered enough energy to move off to her side.

He wasn't sure how long they lay like that or if they dozed for a moment or two, but he eventually felt her press her body against his side. She pulled her head up and gave him a tiny smile. He reflected her action, and they each broke into larger smiles as they looked at one another.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi." He paused. "Good?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah." He leaned down to kiss her. 

"Good. I mean, I didn't know if I'd be any good. I didn't want you to, I don't know, waste your night or anything with me."

"Stop, Maisie. Trust me when I say I'd much rather be with you than with anyone else." He kissed her again. "I'm so glad you had the idea to come to my room tonight."

She'd been running her hand through his hair, but stilled as he spoke. "My idea?"

He smiled at her. "Well, you're the one who showed up at my door."

She clamped her eyes shut. When she opened them again, she was laughing.

"God, you really were drunk, weren't you?"

"What?"

"You. Drunk. In the hallway, when we ran into each other this afternoon. You don't remember?" She buried her face in his chest. "I can't believe this. I just can't believe this. You honestly don't remember running into me, and telling me I should stop by your room later?"

He didn't answer, but even before she spoke again a hazy memory of what had happened hit him.

"I sat in my room for so long, replaying what you'd said, trying to figure out what you'd meant. From your tone and the look you had in your eyes, I thought you wanted to sleep with me. But I convinced myself that you just wanted to talk to me. Anything else was just too crazy to think about—or to wish for—and I finally got the courage to come to your room and knock. You had that towel on, and I figured that maybe I'd been right originally, and that maybe you wanted something more from me, and then I knew . . . well, I knew I wanted something more from you, too."

He pulled her up from his chest. 

"I remember I talked to a pretty girl, and I remember when you got here I didn't want to be with anyone else tonight. I would have been happy to just talk to you, Maisie." He licked his lips. "But this? This was amazing. You were amazing. You felt . . . right."

"Yeah? You aren't just saying that?"

"No, I'm not just saying it." He kissed her forehead as she smiled up at him. She started to move her leg across him, and then stopped. Her eyes widened.

"Ew."

"Ew?"

"Yes, ew. I need a tissue. No, I need a shower. Ugh." She leapt out of the bed, her eyes widening in shock as she reached a hand out to the wall to steady herself. She glared at him. "Don't give me that look."

"Me," he asked in a mock-innocent voice. "What look? What did I do?"

"You have that—ugh, this is so gross—that satisfied look on your face, like you find it satisfying that I have this sticky stuff between my legs, or that you find it satisfying that I'm a bit—never mind. I'm taking a shower now."

"Me? Satisfied that you can barely stand? Or that my cum is seeping down your legs?" 

She glared at him. "My legs might feel a little . . . off, but I'm sure it's because I went for a long run this afternoon. And as for your . . . stuff, that will be off in no time."

He felt a strange sort of lurch in his chest and a sudden urge to grab her and pull her back into bed as she shuffled away from him. Luckily, he didn't have to decide whether to act or speak, for she paused when she reached the end of the bed.

"Want to join me?" She was facing away from him, and her voice was soft and hesitant.

He smiled. "Seriously?"

She shrugged. "Like you said, we have all night. We might as well enjoy it, right? It's been a while since we've been in a tub together." She paused and glanced over her shoulder at him. "It might be fun, right?"

"Oh, I know it will be fun." He grinned at her from the bed, but didn't move. He liked looking at her, flushed and naked and looking over her shoulder at him as she invited him to bathe with her. 

She smiled and cocked her head to the side. "So, are you coming or not?"

----------------------

"Alessandro? Have you heard a word I've said? We need to go."

"Yeah, I'll be there in a second. Just give me a second, Maisie."

"For fuck's sake, will you wake up?" the voice shouted, before muttering, "I don't even want to know what you're dreaming about."

Alessandro's eyes flew open and landed on Carolina. What the hell? 

Panting, he threw his head against the chair back. This could not be happening to him. He'd dreamt about Maisie again, the same damn dream he'd been having for months. And his sister had awoken him about a quarter of the way through. Could things get any worse?

"What do you want, Carolina," he ground out. 

"We need to go run some errands, Alessandro. And you need to help." 

He whipped his head to the other side and saw Gemma giving him a curious look. One sister was bad enough, but both? 

"What? Errands? Why?"

Carolina rolled her eyes. "Grandmother invited some friends over for dinner, and apparently forgot to tell mom. Dad is rooting around in the barn looking for extra chairs, and mom is in the kitchen in a royal panic. We need to go and get more stuff for dinner, and honestly, it's probably best to be out of the house right now. You know mom; calm, cool, and collected, except when her parents are concerned."

"More stuff?" His brain was having a hard time adjusting.

Carolina tutted and rolled her eyes at him again, but Gemma piped up to answer his questions. 

"Mom is sending me out to buy more wine and an extra dessert from the bakery. Carolina has to go to the fishmonger's and to the Mercantile for more steamers and fish, and another tablecloth and more napkins. You're going to the farmers' market and catching a ride back with Maisie; mom has a list of some veggies that she needs. But they all close soon, so we have to get going."

"What?" He couldn't handle talking to his sisters about Maisie right now. It was just too awkward.

"Wait." Carolina cut in before Gemma had a chance to explain their responsibilities again. "I thought I was going to the farmers' market and Alessandro was going to the fishmonger's and the Merc. Wasn't that what we decided earlier?"

"Hmm?" Gemma looked over at Carolina. Maybe Alessandro was imagining it, but there was something off about the look on her face. "Well, it's been so long since Alessandro's been in the Merc he might not remember where things are. That place is huge; he'll never find the linens, and you know that Mr. O'Donnell never knows where his own products are. Besides, Mr. Clarke's daughter will ensnare him in a long conversation if he goes to the fishmonger's; it'll take him forever to get out of there. No, I think Alessandro should go to the farmers' market and you should go to the Merc and the fishmonger's."

"But Maisie . . . ." Carolina looked confused. 

"I'm sure if he asks nicely she'll give him a ride home." Carolina opened her mouth to argue, but Gemma cut her off. "Come on. We don't want to make mom even more upset than she already is."

"OK." Alessandro forced a smile. "I'll, um, I'll be down in a minute."

He buried his head in his hands after his sisters left. He wasn't sure what was worse: that he'd been pulled from his dream early in their night together, or that his sisters had been the ones to wake him. At least he'd had baggy shorts and a t-shirt on. Maybe they hadn't noticed how hard he'd been? 

And how could he have been such an idiot at nineteen? 

He shook his head as he rose and headed towards the hall, but paused at the door and glanced back. He smiled; maybe the room had helped after all? He knew what he wanted now. He just needed a plan.

----------------------

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I appreciate your votes, comments, and emails.

-T



Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 05



There's another dream in the middle of this chapter. I swear there won't be another after this chapter, but I had to give Maisie her share of flashback time. ;)

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Maisie slid the last of the empty produce crates into the back of the pickup truck. She huffed out a long breath as she closed her eyes and wiped her brow on her sleeve. She was exhausted; the summer sun was bright and hot, and her long day had been full of chores on the farm and customers at the Wednesday farmers' market. For what felt like the hundredth time this week, she found herself daydreaming about a soak in her mother's clawfoot tub. 

"Boo!" a voice whispered in her ear. 

Maisie shrieked as she spun around. "Oh, for goodness sake, Alessandro!" She smacked his chest as she clutched at her own, gasping for air. "You nearly gave me a heart attack. That's the second time today!"

"Sorry, Maisie." He looked as if he were trying to appear contrite, but his quirking lips gave him away. "I just couldn't resist. Remember how I used to creep up behind you in the orchard and scare the shit out of you when we played hide-and-seek as kids?" 

She took a few deep breaths, glaring as he bit his lip to stop from laughing. "It's good to know you've grown up since then, Less." 

His expression faltered. "I have, Maisie. You know that, right?"

"Um, yeah." She pushed a lock of hair that had fallen from her ponytail out of her face. "I was just teasing, you know?"

"Oh. Right. Of course." 

Alessandro smiled, but the gesture didn't match the rest of his face; his lips were pressed together, and his eyes seemed devoid of emotion. Maisie shifted, uncomfortable her words had elicited his forced appearance.

He'd followed the same pattern for the past couple of days, bouncing between friendliness and a brooding sullenness. It unnerved her. He'd always been introspective, but his childhood bouts with a quiet or monosyllabic presence had never left her feeling like she'd done something wrong. 

"So, um, have a good day with your family? Are your sisters behaving themselves?" 

Alessandro blinked a few times, and Maisie was relieved to see his smile return to normal. "Today's been . . . enlightening, so I guess that means it's been a good day." He winked as he grabbed the sole crate of unsold produce on the table and placed it in the truck. "I take it you had a good day?" 

"Yeah, pretty good. I sold everything except for a couple bags of spinach, a few bunches of radishes, and some green garlic. Actually, we did better than we usually do at the Wednesday market." She furrowed her brow. "But why are you here? Your mom stopped by earlier this afternoon and bought a ton of stuff for some dinner party you're having tonight."

"We need more," he said as they began to break down the folding table that'd held the farm's products. "I don't know the details, but apparently my grandmother forgot to mention that she invited some friends down from Camden for supper. Any chance I can snag the radishes and some green garlic? I think my mom wants to roast them. And can I bum a ride home? Carolina and Gemma dropped me off, but they had a bunch of other errands to do in town."

"Sure. Is that all you need? Just radishes and garlic?"

"A couple heads of lettuce for a bigger salad." He looked around the marketplace at the closing stalls. "Anyone here have any left, you think?"

Maisie didn't bother to look before answering. "Doubtful. Lettuce tends to go fast around here. You can have some of the heads that are in the ground at home, though." 

"You sure?" He turned back to look at her, concern evident on his face. "I don't want to take away from your Saturday sales."

"We have plenty. We've been pretty lucky with pests so far this year; I think it's all the dry, hot weather we've been having."

"OK, thanks." He glanced at the chalkboard list of prices she'd placed in the truck alongside the folded table. "Do you have change for a twenty?"

Maisie lifted an eyebrow. "Nice try, but you aren't paying."

"Oh, yes I am." 

Maisie crossed her arms in front of her as Alessandro pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his wallet. 

"No, you're not. You've been picking every day with me, and sneaking off without taking any berries." Alessandro opened his mouth to protest, but she pressed on. "Besides, I'm pretty sure your mother conveniently forgot to take her change with her earlier today when we were busy."

Maisie'd hoped her reasoning would satisfy him, but wasn't surprised to see that he remained unconvinced. They stood facing each other, Maisie with her arms crossed and her chin raised, and Alessandro with his jaw set and the bill crisp in his outstretched hand. 

She hissed in frustration when, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the few farmers still left in the market were watching their standoff with unveiled interest. With her luck there'd soon be a small crowd around them, ready to witness their verbal shootout and eager to retell the tale at the local bars later in the evening.

"Fine. How about this: you don't pay for the produce, but you help me this Friday afternoon in the orchard. I've been tasked with clearing away the vines climbing the back fence; it's a crappy job, and the less of it I have to do, the better. Sound like a deal?"

"Deal," he murmured, folding the bill in his wallet before returning it to his back pocket. 

Maisie's smile faltered as she watched his lips curve into a lazy smile. "Great. Ready to go?" 

She tried to sound enthusiastic, but what had seemed like a good idea just moments ago—getting help and company for an annoying chore, and finding a way out of their standoff—now seemed like another of her terrible ideas. Something about his smile made her feel uneasy. She could've been imagining things, but his smile had seemed somehow predatory. She felt as if she'd fallen into some sort of trap he'd set. 

She gave her head a mental shake; Alessandro had never been one for plans. She was overanalyzing.

They climbed into the old pickup and pulled out of the market, sitting in silence as she navigated the narrow, twisted streets towards the town's busy four-way stop. Alessandro slouched against the truck's bench seat, legs spread in a relaxed pose with one arm draped on the open window as he watched the passing shops and tourists. 

Maisie grimaced as they joined the long line of cars at the stop sign waiting to get out of the harbor. Given her own angst, his apparent contentment annoyed her; she needed to break the silence.

"So . . . any awkward autograph requests yet?" 

He laughed as he turned to face her. "Thankfully, only a few. There've been a number of gawking stares, but most have been from tourists, not townies." 

"That's good, I guess."

The oppressive silence covered them again as he smiled but didn't answer. 

"So . . . you're happy you came back to visit?"

"Yeah."

He turned back to the window as they inched forward. Maisie tried to think of another topic, but was spared the effort when he spoke again.

"I like it here. I mean, don't get me wrong; I'm not ready to kick it in and move back to rural Maine just yet, you know? But I can see myself living here in ten years or so. By then, I hope to have reached the point where I can easily flit in and out of work without ruining my career, so that I don't have to scramble all the time."

"Oh." Her stomach unclenched as she realized they'd found a topic that might sustain the conversation all the way home. "Is that possible?"

He turned to her, a surprised expression on his face. "Yeah, of course it's possible. I mean, I'd like to be able to pick and choose my roles. You know, be an actor's actor." He tilted his head, and she felt as if he were examining her. "Could you see yourself living here, even only part time? Don't you think this is a nice place to raise kids?"

Her stomach clenched again. She gripped the steering wheel, trying to push the tension his words had caused out through her fingertips and into the truck. It didn't work.

"I guess?" She forced a smile, hoping he wouldn't notice the strain in her expression. "You want to be my neighbor forever, Less?" 

He shrugged and turned back to the window. "Just wondering."

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, trying to rein her emotions in. 

For one insane moment, she'd thought he was talking about where they'd live together, about children they'd have together. But no, he was asking a simple question one childhood friend would ask another when they found themselves together in their hometown, with nothing of substance to talk about as they crawled through summer traffic. 

She knew he was just a friend, but every so often she thought he was asking about more. She wished she could put up a wall to keep such ridiculous thoughts from entering her mind. 

She pulled into the farm's drive, hopped out of the truck, and headed towards the lettuce field, berating her overactive imagination even as she bent to cut a couple of heads from the ground. 

You were a one-night stand. All he wants from you—if he wants anything at all—is a fling, something to tide him over while he's here. 

That, after all, had been what she'd concluded after Monday; he'd hit on her in the field and then kissed her on the dock to see if she wanted a quick fling. She'd pushed him away, so he'd settled on friendship. 

It was the logical conclusion, but it'd been a struggle to have normal conversations with him since then. She was confused; she didn't know what she wanted from him—friendship or a relationship—but it didn't matter. She had friendship from him now; she didn't want to risk it on a fling like she had all those years ago, and even if he wanted a relationship—a big if—it would probably never work. 

It was best for both of them if she focused on friendship and forgot about the prospect of more.

"Thanks." 

She started as she heard Alessandro's words from behind her; he'd followed her to the fields and she hadn't even noticed. 

He pulled her into a loose hug as he took the heads from her. "I'll see you bright and early tomorrow, sunshine."

Maisie stared as he walked towards the path to his house, leaving warmth radiating from where his arm had been. 

She closed her eyes and groaned as he rounded the corner out of sight. She needed to stop reading into things. 

----------------------------------------

Maisie stood in front of the sink in the upstairs bathroom, staring with glazed eyes as the shower's water hit the floor of the tub. 

It was Friday afternoon. Her days of waking at five in the morning to pick were over, as were her afternoons of farm chores. She could sleep in and lounge on the porch for what was left of her vacation, but first she needed to remove the grime her body had accumulated clearing the back fence. 

As expected, Alessandro had helped her with the chore, but their time in the orchard had been the extent of their socializing since Wednesday. 

He hadn't been able to pick on Thursday morning; Carolina and Gemma had kept her company in his place, and had explained that he'd been stuck taking their grandmother's overnight guests out for breakfast at the county's famous maple sugarhouse, and then out for a quick trip in the sailboat. 

Horrific thunderstorms had rolled in this morning, forcing them to run back to their respective homes after just five minutes in the field. 

They hadn't spoken much this afternoon, either. There hadn't been nearly as many vines as she'd thought there'd be on the back fence; her brother, Ben, had cleared them out late in the fall, and the spring drought they'd had until this morning had kept them at bay. She and Alessandro had finished the physically demanding job in just fifteen minutes, and he'd been quiet for most of it. 

Remembering that she was standing naked in the bathroom with the water running, Maisie shook her head and climbed into the shower. She yelped and jumped back out as soon as the stream hit her shoulders; she'd forgotten to check and see if the water was hot enough. 

After cursing her own stupidity and adjusting the water, she stepped back in and began to wash the dirt from her body. She chuckled as, unbidden, a memory of a similar incident, when Alessandro had followed her into the motel bathroom, popped into her mind. She closed her eyes as she lathered her hair, forcing herself to relax as the hot water massaged her shoulders and ran down her body, remembering—

"Maisie? Are you OK?" 

Maisie's eyes popped open as the sound of her mother's voice from the other side of the bathroom door interrupted her memories. 

"Yeah mom, I'm fine. I just forgot how far you have to turn the hot water dial."

"Every day, Maisie. It seems like you do this same thing every day. And every day I come running, thinking you've slipped and hurt yourself." 

Maisie smiled as she rinsed her hair, imagining her mother shaking her head in the hallway. 

"Sorry, mom. I forget; my dial in New York is really sensitive. Do you need help in the kitchen when I'm done?"

"No, that's OK, dear. After all your help this week, I'm ahead of where I usually am. I'm going to run some lettuce over to MacGreggor's; they've sold more lobster rolls than they expected to this week, and can't wait until tomorrow's delivery. I was planning on relaxing on the porch with a book, some iced tea and a roll when I get back; between this morning's storm and the awful weekend forecast, I'm determined to enjoy this afternoon's lovely weather. Should I get you a roll?"

"That sounds great, mom."

Ten minutes later they sat on the front porch's old hanging bench, sipping iced tea, eating rolls, and rocking back and forth as Maisie pushed her toe against the old tongue and groove floorboards. She tipped her head back and let out a contented sigh as she stared at the porch ceiling's sky-blue painted beadboard. 

"Good?" her mother asked.

"Heaven." Maisie closed her eyes. "Pure heaven. I don't know how they do it. It's just a buttered and grilled hot dog roll, a small leaf of lettuce, and lobster meat with a hint of mayonnaise. Can you explain to me why we've never been able to replicate them?"

Her mother chuckled. "I don't know; maybe it's the griddle they have? Or the freshness; they're next to the lobster pound, you know. I'm just glad you like it." She leaned over and squeezed Maisie's knee. "I like seeing you happy. That's why I'm so glad you're getting along with Alessandro again."

"Mmmm, I know." Maisie tossed the last of the roll into her mouth, savoring the combination of simple flavors with long, slow chews. "It's nice. It's . . . ." 

Maisie whipped her head around, her eyes popping open as her mother's words sunk in. "The roll. I mean, the roll is nice. Because Alessandro and I, we've been friends since, you know . . . ." Maisie's heart raced as her mother raised an eyebrow. "You know?" she whispered.

"Know what? That the two of you hadn't spoken in years before this week?" Her mother's voice was calm, and she didn't look angry; if anything, she looked amused, or at the very least, unsurprised. 

"But, how . . . never mind." Maisie bit her lip and looked down at her lap. "I'm sorry, mom."

"Don't apologize, Maisie. You didn't do anything wrong." Her mother squeezed her knee again. "I meant what I said; it's good to see the two of you talking again."

"But, how? How did you know?"

Her mother let out an exasperated sigh as she pulled her hand away. 

"Think, Maisie. Alessandro's mother has been one of my closest friends for over twenty-five years, and you and Alessandro were inseparable through most of your childhood. Don't you think the two of us talked about our children after you left for high school, and that our conversations continued after you graduated? Don't you think we noticed the inconsistencies in your stories? Alessandro never mentioned you, even when he was in New York for months at a time, and the girls were mum on the subject. And yet there you were, giving me frequent updates, but tellingly, never saying you'd spoken with or seen him."

Maisie's stomach, which had felt so nice after the roll, now felt queasy, as if she'd consumed bad mayonnaise. "Why didn't you say anything?"

They'd stopped rocking; Maisie's feet were flat on the ground and she was leaning forward, staring at the top of her hands against her knees. 

"I pushed seven years ago, Maisie. Don't you remember? Through that entire summer and your first month of college, I pushed. I had my reasons; he'd been an idiot for a few years in high school, and then you'd been too stubborn to forgive him. You were teenagers, and teenagers do stupid things, so I pushed, hoping that you'd become friends again. I figured I knew what I was doing. You're my fifth child; surely I could help you avoid some of the pain and heartache I'd watched your brothers endure."

Maisie could tell her mother was leaning forward, trying to catch her gaze, but she didn't have the courage to look her in the eye. She felt like an idiot. 

Her mother sighed. "And then you called, and then afterwards when we spoke again . . . well, I don't want to know exactly what happened that night—Lord knows I have my suspicions, and they're probably pretty close to reality—but whatever it was, I knew you were miserable. I tried to ask you about it, but you didn't want to talk. I don't know; maybe that's when I should have pushed. In any event, it delayed the two of you from speaking for seven years. I promised myself I wouldn't intervene again."

"You're not angry with me?" Maisie whispered.

"Of course not, dear." Her mother sighed. "I've always felt . . . guilty, I suppose. I knew you were miserable, that you were suffering. Do you have any idea what it's like to see your child be miserable? To know that you're partly to blame?"

"Don't feel guilty; nothing was your fault," Maisie said, gathering the courage to look up at her mother. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have misled you."

"You never lied to me, Maisie; you don't need to apologize. Besides, even though we both know how much I like to know everything about everyone, you're an adult and you're entitled to your secrets. I can't be angry if you didn't do anything wrong." Her mother took a long sip from her glass of iced tea. "Want to talk about it?"

"Want to talk about what?" 

"About you. About Alessandro. About this past week." Her mother sounded exasperated, as if this should have been obvious.

"There isn't much to talk about." Maisie shrugged, still reeling from the revelation that her mother had known they weren't speaking the entire time. Had she and Alessandro been the only two clueless people? Had everyone else been twiddling their thumbs, waiting for the two of them to come to their senses and talk again? "We're friends again, I guess."

"Friends? Is that what you kids call it now?"

"Mom!" She stopped rocking. This was not something she wanted to talk about with her mother; it was bad enough that her mother probably knew exactly what had happened that night. "Really, we're friends. Nothing more. Besides, I thought you said you weren't going to meddle."

"Mmmm? I said I wasn't going to push. But I didn't say I wasn't going to meddle, or inquire, or tease, or suggest, or—"

"Seems to me like you're making up those distinctions," Maisie said with a grin. "And is that what you're calling your Monday morning role of discussion leader in the kitchen? Meddling?"

"Maybe." Her mother's lips twitched as she took another sip of iced tea. "Well then, missy, if you aren't going to talk about it, go and take a nap."

Maisie turned to look at her mother and burst into laughter. "Again with the pushing, mom."

"This isn't pushing. I'm merely telling my only daughter to get some rest. You look exhausted, and you've been working far too much on this so-called vacation of yours; as I've said every day, you don't need to help out so much. I'm putting my foot down; go and lie down. It's only five; I won't let you sleep for more than an hour or so. Go on, then." 




Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 05



Maisie laughed again at the insistent look on her mother's face and the shooing motion she made with her hands. 

"Go on, Maisie. Make an old woman happy. Besides," her mother said as she held up what looked like a trashy romance novel. "I just got this book from the library and I want to read it. So go on. Shoo!"

There was no point in arguing. Still chuckling, Maisie took her empty glass to the kitchen and then climbed the stairs to the second floor. 

She closed the door to her room and sat on the bed. Her mother was probably right; she should take a nap. The morning's storms had left the air humid, and the dark skies and brisk breeze outside told her another storm would be coming in from the Atlantic later tonight. The house's old single-pane windows never kept storm noises of thunder and violent waves breaking on the rocky coast out of her room; she wouldn't sleep much before the diesel engines of tomorrow morning's fishing boats woke her up.

She pulled off her pants, changed into a tank-top, and climbed into bed, hoping for sleep. 

It didn't come. Her mind couldn't stop replaying the conversation with her mother and the conversations she'd had with Alessandro this week. 

She sighed and glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes. She'd been in bed for fifteen minutes, and if anything she was further away from sleep now than she had been when she'd climbed the stairs. 

She sat up and listened. She was alone. Her mother was on the porch; Ben had taken his wife to a doctor's appointment, and they'd mentioned something about doing some nursery shopping afterwards. 

She bit her lip. She shouldn't. True, it always helped her sleep, but she shouldn't. It always felt so wrong to do it in her childhood bed.

She slumped back onto the pillow and groaned. All she wanted was a little nap. Was that too much to ask? 

What the hell, she thought as she pushed her underwear to the side. 

----------------------------------------

"Alessandro Conti, I swear to God, I'm going to . . . I'm going to—"

"You're going to what?"

Startled, Maisie turned to see a smirking Alessandro standing next to her, albeit on the outside of the shower; they'd considered taking a bath, but had decided against it after seeing the cracked, mildewed bottom of the tub. 

She raised an eyebrow and lifted her chin in defiance. 

"I'm going to refuse to sleep with you again unless you turn up the hot water." 

"Empty threat." He chuckled as he turned the shower dial counter-clockwise to increase the hot water. "But seriously, when I said 'get in' I thought you'd check the water first. What were you thinking?"

Maisie glared. "I trusted you."

"Clearly, a mistake." Alessandro smiled, giving her a peck on the cheek as he joined her in the shower.

Maisie sucked in a breath as he dipped his head back under the water. He was gorgeous; dark hair, stubbled face, lean, muscular body . . . she'd seen him naked earlier in the night, but hadn't really studied him; she'd been too nervous, too busy thinking about what they were about to do. 

But now? The deed was done and his eyes were closed. She could look her fill. 

Alessandro grinned as he emerged from under the shower stream, water dripping from his flattened brown hair. It felt so wonderfully wrong to be standing in the shower with him, watching the water carve patterns around the lines of his chest. 

She glanced down and licked her lips, wondering if her mouth could bring him the sort of pleasure he'd brought her. She'd only used her hands with an ex-boyfriend, and only a few times. But with Alessandro? There seemed to be so many appealing options. Like he'd said, they had all night. Perhaps—

"Like what you see, Maisie?"

"What?" she squeaked, wondering if he'd somehow read her mind. 

"You first."

Alessandro gripped her waist and turned her around before she had a chance to ask what he meant. 

"Hmmm." He reached out and touched her hair before pouring some shampoo on his hands. "I've never washed hair longer than a few inches before; I hope I don't leave you with the mother of all knots." 

Maisie closed her eyes as he massaged the shampoo into her scalp. It was weird to have someone else wash her hair; she didn't know what to do with her hands, and the knowledge that he was inches away, staring at her naked body, made her face burn. 

"Tilt your head back." His voice sounded rough, but his fingers were gentle as they threaded through her hair. "There, I think it's all out." 

She opened her eyes and gave him a curious look as she felt the pads of his thumbs wipe water away from her forehead and eyes. 

"Just in case I didn't get all the soap." He leaned forward and kissed her nose. "I'd hate for you to get soap in your eyes, Maisie; you might make another empty threat."

"If it's soap, it might not be such an empty threat," she said, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sure you remember how much I used to cry when I got soap in my eyes back when we were kids and took baths together?"

"How could I forget something like that?" He laughed as he smoothed conditioner into her hair. "I think you might have burst my eardrum on more than one occasion."

"Oh please, I wasn't that loud." 

"No, you weren't." A teasing grin spread across his face. "In fact, I think you were louder a few minutes ago than you ever were back then."

She spluttered as Alessandro tilted her head back under the water, but her indignation fled as soon as his hands moved from rinsing her hair to kneading her neck and shoulders. She sighed in contentment and closed her eyes, relaxing into his touch. 

She still couldn't believe the night's events: that she'd run into a drunk Alessandro in the hallway, that he'd invited her to his room, that she'd knocked on his door, that they'd kissed. 

That they'd slept together. 

That she'd invited him to take a shower with her. 

The reality of what they'd done crashed down upon her, stealing away her relaxation. She was Alessandro Conti's one-night stand, and he was hers. He'd said all sorts of wonderful things to her this evening, but he'd never indicated this wasn't a one-time thing; she'd never assumed tonight was the beginning of some grand romance, either. 

What the hell had they been thinking? 

A moan escaped her mouth as his hands brushed up against the bottom of her breasts; she inhaled a quick gulp of air and held her breath, wondering if he'd noticed the unexpected noise.

"Like that, do you?" Alessandro asked as he spanned his hands around her ribs. She bit her lip to stifle any other sound as he reached up to caress her breasts with slick hands; he must've grabbed the soap at some point. 

Gathering her wits, Maisie opened her eyes to find Alessandro staring down at her. Happiness, teasing, lust . . . what she saw in his eyes should have made her feel sublime, but it didn't. It made her feel scared, an emotion she hadn't felt all evening; she'd felt nervous and anxious earlier, but never scared. But that look reinforced her worries. What would they be to each other by the end of the night? 

She shifted her attention to the soap tray as she felt her body respond to his touch; the heat that accompanied a wetness not from shower water began to build between her thighs, and fresh, flickering memories of what they'd just done roared through her mind, begging to be acted out again. She was having a hard time breathing, too; those memories required far more oxygen than her lungs could get from the bathroom's heavy, humid air. 

He was breathing hard as well; she could see his chest rise and fall out of the corner of her eye. He slid his palms around to her back and down to her ass, pulling her body closer towards him as he kneaded her flesh between his fingers. He kissed her clean hair, his breath against her forehead hotter and more humid than the shower air, before skimming his hands back to her breasts, interspersing pinches and pulls and rolls of her nipples with long, gentle, circular strokes.

She knew where this was heading. She just wasn't sure if they should go down this path again. 

She thought she'd done a good job ignoring the shreds of her childhood crush for the past four years, burying any conscious thought of him whenever he popped into her mind. When she'd seen him standing in the door to his room wearing nothing but a towel, she'd thought this would just be a fling. Tonight would be their way of both talking to each other again and saying goodbye; the fact that it just happened to let her lose her virginity, which had become a pesky burden in college, had seemed like an added bonus. 

But something had changed between them in the time between her knock on the door and the shower, something besides the physical acts of sex and speaking; she didn't know how she'd missed it until now, but she had. That look in his eyes was rebuilding her childhood crush, only this time the crush wasn't with the taciturn boy of her youth; it was with a man she didn't really know.

She didn't fully trust him, either. She trusted him with her body; she knew he would stop if she told him to, and he'd proven that he could bring her pleasure. But she didn't trust him with her emotions, with her thoughts and feelings and hopes and fears. 

Why hadn't she realized that sleeping with him would be far more than physical, and that trusting him with her body wasn't enough? That with him, she couldn't separate the physical from everything else? That by giving him her body, she might be giving him far more than she'd bargained for?

"Maisie." 

His voice was quiet, but she heard him over the thrumming of the shower water and the screaming thoughts in her head. She ignored him anyway. 

"Do you want more, Maisie?" he whispered into her ear. "Do you want more from me?" 

Still, she didn't answer. His hands felt so nice, rubbing up and down her arms as his body pressed against her. His lips felt nice, too; he had pulled her earlobe into his mouth, and was running his tongue along the bottom, making her shiver despite the heat around them. 

She didn't want to make a decision; she never wanted this moment in the shower to end. 

"If you want . . . I've never done anything in a shower before, Maisie, but it might work if you lean back against the wall, grab the handicap bars with your hands, and drape your leg over my other shoulder. We'll adjust if we need to." 

"What?" she asked, feeling disoriented from the instructions he'd thrown at her. 

"Just lean back and support what weight you can; I'll get the rest." He smiled, his face revealing none of the confusion she felt. "Trust me, Maisie, it will be good."

"Um," she said, trying to stall for time as she stood stock-still. "Didn't you just tell me I shouldn't trust you?" 

"I guess you're going to have to figure out when you should and when you shouldn't, won't you?" he said with a wink as he lowered himself before her. "And this is one time when I think it would be in your best interests to trust me."

Alessandro placed his hands on her inner thighs, pushing her legs apart, opening her for him. She sucked in a sharp breath as his teeth grazed along her navel before nipping and nibbling along her thighs.

Her body and mind shouted conflicting directions at her; the former begged her to go along with his request, the latter screamed that she had to get dressed and leave now so that she could cut her emotional losses before they became catastrophic. 

She glanced down; his big, brown eyes held the same look as earlier, but he was slowing down. As he'd done earlier in the evening, he was waiting for her lead.

She didn't want him to stop. That was the problem, she realized; she didn't know if she trusted him, but she knew she wanted him. She couldn't deny him, or herself. 

Damn him for making this decision hers.

"Don't stop," she said, moving her arms and leg as he'd instructed. She wanted to say something else to him, wanted to make him understand her confusion, but the moment his mouth made contact with her body again she found she couldn't do anything but groan into the familiar stroking sensations.

The sensations weren't familiar for long, however. This was different than it had been earlier on the bed, when she'd taken what felt like ages to figure out what those amazingly pleasurable feelings had been and how to capture and ride them. She knew now that he'd let her find and reach that pinnacle by herself. He'd let her explore, with only a few gentle nudges in the right direction. 

Not now. His earlier teasing and nudging was gone; he was pushing her, driving her on, taking whatever control she'd had over her body away from her. She felt pinned into the corner of the shower by him, with no place to go but up as the water crashed down on her. 

She yelped as she felt a finger nudge her entrance, surprised at both the unexpected action and the tenderness she felt there. She thought she heard a whispered, "sorry," as the finger went away, but if he'd said it, he'd said it fast, for his pace didn't slow. 

Her orgasm hit her hard, much sooner than she'd expected. Her head hit the shower wall, and her legs buckled beneath her as instinct kicked in and she expended all of her energy on pushing herself further into his mouth. She felt him catch her on his shoulders and arms, even as her hips and his mouth found a rhythm together. 

"You OK?" Alessandro asked after a while, still kneeling in the tub and breathing hard. "Did you hit your head?"

"I'm OK." Her brain was too fuzzy to say more. 

"You sure? Sorry if I hurt you, or pushed too much, or—"

She dropped to her knees, partly because she was too tired to stand, but also because she wanted to be close to him. She saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes before she leaned forward and kissed him. The water hitting both of them soothed her, helping her brain return to normal as they rested their foreheads together, breathing in unison.

The anxiety she'd managed to bury moments ago pounded at the edge of her brain, trying to gain entrance, but she pushed it away; she'd deal with tomorrow when the sun rose and it was time to say goodbye. 

Besides, who was she kidding? She hadn't pushed him from her mind for the past four years. He was as much her crush now as he'd ever been. She'd savor her night with him and deal with whatever consequences there were later.

His cock was standing out from his body, beneath stomach muscles that were still clenched as he fought for breath. She smiled and reached out a hand to touch him, only to be surprised when he smacked her away.

"I don't think so. One touch from you and I'll be gone. And as long as those really were empty threats, I'd much rather lose it in other ways with you. If you'd like, that is." He stood, smiling as he reached out a hand for her. "Come on. For two people who decided the tub bottom was gross, we're spending far too much time on it." 

He washed himself, batting her hands away each time she reached out to help. Later, after they'd finished in the shower, Maisie watched his reflection in the mirror as he tried to comb her hair; her amusement ended when he tugged hard against a knot, and she snatched the comb from his hands. 

"Can I ask you something, Less?" 

She glanced at him in the mirror before placing the comb on the counter and turning to leave the bathroom. The motel room was small, and she'd climbed onto the bed before he answered.

"I think we're past the point of asking permission, don't you?" Alessandro said as he flopped down beside her. 

"I suppose." She rolled over to snuggle against his chest. "Why aren't you going to college?"

He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "I don't know what I want to do with my life, so it seems silly to go to college."

"But no one knows what they want to do, Less. That's the point of college."

"I think most people have a bit of a clue."

"Maybe." She traced circles on his chest with her finger, pondering what he'd said. 

"I'll still go; I just deferred my acceptance for a year. I haven't seen my dad's mother in a couple of years, so I'm going to visit her for a month or so. Then I'll come back to the U.S. and live with my mom's parents in Boston while I look for a job or internship or something. Maybe I'll find out what I want to do, or at least what I don't want to do."

She heard his head move on the pillow, and knew he'd propped himself up to look at her.

"What about you, Maisie? Do you know what you want to do?"

"I know I don't want to be dependent on the land like my parents are. Beyond that . . . I was good at math and economics. Maybe I'll go into finance or something."

His chest shook beneath her as he laughed. "You'd be miserable, Maisie. You saw the Wall Street parents at school; you aren't like them."

"I don't think I need you to remind me how unlike everyone else at school I was. Don't get me wrong; I'm grateful for the education and I'm lucky financial aid covered most of my tuition, but I knew from day one that I wasn't like anyone else there."

"I'm not talking about money; I'm talking about personality. I can't see you being happy chained to a computer for your life." 

"Maybe, but it's better than being chained to the weather," she said with a sigh.

"I suppose." He was silent as he twirled his fingers through her damp hair. "Maybe that's my problem. I wasn't really good at anything besides sports."

"You were good at acting."

"Yeah, but that's not exactly something I can make a career out of."

"Sure you could."

"Come off it, Maisie."

"You have talent. I'm not just saying that; everyone thought you'd be a complete disaster in that first play, but you surprised us." 

"A complete disaster?" His hand stopped in her hair.

"Yup." She bit her lip. "You, um, you didn't know that?"

"Nope." He laughed. "Between schoolwork and memorizing lines, I didn't have time to pay attention to anything else," he said as he resumed playing with her hair. "Did everyone really think I was going to be bad?"

"Yes," she said with a chuckle. "You have to admit that hanging out with the theater geeks was a bit out of character for you. Sorry," she added as she propped herself up on her elbow. "Why did you try out for that play during the winter of our freshman year? You never showed any interest in acting in Maine."

"I got a nasty stress fracture in my foot playing soccer in the fall. To make a long story short, I needed an artistic exemption from the school's athletics requirement. The play seemed like the best option, so I auditioned." He shook his head. "But those were school plays, Maisie, nothing more. I can't base a career on a high school production of Hamlet."

Maisie rolled her eyes. "It wasn't just students who thought you were good, you know. Mr. Thompson, the drama instructor, once told me I should try out. He said if everyone from Stalton Harbor had half your talent, he'd consider himself a lucky man."

Alessandro smiled, but she had the impression he thought she was humoring him.

"Mr. Thompson then went on to say that when he cast you in that first winter play, he knew you had more talent than any student he'd had in his twenty years at school. He told me he decided then and there to do Shakespeare every winter, the plays with big male parts, with you as the lead. He said you were a once in a lifetime opportunity, and he was right; you were spectacular."

His eyes were widened in surprise, but he didn't speak.

"I can't believe you didn't know all this, Less." She took a deep breath as she chose her words. "You know, I never understood the appeal of Shakespeare when we were growing up. I always thought people said he was great because, well, that's what you're supposed to say about Shakespeare; only an idiot says they don't get what's so great about him. But you changed that for me; after seeing you in those plays, I understood what all the fuss was about. You have a gift; you made me love Shakespeare, and I know I wasn't the only one." 




Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 05



He stared at her, stunned.

"Thanks for that, all of it. I . . . wow. Thanks. I mean, other people told me I was good, but I didn't really believe . . . ." He cleared his throat, looking both surprised and embarrassed. "Huh. I guess we know why I need someone else to write the lines."

She laughed. She was still propped on her elbow, looking down at him. He smiled, but she couldn't read his expression.

"What?" she asked. 

"Just thinking."

"About what?"

"How I still can't believe that you're here with me. How I've missed you, and how I don't want to miss you anymore." 

His breath hitched; was he nervous? 

"You know Maisie, my mom's parents always get on my nerves after a day or so. Maybe . . . I think maybe I should see if my great-aunt Agatha has any room for me in New York. And if I'm in New York, I think it might be nice to, you know, see you some more, seeing as that's where you are now."

"I think I'd like that." 

All her angst about friends and lovers, bodies and emotions . . . it all seemed so silly now. While this evening had started off as a one-night stand, maybe it would turn into a grand romance. There wouldn't be bad consequences to deal with tomorrow.

"And now I'm thinking," he said, wrapping his hand behind her neck and pulling her down close to his face, "that it might be a good time to figure out just how empty your threats were. So I can really thank you for what you said."

"I think I like that idea, too."

"Good," he said, kissing her. "You know, I seem to remember you mentioning something about me teaching you how to ride me. It seems like this might be a good time for that."

"Um, that involves me being on top?"

"Yeah." He cocked his head up from the bed. "What, that not OK?"

"Um." She felt her face grow red; it seemed silly after the shower, but she was embarrassed at the thought of being so exposed above him. "I think I might just want to stick with what we did earlier. Is that OK?"

"If that's what you want." He sat up to kiss her, but stopped when his mouth was just inches from hers. "Anything you want, Maisie. Whatever you want, I'll do it." 

She reached her hands up, reveling in the feel of his hair underneath her fingers, feeling him smile through the kiss. 

The kisses she'd shared with her few high-school boyfriends had been awkward and rushed, stolen beneath athletic stands or in academic buildings after classes had ended; she'd been too nervous about being caught to break her boarding school's gender-separating parietals system by allowing a boy to sneak into her room after curfew, and sneaking across campus by herself in the dead of night had been out of the question. The few boys she'd dated hadn't been worth the risk of suspension, anyway. 

But here . . . it was a dirty, cheap motel room and she was with someone she hadn't spoken with in years, but it felt more right than any of those high school encounters.



"This is what I want," she said. "You're what I want."

----------------------------------------

"What is it with people and their crazy-ass dreams?"

Maisie's eyes popped open. She must've fallen asleep; she was on her side, facing the wall, but someone else was in her room.

"Carolina?"

"Yes. Carolina. Gemma's here too. We aren't . . . whoever it was you were dreaming about." 

Maisie held her breath, afraid Carolina would ask the next logical question. She exhaled when she heard only silence.

"Speaking of which—"

Maisie groaned.

"What were you dreaming about?"

Maisie sat up and glared at Carolina, who was inches away from her; Gemma was at the window, looking outside.

"That's none of your business." She rolled her eyes as Carolina winked at her. "Why are you here?"

"Your mom was just about to wake you when we arrived, so we said we'd do it." 

Taking her opportunity, Maisie leapt out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans as Carolina turned and walked across the room. She sat down on a spindly old chair in the corner and tapped her chin with her finger.

"Seriously Maisie, I think I'll be happy if I don't have to wake another person up for a month, minimum. First Alessandro has weird dreams, and now you—"

"To answer your question, Maisie, we need a fourth for bridge," Gemma said, turning away from the window. 

"Oh," Maisie said, thankful for Gemma's interruption. She was sure she'd spluttered when Carolina had mentioned her brother's name. "A fourth, Gemma? Aren't there seven people in your house right now?"

"Sort of." Carolina stood and went to look at the jewelry on Maisie's dresser. "Our parents are out; I don't think mom could handle being in the same house with grandmother and grandfather anymore, so they made some flimsy excuse and went to Wiscasset for the evening. And grandmother and grandfather decided to go to bed."

"Bed?" Maisie glanced at the clock on her nightstand. "But it's not even eight."

"Alessandro took them for what was supposed to be a short walk in the nature preserve on Steward Island, but—surprise, surprise—they got lost. They were exhausted when they got back this afternoon, and turned in about fifteen minutes ago." Carolina picked up a necklace and began to play with the beads. "This is really pretty, Maisie. I don't think I've seen you wear it. When did you get it?"

"Huh? Oh. Um, last month?" She turned to Gemma. "Yeah, OK. I can play. I haven't really eaten, though. I'll have to grab some food."

"Oh, we have plenty of food, if you want." Gemma snatched the necklace from Carolina's hands and held it out to Maisie. "Here, take this before Carolina breaks it. Better yet, why don't you put it on."

Confused, Maisie looked from Gemma to Carolina, who looked equally perplexed. "Why?" 

Gemma shrugged. "Why not? Like Leena said, it's pretty." 

Maisie put the necklace on. "Happy?" 

"I suppose, though it looks a little silly with the rest of your outfit." Gemma sat down on the bed. "You've been on vacation for a week, and I've seen you in nothing by work clothing. Don't you want to wear something else? You know, to really emphasize how after this moment, you'll be doing no more farm chores?"

"What the hell is wrong with you, Gem? Maisie's been working like a dog all week; if she wants to wear jeans and a ratty old tank top, let her wear jeans and a ratty old tank top." Carolina gave her sister an incredulous look. "You've been spending way too much time with grandmother, you know that?"

"Apparently." Gemma's lips twitched. "I guess that explains why my cardigan looks like . . . what did you say earlier?"

"Like an Easter egg vomited all over you?" Carolina giggled as she draped an arm around her sister, plucking at the neckline of the offending garment. "All that pink and purple, and the shiny buttons and lace edging . . . it's a good thing I love you, Gem. Otherwise I wouldn't be caught dead being seen with you." 

"Take your bickering elsewhere, you two," Maisie said with a laugh. "Fine Gemma, I'll change, but I want to chat with my mom before I leave. I'll be over in fifteen minutes, OK?"

Maisie smiled as they said goodbye, but the expression vanished as soon as the door shut behind them. She sank onto the edge of the bed, closed her eyes, and buried her face in her hands.

Of course her fantasies had morphed into him; she should have known they would. 

Carolina had awakened her before the night in her dream had ended. She and Alessandro had made love twice more that night, falling asleep together after each time. Then . . . well, then he'd woken up again, and things had gone horribly wrong. At least she hadn't been forced to endure that again.

She pushed her hands back through her hair, stood, and picked up the comb on her dresser; she'd fallen asleep with damp hair, and it needed some work. She ran the comb through her hair several times before pausing at a knot, and then swallowed hard as she looked at the spot over her shoulder in the mirror where he'd been in her dream. 

Disgusted in her inability to separate dreams and reality, she turned away from the mirror and looked out the window. She wasn't angry about that morning anymore; she supposed it would always hurt, but she'd forgiven him. They'd been kids; as her mother had said, teenagers do stupid things. 

She put the comb down and headed to her closet, picking out her newest pair of non-work jeans and a fitted print t-shirt she'd picked up from a street artist. She played with the soft material of the shirt between her fingers, thinking.

It was true she hadn't really known him then, but she'd known him before that night and she knew him now. More importantly, she trusted him as a friend now. 

But was that what she wanted from him? Friendship? 

Or did she want more?

She was about to push the absurd thought out of her mind, as she had done countless times this week, but stopped. She didn't know what she wanted, but she didn't know what he wanted, either; she'd merely guessed he wanted some sort of friends with benefits situation for the brief time they were in Maine together. 

But if there was one thing she'd learned from this week, it was that not talking—and running away and making up silly stories—solved nothing.

She had to stop pussyfooting around. She'd ask him what he wanted with her, tonight. She'd never shied away from these conversations with any other man; she had with him, years ago, and look at the mess it had caused. 

It was time to grow up and have an adult conversation.

She glanced over to her underwear drawer and grinned. 

Well, have an adult conversation and prepare for more. Just in case.



----------------------------------------

Only two more chapters to go, give or take a chapter. And trust me, you will find out exactly what happened the next morning, though in a non-flashback kind of way. :)

I appreciate your patience. I will finish this story, but I am a very slow writer and life has a way of disrupting my limited writing time. 

I apologize for any grammatical or spelling errors. I made substantial changes after receiving this back from a beta reader, and even though I proofread it multiple times, I'm sure I missed a few words here and there. 

As always, public or private feedback is appreciated, and please vote. :)

-T



Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 06



"You didn't have to dress up, you know. It's just a bridge game at my parents' house between Gemma, Alessandro, you, and me."

Maisie flushed as she glanced down at her outfit. She'd tucked her fitted, dark blue jeans into a pair of saddle-brown boots, and thrown a short jacket over a sleeveless blouse. Carolina was right; she was completely overdressed for an evening with friends in rural Maine, no matter how much she hoped one of those friends would be more by the evening's end. 

"Gemma was right about making a statement. I'm not doing any more farm work this weekend; this is my way of starting my real vacation." Maisie grimaced as Carolina's eyebrow quirked. She had a feeling her response wasn't terribly convincing. "Besides, it's nice to dress up once in a while," she added, forcing a smile. 

Carolina's eyebrow went higher still before her lips curled into a smile. 

"I'm just raggin' on you, Maisie. I wouldn't have cared if you'd shown up in a lime green tutu and snakeskin cowboy boots. I'm just psyched you finally have some free time to hang out with us." She stepped away from the door to the mudroom at the rear of her parents' house. "Come on in. It's humid as hell out there, and we're letting all that nastiness in." 

"Thanks." Maisie stepped onto the gray slate floor of the mudroom. "Hold on a sec." 

She sat on a long wooden bench to unzip her boots as Carolina locked the door. The puddles from the morning's storm had yet to evaporate, and she didn't want to track mud all over the house. 

Besides, as Carolina had pointed out, her boots were ridiculous. 

"Is that the jacket you got last spring when we went shopping together at Century 21?" Carolina asked, passing an appraising eye over the fitted leather.

"Yup." Maisie looked up and grinned at Carolina. "Do you know everything in my wardrobe?" 

"Pretty much. We don't exactly live far away from each other, you know." Carolina winked. "Besides, you're one of the few friends who puts up with my obsession with that Financial District discount clothing madhouse. I always remember what you buy there." 

"It's a madhouse all right." Maisie chuckled as she placed her boots in a neat line in the corner and hung her jacket on an iron peg. 

"Come on." Carolina turned towards the main house and linked arms with Maisie. "It's finally time to play on this vacation of yours." 

Maisie laughed as she and Carolina trooped, side by side, into the house that had been her second home as a child.

She'd visited the twins here a fair bit over the past several years, but as she and Carolina moved through the kitchen, it occurred to her that she'd separated the house into two distinct places in her mind: the one from her youth that featured childhood memories of Alessandro, and the one she'd visited infrequently in her college years and beyond that had borne no sign of her childhood friend, save for the occasional photograph. 

The mental wall fell as they walked from room to room. The furniture and paintings on the walls fit with her memories of the twins' home, but small signs of Alessandro—an adult Alessandro, not the youthful Alessandro she always placed in this house whenever she thought of him—jumped out at her in every room. His running shoes lay haphazardly in the corner of the kitchen nearest the mudroom and a small pile of Euros he must have pulled from a pocket lay on the kitchen island, while a book on Japanese cinema sat on a small table in the hallway. 

It was unnerving, but in a comforting sort of way, she thought as they passed a study featuring a navy hoodie draped across the back of a sofa. A warm, pleasant feeling settled over her as her imagination supplied a vision of Alessandro reading his book on the sofa while she curled against him, wrapped in his sweatshirt. 

Her lips twitched and the warm feeling increased as she thought of other things they could do on that sofa.

Maisie stumbled as Carolina stopped without warning in the doorway of a small sitting room at the back of the house. Maisie glanced up; Alessandro sat sprawled across a worn leather couch, engrossed in his phone, while Gemma had curled herself against an embroidered pillow in the remaining space at the other end. 

"I thought you said you were going to set up for the game, Gem. What gives?" Carolina said, sounding annoyed.

"Sorry." Gemma looked up and shrugged. "Must've slipped my mind."

"Too busy dropping stitches?" Carolina nodded towards the knitting on Gemma's lap. "Never mind. I'll go and get us some food if you help with drinks, OK? Less, mind getting the cards and everything set up? Maisie's here as our pampered guest tonight; she's informed me she's not doing any more work this week." 

Carolina grinned as she brushed past her to return to the kitchen, and Maisie gave Gemma and Alessandro an awkward smile. She knew Carolina was just teasing her about being a "pampered guest," but relaxing while others worked around her was strange for someone so accustomed to helping out.

"I didn't know you were coming over tonight, Maisie," Alessandro said as he stood and put his phone in his pocket.

"Yeah." She glanced at Gemma. "You said you guys needed a fourth for bridge."

"Seeing as there're only three of us, we do." Gemma placed her needles and a large ball of yarn on the battered old trunk that served as a coffee table before turning to Alessandro. "Carolina and I decided it would be fun to play. Sorry. I've been having some trouble with my shawl, and must've forgotten to mention it to you."

"No problem." He strode to the side cabinet where the cards were kept, and after rummaging around for a few seconds, emerged with a set.

"Good. Well, what do you two want to drink? Wine, beer, soda, water? Something harder?"

"Water's fine," Maisie answered. Alcohol was the last thing she needed; it would either put her to sleep or make her stupid. 

"I'll have a beer, Gem. Thanks." 

A heavy silence settled in the room as Gemma left. Maisie fidgeted with the hem of her shirt as Alessandro reached out a hand and began to trace the carvings on the back of one of the card table's wooden chairs. 

Her palms began to sweat and her stomach clenched. It had been easy to stand in her bedroom earlier this evening, promising herself that she'd ask him what kind of relationship he wanted. That confidence had fled the moment she found herself standing alone with him. 

He cleared his throat. "I'd been thinking about coming over in a few minutes. You know, to see if you wanted to do something tonight."

"Oh." 

"Yeah." His fingers continued to trace the wood, moving up and down along a ridged line in slow, lazy movements before curving around a small circle. "My mom wanted to go through a bunch of boxes, though, so I got stuck here." 

"Boxes?"

"Yeah." His fingers stilled, and he shoved both hands in his pockets. "You wouldn't believe some of the crap I saved as a kid. There were something like ten boxes just from middle school."

"Right." 

He nodded and looked away.

Maisie grimaced and dropped her gaze to the floor. Way to keep the conversation flowing, she scolded herself. It should have been easy to move the conversation along; all she had to do was ask about the boxes or tease him about being a packrat. 

But his fingers . . . on the carvings . . . those fingers had given her sinful thoughts as they'd traced the lines of the wood, making her mind and body feel both heated and filled with a sultry languor as she imagined herself in the chair's place, its hard curves her soft flesh under his palms as he teased and toyed with her. 

When combined with her inexplicable onset of nervousness, his erotic moves had been murder on her thought process. 

She swallowed hard. Ask about the damn boxes and get your mind out of the gutter. Minutes before a bridge game is not the time to think about him that way.

Summoning her courage, Maisie glanced up. She'd been prepared to find him bored and looking at his phone again, but was surprised to find him staring at her. Or rather, at her cleavage. 

She stood, shell-shocked, for what felt like several long minutes. His mouth was parted slightly, his eyelids were low over his eyes, and his chest rose and fell faster than it had moments before when they'd been talking. 

He wanted her as much as she wanted him.

Her nervousness melted at the realization. Her earlier confidence had been based on her afternoon dream, and on feelings and emotions from years ago; though she had hoped for the best and dressed for success, she'd had no idea how he would react. 

Seeing him stare at her was enough to eradicate her anxiety. She'd never understood the cliché of how feeling desired could make a woman feel confident and powerful, but now she did. 

Her skin tingled as she envisioned his hands reaching out to caress her, pushing the material of her shirt below her breasts, forcing the cups of her bra down and suckling her nipples into his mouth. Her sex began to throb and she clenched her legs together, trying to stop her arousal from escalating as she imagined his hands moving lower and lower, his fingers exploring her just as they had the chair just moments ago. Her head began to spin as she imagined his fingers trailing down her navel, dipping into her wetness. 

She realized she'd stopped breathing, and she sucked in a deep breath. Alessandro's eyes snapped up to her face, and their gazes caught. His eyes widened; it was as if he hadn't known he'd been staring at her, or hadn't expected to be caught. After the briefest of pauses, his lips curved into a smile and he tilted his head to the side. He winked, and her heart felt like it stopped and then raced to push the missing blood through her system. 

"Geary's OK, Less?" Gemma's voice cut through their silent conversation. "Looks like we ran out of Shipyard." 

Maisie jerked her head towards Gemma. She took her glass of water and lifted it, hands shaking, to her lips. That smile and wink were not the type of thing to experience when other people were around; she hoped the liquid would cool the heat rushing through her body.

"Geary's is fine, Gem. Thanks," Alessandro said, taking his beer.

The three of them stood in silence for several moments before Gemma sighed. 

"What in the world is keeping Carolina?" she grumbled. "We won't be starting until midnight at this rate."

She turned and marched out of the room. Maisie stared after her, watching as she rounded the corner in the hallway before glancing towards the card table. 

She'd expected to find Alessandro next to the wooden chair, but he wasn't there. 

She gasped as she felt him brush her arm. He'd moved to stand only inches from her, just shy of shoulder-to-shoulder, as if admiring a painting that hung on the wall above the card table. 

She turned towards the wall, searching for what had grabbed his attention, but had an impossible time concentrating when the warmth of his body was so close. So much for the water cooling me down, she thought.

"I'm glad you're here tonight." 

His voice was low and smooth, and the confidence he'd built with his earlier admiration soared higher at his words. He was like a drug, she realized, washing over her senses, pulling her away from her incessant over-thinking and into a world with just the two of them.

She liked it. Especially when she thought of the two of them naked in that world.

"I'm glad to be here, too." She was surprised at how breathless she sounded.

"Good." Out of the corner of her eye she watched as his chest expanded in a long, slow inhale. "I should tell you, though: that's a very naughty shirt you're wearing, Margaret Barnes."

She replayed his words in her head, making sure she'd heard them correctly. "It is?" she asked, her heart racing. 

"Mmmm. That ribbon, tied in a bow at the back? It begs to be tugged open." 

His chest rose again before he let out a long, slow breath, and she found herself doing the same as she imagined him bending her over the card table and tugging at the offending ribbon with his teeth before divesting her of the garment, gripping her hips with his olive-skinned hands—

"I've seen you in it before, Maisie. You wore that shirt up from Boston." 

Startled from her pornographic thoughts, she glanced up at him. 

"You remember?"

"Are you kidding?" He raised an eyebrow as he glanced down at her, an incredulous smile forming on his lips. "Good thing you don't have those boots on right now. Lord knows I've thought about those a time or twelve this week."

She stared, mouth agape. He'd fantasized about her? All week?

Her heart jumped with joy as she stared into the brown depths of his eyes. They were searching her face, and she realized he was waiting not just for an answer, but for her reaction. 

"Why do you think my feet are bare?" She winked and lifted her face to his, her voice just above a whisper, trying to send the images playing in her brain telepathically into his. 

His eyes flared as he shifted towards her, his fingers brushing hers as he lowered his head. She tilted her face up, desperate to feel his lips on hers, desperate to take the first step towards making the images in her head a reality.

"OK," Carolina called from the hallway, and like schoolchildren caught misbehaving, they jumped apart. "We've got carrots, celery, zucchini, red peppers, and cherry tomatoes to go with some hummus. And I have some of my mom's famous mystery bars." Carolina placed the platters of food on the table as Gemma took a seat. "Would have been here sooner, but someone," she shot Gemma a dirty look, "said my zucchini and pepper slices were too big."

Gemma shrugged. "What can I say? I didn't want to interrupt our game with the Heimlich maneuver."

Maisie glanced at Alessandro and found him trying to catch her eye. His clean-shaven face was flushed, and she had a feeling her own matched the tomatoes and peppers. His lips quirked; "Wish she'd cut them even smaller," he mouthed. 

She looked away and tried to hide her laughter behind her hand. Yes, she wished his sisters had stayed in the kitchen longer, too. 

"Oh, no you don't." Alessandro jumped forward and nudged Carolina, who had just taken a seat across from Gemma. "Nice try, but you know the family rules: no playing with your twin as your partner."

Carolina gave him a mutinous glare as she moved to a seat next to Gemma. "Those rules are unfair."

"Unfair?" Alessandro spluttered. "It's unfair to the rest of us when you two play together. You have that . . . that . . . ." He waved his hand in the air as he sat down across from Carolina.

"That super-secret twin communication thing?" Maisie supplied with a grin.

"Exactly!" Alessandro slapped his hand down on the table. "And just for trying that sneaky move, Leena, you get stuck with me as your partner." 

Carolina grumbled something unintelligible as Maisie sat in the remaining seat. 

"So," Alessandro said as he took a card from the deck. "You've caught on to their mysterious telepathic powers, too?"

"Yup." Maisie reached for the deck. "Though they crushed everyone in our bridge group for three whole weeks before we did."

Alessandro chuckled as Gemma and Carolina picked cards. Carolina picked highest; she would deal after Gemma cut the deck. 

They each returned their card to Carolina. Maisie's eyes drifted to Alessandro as the twins began to chat about the family members that would arrive tomorrow for their graduation party. Heavy-lidded eyes met hers, and she bit her lip as a slow, lazy sort of grin lifted the corner of his mouth. 

She tried to smile back, but couldn't; all she could do was stare at his brown eyes, which seemed to twinkle under the lights. 

She reached for her glass of water, nearly spilling it on the pile of cards accumulating on the table before her as she pulled it towards her mouth, desperate once again to cool her overheating body. She couldn't tear her eyes from his as she drank. His gaze lowered to watch her lips cradle the glass, and then lowered again to watch her throat work to swallow the liquid. 

She placed the water back down on the table with a wobble. Her throat felt too tight to drink anymore, and the thought of him watching her throat . . . well, that just made her think of swallowing something other than water. 

The seating arrangement and small table left them close. His eyes seemed to pull her closer, again making her feel like they were the only two people in the room. He was gorgeous, his broad shoulders stretching the t-shirt he wore, brown hair curling around his ears and shining under the room's chandelier, and eyes glinting with thoughts she wanted shown to her. 

She took a deep breath, hoping no one else noticed as she leaned towards him a bit. He smelled good, like soap and aftershave, and she wondered if he'd showered after helping his mother go through his boxes in the hot, dusty barn. 

"Maisie?" Gemma's voice seemed faint, as if she were speaking from across a foggy field, or at the very least, through a steamy bathroom featuring a hot and soapy Alessandro. "Maisie? You gonna pick up your cards?" 

"Mmmm?" 

"Cards, Maisie." Carolina's sharp voice reached her brain, and Maisie turned to find her friend pointing at the pile on the table. "Your cards."

"Right." She picked up her cards, but, just as it had earlier in the evening, Carolina's raised eyebrow seemed to require an explanation. "Sorry, I was just daydreaming."

She flushed and took another quick sip of water before sorting her cards. She tried not to look at Alessandro, but gave in and peeked over her cards at him. He wore a strained expression on his face, as if he were trying not to laugh.

She kicked him under the table, and, feeling satisfied when her revenge wiped the smirk off his face, she returned to her cards.

The bidding began, and before long Maisie found herself engrossed in the game. She'd met players who were able to play and carry on conversations simultaneously, but she'd never been able to; instead, she listened as Alessandro joked with his sisters, only saying something when someone—usually Gemma—drew her into the conversation.

She'd never played bridge with Alessandro; she hadn't learned how to play until college. As they played, it struck her that the two of them hadn't done anything social in years, since before they'd gone to high school. It was fun, listening to him laugh at his sisters, hearing their memories of events she'd never known. 

Maisie was surprised to discover that Alessandro was one of the least competitive people she'd ever played with; she only now understood why he'd told Carolina it was a punishment to play with him. 

"Alessandro!" 

Maisie looked up as Carolina's annoyed voice cut across her musing. She and Gemma had just crushed Carolina and Alessandro in yet another hand; they'd won the first game in just two hands, and after these last two, they were within single digits of winning the second and final game. 

"Huh?" Alessandro blinked as he looked across the table at his sister.

"Does Maisie have a piece of food in her hair?"

"What?" He pushed the cards across the table to Carolina to shuffle; they were beginning their fifth hand, so the deal fell back to her.

"I said, does Maisie have a piece of food in her hair?"

"Um." He glanced at Maisie before giving his sister a chagrined look. "No."

"Good. Then please stop staring at her hair when we're playing, and pay attention!" Carolina shook her head as she began to shuffle. "Alessandro, I swear to God, I'm going to toilet paper your room later tonight if you don't start paying attention."

"Empty threat, Leena." He laughed. "We both know I always won the practical joke wars in this house."

"Well, yeah, but that's because you always had Maisie on your side. Gemma and I always knew she was the brains of the operation. What are you going to do, force her to spend the night here so you two can sneak in at three in the morning?" 




Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 06



"Don't worry, Leens." He turned to face Maisie and winked as Carolina turned her attention to her shuffling. "We won't be sneaking into your room tonight." 

Carolina humphed as she handed the cards to Gemma to cut. Maisie was happy for the noise; she'd reached for her water again after the hand had finished, and nearly spat it out at Alessandro's last comment. 

Carolina took the cards back from Gemma and began to deal. "I wish Isabella was here instead of Maisie," she grumbled. "Ouch!" She turned to face her twin. "What the hell was that for?"

"That was because you have no tact, Carolina," Gemma ground out through clenched teeth. 

Carolina looked confused for several seconds before realization dawned across her face. 

"No! No, I didn't mean it like that." Carolina turned to Maisie and shook her head. "No matter how much I like Isabella, I prefer hanging out with you, any day of the week. You know that, right, Maisie?" Carolina turned back to her sister. "All I meant was that even Alessandro could beat Isabella at bridge. She's terrible. Alessandro and I wouldn't be getting slaughtered."

"She was that bad?" Maisie plastered on what she hoped was a convincing smile. Given the mood around the table, it seemed important to show that Carolina's comment hadn't bothered her; Carolina looked like she felt horrible about what she'd said, Gemma was still glaring, and Alessandro had turned stony-faced at the mention of Isabella. 

"Yeah, she was," Carolina gave her a small smile, and mouthed the word, "sorry," to Maisie. 

"I taught her to play." Alessandro gave Maisie a wry grin. "She tried, but she only played when we were with these two. It's hard to learn something and then not practice for months at a time, especially when your teacher isn't the best player."

"So Alessandro," Gemma said after giving Carolina a final glare. "What kind of stuff did you find in those boxes in the barn?" 

Maisie let their conversation wash over her as Carolina dealt. 

Isabella, the ex, she thought with a grimace. No, she corrected herself. Isabella, the model ex. 

She knew the conversation shouldn't have bothered her. If anything, it should have made her feel better; Carolina had, in her own roundabout way, expressed how Maisie fit in much better with her family than Isabella ever had.

Instead, it seemed to underscore their different roles: one was a good friend for a card game, while the other was . . . well, a model.

Had she been crazy earlier in the evening to think that Alessandro would be interested in her? She'd never thought she was hideous in the looks department, but she wasn't God's gift to men, some sort of angel sent down to grace the earth and stun all of mankind with her beauty. 

But Alessandro's ex? She was that sort of woman. 

Literally, Maisie thought with a suppressed snort. 

For years, images of Isabella's pouty smile, lingerie-clad body, and fake wings had stared at her from storefront windows and catalogs. While Maisie had never considered herself the sort who needed boyfriends to assure her she was beautiful, her confidence had always waned when she'd seen Isabella's pictures. How could it not? 

Not that it should have been surprising. Alessandro had always been the blight in her otherwise-steely confidence; he was the best friend who'd abandoned her with no warning in high school, and the lover who'd kicked her out of his room after sleeping with her. How many times had a voice in her head whispered, "See? Why would he want you when he could have her?" when she'd passed Isabella's larger-than-life form? It hadn't mattered that the timeline was off, that he hadn't even met Isabella that night in the motel. 

Had she really thought she'd be able to saunter over for a serious talk without a single worry? That, after the argument in the strawberry field on Monday morning, she'd completely gotten over the rejection of that night? 

Listen to you, she scolded. He stared at your body, flirted with you, admitted to fantasizing about you all week, and even made a reference to you spending the night. Stop doubting yourself.

She chuckled and gave her head a little shake. Leave it to Alessandro Conti to send her on an emotional rollercoaster. 

She glanced up when she noticed the talking around her had ceased. "Sorry. I was . . . thinking about something else." Maisie offered a small smile. "I didn't channel Carolina and laugh at a totally inappropriate moment, did I?"

"No." Alessandro gave her a hesitant smile. "I was just telling them about finding our old time capsule in one of the boxes I saved."

"Time capsule?" She furrowed her brow. "I don't remember making a time capsule. Sure you made it with me?"

"Who else would I have made a time capsule with?" Alessandro gave her an incredulous look. "You have one hell of a selective memory, Maisie. You don't remember insisting we make one and bury it on old Mr. Harrison's land one spring, right next to that crumbling old cemetery? And making me carry a shovel clear across town? Only to be surprised when I couldn't dig since the ground was still frozen—as I'd told you it would be?" 

"Not really, no." She screwed her face up as she tried to remember the incident, then grinned at the memory of her dictatorial childhood-self ordering a shovel-wielding Alessandro around town, time capsule in hand. "How the hell did you put up with me?" she asked with a chuckle. 

Alessandro shook his head, laughing along with her. "You know, I just don't know. I always thought of you as having these grand, adventurous plans, but now that I think about it, I don't think that's quite right. You really just had these crazy, impulsive ideas that you wouldn't let go until I went along with them. I think you had to convince yourself to go along with them half the time. Hang on." He leaned over and pulled out his phone, which had begun to ring. "I can't believe you don't remember telling me we should . . . ."

The words faded as he stared at the ringing phone in his hand. After a few blinks and a shake of his head, he held the phone to his ear.

"Izzy? Izzy is that you?" He grinned, and Maisie felt her stomach plummet at the bright smile on his face. "Ciao, Izzy . . . what? Hold on, my reception is crap here. Give me a minute."

He stood and walked out of the room without sparing a glance for any of them. 

Gemma cleared her throat in the silence. "What do you say, Maisie. Why don't we institute some sort of mercy rule; Alessandro and Carolina will never catch us at the rate we're going. Let's clean up and have a glass of wine in the kitchen." 

"No. I'm getting kind of tired, and . . . ." 

Maisie trailed off. She wanted to go home and think. Or go home and watch a movie with her mother. Anything to get her mind off the brilliant smile she'd seen Alessandro flash when Isabella had called. She wasn't sure if a stupid insecurity was popping up again or if this was fate's way of showing her the door before she made a terrible mistake; either way, she was ready to climb off this rollercoaster.

"Come on, Maisie. Sit down in the kitchen with us." Gemma's voice sounded kind, and almost apologetic. 

When Maisie didn't respond, Gemma's warm hand reached out and squeezed hers. It was only then Maisie realized her own was trembling. 

"OK," she replied. Gemma was too comforting to resist. 

Maisie followed the twins into the kitchen. Carolina busied herself washing the pile of dishes in the sink while Gemma wiped the cleaned dishes and put them away. Maisie perched on a stool at the island, feeling useless. She'd put away the remaining veggies and hummus and put the leftover mystery bars in her belly, but had been banished to the island after that, reminded by Carolina of her pledge to do no more work. Her doubts from earlier returned, and she fought to maintain her confidence as she sat.

"Can you believe Isabella called, Gem?" Carolina asked, her hands still buried in the sink.

Gemma shrugged. "Do you think Mom and Dad will be home soon?"

"I doubt it. They said something about seeing some friends in Bath after dinner and being out pretty late." Carolina grabbed the now-empty vegetable platter—the last of the dirty dishes—and placed it into the sink. "Do you think Alessandro and Isabella will ever get back together? I hope so. You never met her, did you, Maisie? I hope you get to meet her; you'd really like her." 

Gemma sighed. "I doubt they'll get back together, Carolina. From what little he's said, it's pretty clear that he broke up with her. He's never said anything to indicate he wants to get back with her. They're probably just catching up, like friends do from time to time." Gemma took the clean platter and dried it as Carolina turned the water off. "So what are you going to do about that phone call you got from your new super? The one where he told you about parking restrictions the weekend you're supposed to move in?"

"Dunno. Like I said earlier today, I'll figure something out. Maybe I can leave my stuff at Aunt Aggie's for a while or something." Carolina dried her hands on a towel near the sink and moved to lean on the kitchen island. "So he definitely broke up with her? Huh. I can't believe he still won't tell us more about what happened, but I guess that makes sense. They'd been dating since he was what, nineteen? I know they took a couple breaks and all, but he never really had much time to play around, you know? I bet that's what he wants to do now."

"Or maybe he realized she wasn't what he wanted long-term, and he's ready to move on to someone who is," Gemma ground out, throwing the dishtowel at the oven handle. "Maisie, are there any more of those bars my mom made? I could really use one. Can you believe that she still won't give me the recipe?"

"Um, no. I kinda ate the last ones." Maisie flushed as she continued to play with the hem of her blouse.

"Oh please," Carolina said, ignoring the conversation about food. "You don't end a six-year relationship and then enter a new one within months."

"For goodness sake, Carolina! I've tried and tried to move this conversation along, but you just don't get it. Would you stop talking about Isabella!" Gemma put her hands on her hips as she turned to face her sister. "Open your eyes. For someone who likes to be in on the family gossip, you're completely clueless when it comes to what's going on between your own brother and your best friend."

Maisie's hand stilled, and she felt her face flush as Carolina turned to give her a confused look.

"What do you mean, my own brother and my—"

"What do you think happened all those years ago, when Maisie came back from that weekend reunion and made us swear not to tell him anything?"

"What?" Carolina turned to face her sister. "I don't know. I figured they had another stupid argument or something, or—" Carolina stilled, and then turned to face Maisie. "Alessandro? You mean to tell me that when you came back all miserable, it was because you'd had sex with my brother?" she asked, sounding both confused and horrified.

Maisie nodded. Could her face burn any hotter? she wondered.

"But then . . . ." Carolina stopped and gave her a critical once-over. "All this time you've been spending together this week . . . are you sleeping with each other now?"

Maisie let out a harsh laugh. "No." 

"But you want to?" Carolina looked baffled. 

"Caught on, have you Carolina?" Gemma quipped. "Go on upstairs, Maisie, and talk to him. We'll finish up down here."

"What? No, I should be getting home."

"Home?" Carolina stared at Maisie as if she were crazy. "It's not even nine."

"But it's been a long week, and—"

"No more buts." Gemma crossed her arms and glared at her sister, who shrugged and gave Maisie a look that said she was siding with Gemma on this matter. "I refuse to be a go-between for another seven years. Go upstairs and talk to him. Neither of you is fooling me; you aren't just friends. He's been moping all week, and you've been acting like a nervous teenager all night."

"No I haven't," Maisie protested, pulling her hand away from her hem and smoothing imaginary wrinkles out of her jeans. "I can just talk to him tomorrow at your graduation party. It's not like there's something important we need to talk about or anything."

"Nothing important?" Gemma's eyes narrowed. "Have you talked about that night?"

Maisie shifted in her seat. "What do you mean?"

"It's a simple question, Maisie."

"Then yeah, we've talked." 

Gemma didn't reply, but her eyes narrowed even more.

"Well, yelled. Screamed, really. Last Monday morning, when we ran into each other in the fields," Maisie mumbled.

"I see. And is everything from years ago out in the open now? Did this screaming provide . . . closure?"

Maisie opened her mouth to say yes, but then closed it. She wasn't angry with him anymore, but was she satisfied with what she knew? Was forgiveness the same as closure? 

"I see. You know what, Leena?" Gemma linked her arm through her sister's. "I'm in the mood for some bowling."

"What?" Carolina glanced between her snagged arm and Gemma's face. 

"Oh, come on," Gemma said with a cheeky grin. "You know how much you love bowling, especially candle pin. It's hard to find in New York, and there's a great old place in the harbor."

"I hate bowling, and you've already dragged me three times this week. Ouch!" Carolina exclaimed as Gemma stepped on her foot. "Fine. We'll go bowling, and I'll put disgusting shoes on my feet. Just stop with the physical abuse, OK?" She glared at Gemma. "You so owe me," she muttered as she turned to Maisie.

"Don't be ridiculous, Gemma." Maisie rolled her eyes. "I'll go upstairs and talk with him; you don't have to leave the house." 

"Talking?" Gemma grinned. "Is that all you think you're going to do? How naïve are you, Maisie?" 

"Very funny." She looked from twin to twin. "I mean it. I came over here to talk. That's all." 

"Right." Carolina snorted. "You're convincing no one in this room about that, including yourself, if the look on your face is any indication of what's going through that mind of yours." 

Maisie opened her mouth to protest, but Carolina held up a hand to stop her. 

"I really don't want to imagine you and Alessandro doing anything more than talking, so I'm going now. I'll see you later." She and Gemma exchanged a long, pointed look before she turned and headed for the mudroom. "And by the way, you look great, so stop fussing with your shirt!" she called over her shoulder.

Maisie turned to Gemma. "Come on. There's no need to leave and make a big deal out of this. Just stay here, I'll go talk to him, and then maybe we can all watch a movie or something." 

"Bye, Maisie."

Maisie felt her frustration rise as Gemma grinned and left the house with a wave, the keys to her mother's car dangling in from her fingers. She sat on a stool at the island and let out a long sigh, only to look up at the sound of footsteps on the tile.

"Changed your mind?" she asked as Carolina walked back into the kitchen.

"I wish. I hate bowling." Carolina grabbed a jacket that Maisie hadn't noticed on the stool next to her. 

"You can stay here, you know. I'm just going to talk to him." 

Carolina grinned. "If by talking you mean dirty talk as foreplay, then yes, I have a feeling that's going to happen." 

Maisie opened her mouth to argue, but Carolina cut her off.

"Gemma's right. Go and finish this ridiculous conversation you've put off for years. And then let things lead where they lead." Carolina cocked her head to the side. "What are you so worried about? Why is it that you suddenly don't want to be alone with him, when it's clear you came over with intentions along those lines? What are you afraid of?" 

"I don't know."

"Yeah, you do. Out with it."

Carolina's eyebrow rose. Damn that demanding eyebrow, Maisie thought with an inward groan before taking a deep breath. 

"I just . . . I felt so confident earlier, like everything would fall into place. But that call from Isabella made me feel like I'm playing dress-up in some stupid competition over a boy. I hate feeling like that; it makes me feel like I'm back in high school, trying to get his attention, trying to get him to talk to me again."

"You're jealous of an ex, Maisie, and you're annoyed with yourself for feeling jealous. That's normal."

"What? No, it's not quite that." Maisie bit her lip. "Well, maybe a little."

"Like I said, normal, but not something you should let paralyze you. No matter how clueless I was earlier, Gemma was right: she's an ex." Carolina took a seat on the now-empty stool next to Maisie. "You haven't said what you're afraid of, though. Rejection? If so, how is this any different from relationships you've plunged into in the past? This lack of confidence . . . it isn't like you."

"Not exactly rejection, no." Maisie chewed on her lip before answering again. "The stakes are much higher than a simple insult to my pride."

"You're going to have to explain, Maisie," Carolina said with a wry smile. "As Gemma said, I can be a bit blind when it comes to these sorts of things." 

"Luckily for you, we love you anyway." Maisie let out a harsh laugh. "But what if, by bringing up the prospect of something more than friendship, I ruin whatever we've managed to salvage over the past week? I lost my friend—my best friend, someone who was more than a best friend for one night—for years. And now that I've finally found him, I'm thinking about doing something that might ruin it. That's terrifying. I don't want to repeat the same mistake I made seven years ago and think we can be more than friends, only to have it backfire and leave me miserable."

Maisie turned to face her friend. "I want more. I know I do. But maybe I should just stick with what I have and be happy about it, you know?"

She took a deep breath, unsure if her babbling had made any sense. 

"You won't ruin anything, Maisie. Talk about what happened that weekend. Get it all out in the open, and say everything you need to say. And when you're sure you've dealt with everything, and you still think you want more from him, then tell him how you feel. You can't ruin things with honesty."

"Yes, I can! You don't understand—"

"On this, I understand more than you think," Carolina interjected, giving Maisie a warning look when she opened her mouth to argue. "You know, I remember how upset you were when you got back. But I talked to him before he left for Italy. Something was off. I remember you saying you were a one-night stand for some guy—and God, I still can't believe I didn't know it was him—but you know, I don't know if that's true. He was upset, too."

Maisie bit her lip but didn't answer. 

"He never said anything about what was bothering him, Maisie, just like you never told us."

Maisie stared at the kitchen tiles, mulling over Carolina's words. Could her friend possibly be right? 

"What happened?" Carolina asked, her voice soft and gentle.

"What?" Maisie snapped her head up to look at her friend. 

"I asked what happened. That weekend you two went back." 

Carolina cocked her head to the side and waited. Maisie stared at her for ages, hoping her friend would grow bored in the silence and run out the door with a wave. She sighed when she realized that wouldn't be happening.

"We slept together." 

"Yeah, I got that." Carolina smiled. "I meant, what happened that made you so miserable." Her face turned serious. "Was he too rough? Did he pressure you? Force you, or—"

"God, no! No, he was . . . it was fine."

"Fine?"

Maisie closed her eyes and took a couple of long, slow breaths. "Wonderful," she whispered.

Carolina nodded. "So if it was so wonderful, why all the not talking?"

Maisie opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling, willing herself not to cry. 




Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 06



"I spent the night in his room. I woke up the next morning to feel him nudging me. I thought he wanted to . . . well, you know, again." She let out a short, harsh laugh. "But he didn't. He told me to get out. He told me he didn't want to see me again." She shuddered. "It was so awful. We'd spent four years not talking to each other, and then I went to his room and gave myself to him, and he was so wonderful, and then he . . . he . . . ." 

She choked back a sob, frustrated that she couldn't talk about this without crying. How was she ever going to talk about it with Alessandro without becoming a whiny, sniffling mess? Hadn't she convinced herself on Monday morning that she was over this?

"So you left?"

"So I left." Maisie let out a harsh laugh. "He got what he wanted; I was gone before he got out of the shower."

Carolina was silent for a long time. Maisie took several deep breaths before turning to find Carolina watching her. 

"Look, I don't want you to think I'm picking sides or anything—" 

"No, no I've never wanted that either—"

"But I know my brother," Carolina said, raising her voice above Maisie's. "And I think you should talk about what you remember. It just doesn't sound right. You need to talk to him."

Maisie nodded. She didn't quite agree with Carolina, but she was coming to the realization that talking about the future wasn't possible without talking about that morning; she'd forgiven him, but that didn't mean she was over it. And while talking about that morning with him didn't seem like fun, the alternative—saying nothing about the past or future and feeling miserable—wasn't an appealing option, either.

Carolina stood and fetched Maisie a glass of water, which Maisie gulped down. 

"Thanks," she said as she handed the glass back to Carolina.

"No problem."

Maisie watched as Carolina placed the glass in the sink.

"Was this all planned?" Maisie asked as Carolina turned from the sink.

"Was what all planned?" Carolina batted her eyelashes and smothered most of a smile as she leaned back against the sink.

"Forgetting your coat. Coming back to talk with me." Maisie narrowed her eyes. "I saw that look you and Gemma exchanged. Were you using your twin super-powers?"

Carolina mimicked drawing a halo around her head. 

Maisie snorted. "You haven't been an angel since you were fourteen."

Carolina feigned shock, then grinned. "Bitch."

"Shrew."

"Hussy."

"Strumpet."

Carolina raised an eyebrow. "By instituting a mercy rule in our game of bridge, I believe you were the one who, as they say, 'won the rubber.' Pretty sure that makes you the strumpet."

Maisie groaned at her friend's pun, then laughed. "Touché, my friend. Touché."

"Lord knows I don't need one with all the winners at the bowling lanes." Carolina laughed as she threw on her jacket. "Oh, and Maisie?" 

"Mmmm?"

"You know how I usually pepper you for details about the men you sleep with? I don't want to know anything. Ever," Carolina said, looking disgusted as she emphasized the last word, but still smiling. 

Maisie chuckled as she nodded.

"And whatever you do," Carolina continued, "just promise me that you won't refuse to speak to him for another seven years. It kind of sucked for everyone involved."

"I promise," Maisie said as she stood and gave Carolina a hug.

"What was that for?" Carolina asked as she pulled away, looking wary. "That wasn't a preemptive apology for toilet papering my room tonight, was it?" she said with a wink.

"Funny, but no, I just wanted to say thanks." Maisie winked in return. "Don't you think I know which twin is the real softie?"

"Am not," Carolina mumbled as she threw her coat on. "And I'll sleep in Gemma's room tonight so that you two can be neighbor-free," she called over her shoulder as she closed the mudroom door behind her.

--------------------------------

Maisie stood in the kitchen for a long time after waving goodbye to Carolina until, with a deep breath, she turned and left the room. Whatever tonight's outcome, it wasn't going to happen if she spent the evening alone in an empty kitchen. It was time to summon her courage, face her fears, and talk with him.

Worn Oriental rugs muffled her footsteps as she walked down the wainscoted hallway towards the staircase, and eyes from centuries of family portraits stared down at her. She gripped the wide, varnished banister as she turned to head up the stairs, marveling as always at the intricate, hand-carved spindles that lined both sides of the home's grand, central staircase. She was thankful for the distraction from the glaring eyes, which seemed to accuse her of trespassing. 

"Maisie?"

"Hi." She bit her lip, cursing the carpets for muffling the other set of footsteps on the stairs. "I was just coming to say hi, see how things were going."

"Fine. Sorry I walked out like that without a word; it was rude. But reception around here is terrible, and given the time difference . . . well, I thought she was in Italy where it's the middle of the night, so I thought it might be an emergency, and her call was such a surprise, and . . . ." 

"It's all right." 

They stared at each other in silence for several long moments. He stood a few steps above her with his hands in his pockets, while her hand still clung to the banister. 

"It's nice out," he ventured. "A bit humid, but there's a nice breeze."

She furrowed her brows. "Outside?" 

He chuckled. "We have a sleeping porch, remember?" He pointed over her head in the direction of the porch in the front of the house.

"Oh, right."

"Come on." He turned and headed back up the stairs. 

Maisie glanced up as she followed him. God, he has a nice ass, she thought before reminding herself that they were supposed to talk first.

"Won't we wake your grandparents up?" she whispered.

Alessandro laughed as he turned the corner at the back of the house. "They take their hearing aids out at night. They make us promise to get them if the fire alarm goes off." 

A wide hallway ran through the center of the house, surrounding the central staircase. Alessandro and his parents' bedrooms sat in the front corners of the house, separated by a large sleeping porch, where his ancestors had gone to sleep on hot nights. It was built into the house, fully protected from the sun and rain, with shingles creating a circular opening to the sea on the lone side without walls. 

With the advent of air conditioning it had become less of a necessity and more of a lounging and napping area; Maisie smiled as she remembered playing board games and cards on summer afternoons on the porch. 

Alessandro opened the creaky door and stepped out onto the porch. Maisie followed, and her nostrils were assaulted by the briny smell of low tide. 

The layout was exactly as she remembered. Two hammocks hung across the back of the porch closest to the house and two wicker chairs sat near the front facing the ocean, separated by a small, square table. She headed for one of the chairs only to feel his hand reach out and snag her wrist. 

"Come on. You know you want to sit here." Alessandro sat in the rear hammock and patted the wide expanse of fabric next to him. His eyes glinted as the corner of his mouth turned up.

Her lips twitched as she remembered the game they'd always played as kids. She stepped away from him and took a running jump onto the hammock, trying to bounce him off. 

Alessandro laughed as she landed with a thud next to him.

"Nice try, Maisie." 

"It used to work," she grumbled.

"I used to be smaller than you," he said as he draped his arm behind her shoulders, giving her something to lean her head against.

Maisie turned to him and opened her mouth, thinking about making some comment about his size, but closed it with a snap of teeth. His eyes twinkled, reflecting the pale light that reached them from across the distant harbor, and he laughed as he propped his bare feet up on the canvas of the other hammock. She had a feeling he'd known she'd be tempted to retort, and had probably set her up to make a lewd comment.

Turning to face the ocean, she reclined against his arm and propped her feet up next to his. She fought not to squirm against his closeness or play footsies with him, and eventually relaxed as they listened to the muted sounds of low tide. 

The warmth of his body infected her with a quiet calm. It was nice, sitting with him like this. It occurred to her that this was probably the first time all week that she'd felt truly relaxed and happy.

At that thought, though, her mind began to replay the day's earlier events. The awkward quiet between them in the orchard, the conversation with her mother, her dream and the courage it had given her to talk to him, flirting with him in the sitting room before their game of bridge . . . .

"So was it an emergency?" Maisie blurted out, unable to stop the thought from leaving her mouth. 

"What?" He turned to face her, his brows knitted in confusion. "Oh! Isabella. Not an emergency, no. Well, not really." He took a deep breath and turned back towards the ocean. "She called to tell me she's pregnant. I think she wanted to tell me before I read about it in the paper or something."

"Pregnant?" Maisie whispered. Of all the things he could have said, that had not been what she expected. Her relaxation was replaced by numbness, and her mind ground to a halt, unable to process his words.

"Yeah." He shook his head as if in disbelief, but then smiled. "She's so happy. I don't know when I last heard her that happy. Years ago, maybe? She's wanted a baby for . . . well, months if not years."

Maisie felt sick as she faced forward, unable to answer.

"There's going to be a wedding next week in New York. I was supposed to fly back to London on Monday for an audition, but that will have to wait."

"Yeah," she managed to croak out. She was having a difficult time comprehending his words. "Wow. A baby. A wedding." The ill feeling intensified at the thought of him getting married in less than a week.

"I know. It's crazy, but . . . good, you know?"

"Yeah." She thought about turning and facing him, but found she couldn't. "And congratulations. You'll make a great father, Less."

"Congratulations?" She felt his eyes on the side of her face. "What do you . . . oh!" 

He laughed. It was a deep, rich laugh, and she turned just in time to see him cover his mouth with his spare hand. 

"What?" she asked. "Why are you laughing?"

"Not mine, Maisie." He laughed again as he pulled his hand away from his mouth and gave her an apologetic look. "The baby, the wedding . . . none of it is mine. Izzy . . . well, she apparently hooked up with her accountant—my accountant, too, now that I think about it—a week or so after we broke up, and I guess some sort of relationship grew from there. She's only a couple of months along, but they're both thrilled and in love and getting married. We hadn't talked in months so we did some catching up, and she invited me to the wedding as a guest."

"Oh." A torrent of emotions swept over her, first relief, and then . . . "Oh God, how embarrassing."

"No, don't. I should have been clearer." He kept laughing, so she punched him in the arm. "Ow! No, it's just . . . me, a father? I mean, it's just so—"

"But don't you want kids?" Maisie groaned as soon as the words left her mouth. "Never mind. You don't have to answer that. That was way too personal a question. Forget I asked."

"It wasn't personal. I mean, it was, but I kinda asked you the same thing in the truck the other day."

"You did?" Maisie screwed up her face. "You mean, when you asked if this would be a nice place to raise kids?"

Alessandro nodded. "It's not exactly the same, but close enough. We're friends, right? And friends can, you know, ask stuff like that, right?"

Maisie stared, unmoving, at the harbor lights shining through the night. Without any effort on her part, they'd arrived at the conversation she'd intended to have tonight. Or at least, one part of the conversation, the present-time part.

"Yeah. We're friends."

"Are we . . . are we more than friends, Maisie?"

She could feel his eyes on her face. The waves were growing louder, much louder than they should be at this point in the tide. The moon had slipped behind the clouds, and the air felt far muggier than it usually did at night. 

The storm the weatherman had promised was on its way in.

She shivered, though whether it was from the breeze that had picked up or from his fingers playing with her hair, she didn't know.

"More than friends?" she repeated.

"Yeah."

This is it, Maisie thought. The point of her entire evening here. She should say something: shout yes, turn the question around on him, ask for clarification . . . anything.

Instead, she stared at the water, as if waiting for the waves to give her a signal. 

You need to talk about that weekend first, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Carolina whispered in her head. 

Then again, Carolina had shown time and time again that she could be pretty clueless. And what were those U2 lyrics? "It's too late, tonight, to drag the past out into the light?" 

Yes, that seemed about right. After all, she had two options: talk about the past and then move forward, or move forward, and then, when they were on firm footing together, talk about the past. Surely, there was nothing wrong with the latter option, right? There was no law that said their conversations had to take place in chronological order, and there was no need to disrupt the flow of the conversation. 

Alessandro's voice roused her from her thoughts.

"We were once. More than friends, I mean. It was . . . wonderful—" He broke off and took a deep breath. "For me, at least. I loved that night. All at once, you were my best friend again, and this amazing woman I never knew existed. I don't know if you felt what I did that night, before we messed things up. I don't know if that connection would still be there if we tried again—it's been so long, and we've missed so much of each other's lives—but if there's something there to build on, then maybe we could try, and—"

Maisie pushed up against the hammock and brushed her lips across his, breaking his words off. 

They'd talk about the past later. Tonight was for that firm footing, and she intended to enjoy every moment of it.

She looked up into his eyes as she pulled away, her hand feeling the heartbeat in his chest. He stared down at her, speechless. A memory of the same situation—when she'd kissed him on the bed, taking him by surprise in the motel—entered her mind. 

She smiled at the memory, and was about to ask if he remembered when he pushed her sideways into the hammock and kissed her, hard. He wove his fingers in her hair as she sunk into the hammock, and she ran her hands down his arms and back, desperate to feel him above her. 

They were a tangle of shifting limbs and heavy breaths, with Alessandro shifting from sitting next to her to lying on top of her, when a jumble of events happened at once. She shrieked, he swore, and in an instant, their positions were reversed. The hammock had thrown them both off, but she hadn't hit the floor; she'd landed on Alessandro. 

"Are you OK?" she gasped, unsure whether she should laugh or run for help.

"It looks like you finally succeeded and flipped me off." He groaned. "Holy hell, I forgot how much that hurts. And I don't think I've ever had a woman fall on me like that."

"Oh God, I'm so sorry!" Maisie scrambled to get up, embarrassed that she was still sprawled on top of him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her. "You're the one who got a cushioned landing; the least you can do is ease my pain." 

It took Maisie a few moments to realize what he'd meant, but she threw back her head and laughed when she did. 

"Oh? You want me to be your personal Florence Nightingale tonight?"

"Florence? A woman in a heavy black dress and a white cap? That's not what I was I thinking, no. I was thinking more along the lines of naughty nurse Maisie." He pulled her body hard against his and grinned.

"I don't have the outfit or toys for that." She gave him a coy smile. "Well, not here at least."

His chest shook beneath her as he laughed. He relaxed his arms around her and she sat up, straddling his hips. 

"No need for toys or outfits, Maisie. Not tonight at any rate." He cocked his head to the side, a teasing smile playing around his lips as he traced his hands up and down her thighs, leaving what felt like streaks of heat in his wake.

"Then you'll have to tell me where it hurts," she whispered, tracing her finger down his chest, hoping to have the same effect on him.

"It hurts here." 

Alessandro grabbed her hips and thrust his hips up, grinding against her. Maisie closed her eyes, unable to speak as her body began to respond to the feeling of him between her legs. 

"You're sure about that?" she asked, opening her eyes and looking down at him.

"Mmmm. That part of me needs your ministrations."

"My ministrations?" She laughed. 

"Isn't that what nurses do? Minister to their poor, sick, and feeble patients?"

"I wouldn't know. But you don't seem very feeble." Maisie moved her body against his in a slow rhythm. She was rewarded with the sound of him sucking in air between his teeth and then letting out a groan as his erection hardened against her. "Besides, I wasn't aware that part of you hit the cement."

"But you fell on it." He gave her a pained expression. "And it hurts real bad right now, with you laying on top of me wearing that damn shirt." 

Maisie laughed. "Well, I can go get my boots, if you'd like. Then your fantasies will be complete."

She made to stand up, only to feel his arm around her waist, pulling her back down to him. 

"Don't you dare." He sat up and kissed her. "The last time you left it was seven years before I saw you again. No way in hell I'm letting you out of my sight until you're so good and fucked and exhausted that you can't even think about running."

She opened her mouth to laugh, but stopped when she looked into his eyes, inches from her own. He wasn't joking. Maybe Carolina had been right; there was a hurt, a vulnerability in his voice and in his eyes. All this time, she'd thought she'd been the one who'd been hurt, but maybe she had misremembered. Or misinterpreted. Or been just plain wrong.

It didn't matter now. She wanted him as much as he wanted her; they could talk about whatever had happened after enjoying each other, after getting rid of the tension that had existed between them all week.

"No," she whispered, her hands trembling as she cupped his face and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "No running this time. I promise." 

She pushed both hands through his hair and kissed him as hard as she could, trying to put as much passion into this touch of their lips as possible. Seven years of dreams and fantasies and desires, all rolled into one moment. 

It didn't take him long to respond.

One of his hands grabbed onto her ass as she straddled him on the floor, pulling her body hard against him. 

"Mmmm," she moaned, tipping her head back as she began to move with him once again. 

He was hard, harder than he'd been minutes earlier. She ached for him as they humped and pressed against each other, fully clothed, only to unexpectedly feel herself being pushed upwards and backwards as he stood. 

"Come on." He grabbed her hand and yanked her up from the floorboards. "We're not doing this on the porch floor."

Alessandro slammed the door to the hallway open and pulled her around the corner, into his room. She was on the bed on her back beneath him before she had time to look around, but that was fine with her. 




Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 07



"You, Alessandro Conti, are a cruel, lying, seducing, asshole!" Maisie whispered, her finger poking his chest with every insult. 

Alessandro's mouth dropped open. His pulse raced, though whether from panic that he'd done something terrible or annoyance at her accusation, he didn't know.

"What, not going to own up to it?" Maisie let out a short, angry laugh. "Tough. I promised not to run last night, and you're in luck; I'm keeping that promise, and I'm going to tell you exactly what I think of you."

"What the hell are you talking about, Maisie?" 

"You know what I'm talking about. This is the second time you've done this." Her eyes flared as she emphasized the "second time" with another tap to his chest. "I fell for it once seven years ago, and snuck away like a wounded puppy. But not this time, you evil, manipulative bastard." 

Alessandro placed his hands on his hips to keep himself from swatting her hand away; the pokes that had accompanied "evil, manipulative bastard" had nearly pushed him over the edge. And how did she manage to both yell and whisper at once? he wondered. He had a feeling his whisper made him sound like a schoolboy sneaking a conversation in a library.

"Slow down, Maisie. You're not making any sense." 

"Not making any sense?" Her eyes flared. "Do I need to repeat your words back to you?"

"That might be a good idea, since I'm pretty sure I said nothing to deserve this level of pissiness from you," he hissed.

"Pissiness?" She narrowed her eyes and balled her fists at her side. "How could I have not seen what an ass you are?" 

Her voice had dropped, and it no longer carried the overlay of shouting that had accompanied her earlier words. 

She was, he realized with a shudder, like the quiet before the storm; her blue-green eyes sparked with fury, and her strawberry-blond hair—while a beautiful, majestic crown around her head in the orange light of morning—reminded him of the haze that hovered above the ocean, just before the waves whipped up. 

What was the old wives' tale the gray-bearded fisherman had told him as a boy? "Red sky at night, sailor's delight; red sky in morning, sailors take warning." 

Why hadn't he insisted on talking last night? How could he have let lust and short-sightedness take over? Because if that old fisherman was right, waiting until morning had been a terrible idea.

It took him a few moments to realize that Maisie had turned and headed back to the bedroom, and was searching for her clothes.

"Oh, no you don't." Alessandro strode over and grabbed the sleeve of the shirt—his shirt—that she'd thrown on before confronting him. "You aren't running away from me again. Don't you dare."

"Take your hand off me," she hissed as she wrested her arm away. 

He watched as Maisie picked up her bra and shirt from the floor, turned away from him, pulled his shirt over her head and tossed it behind her, and began to dress. 

His lips thinned, and he pulled on his jeans. He grabbed the discarded t-shirt, formulating a plan. 

He sat on the bed and waited; given her need to don both her bra and overly-complex top, he was dressed and ready before she'd finished tying the bow behind her back.

Maisie glanced around the room before resting her eyes on him, her expression unreadable. "Where are my jeans?" she whispered in that awful flat tone.

"I'm sitting on them." 

Her mouth dropped open, then snapped shut. He watched as her head nodded up and down several times; she was counting in her head, he realized. 

"Give me my jeans." She held out a hand and glared. "Now!" 

He glared back. How dare she lash out at him with cryptic accusations while preparing to storm out without explaining herself? How dare she accuse him of being a liar? Of seducing her? Of whatever else she'd said? She'd flirted just as much as he had, and she'd been a more-than-willing participant last night. 

"You haven't changed a bit, you know that?" She dropped her hand and balled her fists by her sides again. "You're still the selfish jerk you were in high school, expecting me—" 

"Enough!" 

He winced as his shout reverberated through the room.

Maisie narrowed her eyes. "Give me my jeans." 

"No." 

"What the hell are you doing, Alessandro?"

"You mean, what are we doing?" He took a deep breath. "We are going to talk. About what happened, both seven years ago and this morning. About why you're angry with me."

"Did you think I was going to let you off the hook and not tell you what I thought of you?" Maisie gave him an incredulous look. "Did you think we weren't going to talk?"

"You're getting dressed to leave. What the hell am I supposed to think?"

"I'm getting dressed because I don't want to have this conversation here." She swung her arm around, indicating his room. 

He glanced around the room. "Why not?"

"Because when I tell you what I think of you, I don't want to have to whisper."

--------------

Maisie pulled on her jeans, shooting Alessandro dirty looks whenever their glances met. 

She couldn't believe what an asshole he'd been. Or what a fool she'd been. 

She raised an eyebrow as she closed the top button, and made an exaggerated "after you" motion towards Alessandro. 

With a roll of his eyes he opened the door to the hallway, then took some time glancing around the corridor.

"Come on," he whispered. 

She glared at his back as she shuffled behind him on the Oriental rugs. That whisper of his was starting to grate on her; why did his angry whisper have to sound so similar to the sexy whisper he'd used the previous evening?

Just count to ten, Maisie instructed herself as she crept down the staircase behind Alessandro. Stay quiet, and count to ten. When we get outside, you can let him have it. And then you can work on forgetting this awful morning.

Her breath hitched as they turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs, and her stomach clenched as they stepped into the kitchen. 

It was hard to walk through the room and not feel sick. She'd talked with Carolina and Gemma here last night, and had become convinced that she'd misunderstood Alessandro seven years ago. Being in the room again reminded her of her choice to go upstairs to see Alessandro, and of her later choice to ignore her instincts to talk first. 

It hurt, she thought with a sigh as they left the kitchen and entered the mudroom. 

And it was more than the hurt of just one night. 

Alessandro leaned against the doorframe to the mudroom, and she ignored him as she sat on a bench and pulled her boots towards her.

When she'd wakened and heard Alessandro's words, it had been a repeat of seven years ago. The words hadn't been exactly the same, but the sentiment had been, and that was all that had mattered.

She looked up and glared at him as she zipped up her boot, and Alessandro snorted and looked away.

She shook her head as she zipped up her other boot. It had been a terrible mistake to sleep with him seven years ago, and it had been an equally terrible mistake to sleep with him last night. 

Only this time, she'd let him know it. 

She stood as Alessandro walked towards the door and held it open for her. She grabbed her jacket from the hook on the wall, and walked out into the sunshine.

--------------

They walked for several minutes without speaking, following the path away from his house that led to the fields. Alessandro had no idea where they were going, and one glance at Maisie's furious face made him wonder if she had a plan, or was just walking to get away from the house. 

"Just let me know when we reach this perfect place for this conversation," Alessandro drawled, unable to stop his irritation from showing through his words. "I'd hate to have an argument in an inconvenient location."

Maisie whirled around. "What about here, then? Is this a convenient place?"

"It's fine with me." He crossed his arms. "Go ahead then. I'll wait my turn. Tell me what you're so pissed about."

Maisie balled her hands into fists, then planted them on hips. Her entire body seemed tense, as if she wanted nothing more than to lash out and punch him in the face.

"I'm pissed about what you said seven years ago, I'm pissed about what you said this morning." She let out a wordless yell of frustration. "It's like Groundhog Day, with the same fucking thing happening again."

"And there you go, speaking in cryptic phrases again." He ground his teeth. "And it's a little late in the year for Groundhog Day, Maisie."

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't. Hence my comment about the cryptic phrases." He put his hands on his hips, mimicking her, as she stared at him without speaking. "Explain. Pretend I'm an idiot who needs things spelled out."

She shook her head. "I can't believe I listened to your sister when she said I must have misunderstood your words at the motel. There was no way I misunderstood this morning."

"Slow down." He put his hands up as if to stop her, but was unable to stop the level of his voice from rising to a yell. "I can only argue about one morning at a time. Pick one: the motel, or last night."

"Why?" she shouted. "They're the same damn thing! You said the same damn thing, on two different mornings! Don't you get it?"

"No." His voice was as loud as hers; he couldn't remember ever being this angry, ever shouting as loudly as he was now. "That's the problem, Maisie. I don't get it—you have to spell it out for me. All I know is that you left me. You left me then, and this morning . . . . "

He trailed off as he drew in a much-needed shaky breath. 

"And this morning," he continued, trying to control his voice. "It seems like you're going to scream at me and leave again, giving me no more explanation than you did the last time around." He rubbed his forehead. "And I never liked that movie."

"I don't understand." Like his, her voice had quieted, and like him, she seemed confused. "I don't understand why you're being like this, why you just won't admit to things."

"You're a terrible arguer, Maisie." The release he'd felt from shouting at her had replaced his anger with a feeling of despair. "Just tell me what I did, tell me what the problem is. We can't get past this unless we talk about it."

She stared at him for a long time, her face expressionless. He wanted to plead with her to tell him what was wrong, but he forced himself to remain silent and wait.

"Less, I . . . ." She broke off, staring across the fields. 

Following her gaze, Alessandro saw two men kneeling in the strawberry fields. Their hair made it impossible not to realize who they were: Tim and Brian, the two Barnes brothers in between Ben and Maisie. 

Alessandro turned back to Maisie. She wasn't looking at him or at her brothers, but was scanning the fields. 

"Maisie? Everything OK?"

"I have to go." She turned and started jogging towards her house. 

The sight made him feel sick. 

"Wait!" He raced after her, then slowed to match her pace. "What's going on?"

"I don't know." Her eyes were wide, and she looked panicked. "They never work on the farm, not unless there's an emergency. They didn't even work this past week when we were short-staffed. I have to go, find out what's wrong, see how I can help."

Alessandro looked around at the fields again, only then seeing what she'd seen: no Ben, and no one else in the fields except Tim and Brian.

"OK," Alessandro said as they reached the porch to the farmhouse. "We can talk while I help." 

Maisie nodded and climbed the porch steps, then stopped and turned to face him. "No." 

"No what?" 

Maisie shook her head and bit her lip. "This isn't a good idea." 

"What isn't? Me helping you?"

"Yeah." She chewed her lip. 

"What?" Alessandro stared at her, clenching and unclenching his jaw. "Fifteen minutes ago you promised to tell me exactly what you thought of me. And now you're hiding behind . . . what? My potential incompetence with rutabagas?"

"I'm not hiding behind anything. And there are no rutabagas at this time of year." Maisie took a deep breath. "But if there's a problem—and knowing how this farm runs, I'm sure there is—I need to be able to help. I'll need to pay attention to what I'm doing. I can't do that if I'm dealing with you. And I think," she paused, taking a deep breath. "I think we should cool off a bit." 

"Cool off?" Alessandro shook his head. "We aren't putting this off, Maisie. We waited years last time. I don't want either of us to leave this place with things left unsaid, to—"

"I know!" she shouted, then glanced behind her at the house, rubbing her forehead. 

She looked tired. As angry as he was at her accusations, as annoyed as he was at her incomprehensible arguing, all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around her and give her a place to rest her head. He wanted her to unload her problems on him, and then he wanted to solve them for her.

"We need to talk, Maisie. We can't put this off."

His words were quiet, even to his ears, and he held his breath, waiting for her reply.

"I know," she mumbled, wrapping her arms around herself. "What, you don't want to be idiotic nineteen-year-olds again and refuse to speak to each other for seven years?" 

Alessandro let out a long, slow breath. The joking, the hint of mischief he'd seen in her eyes . . . maybe they weren't a lost cause after all? 

"No. I don't." He reached out and touched her shoulder. "And that's why I want to do this now." 

She sucked in an unsteady breath, and seemed to sway into him before giving her head a little shake and stepping back.

Go on, a voice whispered in his head. Give her something to think about while she's working. Don't let her go away completely angry with you.

"Look, Maisie, I don't know what I did this morning, but I can't help but think that maybe . . . ." He shook his head. "I don't regret what we did last night, at all. Whatever this issue is between us now, we'll figure it out. We need to figure it out, so we can get back to heading . . . wherever it was we were heading." He groaned and closed his eyes. "God, I suck at words. That made no sense."

"It was fine, Less." He opened his eyes as he felt her hand on his elbow. "But I need to help, and then I want to shower."

"OK. Why don't we meet back here in an hour? Don't forget; the twins' graduation party is at noon."

"Um." She squinted at the fields, and he followed her gaze; Brian and Tim were staring at them. "No, not here. Can we meet at the boathouse? Say, in a couple of hours?"

"OK." He searched her face, hoping to find a reaction to his words, but found none. 

"I'll see you later then."

And with that, she turned and headed into the house, the screen door banging shut behind her.

--------------

Alessandro stuck his hands in his pockets. He closed his eyes and leaned against the boathouse wall, wondering how much longer he'd have to wait for Maisie. It was almost nine now, more than two hours since they'd parted. 

He peeked around the corner to look for her, then cursed when he saw no trace of her. The feelings he'd had all morning—of remorse for missed conversations, of regret over poorly planned actions—hit again as he glanced up at the building. 

He remembered coming here with Maisie on Monday, after she'd admitted to him how she'd made the twins not tell him anything about her. She'd been nervous, and had asked him the same question twice. Then they'd sat on the bench and chatted for what seemed like hours, watching the boats come and go from the harbor.

Then he'd kissed her.

He pushed the memory out of his mind; realizing that his "lust first, talk later" attitude had persisted all week wasn't helping. 

Not this time, he promised himself. When they went upstairs, they would talk. 

Everything would be out in the open. He just hoped that, in getting everything out in the open, they'd be OK.

He peeked around the corner again, then kicked the building at the Maisie-less sight that greeted him. He winced; the rock foundation hurt like hell.

When the building had been constructed, it had been fashionable for ladies to take tea on the upper floor in the warm summer months, above the stored supplies for sailboats and rowboats on the first floor. Besides the cool ocean breezes, the building's harbor-facing, six-foot-tall windows and ornate metal balconies—while utterly impractical and in constant need of repair, given the salty ocean spray from below—made for one hell of a view.

He'd heard that parties of a more raucous nature had been held during the roaring twenties, as once a lookout gave the warning signal, contraband alcohol could be tossed out the window and into the ocean, leaving the partygoers with nothing but soda water in their hands when the Prohibition officials arrived. 

Nothing so exciting had happened in years, unless he counted the fierce battles of hide-and-seek he and Maisie had played as children. 

Instead of tea tables, the second story now featured a large, airy space, sometimes used by his mother as an art studio. She'd outfitted the room with daybeds and chaises for guests to use, should the need arise for more space than the main house could handle. 

It would be the perfect place to talk. 

He leaned back against the building after checking for Maisie again. Where the hell was she? he wondered, staring at the dirt path that curved around the back of the boathouse, the same one he'd walked along with Maisie on Monday.

He was about to shut his eyes when he caught a flash of golden-red. He straightened and looked again, making sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him.

It wasn't.

----------------------

Maisie stopped as she saw Alessandro standing by the side of the boathouse. She grasped the skirt of her dress as she approached, partly to keep the ocean breeze from whipping it up and over her waist, but also to stop from fidgeting.

"Is that what you're wearing?" The words were out of her mouth before she'd realized she'd spoken her thoughts aloud.

Alessandro raised an eyebrow in question. "Apparently." 

She grimaced. "No, I mean, is that what you're wearing to your sisters' party?"

"Yes." He looked down at his printed gray t-shirt and dark jeans. "I thought this would be fine."

"Oh, it is." Maisie shook her head. In fact, it was more than fine. He may have been wearing a t-shirt and jeans, but on him, the clothing—which she had a feeling had cost several times as much as her dress—made him look as if he'd just emerged from the pages of a fashion magazine. "It's just not fair that men can get away with jeans and a t-shirt while women have to dress up."

"Right. Sorry." He flashed her a sheepish grin. "You look better than I do."

She felt her face warm, and fought against the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. This was the same man who'd kicked her out of his bed hours before, she reminded herself. The same man who'd whispered sweet lies to her on the porch last night. Was he just trying to get in her good graces, or did he really mean what he'd said?

She didn't know anymore; doubts had crept into her mind during the cooling off period. This morning, she'd assumed he was kicking her to the curb, just as he had seven years ago. But now? 

He'd seemed honestly confused when she'd confronted him this morning, and last night, Carolina had suggested that she must have misinterpreted his words. Did that mean she'd misinterpreted what he'd meant, twice?

She shook her head. No, she hadn't misinterpreted. How else could she have interpreted his words, besides "get out, now"? 

Focus, she chastised, tamping her doubts down and drawing on the morning's anger. You're having this conversation, Maisie Barnes. Remember what he said this morning? Remember how he treated you? You aren't going to melt at a compliment and sweep the entire morning into the dustbin of your mind. You're going to stand up for yourself, be the woman you should have been seven years ago.




Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 07



Maisie straightened as she felt her confidence return. Thank God she'd been able to shower this morning; she wouldn't have been able to think straight while smelling like him, the sticky evidence of the previous night still clinging to her.

"Maisie?" 

"Yeah?" She shivered as the warm skin of his palm brushed down her forearm; she'd been so lost in her thoughts she hadn't noticed his approach. 

Alessandro held out his hand. "Ready?"

Maisie stared down at his hand. It was now or never, and never wasn't an appealing option.

"Lead the way," she said, raising her eyes to meet his.

-----------

Alessandro stood in the airy second-floor of the boathouse, tongue-tied.

Now that they were in the place where the conversation was supposed to take place, he couldn't say anything, couldn't come up with a single sentence that sounded good in his mind. 

Part of his silence was due to fear. The memory of her as the calm before the storm hovered in his mind; what if their relationship—whatever it was—didn't survive the day? It was silly and melodramatic, but he wanted to hold on to the feeling that they had something together, might still have something together. 

He was also distracted. She looked beautiful, more stunning than he could ever remember. 

She'd chosen a ruffly, bottle-green, knee-length dress, which, against her reddish-blond hair, left her dazzling against the morning sunlight streaming through the huge, harbor-facing windows. 

Every time he thought of something to say he'd get distracted by something new about her, like the way the dress's neckline teased him by providing only a glimpse of her collarbone, or the way the cut of the dress made him want to reach out and touch the curve of her hips, just to confirm that she was as soft as she appeared, as he remembered. 

Or the scar on her knee, which he thought might have been from the time she'd fallen while rolling one of the old-fashioned wooden hoops they'd found in her parents' barn.

He was wracking his brain, trying to place a scar on her other knee when Maisie's words cut through his catalog of memories.

"What's that?" 

Alessandro looked down, thinking Maisie must have been looking at some sort of scar on his body, before following her suspicious gaze to a small table next to a daybed. 

"Oh." He cringed; how could he have forgotten? He walked over to the table and picked up the small white bag, careful to fold the top over to hide the logo. "Here, I got it for you." 

"For me?" She gave the bag a dubious look. 

"Yes, for you." He felt stupid holding the bag, and was relieved when she took it.

"Why?" 

"Because . . . it doesn't matter. Just open it." 

Maisie gave him a final untrusting glance before opening the package. She blinked as she stared into it, her face expressionless.

Had he misremembered? Had she grown out of them? Or forgotten? 

"Are you trying to buy me?" Maisie asked. Her accusing tone grated on him, just as her words had that morning. 

"Buy you? With salt water taffy?" He snorted in annoyance. "Don't be silly."

"Then why?" 

He took a deep breath. He hadn't expected a bag of taffy would cause so many problems.

"I bought these yesterday to give to you. So no, this has nothing to do with buying you, or our argument this morning, or whatever."

Maisie didn't answer, but frowned at him, as it awaiting further explanation.

"Remember last night, when we were in the sitting room before the card game? When I said I'd been planning on coming over to see you? Well, I thought we could come here and talk. I thought it would be nice to have these here for you." 

He grimaced; he was explaining things all wrong. "See, I found some really old taffy yesterday, when I was cleaning out the barn with my mom. I found our old—"

"Time capsule. Yeah, I remember. We put some taffy in, along with some peanut butter and Marshmallow Fluff for the Fluffernutter sandwiches you loved as a kid." Maisie played with the paper top of the bag. "I loved the orange-flavored taffy, but hated the rest."

"And while you ate them May through September when the taffy shop was open, you devoured them with fresh strawberries in June." He pointed at a bowl of berries on the table. "I put the taffy and berries here last night for you, but forgot to put them away when we stayed at the house and played bridge. Since you're here now, though, well . . . you haven't grown out of them, have you?"

"I don't know." She bit her lip and stared at the bag. "I haven't had taffy in ages. It was just something I ate as a kid, but only with you, I think. So I haven't had a piece since . . . well, since we stopped hanging out before high school."

"Oh." He felt silly, like a grandmother buying gifts her grandchildren had outgrown years ago. The reminder of how he'd treated her in high school didn't help, either. "So do you want to try one?"

"I don't know." Maisie took a piece of taffy out of the bag and unwound the ends of the twisted waxy wrapper, but then just held it in her hand. 

He didn't know how long they stood there, Maisie staring at the taffy, him staring at Maisie, awkwardness hanging in the air along with the smells of salt, grease, and wood from the rooms below. 

It was hard not to invest some deeper meaning in the piece of candy, like how if she put it back in the bag she was done with him, and if she ate it she was giving him a chance. 

Muted sounds of the ocean and harbor seeped through the windows, and the occasional shout or noise from a piece of farm equipment drifted up to his ears, but he had the sense that time—like his ability to think—had stopped. 

That the only things moving were the dust motes drifting lazily in the sunlight. 

That the only thing that mattered was the sticky piece of artificially-flavored sugar in her hand. 

"Why are you giving this to me now, though?" she asked, closing her hand around the candy and looking up to meet his eyes. 

Her bottom lip looked swollen and chapped, as if she'd been chewing on it since they'd parted, and as she raised her eyes to his he saw they looked tired and wary. 

As much as he hated the sight, it irritated him. She was the one who'd flown off the handle this morning. She was the one who'd pushed him away, telling him they'd needed to "cool off."

"What do you mean, 'why'?" he asked, trying to keep the testiness from his voice. "Because I bought them for you. Because I wanted to give them to you yesterday, to give you something nice. Because I forgot to put them away last night."

"But why did you want to bring me here last night? And why are you telling me to have one now?" 

"Because I still don't know what went wrong!" He heard a hint of irritation creep into his voice, but couldn't stop it. "And I want it to be un-wrong again." 

"Un-wrong?" she repeated.

"I don't understand why you're upset with me, Maisie." Alessandro threw up his hands in frustration. 

He sucked in a shaky breath, intent upon cutting himself off before he tacked on a dozen or so other questions that had been swimming in his mind all day—if not for years—but it was no use. 

"Why did you accuse me of all those things?" He put his hands on his hips as his anger roared forward. "You were a full and willing participant last night. What happened? You chicken out? You regret it? Why were you so angry this morning?" 

"I can't believe you're pretending you don't know," she ground out, squeezing the candy in her hand even harder. 

"Well, I don't. Unless maybe it's for the same mysterious reason from seven years ago, when you snuck out of the motel room when I was in the shower? After everything we said last night, after everything we did, how can you be so angry? How can you just—" 

"I didn't sneak out of the motel! I left because you kicked me out!" Anger flared in her eyes with the words, but as quickly as the emotion had erupted, it faded into what looked like a dull hurt. "Why are you pissed about that? What, did you expect me to pop into that bathroom, give you a kiss on the cheek, and say 'thanks for last night, and hey, don't worry, I'm leaving just like you asked' as I headed out?"

Alessandro gaped at her, but didn't answer. 

"I still can't believe you did that to me. I'd been a . . . well, you know." Her face burned, and he was torn between wanting her to stop and wanting to learn, at last, why she'd left the motel. "One minute I was snuggled in bed with you, happy and sore and overwhelmed and confused and God knows what else, and the next you were telling me to get out, telling me you didn't want to see me. How could you have done that to me? How could you have been so cruel?"

Maisie's face crumpled as her eyes begged him to deny it. She wasn't shouting anymore; she sounded resigned, almost detached. He wanted to answer, but he was still too dumbfounded.

"And then you kicked me out this morning, too. And now you're giving me some stupid candies." 

She looked at the bag in her hand, her look of misery replaced but one of anger. The accusation that he was bribing her with candy roused him from his thoughts.

"I didn't kick you out this morning." 

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't." He crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

"Yes, you did!"

Alessandro pursed his lips and thought back on his words. "OK, you're right. I wanted you to leave this morning. But," he rushed on before she had a chance to say anything. "I told you to leave so you could avoid any awkward situations with my family. You know they're all early risers. I was just trying to make it easier on you."

He reached out to her, but dropped his hand when she seemed to pull away a little. 

"Maisie, you have to believe me. The last thing I wanted this morning was for you to leave my bed. In a perfect world—a world with no parties, where my grandparents and parents were far away—we would have stayed in bed all day. Hell, we would have stayed in bed all weekend, only leaving to shower together and bring food back to bed. I didn't want to get up, and I didn't want to let you go. Please, believe me."

He held his breath. Her eyes darted around the room, like she was looking through her mind, trying to piece together what he'd said with her memories.

"I want to believe you, Less, but this morning wasn't the first time. Knowing that you kicked me out seven years ago . . . it's like a pattern, you know?" 

"I didn't kick you out seven years ago."

"Yes, you did!"

"No, I . . . ." He grimaced. "Why don't you tell me what you remember. Because I swear to you, Maisie, when you left me seven years ago . . . it was one of the worst mornings of my life. I never wanted that to happen."

Maisie stood before him, shaking her head. 

"Tell me what you remember, Maisie. Please."

She stared, then closed her eyes and screwed up her face. 

"We were in bed. You woke me up. You started touching me, rubbing your hand on my hip. You kissed me good morning, right here." She opened her eyes and swallowed hard as she touched a spot on the back of her head. "And then . . . and then you told me my ride would be leaving soon. That you didn't want to get out of the shower and find me under the covers."

Her voice broke as she finished. Alessandro closed his eyes in horror as comprehension dawned. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have said those words, have not realized how she'd misinterpreted?

"See?" she cried. "You can't even deny it! I knew you said that! Carolina tried to tell me that I was wrong—and damn me, I believed her because I wanted to. But I'm not! I know I'm not. You kicked me out!"

"I was your ride, Maisie." 

His voice was flat as the reality of what had happened sunk in; had they really wasted seven years because of his stupid words?

"What? What are you talking about?" Her face was red and her brows furrowed as she spoke. "Tracy Washington and I took the train up to Stamford, and then Brooke Goger picked us up and drove us up for the weekend. Brooke was my ride."

"How would I have known that? We never talked about how you got there that weekend; I'd assumed you'd taken the bus." 

"No," she whispered. "No, Brooke was my ride, not you."

Alessandro closed his eyes. "I had my mom's car; remember me saying my keys were in Jack's room? I wasn't in college, and I wasn't leaving for Italy for another week. That morning when I woke up, I decided to go to New York with you. I wanted to spend hours in the car with you. I wanted to spend as much of the week as possible with you." 

He opened his eyes to find her staring at him, a look of horror and disbelief on her face. "I was your ride, Maisie. I didn't want to leave without you, or you without me."

"That's what you meant?" she whispered. 

"Yes. I wanted to leave that motel. It was gross, remember?" He let out a harsh laugh. "I wanted to get my keys, to go someplace nicer with you. To get out of that cheap cocoon and have fun with you in the city."

"I don't understand."

"You're not a morning person, Maisie—everyone knows that. I said I didn't want to get out of the shower and find you in bed because I wanted you to join me in the shower. So that together, we could go get my keys and leave. I didn't want you to leave without me."

"You wanted to . . . to be with me, for more than one night? You wanted . . . ." Her eyes were wide as she trailed off, and she shook her head as if she couldn't believe what he was saying.

"I waited for you in the shower for God knows how long before deciding you must've fallen back asleep. When I came out and found you gone, I assumed you'd gone to get your stuff. I sat on the bed waiting for you for two hours." 

He moved to sit on a daybed, and patted the space next to him, but Maisie didn't move or speak. 

"Oh God." Maisie stood before him, wringing her hands as the look of horror on her face grew. 

"And this morning, I didn't want you wandering down into the kitchen when my grandparents were there. Not because I was ashamed of you, but . . . Christ, Maisie, you'd already said you couldn't face them because of the capsizing incident. I thought you'd be furious with me if I let you meet them wearing your clothes from the day before, looking like you'd just spent the night doing much more than sleeping."

"Oh God." She buried her face in her hands.

He waited for her to say something, but she seemed unable to move.

"It doesn't matter, OK? We're here now. Just . . . sit down, Maisie." He patted the space next to him again. When she remained before him, head in her hands, he sighed. "Sit with me. Please?"

After a moment's hesitation, she did, but she wouldn't look at him. She stared at a spot on the floor several feet in front of them. 

Alessandro wrapped an arm about her shoulder and pulled her close to him, then closed his eyes and kissed her hair. Her hair tickled his nose as he kissed her again on the spot she'd touched minutes earlier, the same spot he'd kissed years ago in the motel when waking her up. 

Comfort and relief, he thought as he inhaled a long breath. 

"It's all my fault," she whispered. "All of it." Her voice was louder as she pulled away to look at him. "How could I have been so stupid? If I hadn't run . . . ."

Her unfinished statement hung in the air, its meaning taking hold in his mind, and, he was sure, in hers. 

What would those seven years have been like? How would his life have been different? How would he be different?

"Don't do that, Maisie. It's not all your fault."

"Yes, it is."

"Maisie," he chuckled. "It's not. I mean, yes, you ran away. But I did nothing about it. We both messed up."

"No—"

"Yes. I knew you were only half-awake, and I never thought that I'd said something stupid. I was too young and immature to tell you how I really felt, so I covered it up with lame humor. And then I sat at home and moped."

He shook his head. "I didn't chase you to New York, I didn't sit on your doorstop insisting you talk to me. I didn't ask Carolina or Gemma for your email address—hell, in the past seven years, I never asked them a single thing about you."

"It's not the same." She bit her lip. "I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but what I did was far worse."

"No." He smiled at her. "I'm the one who said the words that set this whole thing off. You said it yourself: you'd never woken up with anyone before. You must've been so nervous when you found yourself in that dirty, cheap motel room with me, on a weekend known for random one-night stands. Coming after the way I acted towards you in high school—again, my fault—I'm not surprised you thought the worst of me. You were vulnerable, and I acted like your worst nightmare. "

"But—" 

"You know," Alessandro interjected, putting a finger against her lips, "I always followed you when we were kids. Whatever you decided to do, wherever you decided to go, I followed." He gave her a rueful grin. "Maybe I shouldn't have dropped that habit when we hit high school."

"Maybe." Maisie reached out a hand and toyed with the bottom of his shirt. "But if I hadn't left, you wouldn't have had to follow."

"You running away wasn't the problem. The problem then—as it apparently was last night and this morning—is that we've so far proven ourselves to be terrible at communicating."

He saw a hint of a smile on her lips, and she glanced down at the taffy on her lap.

"You mean," she said, unwrapping the candy. "Like how I asked your sisters not to tell you anything about me? That sort of terrible at communicating?"

"Something like that. Though at least you didn't pretend I didn't exist, which is the approach I took." He laughed, shaking his head. "God, Maisie, we were such fools."

"Yup." She stared down at the unwrapped candy in her hands. "So, do you forgive me?"

He started to say that there was nothing to forgive, but changed his mind. She needed to hear the words.

"Of course." He smiled. "In fact, I forgave you a long, long time ago."

"Thank God." Her face softened into a wide smile. "I can't tell you how awful I felt there for a few minutes. Like I'd screwed up, big time. Like I'd ruined everything forever." 

"Nah, not forever. If I can forgive you making me row out to Steward Island and getting that spike stuck in my foot, I can forgive anything you do."

"I told you not to walk off the path." She chuckled as she popped the candy in her mouth. She chewed a few times, her eyes brightening. "Oh my God," Alessandro barely made out through her smacks and slurps. "I forgot how good these are."

"Glad you like them, even if they are repulsive." He watched as her eyes strayed to the bag. "Go on, have another." 

"Maybe just one more." She grabbed another out of the bag.

"So do you forgive me, too?" He couldn't stop the words from coming out, and held his breath as she chewed on the candy before swallowing.

"Yeah." She gave him a teasing smile. "Though you didn't get off the hook—I mean really, fully off the hook—until last Monday."

"Monday, huh?" He blew out a whistle. "That's harsh, Maisie."

"It is, isn't it?" 

She gave him a thoughtful look as she chewed on another candy. "You know, maybe you deserve a reward for being in my bad graces for all those years, for being on the receiving end of so many voodoo pins," she lowered her voice to a sultry purr he'd never heard from her before. "A reward from me, I mean. You know, as some form of penance."

"A reward?" His eyes dropped to her breasts, then to her waist and legs; the erotic contrast between the prim and proper party dress and her voice sent a shudder down his body. "What kind of reward did you have in mind? I can think of quite a few ways you could reward me, ways that would make your efforts far from a hardship for you." 

"You can? Well, I was thinking." She licked her lips and lowered her eyelids. "This." Her voice was husky as she held out a piece of taffy to him. 




Seven Years Since The Motel Ch. 07



"Ugh." He recoiled in mock-horror, then laughed. "You call that a reward? It's more like punishment."

"Punishment?" She raised an eyebrow. "I assure you, I can think of much naughtier ways to punish you, if that's what you're interested in."

He laughed harder. "OK, penance. It's like a penance. A disgusting piece of orange penance."

"Disgusting? Taffy?" Maisie's eyebrow went higher still. "Please. Do you or do you not still eat Fluffernutter sandwiches?"

"That's beside the point." 

"Oh, come on, Alessandro. I bet you haven't had one in close to fifteen years," she cajoled. "Go on, try one."

"Fine." He grinned; had they really been arguing just a few minutes ago? "But you have to have another one, too."

"Deal," she said as she unwrapped another candy. 

He looked down at the taffy in his hands and sighed. Why did he always agree to these things with her? 

With a grimace, he popped the candy in his mouth. 

"Ugh." He made a face as he chewed the candy. "Ugh, Maisie, these things are gross. How can you eat this?"

Her eyes danced with laughter as he scowled, trying to eat the candy as quickly as he could. 

He groaned and griped as he continued to chew, closing his eyes and swallowing as soon as he thought he could without choking.

"Oh God," he said, opening an eye, "that was . . . ." 

All thoughts of how disgusting the taffy had been fled from his mind as he took in the sight before him: Maisie kneeling on the bed, holding out a ripe, red strawberry in between her fingers.

The daybed creaked as he leaned forward, bracing himself on his hands as he closed his lips around the berry. 

He'd done this on Monday in the fields, when she'd held out a berry. Then, she'd expected him to take it in his hand from her; she'd been shocked when, on impulse, he'd used his mouth.

She wasn't shocked now as he repeated his motions from a mere five days ago, allowing his lips to gently squeeze against the skin of her fingertips as he bit down, licking her fingers to ensure no trace of juice was left behind. 

On Monday, he wasn't sure if he'd been more shocked at his own actions, or how much the actions had aroused him. Now, there was no denying how much he wanted to kiss so much more than her hand, and from the increasing speed with which her chest swelled with each breath, there was little doubt in his mind that she wanted his lips to move, too.

"You know," he murmured, leaning forward to plant kisses on the back of her hand, "the strawberry is kind of nice with the taffy."

"Mmmm." Maisie closed her eyes. "I've been trying to tell you that for close to two decades."

"Sometimes, it takes time to appreciate how good something is." 

"True." She smiled. "Though sometimes you know from the very first time."

He smiled as he kissed his way up her arms, then wrapped his hands around her waist when she started to move.

"I love your dress." He kissed her collarbone, then nipped the indentation near the base of her neck. "Since I've seen you in it, I've wanted to kiss all the parts of you I can see, and then strip it off and kiss all the rest."

Maisie drew in a shaky breath, and with a small moan, let her head fall back as he made good on his promise and left a trail of kisses along the tendons of her neck.

She offered no resistance as he pushed her down on the daybed. He wanted her—badly, and now—but at the same time she was a present he wanted to unwrap. He wanted them both to fully experience every moment—the scratchy feel of the stiff cotton against his face, the silkiness of her skin under his kisses, the savory-sweet taste of her body. 

He made his way back up to her chest, to the neckline of her dress. He kissed the tops of her breasts as he pulled the zipper along the side of her ribcage. And all the while beneath him, Maisie gasped and moaned.

"Wait," Maisie said, forcing him to sit up with her. 

"Wait?" He had a hard time focusing, and felt instead of saw her leave the bed. "What's wrong?" 

A sinking feeling settled in his stomach as she stood before him, hands clasped. Were they not past their problems?

"Nothing." She bit her lip, then opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. "Nothing's wrong."

She shook her head and smiled, and before he knew what was happening, her skirt billowed out in a whoosh of fabric as she dropped down to her knees before him on the floor.

"Um, Maisie?" 

The disoriented feeling he'd had since she'd said "wait" intensified as she lowered her eyes to his crotch and stroked him through his pants. 

"You've kissed all the parts you can see." She raised her eyes to meet his. "But before you get to the parts you can't and we get carried away, I think it's only fair that I get to do some kissing of my own."

His heart raced as he stared into her eyes. 

"Maisie, I hope you don't think you have to do this. Or that, I don't know, this is your way of . . . apologizing."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "You think I'm doing this to apologize?"

He was supposed to tell her she didn't have to do this, that he appreciated the offer . . . but damn, he wanted it. Wanted to watch as her mouth engulfed him.

"In fact," she said, keeping her eyes on his as she leaned forward and placed a kiss on the bulge in his pants. "I've wanted to do this for seven years."

Holy hell.

Her hair, that green dress, and her eyes . . . a memory from a week ago, when his imagination had run away from him on the plane, exploded in his head. 

Her eyes stayed on him as she unzipped his fly. She arched an eyebrow and tapped his hip, and yanked his clothing down after he obliged. 

Alessandro realized he was holding his breath; he couldn't remember ever being so nervous in this situation, waiting to see a woman's actions and reactions.

He expected her to say something, then shuddered as, without warning, she gave the head a short, wet, smacking kiss. 

She looked up at him and winked, and he let out a shaky breath as they grinned at each other.

His imagination on the plane couldn't compete with the sight of her kneeling between his legs, her blue-green eyes looking up at him as her small fingers wrapped around him him, hard and straining for her mouth. 

She hadn't looked so happy in his fantasy on the plane.

She licked, starting at the base and going all the way to the tip, giving him those smacking kisses every so often. He shuddered as she kissed the head, sucking him in between her lips, but refusing to go below the crown, instead teasing him with the sensation of her lips and swirling tongue.

"I've wanted this so much." Her breath was hot as she hovered just above his cock, which twitched as it tried to return to the warmth of her mouth. "I've fantasized about this, gotten off alone in my bed while imagining having you in my mouth. I've imagined everything from taking my dear sweet time with you, to having you go as hard and fast as you want." 

"Christ, Maisie." He groaned when she took him into her mouth, closing the muscles of her mouth around him, stroking him with her tongue as she moved him in and out. 

"You got off to this?" He wanted to hear the words again, wanted to hear more about her fantasies even as he wanted her to do nothing but act on them.

She hummed into him her agreement. She felt good, too good. A moan escaped from between his lips, and he groaned in frustration as he felt her pull back.

"I wanted to do this in the motel, but I was too nervous," she said, the pressure that had been building in him dissipating as she pulled back to talk. "I almost did, in the shower, but I lost my nerve. I don't know if I even touched you that night." 

She let out a breathy laugh as she licked and then cupped his balls, but he could do no more than gasp a reply as she played with him.

"Not feeling you come in my mouth has been one of my biggest regrets."

Her words washed over him as her mouth returned to him once more, stroking him with ever-increasing pressure. He closed his eyes as he slumped back against the back of the daybed, surrendering to the pleasure of her mouth. 

Alessandro knew he wouldn't last long as her throat constricted around him, her cheeks and tongue and lips adding to the pressure and sensation, her hair scratching against his thighs as she moved back and forth, the sounds of her breathing and moans the only noises competing with his increasingly-labored breaths and the occasional rustle of her dress. 

Needing to feel a connection to her, he threaded his hands through her hair. He fought against guiding her head too much, then finally gave in and nudged at the bottom of her chin. 

He wanted to watch her, see the reaction in her eyes as he finished in her mouth. 

She took the hint and looked up. Their eyes locked as he came, feeling her motions slow as his cum filled her mouth.

Maisie stayed at his feet for several long, peaceful moments, licking him clean as they both caught their breath. He didn't wait for her to move on her own, but pulled her up to straddle him.

He kissed her. She seemed surprised at first, twitching and pulling back a bit in his arms, but that just made him kiss her more; he didn't care that he could taste himself in her mouth. He just wanted to be close to her.

"Thank you," he whispered into the crook of her neck. 

"I told you I wanted to, and I meant it. You don't have to thank me," she whispered back. She rested her cheek on his head, then let out a giggle. "Not unless thanking me involves kissing all those places beneath my dress. I wouldn't argue with that, especially if you focus on one place in particular."

"Hmmm." Alessandro ran his hand up her calf, then up the inside of her thigh, underneath her dress. He played with the hem of her underwear, running his finger along the seam at her thigh. "I don't know. How much kissing do you need to be ready for more?" 

He looked up into her eyes, which were almost closed as he continued to rub at the hem. 

"Maisie?" He grinned. "How much kissing do you need to be ready for more?"

"Not much." She moaned into his ear as she gripped his shoulders. "Oh God, I'm so ready for you."

"Oh?" He slipped a finger under the fabric, finding her slick. "So you want that something more now?"

"Yes." Still straddling him, she moved in a slow rhythm against his finger, trying in vain to impale herself upon him. 

He pulled his finger away. It was kind of nice being the one with the edge taken off. 

"But what about me kissing all the parts of you I can't see?" he asked, trying to sound innocent. "You said you wanted that. I think your ribcage needs some attention. Maybe your shoulder, too. And I don't want to forget your hips."

Her eyes popped open, and she glared at him. Then she reached down to her side, unzipped her dress, and pulled it over her head.

"Kiss away." She flung the dress to the floor. "But don't you dare make me wait too long."

Alessandro grinned as pressed her back on the bed. After propping a pillow beneath her head he stood and stripped his pants and shirt off, throwing them in a pile to join Maisie's dress. 

Her eyes roamed over his body as he lifted her hips to remove her underwear. His desire for her, sated just moments ago in her mouth, came back as her eyes landed on his cock. His breath hitched as her lips turned up into smile, one that said she'd enjoyed herself, and was looking forward to—and demanding—more.

"You're not planning on leaving me hanging, are you?" Her breathing was fast as she glanced up to meet his eyes, but her breathy voice still managed to make her words seem like a challenge.

"Depends." He reached out and traced the curve of her leg up to the apex of her thighs, stopping just below where he knew he'd find her hot and wet.

"On what?"

He settled himself on the daybed, hovering over her body as he kissed her on the lips.

"On how nicely you ask."

Maisie let out a noise between a pant and a snort. "Please, then. But believe me when I say that if you make me beg, you won't get another blow job for a month."

"Noted. No begging." He nuzzled her neck and chuckled. "This time, at least," he added with a nip. 

He teased her with a finger as he moved to touch his lips to her breasts, her ribs, her navel. She moved beneath him, her hips driving to the rhythm of his finger. Her eyes were closed, and what had started as low whimpers and moans from her lips escalated to louder, keening cries of desire.

"Touch yourself." His voice was harsher than he'd expected it to be as he struggled to let her come before he had his turn again. "Play with your breasts, the way you did when you imagined being with me."

She closed her eyes and reached her hands up to touch herself. He stared as he moved his mouth down her body, trying to memorize her movements, the slight twisting of her nipples, the steady pulls interspersed with sharp tugs. 

She came, crying out his name as his lips surrounded her clit.

Alessandro pulled back and looked down at her. Her eyes were lidded and her chest rose and fell with deep breaths as she looked up at him, and then she lifted her arms to him and spread her legs, inviting him to cover her body with his own.

"Maisie." 

"Yes?" 

He didn't know what to say as he lowered himself to her body. He just wanted to be with her, in her. 

His cock pushed up against her; she was slick and hot for him, and he slid in with one solid thrust, forcing cry after cry from her lips as he moved above her.

He couldn't get enough, couldn't get close enough. He lost himself inside her, driving into her with all he had as she crested the peaks of small, shuddering orgasms until he reached his own.

--------------------

Alessandro opened his eyes to find Maisie studying his face.

"I needed some water." She sounded sheepish as she held out the glass for him. "Want some?" 

"Thanks." 

He smiled as he took a sip; she looked beautiful, her hair rumpled from their nap and her face pink from snuggling under a warm quilt. 

"What?" She took the glass back and set it on the table next to the bed. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Nothing." He settled back against the pillows. "It's just . . . I like this Maisie."

She raised an eyebrow. "I like it, too, Less. I think most adults enjoy sex, especially when it's with a gorgeous, talented partner."

Alessandro laughed. "No, I mean, I like this Maisie." He poked her in the chest, trying not to sound too cocky after her compliment. "Don't get me wrong. I liked the sweet, innocent Maisie I knew all those years ago in the motel. She was . . . well, sweet. But strong, confident, knows-what-she-wants-and-how-to-do-it Maisie?" 

He whistled, then turned serious. "You know, in some ways, I wonder if those seven years may have done us some good."

"Yeah, I know." She smiled as she resumed her spot against him under the quilt they'd found. "I've been thinking about that, too. Don't get me wrong; it would have been nice if neither of us had screwed up, and if we got to avoid all that pain, but maybe it was good that we did some growing up apart from one another."

Alessandro nodded, but didn't say anything.

"You know, I kind of like grown-up, comfortable-in-his-own-skin Alessandro. Much better than the directionless Alessandro I knew back then." She chuckled. "Perhaps I should send Isabella a fruit basket for teaching you a thing or two."

He stared down at her, then laughed. "She'd love you forever. And lord it over me for just as long." 

Maisie chuckled as a growl from one—or both—of their stomachs echoed in the room. "Speaking of fruit baskets, was that your stomach or mine?" 

"Tough call." He heard a rustle and felt her fingertips tracing a circular pattern on his chest. "A joint effort, perhaps? I think we both exerted ourselves enough to deserve some sustenance, though I think I need more than a fruit basket."

"Mmmm, I know." She yawned. "I can't believe you finished off the taffy and strawberries while I was still napping."

"Only because you ate all but one of each after I fell asleep."

"Well, they were a gift."

"I know. And I'm glad you liked them." He kissed her on the forehead once more, then let out a growl of frustration. "I don't want to leave here, but I guess we have to get up and make our way to the twins' graduation party soon. And maybe get something to eat; I doubt there will be supper until one or so, and I don't think I can subsist on appetizers until then." 

Maisie squinted at the clock. "We have an hour. It's only eleven."

"Well, that's something. Maybe we can grab some food, and then snag something for dinner tonight and breakfast tomorrow morning, if you want to just stay here tonight." He rolled over and glanced around the room. "We can plug that mini fridge in."

"OK." Maisie cleared her throat. "But you know, as long as we have some time . . . ."

He sat back up to look at her. "What's on your mind, Maisie?"

"Nothing, really." She paused, then rushed on. "But just to recap, so we can agree that we've talked about everything that needed to be talked about: you didn't kick me out then, and you kicked me out this morning for my own good. You wanted to spend more time with me then, and now you, um . . . ." She bit her lip as she glanced up at him.

"I want to spend more time with you now." He cocked his head to the side. "That is, if you want to spend more time with me?"

"Yeah." She nodded and smiled. "Yeah, I do. So are we OK? Anything else we need to talk about?" 

"Hmmm. How did you get that scar on your left knee?"

"Seriously?" She rolled her eyes. "An ex of mine was one of those fixed-gear, no-brake bike freaks. He bought me one. I sucked; I have more than one scar to prove how often I fell off that thing. I dumped him when he tried to explain how my attitude towards the bike represented a failure of my personality." She shook her head as Alessandro chuckled. "Anything else?"

"Um . . . can I complain about the time you made me row out to Steward—"

"No, you can't." She laughed, then sobered. "I'm serious, Less. I want to make sure we don't set ourselves up for another communication disaster."

"I know." He settled back into the bed, and pulled her back down with him. "Is everything on the farm OK?"

Maisie blew out a long breath. "I guess last night's storm was really bad inland. It washed out the bridge to North Stalton, so a bunch of the high school kids couldn't get to the fields this morning." She grimaced. "Ben had to call Tim and Brian; their eldest sons came, too, and we ended up getting everything picked, just in time."

Alessandro nodded. He would have liked to help, but she'd been right; they'd needed time to calm down. 

Maisie looked up at him. "Anything else?"

"I can't think of anything. I guess we'll have to figure out how we're going to see each other; I can talk to my agent about staying in New York more, but it will take some time to finish some obligations I have elsewhere." 

Maisie nodded. "I'll be busy through the rest of the summer and fall harvests, but things slow down between Thanksgiving and Easter."

"We'll figure something out. In the meantime, I'll be in New York all of next week. You know, for Isabella's wedding. I told her about you, everything about us." He cleared his throat, remembering the conversation from the previous evening. "She invited you to the wedding as my guest, if you want to come."

Maisie took a while to answer. He could imagine that it would be awkward, but he'd like to remain friends with Isabella, and in a strange way, he thought that she and Maisie would get along well. 

"OK." Maisie grinned. "As long as I get to bring a fruit basket."

"We'll see," he said, just as Maisie's stomach did its best imitation of an angry lion. "OK, enough sentimental stuff. We really do need to do something about food."