Almost Home. Debbie Macomber

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      “I think if I dressed up, I’d be a flamingo.”

      “A flamingo? What are you talking about? Geez, Chalese, why don’t you dress as a giraffe? Or a snake? That’d be about as much of a turn-on as a flamingo!”

      “I admire flamingos. They’re flexible, they can wind around each other’s necks—”

      The ring of my phone interrupted my flamingo thoughts. “Hide the horse, hide the horse, the chief is coming your way,” Gina yelled. “Hide him!”

      “Hide him!” I screamed back as Brenda leaped off her chair. “Where? You have the trailer!”

      “Put him in your kitchen.”

      “My kitchen! I can’t put him in my kitchen! Too small.”

      “Hurry!” Gina screamed.

      Brenda and I were up and running in our pajamas again, our hair flattened and sticking out in strange ways.

      Turns out the dining room was a good fit, although the cranky, spiteful cats were not appreciative of this new guest.

      Funny enough, after the chief checked my barn and property, he never thought to hunt for a horse in the dining room.

      Later, a friend of Gina’s came by with a horse trailer. Gordon was on the mainland and in a cozy horse shelter with a sizeable donation from me by eight o’clock that night, working on his self-esteem.

      “That can’t happen again, Chalese,” Aiden told me the next day, trying to keep the smile off his face. “I’m sorry. My fault. I never should have kissed you.”

      I pulled my robe closer to my body. It was eleven in the morning, after all, and I had a deadline. I knew of other writers who didn’t peel their pajamas from their bodies until their kids got home from school. At least I’d had a shower and brushed my teeth.

      “Uh …” I said. “Am I supposed to say thanks? Thanks for apologizing? Thanks for not kissing me again? Thanks for coming by and telling me you’ll never kiss me again?”

      “I don’t need the thanks, Chalese, but I want to apologize.”

      How surprised would Aiden be if I all of a sudden ripped my robe open and wriggled about naked like a flexible flamingo?

      Nah. Couldn’t do that. Too much stomach, too much hip. Not enough boob. Still, the image made me smile.

      And when Aiden saw that smile, he murmured, “Damn,” and then stepped into my house, slung an arm around my waist, pulled me close and kissed me like he never should have kissed me.

      When he was leaning back against the door, his jaw tight, and I was leaning on him, I said, “Thanks for not kissing me again, Aiden.”

      He rolled his eyes.

      I laughed.

      Laughed with sadness in my heart.

      We were in a terrible situation. He wanted to write about me; I wanted to hide.

      And all I could think about was what the dear man would look like stark naked on my periwinkle blue comforter on my bed eating orange truffles. Delicious!

      “Can I make you an omelet?” he asked.

      It’s amazing what you can learn about a person over a cheesy omelet, especially when they insist on trying all my jams and jellies and their expressions tell me they believe they’re tasting fruit heaven.

      I did not bother to change out of my robe. It was one that Brenda gave me, silky and blue, and I loved the feel of it. I think Aiden did, too, as he kissed me after he scrambled the eggs, and again after the chopping of the tomatoes and mushrooms, his hands exploring much of that silk robe and the hot body beneath it ….

      We took the omelets outside to the deck. Aiden helped me get the toast and orange juice and everything else out there.

      On the deck we stayed apart by a table and talked while Thunder and Lightning fell asleep by our feet and snored.

      We talked about our work, the island, my naughty goats, who had escaped yet again into town, my desire to see Greece one day, our favorite books, favorite movies, politics, and a social issue or two.

      By the end of it I felt as if my brain had had sex. Aiden was witty and sharp and could talk and debate until my cranium rang with pleasure.

      I caught him staring at me, and I looked away, looked back. He was still staring.

      “I have never talked to a woman as I talk to you. It’s relaxing, it’s stimulating, funny. I can only compare it to talking to a comedian/sociologist/professor all wrapped up in a blue silk robe. You are one smart lady.”

      “I’m glad. I wouldn’t want any competition, Zeus.”

      “There is none,” he said in all seriousness. “You have no competition, Chalese. None.”

      Later that day, we took my boat out. We watched the water shoot from a whale’s blowhole, Aiden’s face reflecting his awe. We held hands as the sun set, the colors a liquid, moving painting against the outlines of the green islands.

      The next day, I showed Aiden more of the island.

      When we got back to my yellow house, he stared at my barn, our fingers entwined.

      “It needs work,” he said.

      “Yes, it does. I’ll get to it.”

      He held my hand. “We’ll get to it. I’ll help you rebuild the whole thing.”

      And in the silky darkness of the night, I thought to myself, That is the most romantic thing any man has ever said to me.

      She screamed, long, guttural, and piercing.

      Then she jumped up and down, indulging her temper tantrum. She punched the air, ripped up paper, threw it over her head, and stomped around. She arched her back and screamed again through clenched teeth.

      When she lifted up her laptop to throw it across my studio, I made a lunge and grabbed it from her. “Brenda, not the laptop. It’s too expensive.”

      “I can’t get rid of my writer’s block.” She fought me for the laptop. “I hate this. I hate screenwriting. I’m going to become a … a … fourth-grade teacher and teach kids about the Revolutionary War and adjectives and how to get a date!” She screamed again.

      I wrestled the laptop out of her hands. We ended up in a heap on the floor huffing and puffing.

      “Want an orange truffle?” I asked.

      She screamed through clenched teeth.

      I blame the Annual Whale Island Poker Tournament, a fund-raiser for the local schools, for the extreme kissing that occurred afterward.

      Aiden won third place in the tournament. Brenda won second place.

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