Page 50 of Second Chances

He took a sip of his beer. “My niece came into the shop this afternoon and asked me to go.” They arrived at the burger tent, where both of them ordered cheeseburgers and fries.

Charlotte held Henry’s drink while he paid and put her lips to his beer, savoring what she imagined was the taste of him on her tongue, his male essence; the most fascinating thing about Henry was that it never seemed like he was trying to prove his masculinity.

“So, are you saying that you were supposed to meet Cait tonight?” They sat across from each other at a picnic table, and as he tipped his head back to drink from his beer, Charlotte was enthralled by his neck muscles. Who knew swallowing could be so incredibly sexy?

Henry swallowed before answering, urgently needing the chill to calm his nerves. Dancing with Charlotte, her soft and supple form in his arms, curling her hand in his, was more than he had expected from this evening. “Yeah, she told me to meet her in front of the flower shop.” Charlotte burst out laughing. “What? What’s funny?”

“I think we’ve been set up,” she whispered across the table to Henry before sampling her burger.

“What? By whom?” As if she wasn’t turned on already, Henry used “whom” properly instead of “who”. Someone come and save her, she thought, lost to this man who knew his grammar.

“Well, I was in the library picking up a book from Effie, and Cait was there, too. The two of them had their heads together, and I had the feeling they were plotting something. Obviously, they were arranging for us to meet at Flower Power.”

Henry finished his fries and took out his phone. There was a message from his niece telling him to have a good time. He smiled. “It seems you’re right,” he told Charlotte, while another shiny curl found its way out of the hair she had pinned up. What if he tugged on the sticks holding her glorious hair up? Would it flow around her bare shoulders or cling to the back of her neck, sticky from the heat?

Heaven help her, she silently begged, mesmerized by the finger tracing his lower lip. As she licked her own lips, his finger stilled and eyes grew large—brilliant, cerulean eyes that reflected not just his innate goodness but also potent sex appeal.

“Under these lights, you are radiant, Charlotte.” Blush colored her cheeks, and she cast her eyes down. “Absolutely breathtaking.” Her scent clung to his clothes, his skin, and he longed to take her in his arms again for another dance, so he could concentrate on nothing but her. Even with a thousand people milling around tonight, he’d never experienced intimacy like this.

Heart racing, she snapped her eyes back to Henry’s. No one had ever made her feel such erotic power. Pressing her beer to her forehead helped to cool the heat he stoked in her, and she said impulsively, “I like watching you eat. Makes me feel less conscious about inhaling my burger.” Her ex-husband was notorious for picking things off his plate or finding an issue with something.

“I love food, runs in the family, I guess. I appreciate a woman with an appetite.” His thumb rubbed her bottom lip. “You had a little crumb,” he told her.

“I should make dinner for you one night.” The idea of Henry in her home, while she cooked, made her dizzy with anticipation.

“I would love that,” Henry told her. “Or I could cook for you sometime. Impress you with my culinary excellence. I don’t get to do that very often, with Josh living with Effie. When he first came back, I enjoyed making meals for the two of us.”

“You must have been thrilled when he decided to stay. Effie has commented how close you are.”

Henry nodded. “We are. We never went through any rebellion or anything, like you do with teenagers.”

“Oh, yes, Isobel pushed our boundaries to no end, but we were strict with her. Brady and I were determined not to be as lenient as our parents…well, mine, really.”

“I’m sure that Josh’s mother leaving gave him some perspective.” He peeled the label off his bottle.

“Perspective he shouldn’t have had, though, right?” Her tone gentle, she reached across for Henry’s hand, which he lifted to his mouth for a soft kiss. He grabbed her empty bottle then and took their trash from the table. When he came back, he wore a smile, the lines on his face creasing attractively. “This is such a great song.”

With the band playing “Angel Flying Too Close to the Ground”, Charlotte stood and held out her hand. “Let’s dance, Henry.” She heard the hitch in his breath at her request, and the wonder on his face made her want him beyond anything she thought she could experience.

Brown eyes huge in her beautiful face, he cupped her cheeks. “I’d love to,” and folded her hand in his. Leading her to a corner off to the side, one of his arms encircled her back, pulling her tight, with no air left to circulate between their bodies. He brought her other hand up to his mouth, kissing her fingertips as they swayed, their bodies locked together, her chest against his belly. His hand drifted from her back to her hip, relishing the ample flare of her curves.

Through the thin cotton of his shirt, Charlotte caressed his bicep before skimming her fingers up to the nape of his neck, where his silver-blond hair glinted. Desiring to be closer, she nuzzled against him and rested her head on his chest, next to his heart. Henry’s groan rumbled against her forehead. She’d never considered the power she could wield over a man. Until tonight. With every breath in her lungs and every fantasy in her head, she wanted him. His gentleness called to her, challenging her to unleash the fevered man underneath. Gently pulling her other hand from his, she brushed it up his arm until she found his shoulder, bunched with muscles. “Henry,” she murmured.

No longer able to keep his lips from tasting hers, he bent his head, lightly brushing his lips across hers: once, twice, and a third time, before she deepened their kiss. “Henry,” she moaned this time. With the crowd milling around them, he steered them to the other side of the street, to where they had begun their night: Flower Power. Dazed, they slipped between a gap in the barriers and rounded the side of the building, where Henry considered stopping, wanting nothing more than to have Charlotte up against the building, feasting on her lips, relishing her softness under his hands, but he kept going, taking them to the back of the building, where the darkness assured them privacy.

With the building against her back, Charlotte couldn’t have said where on the street they were, but it didn’t matter, because Henry’s mouth sucked a line from her ear down her neck, where he took the smallest bite of salty flesh. One of his hands stroked her from her back to her hip, then up her waist, her ribs, until halting at the bounty of the pillowy breasts he’d yearned for all night. Carefully, his fingers brushed under them as his mouth did the same above her neckline.

Panting heavily, Henry lifted his head and looked over to his shop. Before a second thought intruded, before his conscience told him otherwise, and before he could change his mind, he grabbed her hand, and they crossed, leaving the clamor behind as he unlocked the door and drew her in behind him.

Cold blasted from the air-conditioner as Henry locked the door behind them, quieting the strains of the Coldwater Creek Band serenading them from Main Street. Butterflies awakened in Charlotte’s stomach when he turned to her, his face bathed by the moonlight filtering in from the windows. Drawing a deep breath, Charlotte gazed around her in awe. “Where are we?”

From Flower Power, with her hand clasped tightly in his, Henry had led them to the auto shop, but they didn’t go in; instead, they followed the stone path surrounding it to the back. Passing by the lilac bushes he’d planted the year after purchasing the shop, he paused just briefly before they crossed the yard. Rarely had anyone but him been inside, and his hand shook unlocking the door to the sanctuary he sought away from the shop. After turning the lights on low, he explained, “My coffee shed, or, as the guys in the shop call it, my java hut. I roast the beans over there.” He pointed to the south corner. He held his breath, watching her expression, needing her to understand the significance of this place, where he drew a line between his life as a mechanic and his passion for coffee, spending time in the shed either before or after shop hours. On the off chance someone dropped by, he welcomed them, but they respected the quiet solace he sought when he was roasting his beans.

Astonished, Charlotte gave a slight laugh. “I think you’re downplaying the word ‘shed’, Henry. This is the size of the garage at my house.” Tucked into the back of the property, she had wondered where he was taking them when they left the dance, left Main Street with their blood thickened with need for each other. Now here they were, alone, no one else around for the entire city block, since the shop building was the only business on the block. Surrounded by trees at the property line, she’d never noticed this structure from the street. The interior resembled a wood cabin, with cast-iron pans hanging along the walls, suspended from hooks in the ceiling. “What are those?”

“Antique coffee roasters that people, mostly my siblings, have picked up at flea markets or auctions.” Keeping his eyes on her, he tried to gauge her reaction. Did she think he was obsessed, as so many had when he had begun shutting himself away to roast coffee beans? Everyone had already thought that he’d spent too much time alone after Josh went to New York and that he didn’t need an activity that isolated him even more. “I only use those for small batches when I’m experimenting with flavors. The one I mainly use is over there.”

In the faint light, a copper roaster gleamed to her left. As with everything she was coming to understand about Henry, his coffee shed was meticulous, and she spied a loveseat along the far wall under a large window which framed trees swaying in the light breeze. Canisters of coffee beans lined a counter to her right, and above that hung a rack with small jars. At the end of the counter stood a farmhouse sink situated below another large window lending a view of the yard and shop. From this vantage point, she discerned that the shop actually comprised two separate buildings that had been joined at some point. The actual auto garage was one building, and Henry’s office was the other, with, to her amazement, another floor above it, set back from the front. “I didn’t realize you had a floor above your office, Henry.”