Page 2 of Restored Dreams

“Thanks, guys,” I say, letting the memory fade and pulling back to my reality. My weak gratitude seems insufficient. “And yes, smartass, I think I remember what fun is.” I laugh to cover the hesitancy.

Do I? I wonder. Do I really remember what fun used to be?

It’s been three days since Hank and Midge announced this gift, and a whirlwind of double checking Hank’s understanding of the schedule until Midge finally says, “I’m here. Don’t worry.”

Knowing that Midge was our former office manager sets me at ease. She was a quick study and went above and beyond what we needed to organize and clean up the shop. She set up things in an efficient and easy way for me to maintain if I dedicate an hour a day to the admin things. Thinking of Midge makes me smile. Again, she’s been good for my brother, and I like her in a sister-in-law way. We’d been a clan of men for too long. Midge joining the family brought three more boys—her sons. We need some sisters.

The thought reminds me of a pair of sisters I once knew. My lip curls at the memory of the blonde hair, blue eyes of the younger one. She had the sweetest smile and amazing lips, especially when they were on me. My smile fades, remembering why I lost her. I don’t know why I did what I did to her.

Really? my heart teases.

It was because of me, my dick recalls. The snicker from the evil appendage gets choked off when my heart remembers it wasn’t even a good lay that fucked my life. My stomach turns with the thought.

Exiting the highway, I let the memories go. The roar of water crashing to the shore pulls me back to the present where I’m safer to live. I park in the drive and stare at the narrow two-story house. My heart sprints. On the other side of this structure is the ocean, and I can already feel the excitement that something amazing is about to happen to me. Grabbing my bag, I head around the house, and my breath catches. The view is beautiful. Rolling waves, bright sunshine, and surfers on the sea. I can’t wait.

I enter the house. The living area faces large glass doors that open to a partially covered porch. A cozy open-concept kitchen falls directly behind the seating area. The stairs to the upper level are at the back, tucked behind the kitchen, and I climb the steps two at a time. I want my swimsuit and a beer. Then the surf.

As I reach the top step, I think I hear water running. I pause at the sound and decide it must be the ocean playing tricks on me. The house has air conditioning, but I want the windows open and the rhythmic crashing of the water to fill my ears. I turn into the first bedroom, set my stuff down near a dresser, and hear the running water again. It sounds like a shower. Taking a step toward the bathroom, I hear singing.

Words of loving someone later, being better when she’s older, being the greatest love of her life filter through the air as I open the door to a steam-filled space and a female voice belting off-key.

Did Hank do this? Did he hire a girl for the night for me? For the week? He jokes I need to get laid. When he mentioned he thought of everything, is this what he meant? I pause a second, taking in the silhouette of a feminine body, twisting and turning behind the glass enclosure. The heat of the room is sweltering, and I whip off my shirt to wipe at my face. A spattering sound hits the tile floor of the shower, possibly shampoo rinsing out of her hair. Her voice continues to squeak out lyrics. Strangely, the appendage that gets me in trouble begins to rise. I really do need to get laid, but can I do this? Can I fuck a hired female?

Another off-key lyric and I decide I can’t. I step forward, preparing to tell the woman she’ll need to leave. She doesn’t hear me call out, “Hey,” so I’m left with no choice but to open the stall door to get her attention. The first thing I notice is a large cupcake tattoo in hues of purple and pink on a smooth hip, and then she screams.

3

Shower fresh

[Lily]

“Brut?” I squeak.

He momentarily averts his eyes, but they quickly return to my exposed body. Suds slip over my breasts; my nipples erect from the sudden cool air on my warm skin. I’m too stunned to cover myself. His eyes flick away and then back a second time.

“Lily pad.” The old nickname snaps my attention. Brut Paige is standing in my vacation bathroom, staring at my wet, naked body. Brut Paige. The man I loved as a girl. The man who broke my heart.

“Get out,” I shriek, arm extending for the edge of the shower door. When I lean forward, water drips off my body onto the tile floor, but Brut doesn’t move. His eyes watch my breasts dangle as I bend, droplets falling to the ground with soft plops. He swallows. Licks his lips. And smiles. Damn him. I recognize the curl of his lip—like a flashback into history—and it infuriates me how my body responds to his perusal.

“Brut,” I snap again, tugging at the glass door, but he refuses to release it. Instead, he steps forward, and my breath catches. For half a second, I think he’s going to join me. I envision him pressing me back until I collide with the cool tiles. His hands roam my body, frantically trying to touch everywhere first. His mouth crushing mine in a fierce reunion kiss. Spreading my legs so he can lift me and enter my willing body. I pause in the fantasy to remind myself again: this is Brut Paige—the man of my dreams when I was nineteen.

He blinks, shakes his head, and mutters a quiet apology. His eyes divert from my body, and he steps back, leaving the glass door wide open. I’m left bare, chilled, and turned on by his approving gaze. And completely confused as to why he is in my bathroom.

I turn off the shower and wrap myself in a luxurious towel. I’ve already unpacked, placing my clothes in the bedroom dresser to make myself feel at home. I left the casual dress I intended to wear on the bed, though, and find Brut standing by the open French doors of my room with his back to the bathroom. When I cough for his attention, he spins around to face me.

Again, his eyes skim over me, and I watch his throat roll. My breasts are enhanced by the towel covering them, exposing a swell of cleavage, and I tug at the twist holding the material in place. The terrycloth is short, and I worry my backside isn’t completely covered.

“I think there’s been a mistake,” I say, clutching the towel to my chest. Brut stares, unblinking, and suddenly, I imagine him stepping forward to tug the damp cover off me and throw me on the large bed in the center of the room. Good, Lawd, I scold myself. Get a grip on the fantasies. It’s all a sign that it’s been a long time since I’ve been with anyone.

“Hank set this up for me. I have the lease papers with the address.” His voice remains monotone, stunned even. Instead of my daydream of being ravished by him, he goes for his bag on the floor by the bed. After removing the official lease papers, he walks to me. I briefly glance down, but his nearness distracts me. He smells fresh. Sunshine. Woodsy. Male.

Brut has this wild white hair, having gone prematurely gray. He’s four years older than I am, making him forty-five. From the brief display of his abs—he wasn’t wearing a shirt in the bathroom—he’s built better than I remember. His abs stack like a pile of books, and I want to read every page. His eyes are still a playful blue, reminding me of our foolish summer days. We met when I was only nineteen, a girl on the eve of her sexuality. Now, I’m a woman of forty-one, and just looking at him revives the edgy sensation.

“Here’s the address,” he says, interrupting my wayward thoughts of rubbing against him. I read the line where his long finger points, and I worry for a moment I’ve made a mistake and entered the wrong house. This would be my luck, but I had a key. Stepping to the dresser, I remove the contract I signed and find the matching address.

“I’ve rented the same place.” I look at Brut, bewildered while my heart sinks.

“How could we be in the same place during the same week?” Brut asks. He looks as frustrated as I suddenly feel. This can’t be happening. I can’t be in the same house as Brut. It’s bad enough we still live within proximity of one another. Every once in a while, I see him around Pasadena, where he lives, but it’s been a long, long time since we’ve spoken, other than a rare smile or head nod of acknowledgment. Been even longer since anything else has happened between us.