Page 13 of Learning at 40

“That’s an interesting seat.” He nods at the chaise as he approaches. Running a hand over the cushion, I smile to myself. The old chaise lounge cushion is one of the first things I replaced in this yard. New fabric and a quick stain job to the wood base brightened up this little slice of heaven. Made for more than one person, it’s not quite big enough for two.

“I call it a person-and-a-half lounger.” Tipping my head back, I look up at the star-filled sky and close my eyes, luxuriating in the space on this thing. When I open my eyes, Zack has moved to the foot of the expanded seat.

“Want to try it?” I pat the space next to me before realizing what I’ve said. I don’t know this man. He insulted me in more ways than one this morning, and he’s probably married. Yet as he climbs onto the seat beside me, he looks as vulnerable as his children. Tension rolls off him in waves so strong I’m surprised I’m not forced off the chaise. And I’m reconsidering the invitation as our arms press against one another.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” I offer, holding up mine. The bottle sits beside me on the grass, and I’ll need to retrieve a glass for him from the house. Without a word, Zack boldly takes my glass from me and sips. I see where his children have learned their sense of propriety and manners.

He tips his head back and closes his eyes to the dark sky overhead. Releasing a deep sigh, he relaxes only slightly.

“That was my glass,” I mutter, directing my gaze forward toward the dark yard.

“Oh, I thought we were sharing.” A tease that wasn’t present in our first meeting laces his tone.

“Wine stealer,” I mumble, and his head sharply turns in my direction. Side-eyeing him, I notice his eyes narrow at the side of my face.

“So, what are you apologizing for again?” I need to understand better what he’s doing here, and I give in to the pull to look at him.

“I came off a little strong earlier, and I’m sorry. The boys . . . they elude me sometimes. I’m a terrible father.”

The words almost break me as they’re said with such honesty and regret. Perhaps he needs to apologize to them for being so harsh.

“Why would you say such a thing?”

“So many reasons.” He gazes forward, staring off toward the house next door.

“You’re full of vagueness,” I tease, bumping his shoulder with mine as we remain so close to one another.

“I’m just not a very involved dad, I guess, and now, I have them full time.”

The wording surprises me. “Are you divorced?” Please be divorced and not a widower. I can’t handle if both of us are struggling with the eternal loss of someone.

“Recently divorced. Does it show?” He turns his attention back to me, and we gaze at one another. Our faces are close. Our noses could touch. His eyes are more of a silver color than the dark molten appearance of earlier. It’s a strange combination with his lighter hair but striking like the rest of him.

“Divorce looks good on you,” I flirt. Although I shouldn’t be flirting. You’re so forward, my mother would say. Honesty never hurt anyone, my grandfather would correct. Zack’s eyes sparkle a bit in the dim light cloaking our dark location.

“I wasn’t a very good husband either.” His eyes shift away from me, and I clear my throat. Not flirting. No to flirting.

“I’m sorry. You loved her?” A question lingers with my desire for clarification.

“I didn’t.” He tips his head forward, swirling the glass of wine in his hand.

“Ah.” I nod to accept his answer. While it stings to think he didn’t love his wife, maybe she didn’t love him either, and that was the reason for his melancholy tone. There’s always more to the story.

“I also wanted to apologize for noticing you sitting in the sun . . . you know.” He side-eyes me without turning his head.

“Naked?” I teasingly clarify for him, and he closes his lids.

“I really didn’t mean to look.”

“Your eyes just accidentally wandered,” I jest, tipping up a brow while keeping my tone light.

He huffs in answer, and I consider he’s sincere enough. I actually blush as though he’d caught me in a compromising position, which he did in a sense, but I’m not ashamed of my body. Also, it’s my yard. Assuming I am well protected by the overgrown shrubbery around the place, I have the liberty to do as I please over here. A solid wall of arborvitae lines the south side of the property, marking the boundary between where he’s staying and where I live. An ugly metal fence is on my side of the trees. Behind us is a solid six-foot wooden barrier built by my other neighbor. It clearly says to stay out.

“I accept your apology,” I say, reaching out to pat his thigh. Instantly, I realize what I’m doing and withdraw my hand, but he catches it and crushes my fingers a moment. Then he flattens his palm over the back of my hand and presses it to his thigh. A magnetic tension crackles between us, but I can’t seem to pull away. Heat seeps through his jeans and warms my skin. His fingers wrap around my hand, which is high on his leg, just to the side of his zipper region. My pinky twitches, and I faintly brush a sensitive area, feeling something I shouldn’t beneath the denim. I jerk my hand underneath his, but Zack tightens his hold and takes another sip from my wineglass.

It’s all rather forward, considering his earlier demeanor, but I can’t find the warning that should be in my head, telling me to pull away from him.

We relax in silence a while, soaking up the quietness of the dark evening. The breeze from the lake rustling the leaves on the trees is a natural soundtrack that soothes the soul. I reach for the bottle of wine on the grass and take a pull directly from it. Then I refill the glass Zack still holds.