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“All day. I fixed the broken tiles on the roof, reset some of the stones on the porch, watered the lawn—”
“I know. I saw. Who hired you? I certainly didn’t.”
“—and I was just fixing the fence lock, but this here’s just going to be a temporary fix. You’ll have to get a new lock. One with a dead bolt, I think. I mean, this is Uptown, it’s pretty safe, but you never know.”
He had a very slight accent, not from around here—maybe East Texas? For me as a journalist this instant awareness of details was an automatic skill, one I was known for. I took a step closer to him as he thoughtfully tilted his head; he was taking in my shoes, my legs, my waist, my breasts. I was wearing a blue silk blouse, a deep jewel tone, the same one I had worn to anchor the news that morning. I felt a current dance
through my body, instantly warming me. Solange, this is a very young man. And you are a professional, a divorcée, with a young son and a high-profile job in the city. It would not be fitting to flirt. With this man. Who is trespassing on your property. Who is fixing your house. Who is younger than you.
“Who are you and who hired you?” I repeated, a hand moving to rub my neck. Nerves.
“I’m thirsty. I’m wondering if I can get a glass of water maybe? Then I can tackle the leaky dishwasher—that is, if you’ll let me into the house.”
Sexy man, this one. He had swagger; he had a bit of game.
Sounding firm but not angry, I said, “You will remain thirsty until you tell me who sent you and what it is you’re doing on my property.”
“Well, I’ll tell you … if … you accept the Step.”
As he said it, literally as the words were coming out of his mouth, I knew. Finally, it was starting. The thing. The S.E.C.R.E.T. thing.
My guide, Matilda, had said it would begin within the month, that’d I’d be warned about some of my fantasies but that others would simply … unfold. God, how many times had I thought to pick up the phone and cancel all this sex-fantasy nonsense before it started. I didn’t have time for this. Sex used to be important. Certainly it was a big part of my life with Julius before things turned sad for us. But I was forty-one years old, for crying out loud. I had a kid. I had no business gallivanting around town, or even my own backyard, having sex with strange men, even if they did have a dimple in the left cheek and wore pants that kind of draped around their lean hips. Did I mention that?
He walked over to the garden hose. Actually, he sauntered. Damn.
“If you won’t quench my thirst, I’ll have to do it this way,” he said, raising a cool arc of water to his lips.
I held up my hand.
“Wait, you can come in.”
“And?” he asked, letting the water run onto the lawn.
“And …”
My mind was scrambling. How will this go? Oh god, what if I am bad at sex? It has been a while …
“Will you accept the Step?” he asked, taking in another mouthful of water, letting some of it splash across his bare shoulders and chest.
I almost burst out laughing. “Do you know how old I am?”
“Do you know how hot you are?”
“Are you guys told to say those things?”
“Yes. We are …”
I felt my face drop. Do I look crestfallen? I’m too old to be crestfallen.
“… but we’re also instructed to say only things we mean.”
He dropped the hose and shut off the water, standing stock-still in front of me, his expression calm, cool, his beautiful arms relaxed at his sides, one hip cocked, his stomach muscles contracting.
I closed my eyes.
“All right.”
“All right what?” he asked.
