Chopsticks
by Jacquéline Roth
He watched the side of her face appear as she opened the door to the small townhouse.
"Daddy!" the excited cry came from inside. His daughter came skipping up to him, blond pigtails bobbing. "Mommy didn't say you were picking me up. But I'm glad you did."
"I wanted to get an early start on our weekend, angel." He bent down and picked up the seven year old as if she were weightless. He turned his attention to the woman at the door. "Did you get paid in advance or do I need to write you a check?"
"Jenny's mom always pays me in advance," she smiled at him softly. She turned her head to look at the little girl he held in his arms. "Don't forget to practice before Tuesday."
"I won't. Daddy, can we get ice cream?"
"After we get dinner," he turned back to the young woman. Her dark brown eyes were
the same dark chocolate as her smooth and flawless skin. Her black hair was pulled
back tight and a high collared shirt was tied with a bright patterned scarf in an
intricate knot at her throat. "Thank you. My ex-
"She is. She practices hard and she has a positive attitude. She's going to make a fine pianist one day." The full lips parted into a smile.
"Well," he swallowed. She was beautiful. Beautiful, refined and educated all things that immediately began slamming doors in his mind. Not again. He'd not do that ever again. "Thank you." He turned and carried his daughter down the steps.
He had just left the small subdivision when his cell phone rang. He tossed it to his daughter. "Answer that, Sweetie, so Daddy can drive."
More adept with technology that didn't exist when she was born, his daughter quickly answered, "Hello? Hi Maggie. Oh, no." She turned her distressed face to her father. "I left my overnight bag and my keyboard at Maggie's. We have to go back for it."
"Honey, you have clothes at the house. You can pick it up on Tuesday when you go back for your next lesson." He had committed his daughter's schedule to memory. He wanted to know just how hard Jill was programming her. Dance lesson, music lessons, art classes, swimming practice, he just wanted to be sure someone left time in all that for her to be a kid.
"But Daddy, I can't practice without my keyboard. You don't have a piano and I need my keyboard," the little girl was working herself into a state, big tears were forming on the eyelids.
"Sweetie," he began.
"Daddy, please?" she whined.
He sighed. "Fine. Tell your teacher we'll be right back for it." He listened to her impart the news happily. He hated to see her upset and knew he gave in too often to her, but when he only got to see her a couple days a week, it was hard to spend that time playing the heavy.
The rain that had been predicted was now falling. Leaving her fastened in to her seat in the back of his extended cab truck, he climbed out. He turned his collar up to the rain and dashed for the door. It opened before he could knock and a pink sleeping bag with a matching knapsack was waiting in the hands of the young woman. "Thanks," he muttered and turned to leave.
"Wait," she came out carrying a large plastic bag. The water was raining down hard on her. "You forgot this."
"What's this?"
"The keyboard. I put it in a garbage bag when I realized it was raining." She handed it off to him and he tucked it under one arm.
"Thanks again."
"You're welcome," she smiled at him and turned and dashed back to the house. The white cotton blouse she wore was already soaked and gave a good impression of the white camisole and curves beneath it.
And here I thought piano teachers were supposed to be old maiden ladies or widows who worried about your posture, he thought.
*****
Wednesday night he sat on the back steps with his elbows resting on his thighs. The faded denim was stained with paint and varnish. He had gotten off work, grabbed a beer and walked out the back door. He stared out at the backyard, the tire swing rocked in the light breeze. One hand held the beer. The other held his cell phone.
I'd be doing it for Jenny, he thought firmly. Not to please Jill, not to please Jill's new husband. I'd be doing it for Jenny. Had anyone else suggested it to him he'd have stared coldly at them and told them that wasn't who he was. Things like playing the piano, going to the ballet, those were things he just didn't do.
He closed his eyes and saw the scene again in his mind. He was dropping Jenny off on Sunday night and Marty, the new husband, had invited him in for a drink. "It's important for Jenny to know we are a united front. A family," the man said as he'd handed him a glass of whiskey.
"Right," he'd swallowed a quick gulp of the amber liquid. The sooner he fulfilled his end of this little ritual, the sooner he could go home.
The sound of the piano came from the next room. Marty smiled at him, "Come on Daniel, it looks like the ladies have prepared a little recital for us."
Swallowing his irritation and the stream of obscenities that filled his head, he
had followed the man into the next room. His ex-
"Ah, Chopsticks," Marty had grinned at them. "My favorite song."
"Come play with me daddy," Jenny had called out.
"Honey, daddy doesn't play piano," Jill had smiled sweetly.
"Everyone knows Chopsticks, mommy," Jenny giggled and continued to play the repetitive song.
Daniel swallowed the last of what was in his glass. He walked over to the piano and watched the two playing. After a moment he forced himself to say the words. "Mommy is right, Jenny. Daddy doesn't know how to play this."
Jenny stopped playing her part for a moment and looked at him quizzically. Her little mind was trying to work out something and he knew just what that something was. Her daddy didn't know how to do something. Looking back down at the keys, she started to pick out the tune again.
"Marty knows it," Jill nudged her.
He watched his daughter look up at her stepfather. Her face broke into a smile, "Come and play with us." Jill scooted over, taking a place more center and Marty began to press the lower keys mimicking Jill's notes on a lower register.
Daniel stepped back from the piano. The three heads side by side played on. Jenny giggled happily as she played the melody. He watched, a pain wrenching deep in his gut as his daughter laughed and shared this moment with her new family. A moment he couldn't be a part of. Shared this moment with her new "daddy." He had turned and left the house.
I'd be doing it for her, he told himself again. He drained the last of the beer from the bottle and pressed the button on the cell. Calls received. He scanned back and found the only number he didn't recognize. Call.
The voice was familiar as it answered. "Hello."
He didn't say anything for a moment, causing the voice on the other end of the line to repeat its hello. "This is Daniel, I'm Jenny's father. You give my daughter piano lessons."
The voice hesitated, "Yes, Oh yes, Jenny Lawson. How can I help you Mr. Lawson?"
He drew a deep breath. "This may sound odd, but I was actually wondering if you could take on another student. An older student. Just for a couple of lessons."
There was a long pause. "I suppose I could. I'm fairly booked. Who's the student?"
Here it goes, "Me."
The silence on the other end stretched out uncomfortably. Finally the soft voice broke it, "I have time tomorrow, Thursday evening. About 5:30pm."
"That's fine. It will only be for a couple of lessons. I'll see you tomorrow." Before he could terminate the call he heard her voice.
"Mr. Lawson, don't you want to know the charge?"
"It doesn't matter. The price doesn't matter."
*****
She answered the door on the first knock. She stepped back and ushered him in. As he passed her, his eye noted the navy skirt and white blouse. Again it was buttoned up and a brilliantly colored scarf was tied at the throat. "Please, Mr. Lawson, have a seat."
He wanted to get this over with and moved toward the piano. He was halted when he saw her lower herself into a chair which sat at a right angle to her sofa. She stretched out her thin hand and gestured toward the couch. He stood for a moment uncertain. Her eyes reflected the soft light in the room. The piano sat in front of a bay window whose shades had been drawn and the only light was coming from lamps burning on the end tables. The dark brown of her eyes was clear and clean, not murky or cloudy. Like brown glass that let just enough light pass.
"Mr. Lawson, please sit. I need to know exactly what it is you want before we can begin. It sounded on the phone as if you didn't exactly want the typical piano lesson." Her lips pulled into a smile revealing even white teeth against the dark mahogany of her lip color. He noticed how perfect her face was. Skin smooth, even and dark. Her eyes perfectly made up, natural but striking. Class. The woman had class.
‘Exactly why you need to stop this train of thought,' he scolded himself.
He stepped over to the sofa and sat stiffly on its edge. He had left work early, his crews worked independently, he really didn't need to supervise them too closely but liked being out of doors, liked the feel of the tools in his hands, the sound of the sander as it moved over the wooden surfaces, the smell of the fresh cut wood, the varnish and the paint as he used them to create and enhance. He had showered and changed, but as he sat there, looking at his hands, he noticed he hadn't removed all of the stain from around his thumbnail. You'll never get rid of it all, he sighed to himself. You'll always just be a big oaf who works with his hands and never quite lives up to the expectations of women like this.
She sat quietly looking at him. He realized they were sitting in silence and that he had retreated into his thoughts. He shook himself and looked up at her. Before he could speak, she did, "Can I get you a beer, Mr. Lawson?"
A beer? He looked around at the room. White walls, modern furnishings, and shelves covered one entire wall. Shelves that contained more books than he had ever read. He wasn't illiterate. He liked to read. He read mysteries, he read biographies of Presidents, sports legends and historical figures. He had even read the books on "blended families" that Jenny's school counselor had recommended. A crystal vase sat on the coffee table surrounded by art books. This woman had beer? He couldn't stop the sigh that escaped his lips. Most likely some imported swill that pretended to be beer.
"Sure, Miss... I'm sorry, all I know is Maggie," he looked back down at his hands.
"Maggie is fine," her smile was genuine. She walked off toward the kitchen and he heard her call. "I hope a Bud is fine." She returned with the long neck bottle.
"That's fine," he tried to hide his surprise.
"I keep them for my dad," she grinned. "And sometimes for me too." It was then that he realized that she held two bottles, one outstretched to him. He took it and watched her fold herself back into her chair. She pulled a quick sip from the bottle and placed it on a coaster on the chrome and glass table. "Now Mr. Lawson,..."
"Daniel," he blurted out. Trying to regain some semblance of cool he took a large swig from the beer and continued. "It's only fair that you call me Daniel if I'm going to call you Maggie."
Her expression didn't change. "Daniel then. Daniel I need to know exactly what it is you want me to teach you. What exactly is it you want to learn from me?"
"Chopsticks," he answered softly.
"I beg your pardon?"
He lifted his head, took another draw from the bottle. His lips compressed into a thin line and he turned to look at her. "Chopsticks. I want to learn to play Chopsticks."
"Why?"
He stared at her a moment and she seemed to be examining him carefully. Her eyes held his, not the dark brown of hers, but a light amber. "I see," her voice was soft and her smile became almost sad.
His brows came in a deep crease, "What do you see?"
She shook her head slightly, "Jenny learned to play that song just last week. She told me she showed it to you."
He stared hard at her trying to read what was happening behind the cool and calm face. "What else did she tell you?"
"That you didn't know how to play it."
He shook his head and sat the beer down with a thump. "I'm sorry, this was a mistake. Thank you for your time. If you'll just tell me what I owe you I'll be going."
He stepped passed her toward the door but was stopped by the gentle pressure of her hand on his wrist. He stared down at the long thin fingers that rested against the dark blue fabric of his cuff. "Two things, Daniel," her voice was clear and firm. "This was not a mistake. Jenny is your daughter and it is a wonderful thing that you want to learn more about the things that are important to her. Secondly," the voice became gentler and the edges of her mouth twitched, "I never charge for the first lesson." She did not release him as she stood. "So, if you'll bring your drink over to the piano, we'll get started."
She lifted her hand from him and walked away carrying her own bottle and coaster. She didn't turn to look at him and he found himself standing there watching the smooth outline of her body as she lifted the bench top and pulled out some papers. She sat down with her back to him and waited.
Daniel reached for his beer, and remembering his coaster, joined her. She looked up as he stepped into view and smiled. Her face is beautiful when she smiles, he thought. I should pick Jenny up from her lessons more often. He settled himself beside her. The seat may have been more than adequate for an adult and child, but two adults found themselves sitting very close together. The warmth of her thigh was passing through the fabric of his jeans and warming his skin.
"Ok, you don't really want to learn all the gritty details. You just want to be able to play this with Jenny and to get the general idea, right?" She was putting the sheet music in place as she spoke.
"I guess," he mumbled. He stared at the page before him. All of the lines, and dots blurred together and jumbled and danced in his vision without any clear pattern or meaning.
"Ok, lets start with the keys," her hand reached in front of him and his eyes followed it.
"The black and white keys form a repeating pattern. It's easier to see if you focus on the black keys, a group of two then a group of three. Do you see it?"
He looked blankly at the keys for a moment then he did see it. He reached out his hand. "From here," he touched the C key, "to here," he touched the next C an octave higher. "It repeats, I can see it." He turned to face her. "It's like some of the more elaborate fences we put up. They come in sections and we piece the sections together."
"Exactly," she said and he saw her smile slightly. "The keyboard is made up of these sections." She gestured to the sections that lay in front of him. "These are the lower register and we play them with the left hand." She then stretched her other hand before her and off to her right, "These are the upper register and we play these with the right hand."
She had taken his hand in hers before he realized she was reaching for it. She folded her fingers around his hand pressing his thumb and three of his fingers into a ball so that only his index finger remained pointing outward. "And this," she struck one of the C keys that lay center just under the stenciled letters of the piano maker's name, "is middle C. It is the dividing point."
Her hand was cool and soft. Something about the way the fingers felt as they cupped his own made his breath falter. He looked up to see her watching his face expectantly.
"Middle C," he managed to croak out.
Her smile broadened and to his disappointment she released his hand. "Now, you're going to want to learn to play the lower part for Jenny. Chopsticks isn't normally a duet, it's a simple piece that teaches students the coordination of both hands, but it can be broken up and played in the separate registers or in two parts just like Heart and Soul."
"Heart and Soul?" he asked.
"That comes a bit later, don't worry about it now," she shook her head and he watched the light play against the skin of her face casting its shadows and drawing the cheekbones out. He felt something inside him jump as her tongue slipped out to wet her lips. Pulling out a long narrow piece of cardboard, she set it over the keys. The cardboard was marked with letters and colored dots that repeated a pattern just as the keys did
"This," she said pointing it the sheet music in front of them, "is the music for the song. These dots correspond to these letters. Jenny has learned the letters and which keys are which. That takes a long time and I don't think it's really all that important for what we want to do here." She shifted the page and behind it sat another page marked by a series of colored dots.
She turned to him and grinned slyly. "I use the colors with my younger students. Before they can really learn to read music."
He groaned inwardly. Great, he thought, she thinks you are about as smart as a preschooler.
Her grin faded and she grew serious. "I'm not implying, Daniel, that you couldn't learn the other way, just that it would take longer."
His eyes widened. Was he that transparent? Was he that obvious? He lost the thought as her hands touched his. "This is normally played with one hand, but let's try it with two." Slowly she placed his fingers on the keys. Once they were in place, she put her hands over his and pressed them down to strike the notes.
Several minutes passed as she repeated this process for him, walking him through the first few measures of the song. At length she stood up. He went to draw back his hands, but she stopped him. "Don't move." She came up behind him and reached around him to place her hands on his. "That's better," she muttered, "I normally do this from behind, it's a bit awkward side by side." Again she moved his fingers through the patterns matching the colored dots on the cardboard to the colored dots on the paper.
He was finding it hard to concentrate. Her scent was filling his head and the warmth of her hands sent furious tingles up his arms. It was when she leaned closer and he felt the small firm breasts brush his back that he sucked in a deep breath. Her hands were on his, her face next to his over his right shoulder. He slowly turned to look at her. Her breath was warm and he could feel it pass over his skin. He looked into her eyes and she gazed back at him. He couldn't have moved away from her if he had been forced to. And he was noticing she wasn't moving away from him.
Daniel turned his head farther. She followed suit and he found himself just inches away from her mouth. That lovely full mouth. He wanted to feel it. He wanted to know how it felt pressed to his. He leaned in slowly. She didn't move. Surely she knew what he wanted to do, what he was going to do, but she didn't move. His lips brushed hers in a soft flutter. She didn't pull away.
He touched his mouth to hers in earnest now, kissing her soft lips. His hand came up and touched the side of her face. He felt her shudder and heard a small gasp pull into her as she broke the kiss. He waited. Watching her face. The deep pools of her eyes held him captive. He watched as she turned her body and sat down next to him on the bench, facing away from him. Her body may have been turned away from him, but her eyes never left his. Thank God, he thought. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to draw another breath, wasn't sure he heart would still beat if she took those eyes from him now.
Her hand reached up to touch his face. It brushed over his jaw, fingertips trailing carelessly. She stroked the other side of his face with the backs of those same fingers. Daniel leaned in and stopped. She was searching his face, his eyes, but what she was looking for he didn't know. Maggie met his lips with her own, kissing him gently. She was so soft, so warm and soft. His hands touched her face again. For some reason, it seemed to him that that was all he was permitted to touch. His hands never strayed below the curve of her jaw. He felt her lips part and tentatively slipped his tongue between his own and touched them. A soft moan met his overture and those lovely sweet tasting lips parted to allow him to enter her even sweeter tasting mouth.
Emboldened by the way her tongue met his; he slipped his hand down to her neck. He felt her stiffen slightly, but when he simply rested his hand against her neck and stroked her jaw with his thumb she relaxed.
Daniel moved his kiss from her mouth to brush against her cheeks. The feeling of the skin beneath his lips brought a flare in him that centered in the pit of his stomach. He moved his kiss over her face and to her ear. He kissed the lobe gently and brushed his lips against the outer ridge. He let his breath "accidentally" pass over her and felt the shiver that moved through her. He moved his lips lower and they met the fine silk of the scarf she wore. He kissed along the edge of this barrier then moved back to her mouth. Her tongue met his lips and pushed into his mouth. He welcomed it and sucked lightly at the brushed velvet invader.
He eased away from the kiss and returned to her neck. As he began to push the scarf down to expose more of her wondrous skin she pulled away from him. Her breathing was rapid and she clutched at the scarf pulling it back up. She turned her face away from him. He watched her profile. She stared at the opposite wall.
"Maggie," he whispered. She didn't answer. He lifted his hand and stroked her face, "Maggie, what is it? What's wrong?"
She shook her head and didn't answer. He tried once more, "Maggie are you angry?" He knew she wasn't. She still did not answer. "Did I upset you? Do something wrong?"
She turned toward him then wearing a soft but sad smile. "No Daniel. You didn't do anything wrong."
"You did want me to kiss you, didn't you?" he asked. He knew she had. He wasn't a schoolboy, he knew she had wanted his kiss.
"Yes. I very much wanted you to kiss me. It wasn't anything you did." She brushed her hand down his skin letting it trail down his jaw, his neck, over his shoulder and down his sleeve. "I think that's enough for one night," she sighed.
"When can I come back, Maggie?" he asked softly. "I can come back?"
Her smile brightened. "Of course. Did you want to come at the same time?"
He caught her hands in his. This is stupid, a part of his brain told him. Absolutely stupid. This girl is educated, she's got class, she's everything you're not. She may not mind roughing it in the short term, but in the long term you know perfectly well that you'll never be quite good enough. He tried to shove the thoughts away. He couldn't make them leave, but his mouth certainly wasn't listening to them. "I don't want to wait a week, Maggie."
"I have students all afternoon tomorrow," she whispered. "Jenny is here at 4pm."
"Let me come later. Let me come tomorrow, after your regular students."
She smiled at him. "You want another lesson that badly?" her voice was tense even if her face wore a smile.
"No," he said simply.
Her eyes met his and she studied him again. It surprised him that this didn't unsettle him. When Maggie studied him, when she looked into his eyes, it was a peaceful feeling, not a challenge. She turned away from his gaze and rose. "Tomorrow, 7pm?
"That's great," it wasn't his weekend with Jenny so he'd have no conflict. He rose and followed her to the door.
"Oh, Daniel, I said there was no charge for the first lesson," his head shot around. He had forgotten. Forgotten he was there as a business arrangement.
"Right," he said firmly. "What kind of fee did you have in mind for tomorrow."
She smiled at him. "Well if I'm teaching you Chopsticks, what do you say I teach you to use chopsticks and you provide what we'll use them on?"
A weight lifted in his chest and he drew in the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. She was talking about dinner. She simply wanted him to bring dinner.
He smiled at her and reached out to touch her face. "You're on."
*****
When she answered the door he smiled and held up two bags. "Chinese ok?" She returned his smile and stepped aside to let him pass. He noticed she was dressed almost exactly as she had been yesterday except that the skirt was fuller, longer and the simple studs in her ears had been replaced by complex silver patterns that swayed when she moved her head.
As before, she provided the drinks and surprised him when she bypassed the chair and sofa to drop onto the rug. The soft gray plush gave as he stepped over to join her. He pulled a drink from the bottle and positioned himself to where he was sitting next to her, close but he hoped not too close. She sat with legs crossed and began to pull the cartons from the bags. She opened each carton and it wasn't until she pulled out the shrimp fried rice that she turned her nose up at anything he had chosen. "That one is yours," she muttered and pushed the carton toward him. "The rest you'll have to share."
She picked up one of the sets of cheap chopsticks that the restaurant had thrown into the bag and rose up on her knees. Easily as if they were old friends she took his hand. He couldn't believe the change in her. She was still the image of elegance, of class but there was an ease about her manner as she sat there on the floor, as she reached for his hand. "Ok," she directed, "you hold them like this." She formed his fingers around the wooden sticks.
Picking up one of the cartons and the other set of chopsticks, she pulled up a mouthful of Lo Mein. He watched her fold the soft noodles into her mouth and chew. He tried to remember if Jill had ever been this way. He had thought the two women so similar, still did, but no. Jill had never curled up on the floor, Jill never ate anything out of a box...not handfuls of cereal, not even pizza. Take out pizza was transferred to a serving plate and then eaten.
Maggie swallowed the mouthful and looked up at him. "Well, what are you waiting for? That's a lot of shrimp fried rice you have over there." Her smile lit up her face. There was something so special about the way her eyes shown when she smiled.
Daniel fumbled with the chopsticks and dropped a clump of rice on the front of his shirt. Maggie chuckled and picked up a napkin and wiped it away. He watched the contrast of her dark hands on his white shirt... well, now white with a large grease spot.
"Let me fix that," she smiled and stood up. He looked up at her confused. "Your shirt," she said nodding to the spot. "If you give it to me now I can get it before the spot sets."
He set down the chopsticks and started to unbutton his shirt. A wave of nervousness passed over him. Was she really just interested in his shirt or was she moving this along? Pulling his arms from the sleeves he handed it to her. She disappeared into the kitchen. He sat there in the khaki pants he had put on thinking he didn't want her to think he only wore jeans. The sleeveless undershirt was making him feel a good deal more exposed than he had ever imagined. It wasn't uncommon for him to strip down to this when working outside on a hot day. Now sitting in this living room, waiting for her to return he felt uncomfortable.
She came back in quickly and told him she had treated it with a bit of dishwashing soap and set it to soak. She was still smiling at him in a soft way; his change of attire didn't seem to bother her. Daniel picked up the chopsticks and tried to figure out how she had said to hold them. He heard her stifle a laugh and looked up sharply. He hated it when Jill laughed at him, hated it when she knew something he didn't. But the soft expression in those brown eyes drained all animosity from him.
She pressed her full lips together for a moment and then asked, "Do you trust me?"
He eyed her with exaggerated caution, "Why?"
"You're not a germ-
"No," he tilted his head slightly, just what was she getting at.
She rose back up on her knees and reached for the box. "I can't believe I'm going to actually touch one of those things," she muttered to herself. Looking up into his eyes, her lips twitching playfully, "It is much easier if you do this." She dipped her fingers into the box and came up with a clump of rice and shrimp. He watched her fingers as they came closer to his face, closer to his mouth. When he felt the brush of the rice on his lips he opened them. She placed the food in his mouth and drew back her hand.
Chewing, he held her eyes as she sat back down and picked up her own box. She didn't break the gaze until she had lifted finger fulls of the soft Lo Mein noodles into her own mouth. At that point Daniel couldn't stop the laugh that fell from his own lips. No, Jill would never have done that. He reached down and began to eat with his fingers. His laugh seemed to erase any tension, any uncertainty left.
As they sat there on the rug eating from the boxes which had ended up with a sort of his/her separation on the table, they talked. She was educated. She was working on her Masters in Music. Summer jobs helped to pay for this townhouse along with the music lessons she gave and her tuition was eased by a graduate assistant's stipend from the University. Her parents had been comfortable by the time she entered college, but not comfortable enough to help with school. Scholarships and part time jobs had been needed for that.
"My dad was a carpenter," she told him as they continued to pick at the food.
"A carpenter?" he nearly choked.
Maggie smiled at him, "Yes, just like you. He worked for someone else and eventually started his own crew. They did mostly very skilled jobs like inlaid floors, built custom cabinetry. Dad said he had had enough of the outdoor stuff and still specializes in helping restore old homes."
Daniel smiled slyly, "I'm still mostly an outdoor guy. We put up custom fences, gazebos, garages, additions. I love the furniture making, the real craftsman's work, but until you make a name for yourself it's hard to pay the bills that way."
"Daniel," she said very seriously. "There is something I've been wanting to ask you."
He frowned and he swallowed hard. "Yes."
"Do you think I could get some of the sweet and sour chicken," she said with mock earnestness.
His laugh pulled from his gut and rang out in the tiny space. It wove itself around the high tinkling laugh that answered him and made beautiful music for a moment. "Sure, I think I can be persuaded to part with a piece or two. I've been eyeing that Lo Mein myself."
She lifted a scoop of the soft noodles and held them out to him. He leaned in and closed his lips around her fingers. He watched her eyes as he did. The brown was so soft he felt as if he could wrap himself in it. Her fingertips touched his tongue as he sucked the offering from her outstretched hand. He lifted his own hand and caught her wrist. Slowly and deftly he licked each finger, holding her hand he chewed quickly and swallowed. Then his tongue darted out again and brushed the fingers. Pulling her hand closer, he closed his lips around each finger and sucked it softly. Her face lost its smile and the eyes darkened.
He released her hand and he picked up the piece of chicken, cupping his hand beneath it to catch the dripping sauce. He placed it in her mouth. She did not touch his fingers, but caught the morsel with her teeth and pulled away. Disappointment burst in him. Then suddenly both slender hands were holding his wrists while she chewed. He watched her jaw work and the faint movements of her lips. He remembered the soft movement of those lips under his the night before. Again his body reacted powerfully to the sight of that tongue as it swept out.
She pulled his hand toward her. If this was what it had felt like for her when he had touched, licked and sucked at her fingers, he hoped like hell he'd get a chance to do that for her again. The brush of her tongue, the gentle suction was causing a tightness in his groin and his mind was filling with thoughts of the places on his body he'd like to feel that sensation. When she pulled her mouth from his fingers he laced those fingers with the ones that had been holding his wrist. Her other hand lifted the hand that had cupped the chicken and caught the sweet sauce as it dripped. She lowered her head. He noticed, not for the first time that her hair was not pulled back as tightly. It was smoothed back and clasped in a clip that let the ends fall free just over her collar. He lost all interest in her hair and collar when he felt her tongue stroke over the palm of his hand. He shifted. Not his body, but him. A part of him was wide awake now and shifting, he felt the soft shudder that heralded the hardness that would soon grow there.
She lifted her face to look at him. Surely his passion, his arousal was clear for her to read. It seemed as if it was, as she moved toward him and claimed his lips with her own. The move was not aggressive, but an open display of her own awakening need. Her hands were pressed to the sides of his face and he wrapped his arms around her. She felt so wonderful in his arms. Her body was tall, lithe and hard. He pulled her tight to his chest and the small breasts pushed back against the thin fabrics that separated them.
He met her kiss and reveled in the feel of her tongue playing on his. As she withdrew he followed and pushed over her teeth and explored the warm wet depths of her. Pulling his lips from hers he kissed at her neck. He loved her neck. The skin had been so soft, so sweet under his lips. Again the scarf was knotted high on her throat. He began to push it down wanting more of her, more of this warm silk skin.
She didn't move from him, she simply put her arms against his shoulders and pushed herself back. She looked into his eyes and what he saw stunned him. Fear. She was afraid. His hands rested softly on her hips. "Maggie, what is it? What's wrong?"
She sighed. "Tonight has been so nice, Daniel. So nice."
"Do you want to stop, Maggie? Is that it? I won't be angry if that's what you want. Just tell me." He lifted his hand to her face and brushed it down her cheek. The fear in her face began to mix with sadness.
"No. Daniel I don't want to stop, but you might." She looked down, her eyes not meeting his.
"As long as what we're doing is what you want, Maggie, I can assure you I don't want to stop." He moved his hand around her waist and stroked the small of her back through the fabric.
"You will when you see this," she whispered. She lifted her hands from his shoulders. She unbuttoned the top buttons on her blouse and unknotted the scarf. She took a deep breath and pulled the scarf from her neck and opened the neckline of her shirt.
The beautiful brown skin was marred. A large uneven light patch ran down the side of her neck, down her chest and disappeared across her shoulder under the shirt. The skin of the patch had raised striations, rough and puckered areas.
"Several years ago we were at my grandmother's. The younger children were running in and out. One of them came tearing through just as my grandmother was moving a boiling pot from the stove. My cousin plowed into her and my grandmother reacted by trying to yank the pot so it would spill away from the child. Unfortunately that meant it fell on me."
Daniel lifted his hand to touch her shoulder. She closed her eyes but allowed him to touch her. The rough and raised skin moved under his fingers. He felt its boundaries and traced his fingers around its edge. "My mother always said I was lucky it missed my face," she whispered.
"This must have hurt so much," his own voice soft and quiet. God this must have hurt her so very badly. She simply nodded. Daniel understood. He put his fingers under her chin and lifted her face to him. She allowed him to lift her face, but was slow to lift her eyes to his. He waited until she was looking at him. "You thought this would matter to me."
"I hoped..." her voice broke off. "I didn't know," she finished.
Daniel leaned in and kissed her. He brushed his lips over hers and then pressed the kiss deeper. He urged her lips open and sat there kissing her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. He unfolded his legs and she moved to sit on his lap. He pulled her tighter and her long legs wrapped around his hips. The pressure of her sitting against him made him ache, it created an instant response she could not have missed. Pulling from her lips, he kissed his way down her neck. He felt her stiffen, but continued his course. He pressed his lips to the raised area, to the scars and marks that covered her skin. He moved passed them, pushing the collar of her shirt as far as he could to allow his kiss to trail over her shoulder.
Her fingers were now tangled in his dark blond hair as he held her close and pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat. He moved one hand up her slowly, almost waiting for her to stop him. He cupped his hand over her breast. The nipple was hard and pressed back sharply against his palm. Claiming her lips again with his he moved his hand over her, swallowing her gasp as he rolled the firm tip under his hand.
She pushed away slightly and pressed her lips to his face and neck. She lifted her hips as he pulled her skirt out from under her and brought the moist silk of her panties into direct contact with the straining hardness pressing against his own clothes. He moved his hand up her long thigh. She shifted over him and he groaned. God he wanted her. He lowered his head and started to unbutton the blouse. He stopped. Her hands were moving down his chest and he placed his hands over them, pressing them to him, stopping their movement. This wasn't what he wanted. Hell, it was what he wanted, but not like this. This wasn't what he wanted.
She pulled back confused and he saw the fear and sadness again.
"No," he whispered to her. "No, my Maggie, not that. It's not that."
She lowered her eyes and he pressed in to kiss her. She kissed him back but it was different. He broke the kiss and placed both hands on her face, cradling it. "It's not that, Maggie. I want you. You're beautiful. More beautiful now than the first time I saw you. More beautiful than you were yesterday and I know you will be more beautiful to me tomorrow. Beyond knowing the pain it must have caused I don't care about the scar."
The look in her eyes was almost desperate. She wanted to believe him he knew. "Maggie I want you. I want right more than almost anything to press you back on this floor and explore your body. To touch you, to taste you, to please you. I want to feel your touch on my body, to feel the warmth of your embrace. More than almost anything."
She nodded and put her hand up to his face. "I want it to. I truly do Daniel."
"I know." His hand brushed across her skin, down her neck and over her shoulder. "Do you know what I want more than to be with you tonight?"
She met his eyes and shook her head, he wondered what she was thinking, what she expected him to say.
"To be with you tomorrow, next week, next month. I want this to be something more than just this. I want to know you and I want you to know me. Then, in a few days, weeks if we need to, I want to make love to you Maggie. That's what I want it to be. That's what I want more than to be with you tonight. I want to make love to you."
*****
He sat in the folding chair and watched his daughter give her recital. Pride burst in his chest as Jenny flowed through the piece with no mistake. He had heard it over and over again these past couple of weeks. Jill sat next to him with Marty beside her. His eyes strayed over to the edge of the small platform and the woman who stood there, more nervous for her small student than the student herself. He watched the clenched hands twist themselves. Jenny finished, made her curtsey and walked over to join him.
Later, standing in Jill and Marty's house, Daniel watched Jenny come rushing toward him. She grabbed his hand and drug him to the piano. "Time for your recital." Her mother and stepfather stood there wearing smiles as Jenny pushed him down on the bench. "Chopsticks, Daddy," she looked up at her mother and smiled. "It's still all he knows."
Jill smiled as he indulged his daughter and began to peck out the repetitive notes, this time playing with both hands and playing the entire piece himself. She looked over his shoulder and shook her head. "Maggie, haven't you gotten him to learn something else by now?"
The warm soft hand slipped over his shoulder. He leaned to the side and pressed his cheek to the dark rich skin of the arm. "I'm afraid not. However, the doll house he and Jenny are building is coming along nicely."
"It's not for me," Jenny answered quickly, feeling far too old to be playing with dolls. "I'll be able to pass it on to my new little sister. How much longer do I have to wait?"
Daniel leaned back against Maggie's swollen stomach. He lifted her left hand to his lips and pressed his kiss to the band of gold. "Sometimes kiddo, the best things in our lives are the ones we chose to wait for."
Author’s Bio
Jacquéline Roth is by passion and profession a teacher of writing, reading and literature to middle school students. Her first novel, Access Denied was released through Cerridwen Press. Roth currently resides in Atlanta, GA, where she finds the human component of her family seriously outnumbered by canine and avian members. However, she has been promised that if she can find a Were or a dragon, she is allowed to bring it home and keep it.
Visit her website here.
© 2008 eMuse-
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