J.E. Reno
The air was cool when they left the beach party that summer night and walked along the alley. He felt the warmth of Belle’s hand seep into his as she grabbed it to steady her stride. In his other hand he held a small bag of figs she had brought to the party for him.
“Can you drive?” Belle asked. “It’s not far and I would rather you take me home than an Uber.”
“Sure, I can drive, but don’t tell Susie,” he said as they turned onto the sidewalk toward his car. “We’ll take the back streets.”
As they neared his car he felt her sway. He put his arm around her to stop her from stumbling, then opened the car door and guided her into the passenger seat. Gently, he closed her door, went round to the driver side, and got in. He put the bag of figs on the back seat.
“Thanks for driving me home, Ish,” Belle said as he started the engine. “By the way, how did you get the nickname Ish?”
“Ish is my nom de guerre when I play in chess tournaments,” he explained as he pulled the car away from the curb. “Scott learned about it and has called me that ever since. Susie and the kids also call me Ish.”
“They sure think a lot of you,” Belle said looking over at him. She focused on his face dimly lit by the red glow of dashboard lights and smiled. “I think a lot of you, too, you know.”
Carefully maneuvering the car along a dark street he looked over at her briefly and smiled. “Really? Are you kidding?” he asked. “What a sweet thing to say. I’m honored.”
Minutes later he slowly drove the car into Belle’s driveway and stopped by the door to her house where a large fig tree grew. When he turned off the engine she put her arm around his neck and leaned close to kiss him. Her lips felt warm and moist against his, and she pushed her tongue onto his where they danced. He heard her moan softly and felt her body relax. Then Belle leaned back.
“Wow,” she whispered. “Come in for a while so we can continue this, okay?”
“Belle,” he said looking into her sparkling eyes, “I would love to, but I shouldn’t. Thanks for the compliment, though. It means a lot to me.”
Belle leaned in for another kiss, then said, “Oh, come on in, silly. It’ll be fun. You know there is something going on between us. I feel it, and I know you feel it.”
Excitement rushed through him as they embraced. She was right. He had secretly loved her for years. Belle unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the car door. Turning back to look at him, she smiled and said, “Please come in, okay?”
Pondering vows, he got out of the car and quietly closed his door and glanced at the bag of figs. He heard waves crashing on the beach in the distance as he walked around to her side of the car. With arms around each other they slowly walked up to the house where Belle accidentally dropped her keys in a bush under the fig tree. When she found them she fumbled with one after another, trying each one in the lock, then gave up. Giving the keys to him, he quickly found the right key, put it in the lock, and opened the door to the kitchen.
Belle’s house was dark when they entered and she turned on a light. He could see it was small inside, and full of mirrors, artwork, books, and antiques. A silver candelabra with tall candles stood on a wood table next to a crystal vase full of Stargazer lilies. He smelled their intoxicating fragrance in the air. The living room had a small fireplace, more artwork, and portraits of children. Old letters laid out like playing cards were on the kitchen counter next to a bowl of figs.
A daybed in the living room was made up with a white comforter and big down pillows. Belle sat down on it and pulled him down next to her. They embraced and resumed kissing. When he leaned back on the pillows to catch his breath, she changed position, straddled his board shorts, and ground herself into him. When he reached under her summer blouse to support her, his fingers felt the lacy pattern of her bra.
“Belle,” he whispered, “you should take off your bra.” She ignored his request, smiled, and leaned down to kiss him.
“Kiss me like we are in kindergarten,” she said excitedly.
His hands left her sides and tenderly held her face. Closing his eyes to find playground images in his mind, he put his lips softly onto hers, but all he could see were ripe figs. And then a little voice in his head warned him to be cautious.
J.E. Reno writes fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. His work has been published in numerous literary journals and poetry reviews. He is also known for his colorful mosaics and found art pieces.