Title: Snapshots: Anthology of a Life Well Lived
Author: Kimberly21570
Fandoms: Guiding Light / All My Children
Pairings: Olivia and Natalia / Lena and Bianca
Disclaimers and Other Assorted Ramblings: The characters of Olivia and Emma Spencer, and Natalia Rivera, are owned by CBS/TeleNext and Proctor & Gamble. The characters of Lena Kundera and Bianca Montgomery are owned by All My Children, ABC/Disney and Prospect Park. The original characters of Jordan and Alexandria "Lexie" Montgomery-Kundera, and Jennifer, Tracy, Jacob, Dylan, and Gianna Jackson-Morgan and their extended family are the property of this author, and any resemblance to fictional characters, or real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
No copyright infringement intended with regard to Guiding Light, CBS/TeleNext, Proctor & Gamble, AMC, ABC/Disney, or any other entity. The dialogue, settings, and story content in these scenes are original. Written for fun, not profit. All other standard disclaimers apply.
Thanks to my pal, MoniRod for the edit. You totally Rock, Woman! I appreciate you, and I owe you—BIG TIME!
Rating: Chapter 3 is rated PG-13, though this story will eventually reach NC-17.
Synopsis: It's a stroll down memory lane for Olivia and Natalia, Lena and Bianca, and their friends and family, as two of our favorite couples' daughters prepare to enter into wedded bliss, in a double wedding… of sorts…
Author's Note: Pay particular attention to the transitions in time, as this chapter contains a flashback within a flashback. It begins with 29-year-old Emma, moves back to the summer when she and Jordan were 20 and 17, respectively, and finally flashes back to the fall of Emma and Dylan's senior year of high school. Also, I admittedly know nothing about football or how recruiters work at the high school level, so let's just chalk up any mistakes or misconceptions to creative license. But please, educate me, if you know better! I'm always open to learning new things.
Hope you all enjoy!
Kim
Snapshots: Anthology of a Life Well Lived
Copyright September 2012
"When I feel that chill, smell that fresh cut grass, I'm back in my helmet, cleats, and shoulder pads. Standin' in the huddle listenin' to the call… Fans goin' crazy for the boys of fall…
They didn't let just anybody in that club. Took every ounce of heart and sweat and blood, to get to wear those game day jerseys down the hall. The kings of the school, man, we're the boys of fall…
Well it's, turn and face the stars and stripes. It's fightin' back them butterflies. It's call it in the air alright, yes sir, we want the ball. And it's knockin' heads and talkin' trash. It's slingin' mud and dirt and grass. It's I got your number, I got your back, when your back's against the wall. You mess with one man, you got us all. The boys of fall…
In little towns like mine, it's all they got. Newspaper clippings fill the coffee shops. The old men will always think they know it all. Young girls will dream about the boys of fall…"
— Kenny Chesney, "The Boys of Fall"
Chapter 3: Friday Night Lights:
Moshup Beach, Martha's Vineyard—Saturday, April 21, 2029, 8:15 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time
Through the years, Emma Spencer-Rivera and Jordan Montgomery-Kundera had shared so many memories, so many special occasions, that it was impossible to recount them all. Yet, they never took those moments for granted, never lost sight of their intrinsic value, regardless of where life had taken them. Life had somehow come full-circle now, and in less than two months they would share the most special, the most joyous of all—a double wedding—with those they loved most.
But today, this weekend, was all about Jordan. Emma had insisted that it be that way. She would have her turn soon enough, she reasoned, and then they would celebrate with her set of close friends and college suitemates, at the original Beacon property in Springfield. She was very much looking forward to seeing old friends, and she had no doubt that her own shower would be spectacular, but being here for Jordan meant far more to her than her own gathering. This was a time to celebrate her childhood playmate, her teenaged coconspirator, her lifelong friend and confidante, and Emma couldn't think of a better way to spend such a glorious springtime weekend.
Clad in shimmery gold running shorts, a faded blue U of M T-shirt, and her favorite pair of running shoes, Emma bounded down the steps that led from the back deck of her family's summer home on Martha's Vineyard, onto the familiar beach below. Her mothers, Olivia and Natalia Spencer-Rivera had purchased the beach house a few years after their first trip to visit Olivia's longtime friend, Lena Montgomery-Kundera and her family. After several trips where they stayed with Aunt Lena's family, a neighboring home went on the market, and her mothers had made a swift decision to buy it. The purchase hadn't changed a thing for Emma and Jordan though, because Jordan always insisted that her Emma stay at the cottage with her, whenever the two families visited the Vineyard together.
With so much going on, both at her parents' beach house and at the Montgomery-Kundera cottage, this particular morning brought a late start to everyone's routine, including Emma's. Most mornings she was out the door just before the break of dawn, and back in time for the rest of the house—with the exception of her mother and Aunt Lena who usually ran with her—to just be rousing from sleep.
Admittedly, she loved to watch the sunrise cast its brilliance across the surface of the ocean, almost as much as she loved to watch the sunset glistening off the bay. But this morning, other things had garnered her attention—and she hadn't been the least bit sorry about that particular turn of events. There would always be another sunrise, she mused. And nothing would ever surpass those early morning whispers, those sweet, tender kisses, those soft, sensual caresses, shared with the love of her life.
A sated grin plastered across her face, she set out on her usual course, swiftly making her way northward on the island. As she covered the familiar terrain, she encountered scenes of a different nature than what she was accustomed to finding in the breaking dawn. She passed two small children with brightly colored plastic pails and shovels, playing in the sand, their parents lounging in beach chairs nearby. And an elderly couple carefully ambled along the boardwalk that ran parallel to the shore, the gentleman offering his wife support as she tottered along with the aid of a thick wooden cane. There were other joggers, as well; some running with their dogs the way Aunt Lena had run with Sandy for so many years. And in the distance, a lone kayaker paddled through the surf.
The scenes registered with her, but didn't linger. Instead, her mind was filled with thoughts of Jordan, of the memories they had shared through the years. And without even realizing where she was going, she found herself jogging along the shores of Moshup Beach, near Gay Head Cliffs. It was a beach she knew well, after years of summering on the Vineyard with her family, and she lost herself in the familiar sights and sounds of the surf and sand.
As a child, she had played there with Jordan and Lexie and their younger siblings. As a teenager, she had jogged there many mornings with her mother and Aunt Lena. And as an adult, the beach—the cliffs that loomed above, in particular—had come to be a part of her romantic history. For better or worse, a part she would never forget.
Halfway through her morning run, she came upon the large, weathered boulder she knew she would find near the base of the mammoth cliffs. Deliberately, she slowed her pace from a steady run to a moderate jog, then into a fast walk, and finally into her natural gait.
Toned muscles rippled beneath lightly tanned skin that glistened with sweat, as she dropped down onto a surface that had been smoothed over by decades of others who had stopped there to rest. Bending her knee, she propped her right foot against the slope of the rock, as she drew in deep, deliberate inhalations of the fresh ocean air, purposefully slowing her breathing, willing it to return to its normal rate. Then, with practiced ease, she slung one arm across her knee, as she unsnapped the holster that held her water bottle in place at her hip, with her free hand. And then, gazing out at the swells of water as they crashed rhythmically against the shore, she took a long draw of the cool, refreshing water.
When finally she returned the bottle to its holster, she casually wrapped her arms around her leg, and rested her chin against her knee. Thoughts still on Jordan, her mind drifted back to one of the defining moments in their lifelong relationship—to the beginning of the summer that, for better or worse, set a course that changed absolutely everything…
The Cottage, Martha's Vineyard—Saturday, July 17, 2021, 11:45 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time
Lounging against a pile of sand they had amassed earlier in the evening while building a bonfire for their younger siblings, Emma and Jordan relaxed, enjoying the sounds of the surf and the warm ocean breeze, as the last vestiges of the fire flickered against the darkening night sky. It was their first night together on the Vineyard for the season, and they had spent the hours since the youngsters went to bed, chattering about anything and everything. And now they were taking turns asking questions—some silly, some profound, discovering unknown pieces of one another, as they unwittingly deepened the connection that had begun when they were merely children.
"Charcoal… or gas?" Emma had heard the debate waged a thousand times over the years, especially while on the Vineyard with Jordan's family. Lena and Natalia preferred the gustatory experience of cooking over coals, while Olivia and Bianca preferred the ease of grilling with gas. It was always a battle.
"Ooh, like Mama says, gotta have the coals," Jordan answered humorously. "Everybody knows I'm Mama's girl." There was rapt fondness in her tone.
"That, you are." Emma's voice was gentle, and she smiled softly as her eyes fell upon the young woman next to her. God, she was beautiful, with those dark wavy locks draping her shoulders, framing the angular contours of her flawless face. And those gorgeous brown eyes that flashed dark with passion, and copper flecks that sparkled with joy as she laughed. She looked so much like her mama that Emma actually wondered how it was that her Aunt Bianca was Jordan's biological parent.
Oblivious to Emma's attentions, Jordan paused for a moment, her brow furrowed as she contemplated her next question. "Hmm… English muffin or bagel?"
"Bagel," Emma answered. "Definitely. With hazelnut cream cheese." She sounded as though her mouth was watering. "English muffins are the epitome of false advertisement," she commented offhandedly.
Jordan arched an eyebrow, making her look exactly like her mother. "What?"
Flustered, Emma wondered how the girl could manage to look like both of her mothers at once. Shaking the momentary distraction, she willfully focused on their conversation. "It's true," she insisted, albeit mildly. "They're neither English, nor muffins. That's false advertising."
"You're messed up," Jordan said with a teasing laugh.
Emma grinned, and swept shoulder-length chestnut locks behind her ear. "Tacos or burritos?" Her right knee bent, she casually wrapped her arms around it, as she leaned in toward the waning fire.
"Tacos, hands down. I can't stand beans." Jordan grimaced at the thought.
"And yet you love chili." Emma noted the marked discrepancy.
"Bean-less," Jordan countered, gesturing with a raised index finger for emphasis. "Mom has a killer recipe." Reaching over, she pulled her water bottle from the cooler that was nestled in the sand between them, uncapped it, and took a long drink.
"Huh…" Emma murmured. Her face held a skeptical look. "Bean-less chili. Who knew?"
Jordan chuckled softly. "Trust me, you'd like it," she boldly asserted.
Emma looked amused, as Jordan turned her attention back to their game. "Welch's® or Smucker's®?" she posed, as she tipped the bottle toward Emma, in silent offer. Emma shook her head, indicating a decline, and Jordan recapped the bottle and slid it back into the ice.
"Ooh, with a name like Smucker's®…"
Emma's play on the old television commercial drew another laugh from Jordan. "Country or Pop?" she posed.
"A little of both," Emma answered. "With a side of classic rock."
"Define classic." Jordan emphasized the genre.
"Anything older than my Mom," Emma grinned.
"Good answer." Jordan admired Emma's obvious regard for her mother. "First kiss?"
"Ooh!" That one got Emma's attention, because it opened the opportunity to ask the same of Jordan. For some reason that she found difficult to explain, she really wanted to know. But she forced that thought aside for the moment, not really wanting to deal with what it meant, and focused on the question. "First, first, or meaningful first?" she asked, seeking clarification.
"Mm… Both," Jordan replied.
"Okay… the very first was Dylan, in the fifth grade," Emma answered.
"Why Dylan, in particular?" Jordan inquired, with curiosity in her tone.
"Well, I thought his older brother Jacob absolutely hung the moon back then, but he wouldn't give me the time of day." Emma's soft titter was followed by a shrug. "So I kissed Dylan, instead." Her memory flashed back to that hot July afternoon, and she grinned.
"I can't imagine anyone passing on a chance to kiss you," Jordan whispered softly enough that Emma almost missed the comment. Their eyes met, locking in the firelight, and Jordan blushed crimson, realizing that she'd said it out loud. Where on earth did that come from? she wondered, even more startled by the unexpected revelation that she actually felt that way. She wished she hadn't put that bottle away, so she would have something to focus on beside Emma's penetrating gaze.
Emma's heart began to pound within her chest; and she felt it slowly descend through her body, submerging like a cannon ball, until it came to rest somewhere near the source of that incessant fluttering that had accosted her the moment she laid eyes on the girl that morning.
Jordan had always been beautiful, but now, at seventeen, she was simply stunning, and Emma had had a difficult time not staring at the girl. And now, she struggled to compose herself, a shy smile flickering across trembling lips, as Jordan sat next to her, attempting to cover the blunder; both of them hopeful that the firelight would provide cover for flushed cheeks.
"Actually, he kissed me… after I shoved him into the pond," Emma added, coming to Jordan's rescue the moment she managed to find her voice.
Jordan laughed, thankful for the save. It was totally like Emma—both to be Jordan's rescuer, and the catalyst of Dylan's impromptu swim. "Why am I not surprised?" she said dryly.
Instinctively, Emma knew Jordan was referring to the swim. "Probably because I've thrown you into the surf more than once," she grinned proudly.
That was certainly true enough. A wistful smile graced Jordan's face as she recalled the many times Emma has brazenly scooped her up, and dunked her into the ocean. Glancing at Emma's toned biceps, she considered her own mounting strength in the wake of her training, and wondered if she would be able to reciprocate this summer.
Acutely aware of Jordan's steady gaze upon her, Emma shifted, and broke the silence. "Anyway, that was the first of many kisses," she mused. "But our second was the one I remember best."
"Oh?" Jordan sounded curious. She settled in, and poised to hear Emma's story, she offered a quiet encourager, "Tell me about it…"
A bittersweet smile touched Emma's lips, and she felt a slight fluttering in her heart as her memory took her back to that night. "It was Homecoming night, our Senior Year," she shared. "He was quarterback, and we were celebrating after the big win. I was seventeen…"
Springfield Southeast High Football Stadium—Friday, October 5, 2018, 10:30 p.m. Central Daylight Time
Barreling across the field in a triumphant sprint, Dylan Morgan unsnapped the chin guard and whipped his football helmet off in a single fluid motion. It was senior year, and as starting quarterback for the Springfield Southeast Spartans, he had just led their team to a homecoming victory against their arch rival, the Oakdale Acers. The crowd was still buzzing with excitement as they exited the stands, and Dylan felt so high on adrenaline, he was certain he could fly.
He had attended Lincoln Prep with his brother Jacob, and their friend Emma Spencer-Rivera, until the ninth grade, when he had finally managed to cajole his mothers, Jen and Tracy Jackson-Morgan, into letting him transfer to Springfield Southeast High School, because Lincoln Prep didn't have a football team. Reluctantly, they had agreed, and his illustrious career as a hometown football hero had been born.
His mothers were there cheering him on that night, of course, just as they had every Friday night during football season for the past four years. His grandparents, Glenn and Michaela Jackson, his great-grandma Rosie, and his Aunt Bri and uncles, Logan, Cris, and Ronan were there, as well. Home or away, and regardless of the weather, when he had a game, they were right there. All of them. He couldn't have asked for a more supportive family.
He spotted them all in their usual seats, his little sister Gianna nestled between his two moms, with their best friends Olivia and Natalia Spencer-Rivera, sitting alongside, and everyone else sitting in the two rows behind them. It was easier to talk that way—and boy did they all love to talk! He smiled at the familiar sight, waved at them, and turned his attention toward the crowd that had gathered at the sidelines as they stood from their seats and began making their way down the bleachers. He knew he would find her there.
A typical early-October evening in Springfield, the air was crisp and cool. And sweat-soaked from nearly three hours of vigorous competition, his dark curls left a chill at the base of his neck as he rushed across the field. But he didn't care. All he could see was the stunning girl with soft layers of flowing chestnut framing her beautiful face and the most intense teal-blue eyes he had ever seen, waiting for him on the sidelines. She was his best friend, save his older brother Jacob, and he was so in love with her he couldn't see straight—had been, since he was eight years old. She loved to play with frogs, and wasn't afraid of bugs, after all.
And now, at seventeen, he was so blinded by the intensity of what he felt for her that the pressure of knowing she was watching his every move made him nervous beyond comprehension. As a result, he had often wondered how he even managed to catch the ball from their Center, let along get it to their Receiver without incident.
As he dashed across the field, quickly obliterating the distance between them, he knew in his gut that tonight was the night she would finally agree to be his, now and forever. She simply had to. There was no other way it could end. It was his night, and everything so far had played out in perfect accordance with his dreams.
Every single one of those bright floodlights could dim, and still, the smile on Emma's face would have lit up the entire stadium as she watched him running toward her. Despite the residue of filth and sweat after a game, he was always so handsome in his navy-blue jersey and tight, white pants, the number 15 shimmering in gold in the center of his chest and back as he moved across the field under the glow of those Friday Night Lights—the very essence of that exclusive club, "The Boys of Fall."
Even without the bulk of his shoulder pads, his chest and shoulders were broad, his build, stocky; but with them on, he looked as though he could carry the weight of the world on him, never showing signs of burden.
She was so proud of him, so excited for the future that lay ahead—tonight was huge for him, with recruiters from U of T, Ohio State, Penn State, University of Michigan, and Notre Dame all there to see him in action. That wasn't the norm when it came to college sports recruiters. Under normal circumstances, a player and his coach would have chosen tapes of his game plays to submit for consideration. But everything was different with Dylan. Word about him had spread like wildfire, and the scouts had been following his performance since his freshman year. And four years later, tapes simply wouldn't suffice for a player of his notoriety. The recruiters came in person just to meet him, and watch him in action. He was just that good.
And he certainly hadn't disappointed. He had played his heart out on that field, and she was certain they would all be relentlessly pursuing him. Selfishly, she hoped he would choose University of Michigan, where she would be pre-med the following fall. Though she had missed out on sharing experiences like Spirit Week with him, staying at Lincoln Prep had served her well in the pursuit of her dreams to become a cardiologist, just as transferring to SSHS was serving him in his quest to play for the a top-ranked NCAA team, and ultimately, the NFL. It was only a matter of time—she never doubted that for a moment.
One glimpse of that smile, and Dylan's dimples bloomed. Hastening his pace, his cleats dug into the artificial turf, and he shook his head; the sweat flinging from the tips of his curls, as he ran, anxious to get to her.
He tossed his helmet to the ground as he drew near, and then he was sweeping her up off of her feet, twirling her around. "We did it, Em!" he excitedly exclaimed. She was laughing, and it felt so good, so right, to have her in his arms. "We did it. We won!"
"I'm so proud of you, D," Emma crooned against his ear, as she hugged him, toned arms wrapped firmly around his neck. She didn't care that he was a filthy, sweaty, smelly mess—he was her Dylan, and she would never let him go. He put her down, and her hands fell naturally against his chest. "You were totally on your game tonight. I just know the recruiters will be all over you."
"Thanks." Thick dark lashes lowering bashfully, Dylan blushed under her praise. With everyone else, he was boisterous and proud, almost to the point of being conceited, strutting around like the hometown football hero that he was. But with Emma, he was different, more grounded, humbled. "Coach did me well, getting them here. I'm excited to talk with them."
"You deserve it, Dylan," Emma said with sincerity. "You've worked hard for it."
Before he could respond, he felt the tug of little arms around a muscled thigh, and his chest was being enveloped in crushing hugs from his mothers, one on each side. Though he wasn't quite as tall as Jacob, he towered over them now; the tops of their heads barely reaching his shoulders.
Laughing jovially, he reveled in their words of praise, and then he stooped down, effortlessly scooping his baby sister Gia up into his arms, and playfully tossed her into the air. She was the spitting image of him when he was her age. Her eyes and hair were dark like his, and like her birth mother's, and they sparkled in the bright lights of the stadium, as she squealed with utter delight.
Tracy had been pregnant with her the entire first half of his freshman year, but even at the end of her pregnancy, when she was swollen and miserable, she hadn't missed a single game. In fact, the more advanced her pregnancy became; the more enthusiastic she had been as she watched him play. Thankfully, Gia had waited until post-season to make her appearance, and she had been with them at every single game since then. Now, at two-and-a-half, his little sister was the light of his life, and as much as he couldn't wait to play college football, the thought of leaving her behind absolutely devastated him.
The rest of their family—his and Emma's—soon made their way down the stands, joining them, and the conversation continued, unfettered. Classmates, friends, and town folks alike offered him congratulatory words and slaps on the back as they passed by, filing out of the stadium. He called back thanks to each and every one of them, excitement and anticipation in his tone. But his focus was on Emma and their family.
"Hey, Morgan!" a baritone voice called out across the field, interrupting them. "Let's hustle. You've got some important folks to meet tonight."
Dylan grinned, and Emma beamed with excitement. "Be right there, Coach," he called back. His eyes never left Emma's. Gently, he pulled her aside. "I need to get cleaned up and meet with the recruiters. Will you wait for me?"
Emma chuckled at the silliness of his question. "Of course I'll wait for you," she said. "Don't I always?"
"Yeah—" Dylan blushed again in response.
"I'll have one of my moms take my car, and you can drop me at home later," Emma said assertively. "Deal?" She didn't have to ask. That was simply the way it had always been after the Friday night football game; though Jacob used to be with them too. Jake, as he wanted to be called now, was a freshman at Stanford University, studying mechanical engineering, and though she was happy for him that he was pursuing his dream, she still missed him terribly, as did Dylan.
"Deal." He hesitated for a moment, as the sound of his own rapid heartbeat rushed in his ears, and then he reached out, gently touching her arm. "One more thing…"
"What's that?" She already knew.
"The dance tomorrow night… will you go with me?" Dylan asked, almost shyly. Uncertain of her response, he had hesitated in asking almost to the point of avoidance. She had gone with him, as friends, in years prior, when she was involved romantically with Maureen Reardon. But things were different now.
Though Maury had known Dylan was in love with Emma, she had never cared that Emma went to his high school dances with him. Since they first started dating, she had always been the one on Emma's arm at Lincoln Prep dances, and that was all that mattered. Besides, he was their friend, and both Maureen and Emma knew he would never cross that boundary.
But Maury was away at college now, and she and Emma were no longer exclusive—Maury had insisted upon it, much to Emma's chagrin. Because she didn't want to hold Emma back, she had said.
In retrospect, Emma had fleetingly wondered whether Maury's nonchalance regarding her platonic dates with Dylan should have served as a warning. But it mattered little now. Their relationship was over, and it was time for her to move on. It mattered little to Dylan at this point, as well. Emma was truly available now, and he wanted this year's Homecoming dance to be their first real date. He hoped she wanted that too.
The flirtatious grin on Emma's face made her look so much like her mother. "Was there ever any doubt?" she said in a husky tone.
"I had hoped not," Dylan said with a shy smile. He leaned down then, kissed her cheek. "I'll be back soon."
Her flesh burned where his lips had touched. "I'll be right here waiting," she said, softly, as her fingertips brushed against the rippling muscles of his upper chest. Just like I always am.
His heart skipped a beat, and he smiled at her. Then, stooping down, he retrieved his helmet from the ground, waved a quick goodbye to his family, as he called out a promise to his mothers that he would be home as soon as possible. And then he was sprinting toward the locker room doors where he would get cleaned up, before meeting with recruiters from some of the top-ranked NCAA teams in the country. Yes, one by one, his dreams were becoming reality.
Out and About in Springfield—Friday, October 5, 2018, 11:15 p.m. Central Daylight Time
"Did you see the way those two were looking at one another?" Tracy Jackson-Morgan's tone was brimming with anticipation as she spoke of the connection between Emma, and her youngest son Dylan. She stole a glance at Jen, her wife of nearly ten years, as she navigated the familiar path to their home on Augusta Drive, in the suburbs to the west of Springfield, after the Homecoming game.
They had met while working at the Beacon nearly a year after Jen's husband Jake had been killed in a car accident caused by a drunk driver, leaving her alone with a one year old baby, and another due any day. Jen could have chosen, of course, to return to Boston where her parents and sisters were living at the time, but she wanted to stay in Springfield—to raise her sons in the home she and Jake had made together. Her heart told her it was the right thing to do. Nearly a year later, she began to understand exactly why.
From the moment they met, Tracy had been taken, not only with Jen's precious little boys, Jacob and Dylan, but also with their mother. And her family had quickly followed suit, taking Jen and her sons in as part of their own. That was simply the way that they were.
While Jen, a devout Christian, and the daughter of a Southern Baptist minister, instantly welcomed the acceptance as a member of Tracy's boisterous Irish-Italian clan, it had taken her the better part of three years to finally admit that she was in love with the much younger woman. Much to Jen's delight and amazement though, Tracy had remained steadfast in her commitment to her and her sons, despite the glacial nature of their burgeoning relationship. And in the end, they had been rewarded with the family they all knew was meant to be from the start.
They married in the spring of 2010, after an exhausting but triumphant battle against Jen's former father-in-law, Preston Morgan, over the custody of their two young sons. Tracy legally adopted the boys, signing the official papers on their wedding day, and they rounded out their family when they welcomed their daughter Gianna, just before their sixth anniversary.
The single point of contention between Jen and Tracy for a number of years, their eventual decision to have a child together was met with raucous enthusiasm by their entire extended family. And Gianna's birth two years later had been a joyous occasion for all, as had her christening six weeks later, where Tracy's younger sister Brianna, and their best friends Olivia and Natalia, had been named as Godparents.
Watching Tracy as she drove, Jen regarded her with a familiar sense of awe. She couldn't believe this beautiful, passionate woman was truly hers. At thirty-four, Tracy was no longer the ingénue Jen had fallen in love with so long ago; though she still looked the part, with those dark, curly locks framing her eternally-youthful face. "Yeah, I saw," she said wistfully.
The tips of her fingers lightly brushed the edge of Tracy's angular jaw, as she reveled in the beauty of her, inside and out. "Dylan looks at Em the way you used to look at me when you weren't much older than him."
"You don't think I still look at you that way?" Tracy feigned a pout.
"No, you do," Jen assured. "But it's different now, because you know you can have me." Her lips flickered into a suggestive grin.
An eyebrow arched in interest. "Oh, I can, can I?" Suddenly, Tracy couldn't wait to get home. She stole a glance in the rearview mirror. Spying their daughter fast asleep in her car seat, she silently prayed that the child would remain that way for the duration of the night.
Jen smiled in response to Tracy's flirtatious tone, and the presumably unconnected check on their sleeping child. She knew better. The woman had been relentlessly coquettish from the moment they first met, despite the fact that Jen was seemingly straight. "I've been putty in your hands for more than a decade now, love. You know that."
"I've always wanted to be a sculptor," Tracy commented offhandedly.
"Oh, stop it," Jen laughed. "My point is Dylan hasn't figured out yet, that Emma is his for the asking."
"He's been too afraid to actually do the asking." Tracy emphasized the action part.
"I can understand him not wanting to risk being hurt," Jen empathized. "Em's just getting over the breakup with Maury."
"No risk, no reward, right? I mean, look at the risk I took with you," Tracy commented.
"It was ballsy, I'll give you that," Jen teased.
Tracy laughed easily, the way she always did with Jen. "Best risk I've ever taken in my life."
Jen released a soft, contented sigh, and reached across the center console, taking Tracy's hand in her own. Instinctively, their fingers intertwined. "Me too."
"So you think if he does risk it, the outcome will be in his favor," Tracy said. It wasn't a question.
"The way she was looking at him, touching him?" The tone of Jen's voice said she was raising the question. "Oh, yeah, it's only a matter of time before they're an item."
Saturday, October 6, 2018—the Farmhouse of Love—1:45 a.m. Central Daylight Time
"I'm sorry we didn't really get to hang out tonight," Dylan said sincerely, as he carefully closed the door on his classic '65 Mustang G.T., after holding it for Emma to get out. The car had been his father's pride and joy, once upon a time, and Dylan was proud that he had been able to keep it in tip-top shape, despite its increasing age. "I hope your Ma won't be mad—y'know, me getting you home so late and all."
His hands were shoved nervously into the front pockets of his jeans, and he gave Emma a sideways glance, as he self-consciously shrugged his shoulders. "Coach said it would just be a quick meet-and-greet with the recruiters tonight, and they'd call for a sit-down next week if they were interested," he added as an afterthought, though the explanation was completely unnecessary.
It had turned into far more than just a quick meet-and-greet, and they were out way past her midnight curfew, but Emma hadn't minded at all. The entire drive home, he had chattered animatedly about his discussions with the recruiters, the incentives they were offering, and she had loved every single moment of it.
She was excited for him, and for the opportunities this night represented for him. Besides, the recruiters from rival schools Ohio State and U of M had astutely caught on to Emma's importance to Dylan, and each made deliberate attempts to make her feel included in the conversations. She knew it was self-serving on their parts, but she appreciated the gestures anyway. The fact that her future school was represented in such a way only sweetened the deal.
Casually, Emma looped her arm through his as they walked toward the front porch of the farmhouse where she had made a home with her two mothers nearly a decade prior. "No worries, D, I checked in with Mom before curfew to let her know the scoop. She said she'd run interference for us."
Not surprisingly, Olivia had always been the easier of her two moms, and never more so than when it came to Emma's social life. Olivia had always sworn she wouldn't be like her own mother when it came to that, and she had been true to her word, often to the chagrin of her wife, Natalia.
"Well, tell your moms I'm sorry, anyway, okay?"
Emma laughed softly, and squeezed his arm. "I'll pass that along, Sport."
They walked in silence for a moment, quickly reaching the edge of the front porch. The light above the door was on, as if waiting for their arrival. But the living room looked dark, save the soft familiar glow of the tiny lamp on the far end table—the one they switched on when they retired for the night.
Emma smiled at the greeting, and though she was afraid to fathom the details, she silently thanked her mother for managing to get her ma to not wait up. Amused by her own thoughts, she shook her head, as she took the one step up onto the weathered wooden platform. The boards released a familiar groan under the weight of her black suede ankle boots, and she grimaced, hoping her ever-vigilant ma wouldn't awaken.
His hands still buried in the pockets of his faded Levi's, Dylan remained on the sidewalk, making her almost as tall as him, given her low-heeled boots. She was nearly a foot shorter than him under normal circumstances, and he was surprised to realize how much he enjoyed the unexpected pleasure of looking directly into those sparkling bluish-green eyes. "So, I'm glad you agreed to be my date tomorrow night," he said, finally breaking the silence.
A smile flickered across Emma's lips. "I'm glad you finally asked," she replied. It's a good thing you did, or you would've missed out on a perfect dress—one I bought just for you. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't."
"I, uh… I was nervous about asking," Dylan confessed.
"Why?" Emma sounded perplexed. He had never hesitated before.
"Because it's different now," he shrugged.
"Because I'm not with Maury anymore?" Emma ventured to guess.
"Yeah," he nodded, avoiding her gaze. "I want it, um…" he stammered, nervously clearing his throat. "Well, I was hoping it could be a… a real date." Though he admittedly hadn't dated very much, he had never hesitated in asking a girl out before. But everything was different with Emma. Her response mattered more to him than anything else ever had, or ever would.
After a moment of silence passed between them, he risked a glance at her. To his relief, he found her smiling at him, her eyes slowly caressing his face.
Reaching up, Emma raked her fingertips through his soft dark curls. He looked so handsome in the moonlight—those teasing dimples, and those beautiful dark eyes that twinkled when he smiled, and that strong, angular jaw. Slowly, she brushed her fingers along the edge, the scruffy beginnings of a five o'clock shadow prickling their tips. She hoped he wouldn't shave it off before the dance. "I was hoping it could be, too," she said softly. And then the still of the night enveloped them again.
It surprised her, how much she meant it. But she knew that it was true. Though it had taken her a while to get over her breakup with Maury, she was finally ready to move on. And who better to move on with than the guy who thought she looked pretty enough to kiss, even when she was completely covered in mud? Briefly, her thoughts flashed back to that July afternoon, and she couldn't help but smile at the memory.
Suddenly, Dylan found that he was short on words, and long on nervous excitement. She looked so beautiful in her favorite old faded jeans, and an exact replica of his football jersey, with his letterman's jacket nearly swallowing her whole. He had willingly parted with his jacket earlier in the evening, draping it around her shoulders so she wouldn't get too cold while he chatted with his coach and the recruiters. It was an act that had repeated itself since his very first high school football game, but tonight, he hoped it would end very differently.
Earlier that evening, as she stood watching him interact with the recruiters, she had slipped her arms into the sleeves, and the strangest sensation came over her, almost as if he were holding her close. Surrounded then, by the familiar scent of his cologne, she relaxed in the warmth of the embrace. It felt right to her, in a way that nothing else had since Maury broke up with her nearly five months earlier, and she had decided right then and there to just let go, and see where things might lead with Dylan. Something inside her said that it was inevitable anyway. Not that she minded in the least.
And now, here they were, standing on her front porch, well past her curfew; neither of them really knowing what to say, or how to say it. So strange for them, this uncertainty, this inability to communicate—in grade school and junior high they were constantly in trouble for talking in class. The tides were turning faster than either of them might have anticipated, and it was, at once, both exhilarating and scary.
Emma's eyes glistened in the moonlight as it intermittently peeked out from behind the clouds that drifted across the late-night sky. And as he gazed at her, Dylan's heart pounded wildly in his chest. "It's late," he said, finally breaking the silence. "I should probably go."
"I wish you didn't have to," Emma said softly. It seemed as though their time had but cut so short that night, and something inside her missed those lost moments.
"Me too," Dylan agreed. Had she articulated that feeling of loss, she would have found that it echoed his own. "Sometimes, I wish we were still kids."
"You mean before all the rules changed," Emma said knowingly. Before Ma put a stop to our platonic sleepovers, and made it a rule that you couldn't be in my room unless she or Mom were upstairs.
"Yeah," he sighed. "Things were so much easier back then." Before hormones got in the way.
Meeting Dylan's gaze, a wobbly smile flickered at the corners of Emma's mouth. She reached out, lightly touching his cheek again. "We'll figure it out," she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.
Nodding, Dylan's gaze dropped to his feet, as silence enshrouded them again. "Em?" he whispered finally.
There was a quiet shyness in his tone that was unusual for him, and Emma was suddenly more aware of his presence than ever. She instinctively knew what was coming, and she was surprised to realize how much she wanted it.
"Yeah?" She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening.
"May I, um…" Nervously, Dylan shuffled his feet, his hands still buried in his pockets. "May I kiss you goodnight?"
A soft chuckle slipped from Emma's lips, unbidden. "You're asking permission to kiss me?" She sounded amused as she emphasized the parts about consent and kissing.
Uncharacteristically, Dylan blushed. "Hey, last time I kissed you without permission, I earned lectures from both of my moms," he said. "They'd kick my ass if they ever found out I—"
"Yes—" Emma cut to the chase.
"Yes?" Dylan's eyes were filled with surprise, as he met her gaze again. Smiling at her, dimples blooming, he hoped he didn't look like a complete dope.
Yes," Emma quietly confirmed, those teal-blue eyes slowly searching his dark ones.
Suddenly, Dylan was more nervous than he ever imagined possible. His palms were sweaty and his throat went dry. He had waited nine years for a repeat of that kiss they had shared in Emma's tree house in the fifth grade, and now, he was afraid he would blow it.
"Well?" Impatient, Emma sounded nervous too.
He was surprised she wasn't tapping her foot. "I just… I don't wanna screw it up," he admitted. Jesus, Morgan, what the hell's wrong with you? he silently chastised. It's not like you've never kissed a girl before!
"You know," Emma said, with a hint of humor in her tone, "for a big-shot football star, you're kind of a lame-ass."
"Oh, shut up," Dylan laughed. He could always count on her humor at just the right moment, and he was grateful for the reprieve from the tension.
"You shut up," Emma retorted. Playfully, she pushed his shoulder. "Just kiss me, will ya?"
Stepping closer, Dylan became acutely aware of the nearness of her. Slowly, he searched her face, and then those mesmerizing eyes. They were a dark blue now with tiny flecks of green and gold that twinkled in the moonlight, and his heart fluttered at the way the colors shifted with her emotions. And when she smiled at him, he reached up, brushing his fingertips against her cheek. God, she was beautiful. He couldn't believe it was finally happening.
Gently, he cradled her face in his hands. And then the pad of his thumb brushed across her lower lip, and he heard the subtle rush of air as her breath caught. His skin tingled where he had touched her, and she felt the heat of fire in its wake. Subconsciously, she drew her lip into her mouth, soothing it with her own tongue. He watched, wishing he could've been the one to soothe it for her.
The soft scent of her body, of her hair, surrounded him, as they mixed with lingering traces of his cologne. He felt his pulse increase in response, and silently prayed that his body wouldn't betray him. Not now. They were so close that he swore she could hear the pounding of his heart in his chest. And then her hands fell gently against his chest, like they had so many times before, and he knew that she could feel the effect she was having on him.
Unbeknownst to him, Emma's own heart was racing; the incessant pulsation of blood echoing like the rush of waves in her ears, blocking out all other sound. His fingertips felt like fire against her skin, and her only other awareness was the sensation of his warm breath on her face as he moved closer. Her body began to tremble as the heat of those piercing dark eyes flickered down, caressing her lips. Almost as if he had physically touched them again, she felt the heat of flames licking against them.
Her body swayed, falling into his, and those shimmering eyes slipped from his view, as her eyelids fluttered closed. And then she felt the first tentative brush of his lips against her own. A sharp, swift intake of air marked her response, and then his mouth skimmed against hers again, this time, a bit more confidently. She smiled against his lips, and returned his kiss.
A moment passed as lips caressed, and then he lifted his mouth from hers, purposefully meeting her gaze. The darkening hue of her eyes as they searched his own answered his unspoken question. Moving his hands to her waist, he pulled her impossibly closer, holding her protectively, as his mouth met hers again, this time in a kiss that was filled with certainty.
Her hands never left his chest, as he held her smaller frame taut against his own body. So many times in the past he had held her close. But never like this. Never in a way that spoke of intimacy and passion, and just a touch of pride. She was his now. He could feel it in his soul. Or rather, he was hers. He liked that better—knowing that he belonged to her.
The kisses that followed were slow and sweet, almost to the point of being chaste. Unlike any Dylan had shared with other girls. Not that there had been many, but he certainly hadn't been immune to the charms of a few who had thrown themselves at him. But everything was different with Emma, and the tenderness of his kisses, his touch, spoke of how deeply he cared for her. At least he hoped that was the message he was conveying to her.
As for Emma, kissing Dylan was so completely different than kissing Maureen, and she found herself intrigued by the dichotomy. His body was hard against hers, where Maury's had always been taut, yet yielding. And his mouth, while gentle, felt firm against her lips. She felt protected, cherished, as she lingered in his embrace, lost in the newness of his kiss.
Despite the lightness of his kisses, when finally Dylan broke away, Emma found herself nearly breathless, her thoughts adrift in a hazy fog. Gone was the teasing twinkle that was always so present in her eyes when she looked at him—replaced by something neither of them could quite describe. And though there had been an undercurrent of attraction between them for years, it was almost as if she was seeing him for the first time. It made her nervous, but in a good way. Ironically, that fact only served to heighten her tension. She offered him a wobbly smile, and then subconsciously bit her bottom lip.
Dark eyes, filled with a new sense of awareness, flickered down, focusing on that kiss-swollen lip as Emma drew it into her mouth. Unbidden, thoughts of how that lip would feel in his own mouth rushed over him like a tidal wave, and instantly, he felt his body respond in ways that he deemed inappropriate, especially with her.
He felt his face flush, and he prayed that it didn't show in the faint light that cast a glow around Emma's petite figure, as he shifted his body enough to break contact with hers, without arousing her suspicion. "I really should get going," he said, the calmness in his tone belying the inferno of hormones that raged inside his body.
"Yeah," Emma quietly agreed. The shifting of his body away from her helped her regain her composure, and she was grateful for the return of some of her mental faculties. "But I'll see you later tonight."
Excitement flickered in Dylan's eyes as he smiled at her. "Seven thirty?" He had reservations at his Uncle Carlo's restaurant at eight o'clock, and knowing she had never been, he couldn't wait to surprise her.
"Sounds perfect." Emma's voice was soft, almost husky, as she returned his smile. She was more excited than she ever could've imagined. This was a whole new adventure for her, and she was very much looking forward to it. Did she have some concerns about how a romantic entanglement might affect their friendship? Naturally, she did. But she had been down that road with Maury, as well, and to her, the benefits far outweighed any potential complications.
"Tonight, then," Dylan said with a nod, as he slowly backed away, his gaze never leaving hers.
Caught in the moment, Emma nearly forgot she was wrapped up in his jacket. When she realized it, she called out to him. "Dylan, wait," she said, as she began shrugging out of the heavy fabric. "Your jacket."
He smiled and moved closer again. Grasping the front of the jacket in his hands, he held it in place. "You could keep it," he suggested softly, tentatively. And then he shrugged his shoulders. "If you want…"
The question was embedded in his comment, and the smile that flickered across her face reached her eyes, as she cradled his face in her hands. "I want, very much, Dylan Morgan," she quietly affirmed. And then she moved effortlessly into his arms, kissing him to seal her response to the question he had longed to ask her since the day he first kissed her in that old tree house, overlooking the pond.
TBC in Chapter 4…
