July 10th

Roz had been up for an hour or so when she heard the bed creak—Greg was up. She added frozen blueberries and walnut pieces into the pancake batter, and smiled. This had become their favorite Sunday breakfast in the summertime; she had turkey sausage on hand and fresh eggs from the farmer's market too, with coffee ready to go.

A few minutes later she heard the familiar halting step that meant her husband was on his way. She tested the griddle and began to pour batter, aware Greg had stopped in the doorway. After a moment he went to the coffeemaker and got a mug from the dishrack.

"Smells good," he said, as he dug a spoon out of the drawer.

"Thanks." Roz poured the last pancake and moved over a bit to turn the sausages. "You're up a bit early."

He dumped sugar into his mug, gave it a stir and took a sip. Roz knew he watched her. "Pretty subtle. You're saying an old geezer like me should be sleeping the day away."

She glanced at him, brows raised. "Not without me. And you're not an old geezer." Once the sausages were turned she went to the fridge and got out the maple syrup and butter. "Next time we'll stay in bed all day and listen to music, if you like. Among other things."

"You don't have to try so hard." He said it quietly, without sarcasm. Roz paused, syrup in one hand, butter keeper in the other.

"I'm not pushing for us to be close," she said. "I'd really like to do that with you."

Greg held his coffee and pinned his gaze on her. She shut the fridge door and met his look with one of her own. "I'm planning to watch some tv while I'm eating breakfast. It would be more fun if you joined me."

He didn't move for so long she thought he would refuse; then he gave a hesitant nod. She turned back to the pancakes, and felt a little less apprehensive.

They decided on cartoons and when those were done, switched over to a movie, some stupid-humor comedy. Roz had never seen it before. She really didn't care what they watched; it was enough to be snuggled in at Greg's side. After a while his arm slipped around her shoulders. His fingers played with her hair. She breathed out a little sigh of contentment and rested her cheek against his shoulder.

"How's it going with Jason?" she asked after a while.

"Quick learner." Greg twined a strand around his index finger. "Smart mouth."

"Hmm, sounds familiar," she said, and chuckled when her hair was tugged gently. "Are you going to mentor him with his studies?"

Greg didn't answer right away. "Maybe."

"He's got the chops to go pretty far," Roz said. "I've heard him talking with Sarah. He's college material. Does he have an interest in medical school?"

"Not yet," Greg said. "He's still fascinated by fire and explosions. Boys his age love creating mayhem."

"Do tell," Roz said. "Sounds like personal knowledge to me. Give an example."

Greg made a noise that could have been a laugh. "Flour bag bombs. You take a five pound bag of flour, soak it in gasoline, go to the top of a tall building, light the paper and drop it."

"Oh my god," Roz said, torn between laughter and dismay.

"Yeah. Dad was stationed in the Philippines at the time. A good thing we weren't in Texas or California in the dry season, or I'd still be grounded for life and getting ten good ones from my old man's belt every evening."

Roz's amusement faded. She captured his hand with hers, eased his arm down to encircle her waist.

"What's wrong?" Greg looked at her, surprised.

"Did your dad go after you a lot?" She didn't bother to keep the emotion out of her voice.

"Hey." He waited until she looked at him. His vivid gaze held hers. "Can't do anything about it now."

"Wish I could." She squeezed his hand. After a moment he returned his attention to the tv, but he brought her a little closer.

When the movie was done Roz took the dishes into the kitchen and washed up, got some steaks out of the freezer to thaw for supper, and detoured to the bedroom to get the book she was reading. She returned to the couch, but was thwarted in her attempt to resume her seat. Greg lay stretched out, his long legs in her spot.

"I was sitting there," she pointed out as her heart sank. Had he pushed her away again?

"Nope," he said. "If you want to watch the game, I get to lay my head in your lap. Your naked lap." His eyes glinted with humor and something else. Roz stood there for a moment. Then she removed her tank top and shorts and put them over the arm of the couch. Greg watched her. A little smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

"My wife goes commando," he said. "Learn something new every day." Roz felt her cheeks grow warm.

"Just on Sundays at home," she said. Greg's smile widened.

"Uh huh." He sat up. "You're blocking the view to the tv."

Roz came over and sat down, mortified that her blush had deepened. Greg lay back, his head pillowed on her thigh. He looked up at her. "Nice view," he said. "Why are you so red?"

"You got your naked lap, shut up," she muttered. He grinned, and she caught her breath. Dimples, she thought in an inane sort of way. He showed his dimples.

"Now now," he said in a chiding sort of tone, "playing Miss Crankypants doesn't become you." The next thing she knew he'd eased onto his side and lifted her left leg, propped it to spread her thighs. Before she could register what he'd done, lean fingers slid gently into the folds of her labia, and opened her to a kiss. Roz gasped softly, her head tipped back as his lips and tongue slowly brought her to the edge of orgasm, then eased her into a bright wash of sweetness so that she cried out as her fingers dug into the soft cushions.

For some time Greg stayed there and gave her little delicious aftershocks, until she almost floated off the couch. Her hands crept down to his back, held him to her as she delighted in the feel of him there. Eventually he finally sat up and unzipped his jeans to reveal an impressive erection. She switched positions and straddled him, took him in, enjoyed the expression on his face as they moved together slow and sure. His groan at the end brought her as much pleasure as her own climax.

They watched the game as he'd requested, with his head pillowed on her thigh, her arm around him. Every now and then Roz would glance down at him and enjoy his absorption in the game, the way he leaned into her touch. I wanna love him so bad, she thought, and couldn't help but smile as the song popped into her head. Without thinking she hummed a few bars out loud.

"Are you possessed or just trying to drown out the tv?" Greg glared at her, but she still saw the amusement he took pains to hide.

"Sorry," she said, as her happiness faded. He sighed.

"Tell me."

The blush returned with a vengeance. "It was nothing."

His gaze sharpened. "Wrong answer."

She wasn't about to tell him. "Doesn't matter."

"Hah. Tell."

Roz shook her head. Greg sat up. Before she could blink he had her pinned in the corner, as he stroked her ribs. She squeaked and giggled as he tickled her.

"No! No—I—will you stop it!" She slapped at his hands with no effect. "Greg! Quit it!"

"You'd better tellllll . . ." He drew out the last word in an ominous growl. Roz wriggled in desperation.

"No!"

"Telltelltelltelltelltell," Greg chanted. His voice shook with laughter. Roz gave up.

"Okay okay okay! It—it was a stupid girl group song, it just popped into my head!"

"He relented for a moment. "Which one?" His tone held suspicion. Roz drew a deep breath.

"The—the Jelly Beans," she said, and wished a couch cushion would open up and swallow her. Greg's eyes widened.

"'I wanna love him so bad,'" he sang softly. Roz swatted at him.

"Yes! Happy now?"

"Sing it for me," he said. Roz went still. "Come on, sing it."

She flinched. "No."

He slid his hands up and down her arms in a slow, gentle gesture. "I'd like to hear it."

"Nobody wants to hear me sing." She wouldn't look at him.

"I do." He wasn't being sarcastic or nasty; he meant it. Roz dared a look at him. He watched her, his gaze steady. After a few moments she swallowed.

"'He lives in my neighborhood/when he walks by he looks so good,' she began. It seemed to take forever to get to the end of the verse. "I could make him happy/if he'd only let me . . .'" She trailed off when Greg leaned forward and kissed her. He did it with evident enjoyment, and took his time. When it ended he said against her lips,

"Got that out of your system?"

Roz nodded, and savored the feel of his kiss.

"Good." He pressed a quick buss to her mouth. "You've improved. Well done." He lay down and made himself comfortable, then brought her arm around him again. His hand held hers in a firm, gentle clasp. Roz waited until he was absorbed in the game; then she said,

"Next time you'll be the one giving me naked lap."

His lips twitched. "We'll see."

"No 'we'll see' about it." She felt used in the most pleasant of ways, and—there was no other word for it—cherished. The worry she'd carried around for what seemed like forever began to fade. They still had things to work out between them, but now at least it looked like they'd find a way to do it.

When the first long shadows of late afternoon fell, Roz got up and put on her clothing, went into the kitchen and started the broiler. She tore up romaine for the salad and hummed under her breath, softly so Greg wouldn't hear it.

"And when I look in his eyes/I keep seein' paradise/ I can't help it, I wanna love him so bad . . ."

'I Wanna Love Him So Bad,' the Jelly Beans