Chapter Sixteen
Buffy sat back with her glass of wine and watched William, Dahlia, and Isaiah. They were laughing as William told the story of the first time Isaiah had taken him fishing out on the river.
"Right, there's Dahlia with her parasol looking like some fainting lily from Gone with the bloody Wind and I'm standing in the river, up to my waist holding nothing but my fishing rod and the sodding net," William said, shaking his head and laughing at the memory.
Isaiah threw his head back and laughed. "And you had the hook stuck in your bucket hat!"
"You wore a hat?" Buffy asked in surprise.
William flushed, glancing over at her. "Yeah, well, it was sunny out on the river. And we were fishing, yeah, so I had to wear a proper fishing hat."
Dahlia grinned and winked at Buffy. "A real Dixie hat it was, too. Isaiah got him a proper one, plaid and everything."
"Thought he was Scottish," Isaiah said.
William shuddered. "Mate, thank Christ you only made that mistake once."
Isaiah shrugged and sipped his beer. "Miss Dahlia said her British writer friend was coming for the weekend and could I take him out fishing. I thought you were all the same."
Buffy chuckled. "I will have to see this hat."
Dahlia gestured to the back of the property. "I am sure it is in the boat house with all the fishing gear." She looked over archly at William. "Perhaps, William, you should take Miss Summers out fishing this weekend."
William glanced over at Buffy and she flushed under his appraising look. "If Miss Summers would be so inclined, I'd be more than happy to take her."
"That would be nice," she said.
He nodded. "Then fishing we will go." He glanced over at Isaiah and, leaning over, whispered conspiratorially. "You'll have to show me again how to bait the hook."
They burst out laughing.
Dahlia stood up. "Would you like some coffee with dessert?"
Buffy gestured her to sit. "You sit down, Dahlia; I'll go and get it."
"Annabelle's probably gone up to her rooms by now," Dahlia said. "I told her not to wait around." She sat back down.
Buffy grinned. "I'm sure I can manage coffee and dessert."
William stood up with her. "I'll help."
Dahlia and Isaiah watched the two of them leave. He turned to her and took her hand gently in his, bringing it to his lips and kissing it softly.
"Dahlia, you have a look on your face," he murmured.
She squeezed his hand and smiled. "Usually it is pride that keeps people apart," she said, looking at him pointedly. He ducked his head with a small grin. "But with those two, it is their fear."
"You gonna tell them the truth?"
She nodded. "I will tell William the truth; what he does with it will be up to him. I have a – a few little tricks up my sleeve that will help them along."
Isaiah looked a little nervous. "Dahlia, now you know I don't hold with none of that voodoo magic stuff you practice."
She batted her eyelashes at him and leaning forward, pressed a kiss to his weathered cheek. "Why, Isaiah love, how do you think I won your heart?"
***
William set about preparing the coffee. He ground the fresh roasted beans and then added three scoops of cut chicory to the French coffee press.
Watching him, Buffy's eyes widened. "Okay, now I am really glad that you offered to help. Where's the kettle and the Taster's Choice?"
He chuckled. "Dahlia doesn't do anything in half measures. She loves her chicory coffee so she has Annabelle roast and cut imported French chicory root for her." He glanced over at her with a crooked grin. "My Dahlia is a high maintenance woman."
"She loves you," Buffy noted.
He poured the boiling water into the coffee press and fitted the lid and pump. Setting the timer, he carried the coffee cups, sugar and cream over to the table and put them on the tray. "I love her," he said simply.
Buffy opened the cake box and stared down at the decadent dessert. She slid it out of the box and began slicing. She slipped a piece on a dessert plate and licked her finger.
"My, God, that's good," she said.
William, his hand poised on the French press, swallowed as he watched her lick her finger. "Right, um – it's red velvet. Dahlia's favorite." He turned away quickly and stared at the cupboard, counting to ten to force back the images Buffy licking her finger had instantly conjured.
"I've never had it, heard of it, but never tried it."
"Good. I mean, it's good." He shook his head, convinced that he was the world's biggest, bumbling idiot.
The timer on the stove beeped and he slowly pressed the pump down on the coffee press. When it was done, he turned and carried it to the tray where Buffy had set out four generous slices of cake. She was busy wiping the leftover butter cream frosting from the cake server and licking her fingers.
William dropped the coffee press onto the tray with more force than recommended and he winced. He brushed against Buffy as he moved away from the table and she chuckled.
"Sorry, I should probably get out of your way," she said. She reached past him and set the server down on the table. "It's just too good to pass up."
It was crazy, but completely understandable that William suddenly wished he was the cake server. He eyed the arch of her side as she stretched and instantly recalled what it had looked like naked; her naked, curved hip in his bed in the early morning light.
The hands that reached for the tray were trembling.
"Right then, let's bring this out shall we?" he exclaimed much too loudly. He turned away and marched from the kitchen and its temptations.
Buffy glanced up at him from beneath her lashes and smiled.
***
Buffy trailed her fingers in the river as their boat drifted in the current. From beneath the brim of the large straw hat Dahlia had lent her, she watched William.
He expertly baited his hook, following the instructions that Isaiah had none too secretly given him that morning. That done, he lifted his arm and in one beautiful motion, cast his line. Then he settled back and gazed at her. She looked a picture in cotton shorts that left her tanned legs bare and a halter top that left little to the imagination. With the hat shading her face, she looked mysterious and tempting.
Every time William looked at her, he pictured her with nothing on but the bloody hat.
It was going to be a long morning.
"What happens now?" she asked, catching him off guard.
He looked at her for a moment, completely speechless. What happens now? Bloody hell, he had a list a mile long of what he'd like to happen now.
She gestured to the fishing line. "With that. What do you have to do now?"
"Oh! That! We wait."
She stared at him in disbelief. "We wait? That's it?"
He nodded. "That's it."
"And this is a sport?"
"The sport of kings and gentlemen of leisure, it is," he said somewhat proudly.
"It would have to be; no other men would have enough time on their hands to sit around doing nothing for hours and call it a sport. It's worse than golf."
He burst out laughing and then, settling back, he lowered his ridiculous plaid bucket hat down over his eyes. "I suspect you're right and they call it a sport to justify it. But you didn't hear that from me, pet."
Buffy smiled as the term of endearment slipped past his lips. It was the first time since they had arrived at Beauvais Hall that he'd said it. Watching him resting on the other side of the boat, his legs stretched out, and his arms crossed over his chest, she had an idea.
Very carefully, she braced her hands on each side of the row boat and stood up. The boat rocked dangerously and she stopped.
William's eyes flew open and he looked up at her.
"What are you doing?"
"Coming over to your side," she said. She took another careful step and the boat rocked again.
William's arms flew out and he gripped the sides to steady himself. "Not sure if that's the best of ideas."
She pouted, looking at the bottom of the boat and trying to determine where the most secure and balanced spots to set her feet were. It should only take two more steps and she'd be with him.
She bit her lip. "It'll be fine. Relax. I killed vampires, I can do this."
He shook his head doubtfully. "Killing vampires and walking across a rowboat are two different things, Slayer."
She took the last step and plopped herself down on the pillowed bench next to him with an air of triumph. The boat rocked wildly, but did stay afloat.
"See! I did it!"
William grinned and rested his arm along the back of the seat. "You did."
She settled down and without asking permission, tucked her head into the nook where his arm met his shoulder. She laid her arm around his trim waist and closed her eyes. And waited.
William slowly let his breath out and looked down at her. Her hat had fallen askew and with a nudge, he pushed it off. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, smelling her shampoo and the earthy scent of the river heated by the sun. Then he tightened his arm around her, rested his head against hers and relaxed.
Buffy felt him give in, inch by inch, and she smiled.
Their boat drifted past the towering oaks draped in their ghostly dresses of Spanish Moss. Carefully pruned lawns and cultivated fields and majestic plantations graced the banks. Others, enjoying a beautiful Saturday afternoon, were out boating and fishing and they waved and called out hellos as they passed.
"I love this place," Buffy murmured.
"Why?"
"There's something magical about it," she tried to explain. "I've spent most of my life in California where everything is new and fabricated. California is like a super model. Beautiful and distant. Here, things are worn and faded but still so beautiful. It clings to its past, refusing to give it up, no matter how decayed it is."
"Like, Miss Havisham," William said.
She glanced up at him. "Who?"
"She's a character in Dickens' novel, Great Expectations. She's a wealthy, powerful spinster whose fiancé jilted her at the altar and she spent the rest of her life in this decaying mansion, wearing her fading wedding gown and dusty jewels. She spent her whole life longing for her lost love and it drove her crazy." He glanced up at the ruins of an antebellum mansion. "'Don't think it's only the heart that breaks'," he quoted. He sighed. "I always felt for Miss Havisham. Don't get me wrong, she was a crazy bitch. But she was love's bitch."
Buffy looked around at the landscape with new eyes. Each plantation, each mansion, the beautiful ones and those that time and apathy had destroyed, had a story. Perhaps that's what she loved so much about the South. It had had time to live centuries of stories.
"Would you ever go back to California?" he asked suddenly.
She shrugged. "I can't say. Right now, my life is here." She glanced up at him. "I don't know what the future holds." She reached up and tilted his hat back so she could see his eyes. There were languorous and mellow, as if the hazy, lazy golden sunlight spilling across the water had filtered into him. He was incredibly relaxed and she realized that she was as well. In his arms she felt like warm, liquid honey. Not a care, not a worry in the world. No apocalypse around the bend. Just plain old happy.
It was a first.
William stared down at her lips. He gave in to his instincts, bent down, and covered her lips with his. He tightened his grip, drawing her closer, and softened his kiss. He kissed her slowly, as if he had all day to savor her taste and the texture of her lips, tongue, and mouth. He ran a hand gently over her hair, wrapping strands of gold around his fingers, holding her fast to him.
He broke the kiss as softly as he'd started it. He searched her face, not sure exactly what he was looking for. He hoped that when he saw it, he would know it. He thought he saw just a hint of it in the curve of her grateful smile.
Buffy reached up and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek. Then she settled back into his arms and watched the landscape as they drifted past.
***
Dahlia stood in the shadows of an old oak tree and watched as Buffy and William walked up the path from the river to the house. They held hands and every now and then, William would pull her to his side, sling his arm around her and hug her. Dahlia could hear their laughter carrying across the yard and it filled her heart.
She turned and placed the bunch of flowers on the grave. Bending over, she picked off some bits of tenacious moss and dusted off the name etched in stone. Her elegant fingers traced out her granddaughter's name, but for the first time, she didn't feel the traditional sadness squeeze her heart.
"Sweetheart," she whispered. "I've found a piece of you in her. Everyone has come home to me."
***William's quote is from the Carol Ann Duffy poem, "Havisham".