Page 45 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

He flashes me a smile, and I melt.

I feel his eyes on me as I slide my underwear back on, shimmy my bra back into place, and disappear down the hallway to gather my clothes. I drop his discarded garments by the bathroom when I hear him in there, and then I go make us some food.

FIFTEEN

REMY

Audrey makes me a delicious wrap with sliced chicken and a homemade tomato chutney. Her kitchen is insane. Not in the fittings and fixtures, but in the way it’s organized. Everything is perfectly lined up. Every drawer has dividers. Every food item has its own little designated spot. The label of every can and container is facing out like she spent the time to arrange them just so.

Her brain must be an amazing place. I wouldn’t even know how to start organizing something like this, but I can see how well it works. When I need a fork, I find it in the first drawer I pull. When I want a glass, it’s exactly where I expect it to be. Everything is intuitive.

It’s incredible.

At the garage this morning, I was able to find and file every piece of paper I needed. The office was no longer a place I tried to avoid; it was somewhere that worked exactly as I needed it to. If I bought the place, I could hire some help and have them hit the ground running. It wouldn’t be such an insurmountable task to make that place my own.

I finish my sandwich and put my plate in the dishwasher, then glance at Audrey. “I think you might be a genius,” I tell her.

She arches a brow. “In what way?”

“This.” I wave a hand around the space. “The way you’ve set this up. It’s amazing.”

She hums, unconvinced. “The two drawers in that corner need some work. And I’ve been meaning to find a better place for the toaster.”

“Audrey. Stop it.”

She blinks.

“I’m telling you; you’re a genius.”

A tiny smile curls the edge of her lips. “Thanks,” she says, and it feels like a victory. Kissing her feels even better. She gives a cute little yelp when I lift her onto the edge of the couch, and I decide I’m going to be late getting back to work this afternoon after all. I’m in the mood for dessert.

When I get back to the garage, I do it with a smile on my face. I think about her all afternoon. I check my phone a few times to see if she’s texted me, and my heart gives a little leap when I see her name on the screen.

I had fun today, she says. Four innocuous words make my blood heat. I had fun too; I want to do it again.

But duty calls, and when it’s time for me to pick Danny up from camp, I lock up the garage and head over to the school. Danny is a bundle of energy, all signs of his illness vanished. He tells me about all the games they played and goes into great detail about how disgusting the ham sandwiches were for lunch.

“What’s for lunch tomorrow?”

“Pizza,” he replies with a big sigh. “Thankfully.”

I grin. My ten-year-old nephew sounds like a middle-aged man who just found out he narrowly escaped getting laid off from work.

After a snack, Danny and I head to the backyard. Danny finds a ball to toss around, which means he still somehow has more energy reserves to burn off.

Birds twitter. Danny calls out and gets me to play catch with him. An engine backfires down the street, and all the sounds of the neighborhood blend into a gentle murmur.

Life is good—but for the first time in a long time, I admit to myself that something is missing.

While Danny entertains himself by trying to hit the target on the fence with his ball, my eyes drift to the greenhouse before snapping over to check on my plants. Another day, and some of these peas will be ready to harvest. I find a caterpillar munching on my lettuce, so I relocate it to another corner of the yard.

“What are you doing?” Danny asks.

I glance over to see him standing on the deck, leaning over the fence that separates my yard from Audrey’s.

“I’m trying to figure out how to get this mower started,” Audrey replies. The sound of her voice makes warmth slide down my spine and wrap around my middle. I find myself walking toward Danny just to get a glimpse of Audrey again.

“Danny, don’t snoop in other people’s yards,” I admonish, glancing over the fence to nod at Audrey.

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