Chapter 5

They arrived at his mother's about five o'clock. The first thing they did once they got into the car was to find Sailor John's Restaurant. Both were hungry and had fresh seafood. Her a combination of shrimp, flounder, scallops and cod along with French fries and iced tea. He had the same but in larger portions. The side dish of creamy coleslaw was the best she ever had. When she commented on how delicious it tasted, Tim told the waitress to pack a double order to go so she could have some later.

They stopped at an A&P to pick up essentials like skimmed milk, orange juice, seven grain bread, butter, some frozen dinners, a box of raisin bran which both liked and other things. Emma found that Tim liked his orange juice. She estimated he drank a quart a day. He liked a beer on occasion which Emma never got used to the tasted so passed it by.

"Unless I'm dying of thirst, I won't drink beer," she grimaced as they packed the trunk with groceries. From there to the house on the ocean front was only a few minutes. It took them a half hour to put everything away. His plan was for Emma to sleep in Irene's bed and he would sleep in his own when he lived there.

Emma felt the wonderful feeling as he took her by the hand for them to take a short walk on the beach before going to bed. The weather was breezy and cool as he placed his mother's parka over her shoulders and a leather bomber jacket which was one of the items he wanted to take back to Chicago.

"The waves are choppy," Emma observed, having a sense of comfort with her slim hand in his muscular one. "It's almost cold."

"It's a tiny noreaster it usually never gets cold at this time of year. I'll build us a warm fire when we get back. Living here in the winter I became a master at building fires in the fireplace. No wood is damp enough, no kindling too small, no flame ever too small if Tim Davis builds it. We have a little fan where the captured heat blows into the living room. I used to sit for hours either reading by firelight like Abraham Lincoln did, or just staring at the flames."

"I can't wait to see your mother's sketches," she hinted with chattering teeth that they return so he could build that fire.

He stopped and pointed to a house on high stilts like his was. "That was the home of Cindy Tremaine. The girl that made me turn my love of sports to the love of pretty females."

"Really!" Emma sounded impressed. "So that is the home of the famous Cindy. The girl who lit your passions and lusts?"

"That was her home?"

"Does her mother still live there?"

"NO she doesn't. She sold it to a family and moved away. I lost touch of the Tremaines soon after Cindy got married and started a litter of her very own."

Emma laughed pulling him back toward his house to build that fire he had promised. He took her tugging him willingly and headed back with his arm about her shoulders. He noticed how slim she was as his arm almost swallowed up both shoulders. She leaned into him for warmth and his wonderful touch.

While Tim built his world famous fire, Emma made some hot chocolate and some oatmeal raisin cookies that they picked up from the store. They shut off all the lights let alone the fire itself. Irene had a shield built that could block off the light coming from the fire but Tim never used it. After looking at about twenty-five sketches, she carefully put them aside due to the fatigue that caught up to her. Emma was not used to getting up so early in the day.

Tim led her to Irene's bedroom and waited outside until she changed. The house was cold and damp due to the weather outside. She came out of the bathroom to find Tim sitting on the bed looking at his mother's picture. The very photo used in her the books of her sketches and the one shown in the papers announcing her untimely death. Irene Limpa was only sixty years old when she had her stroke.

"She was a very beautiful woman," Emma sat by Tim. Their shoulders touched which caused a wonder chill to race up and down her back.

"Yes she was. She had three husbands, countless affairs, and many one nighters. I've never told anyone that she went both ways in sleeping partners."

"She had other women she slept with?" Emma couldn't fathom same sex love making. It sounded so foreign to her that she didn't even want to think about it. She considered same sex to be twisted and sick.

"Yeah, she liked her cake and eat it too," Tim got up to leave.

"No goodnight kiss?" she pretended to sound hurt.

"I didn't want to hurt or alarm you," he said.

"Tim, we've known each other for five weeks now. I think a goodnight kiss is in order. I find you attractive," Emma confessed. She stood up and put her arms about his neck. "I don't think I can fall asleep without a nice smooch from you," she smiled. She took the initiative and kissed him lovingly on the mouth. When she broke it, another sensation ran through her body. "That's the last time I will do this. It will be up to you from now on. Men should kiss their women, not the other way around."

"I'll remember that," he kissed her again. Her flannel pajamas hid the spot of wetness from between her legs. Even though he tried to conceal it, she felt his hardness from between his legs.