“This is Knut,” he said first. This no longer amused Sarah. When you’d been to bed with a man several times, he really didn’t have to identify himself on his calls. “Is this a good time?”

“It’s fine. Billy’s in bed.”

“So’s ‘Becca. Look, they’re both going away on Friday?”

“Yes.”

“How’d you like to eat out Friday night?”

“That would be fine.” It would be better than Saturday, as a matter of fact. Her period was coming up Saturday or Sunday, and she didn’t want it to arrive when she was at his house. For that matter, maybe some part of her annoyance was PMS. Knut might identify himself every time he called, but he also always asked if she were busy.

But he was talking again. “Assyrian?”

“Pardon.”

“The Middle-Eastern restaurant.”

“Great.”

They talked for a while longer. Knut seemed genuinely interested in her adventures in her summer job substituting for vacationing file clerks. He saw it from the opposite perspective, of course; file clerks worked for him.

The next few days were pleasant. She helped out one secretary with her boss’s grammar; high school themes were even worse. After that, the other office workers were less patronizing about her ignorance of their procedures.

On her way home from work Friday, though, she felt her period come on. She managed to get home without embarrassing herself publicly, but the panties would be a real job to clean up. By the time Fred got there, she was back together. She waved Billy off. Fred might resent her having a court order for her support payment to be withheld from his salary, but it really made their conversations much friendlier.

The phone rang a half hour after Fred had left. “This is Knut. Is this a good time to pick you up?”

“Well, I don’t know. You might not want to pick me up at all.” Knut was planning a night of sex, and she would have agreed the last time they talked. She was a total mess, though, and she didn’t want him seeing her down there. “I’m a total mess.”

“You’re a sweet woman. If you mean in dress, this isn’t the fanciest place in town.”

“I mean physically.” She took a deep breath. Well, it’s not like they hadn’t shared a lot. “My period just started.”

“Well, that doesn’t affect my feelings about you. It might well affect your feelings. Do you really want to cook something for yourself tonight? Why don’t you come for the dinner, and then we’ll play it by ear?”

They did that. Knut kissed her hand when she came downstairs. Dinner was pleasant. Their conversation in the restaurant was fairly light. In the car going back Knut said, “I have another movie. Do you feel that sociable?”

“Fine. But it can’t go any further.” She was a mess down there. Fred had always been a little sickened by it.

“Well, we ought to establish some ground rules, then. Are your breasts sore -- too sore for my touch, I mean? For that matter, do you object to any touch right now? Or do I get to kiss you so long as you stay dressed? Really, you’ll have to set the rules. Candice was a woman, but she was a different woman.”

“You’re not disgusted?” she asked.

“Why should I be disgusted? It’s not affecting my hormones. I just don’t want to give you any unwanted attentions. I wouldn’t feel disgusted; I might feel rejected.”

Once they were in his apartment, he asked, “Are we still agreed that when I cross some line, you’ll tell me? You won’t freeze up?”

“I told you. I didn’t freeze up.”

“That’s true. And I’m very grateful. Look, I get into bad moods sometimes, and I don’t deal with rooms full of adolescents -- not that some clients are much better. When you don’t want to deal with anybody, tell me so. I won’t feel rejected. If it’s something I have done, on the other hand, tell me that, too. Maybe I can change. Not that I changed the thing about the back seat, but -- at least -- I explained it. Anyway, I can’t change what isn’t brought to my attention. I’m not what you’d call a sensitive, intuitive, person.” She smiled at that description. Knut wasn’t the most intuitive person in the world, but he was kind.

“On the other hand,” he continued, “I do give great massages, even if I say so myself. It always made Candice feel better. Want to try?”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Entirely and absolutely for you. I wouldn’t get any pleasure myself in touching the areas of you which need massage right now. Or don’t you believe that?”

She’d have believed that if he hadn’t expressed it in that way. “I’m not sure.”

“Just because I so enjoyed touching you there when you didn’t need a massage? I really have to work on my story. Want to try?”

Why not? He led her into the bedroom. “More room here. Besides, I cleaned it up for your visit, anyway. Let’s start with a back rub. I’ll bet those muscles are tense, too.” The condom sitting on the nightstand seemed to glow like a neon sign. He helped her out of her jacket and blouse and hung them up. “Aren’t you afraid of wrinkling your skirt?” he asked. She peeled that off too. He hung up his own suit jacket, but it wasn’t the same.

She lay down on the bed on her tummy, and he knelt astride her. He did loosen the knotted muscles of her shoulders. He continued down her torso, going much more gently on her back. “Turn over, now,” he said. He stroked, more than massaged, her abdomen. When he got to her mound, the pressure was firm again. “Lift up,” he said with his hands on her pantyhose. Obediently, she raised her hips. He slid the pantyhose down and off her legs. A few minutes later, he repeated this with her panties.

His strokes moved from her mound to her labia. He didn’t touch her clitoris, but the motions rubbed her lips across it. After a long time of slowly rising tension, she came; and she grunted as she came.

A minute later, she blushed. She’d grunted; could he smell her? -- her smell would certainly be on his fingers; she might even be leaking. “Nobody can hear you,” he said. “Billy’s miles away.” He kissed her abdomen and covered her with the sheet from the foot of the bed. After getting the robe she’d worn before out of the closet and dropping it on the bed, he went out -- closing the door behind him.

When she came out, he was sitting on the couch reading a magazine. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I dropped off. Not much company, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I’ll take the sleep as a compliment. I did miss your company, but I manage to bear that deprivation six days in the week -- sometimes more. Want to watch the movie now? Want to take a shower?”

“Not a shower...” the man kept talking as if she’d moved in with him, “but I need to use the facilities.” She retrieved her purse. With empty bladder, new tampon, and renewed face, she felt much better when she came out.

“I don’t mean to nag,” he said, “but do you want to watch the movie now?”

Surprisingly, she did. “Let me get dressed first,” she said. She was wearing only the robe he’d given her, pantiespanties, and her bra. He’d left the bra on while he was removing everything else.

The movie was “Ruthless People,” and they sat on the sofa with his arm touching her shoulders. He hugged her on the funny lines. Overall, though, he did less touching in his own living room than her high-school dates had in public theaters.

When the closing credits had rolled, he turned her face to his and kissed her. Their tongues touched. “Thanks for the dinner and movie,” she said. “Thanks for the massage. Thanks for not starting the movie until I was ready. Thanks for being thoughtful.”

“The massage was my pleasure. Oops! The massage was a gift to you; I didn’t enjoy it at all.” He grinned. Why did his denial convince her that he was interested in her body even like this? Oaths on a Bible would have been less convincing. “As for starting the movie, it was a comedy.”

“Huh?” Knut’s conversation could take some weird turns.

“I like watching it, of course,” he said. “But the real pleasure is hearing you laugh. You have a sexy laugh.”

She laughed. “Knut, you’re impossible. You plan out a date, and I ruin it. You give me a massage, and I fall asleep. You provide the entertainment, and all you can say is that I have a sexy laugh.”

“Well, you do have a sexy laugh.”

“Knut, I love you. You keep seeing the good points of everything I do.”

“Will you marry me?” he asked. Where did that come from? “Backtrack!” Well, it had been nice for the ten seconds it had lasted. “One, I love you. Two, will you marry me? Three, you don’t have to answer right now; you can think about it. I have my bad points, as you’re painfully aware. But I do love you, and that should count for something.”

“I’ll think about it. And, now, I do think it is time for me to go home.”

“Need the car? Or should I walk you?”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“In the first place, this is a safe neighborhood, but it’s not that safe. In the second place, I enjoy your company; why should you deprive me of that just because you’re an independent woman? I know you’re an independent woman. Remember that the first time I saw you, you were escorting Billy around the neighborhood in an outfit you’d made yourself. Didn’t make ‘Becca half jealous, either.”

“It made Rebecca jealous? Billy wanted to buy the Batman costume.”

“See? We’re compatible. You can sew, and I can rake in the bucks.”

That had involved damn little sewing. A little cutting and a lot of folding, maybe. “Knut, you’re impossible!”

“Sarah, you’re beautiful.” He kissed her before leading her out the door. They kissed again, a little more fervently, in her kitchen after he’d taken her home.

There were things to think about. He seemed serious about the proposal. What would it mean?

She’d been in love with Fred; and look where that got her. She’d sworn when she finally got the divorce that she’d never marry again. And, this time, it wasn’t just two people. Billy and Rebecca would be involved. At least Knut had always treated herself and Billy as a package.

Still, it was an attractive idea. She liked Knut, and she liked herself when she was with Knut. “What would you think,” she asked Billy when they had eaten dinner Monday, “of our living with Mr. Gustafson and Rebecca?”

“I don’t know.” Well, that was an honest answer, and better than it could have been. She’d wait for him to bring it up again unless Knut insisted on an answer.

But Knut was far from insistent. He seemed to have forgotten the matter. He called Wednesday to ask if Billy would go to the zoo with him and Rebecca the next Monday. “I know you’ll be working. I’ll be on vacation. We’re not going away this year.”

“Billy’s not awake,” she said.

“I knew that. Well, I expected that. You don’t have to answer now. It’s just that, if he wanted to and you didn’t want him to, you should have a chance to say ‘no’ before he hears about it.”

“It sounds like a good idea to me.” If Knut and she were to get married, he’d have to take more of these expeditions. That might have been why Knut asked, but -- if so -- he didn’t mention it. Was he having second thoughts? He couldn’t have forgotten it. Men didn’t forget having proposed.

They all went to the Chinese Lantern on Saturday and shopping on Sunday without Knut mentioning marriage. Knut picked up Billy from Deb’s on Monday and brought him back after she got home. “He had some carrot sticks recently,” Knut said. “I know it throws your meal plans off schedule, but I didn’t want to bring him back really hungry.”

For that matter, carrot sticks were better than the sugary snack Deb sometimes fed him. “That’s fine.”

Warned, she took her time preparing dinner. They sat down to eat a half hour later than usual. Billy poked at his food. Had Knut fed him more than he’d told her? “What’s wrong, Billy?” she asked.

“If we went to live with ‘Becca, would I really have my own room like he says?”

“You’d sort of have to.” A girl and a boy couldn’t share the same bedroom. There was some sort of law about that.

Billy had some more questions. Clearly, he’d been discussing this with Knut.

Knut called late that night. “This is Knut. I know you’re mad, but hear my side of the case.”

She wasn’t mad. “I’ll listen.”

“I’m not pressuring you. I’m damn-well not pressuring you through Billy. I want you for a wife, not a victim. Billy brought it up himself. I answered as clearly as I could. I know that our living arrangements have to be a joint decision, even getting married has to be. Well, not quite joint. My position on marriage is out in the open. Your decision is final. He asked, and I answered -- that’s all.”

“I’m not mad,” she said. Billy had asked a question, and Knut had been embarrassed like she had been so often. “Then the proposal is still open?”

“The proposal is open. I’m not trying to pressure you. I just answered Billy’s question honestly. Wouldn’t you have wanted me to?”

“Yes..., and yes.”

“Pardon?” he asked. It hadn’t been the clearest statement she’d ever made.

“Yes, I want you to be honest with Billy. And yes, I’ll marry you.”

“Why, thank you. Now, I’ll tell ‘Becca. All I could tell her was that I’d asked. Let’s get together sometime to hammer out the details. We have lots to decide. I don’t claim to decide for you, you know, even when I gave Billy concrete answers.”

“You’re right,” she said. He often was.

“How about Saturday? How about a date Friday night and a negotiating session Saturday morning?”

“How about a discussion Friday night?” She didn’t want to have this hanging over her.

“After dinner? Korean?”

She could wear slacks there. She had been dressing up too much for her dates. Especially since Knut had seen her at her worst without blanching. “That works.”

“Look. Budget is one thing we’ll have to work out. I’ll have my figures as to income and expenditures. Would you bring yours with you? If you don’t want to share, you don’t have to, ;, but I’d be happier if you say: ‘I don’t want to share that information yet,’ than if you say, ‘I didn’t bother to bring that.’”

“That’s fair,” she told him.

The dinner was delicious, as usual. The conversation was more strained than her usual conversations with Knut. She suspected that they both were worrying about the upcoming meeting. “I didn’t rent a movie,” he said in the car on the way back. “I figured we had too full an agenda.”

He’d put a pad of paper and three pencils on each side of the table in his kitchen. He poured each of them a cup of coffee after helping her into the chair.

“Well, I can’t think of any more reasons for delay,” he started off. “You think of teaching as a career, don’t you?”

“Yes.” That was easy.

“On the other hand, these summer jobs? Are they anything more than putting food on the table?”

“No. But it would be unfair to quit now.”

“Okay. Finish off this year; teach in the fall; stay with the kids next summer. You’ll start to appreciate the comforts of the office.” She grinned.

“Would you mind our keeping my bank account? I’ve built up something of a relationship with these guys.”

“That should work.” He didn’t seem to think about having two separate accounts.

“I’ll get your signature recorded and your name on the checks. That might have to wait until after the wedding. Keep your old account until we’re sure. I’ve been thinking of this longer than you have, but what are some of your questions?”

“What did you tell Billy about having his own room?” she asked.

“Well, as I said, I answered what I was asked. All of this is up for grabs. But would you be comfortable with having less than three bedrooms?”

“No.”

“This apartment wouldn’t work. Yours would be even tighter. So we need to look for another space. How committed are you to Chicago?” he asked. Did he want to move? Was his firm thinking of transferring him?

“Well, I teach here; and Fred has visitation rights.”

“Is Evanston out of the question?” he asked.

“No.” She’d known teachers who lived in the suburbs. “I thought you were thinking of New York.”

“Well, I moved out to escape everything I’d known with Candice. ‘Becca’s learning enough in school, but -- when it comes time for college -- Evanston School District on her transcript will look better than Chicago Public Schools. Don’t mean to denigrate your employer.”

“That’s all right.”

“Anyway,” he continued, “we’ll have to look for someplace new. I was going to wait until the end of grade school. But Billy and she can’t both make the transition when they’d have to attend a new school, anyway. So, we’ll need a new place; one of us will look and the other one gets approval. Unless you’d prefer looking together. Three bedrooms. Apartment? I might be able to swing a house. I had a mortgage, before.”

She had long ago given up the prospect of owning a house. Maybe she should think about that. No. They should see what marriage was like first. “Let’s put the idea of a house in the ‘sometime’ file. Let’s look for an apartment now.”

“Good idea. And when is now? I mean when are we looking for a wedding date?”

“Sometime at the end of the summer. We don’t want to move in the middle of a school year.”

“Good enough. Which brings us to the wedding. Do you have a locale in mind?”

The courthouse downtown would do for her. She’d had a big church wedding, and look where it had ended up. “No. Do you?”

“I’d prefer my home church and my own preacher. But the wedding is the pidgin of the bride. I’m not going to fight about it. It’s just that I’d prefer that. Are your parents going to expect the wedding to be in Milwaukee?”

“No.” Her parents weren’t expecting the wedding. She might have mentioned Knut to them; she sure hadn’t mentioned the proposal.

He seemed to have run out of questions. “Have you mentioned this to Rebecca?” she asked.

“Sort of. Actually, Billy did. Not to ‘Becca, but to me in front of her. She was not pleased. Not that she objects to you, but she felt that he’d been told, and she hadn’t. She came around. You wouldn’t mind letting her cook a few meals once in a while, would you? We couldn’t eat meatloaf and hamburgers very often.”

“I’d be pleased,” she said. “I’ll teach her to cook some other things, too. Soon enough, she’ll get tired of that.” That was another side of there being four people in this marriage. Having a daughter would be fun; she had some things to teach her. And Rebecca had always been appreciative of what she could teach.

“Think about names. ‘Mrs. Jenkins’ won’t work much longer.”

“It would be a little odd, since I’d be Mrs. Gustafson.”

“You would? You’ll take my name? I love you. I think I’ve said that before. Of course, that’ll cause some sort of problem for Billy in school.”

She couldn’t see what was special about taking his name. She was still using Fred’s. “Not much of a problem. Schools are used to it. Do you have more questions?”

“I’m sure I’ve forgotten some. How about you? One thing. If we do use my church and pastor, she’ll want to counsel us first.”

“She?”

“Jen Blake. My minister. Anyway, what are the questions you have?”

He hadn’t said that he had a woman pastor. Not that he talked about church all that much. Questions. “I think we’ve skirted around the relationship of each of us to the other one’s child.”

They went on like that. He wrote down answers and questions for later on his pad. She started writing them down on hers, too.

When they got to budgets, he had a list already made up. He’d put in his figures and left a space for hers. “I don’t like that,” he said when she put down what she’d spent for clothes in the last year.

And some of those clothes were for him to see, too. “What don’t you like?”

“My clothes budget is larger than yours. Why don’t we assign you the same amount as I get. You don’t have to spend it all; I’m sure you’ll use your judgment. Billy’s getting less than ‘Becca is more reasonable. She’s older and a girl. Let’s assign Billy half the difference. He’s getting older.”

“Okay.” One more growth spurt would use that up, anyway.

Knut got out a calculator and ran the total. “I’ll never cover it,” he said. “After my raise, I’ll never cover it; and that raise is nearly a year away. Am I presuming too much by counting on your pay?”

“No.” Fred -- not that Fred had sat down with her to calculate budgets until crises had hit -- had complained that she wasn’t bringing in enough. Knut was asking -- asking -- if he could count on her income to help buy the food she would eat.

They worked for hours. Not everything could be definitely determined this early, but they did enough so Knut could say: “I think this will work. Anything more?”

“I can’t think of anything. But, maybe, that’s because I can’t think. We covered a lot of ground.”

“And we have more time. Let’s call it a night. You know, a dating couple pet and kiss until their need can only be satisfied in bed. A married couple simply finish what they have to do and go to bed.”

“And you think we should imitate the married couple?” she asked. It wasn’t the most romantic picture in the world, but they had already finished what they had to do. He nodded.

Once in the bedroom, though, he kissed her while they were still standing. His hands unbuttoned her blouse while his tongue was exploring her mouth. He broke that kiss to kiss her neck and shoulder while he was removing the blouse, but he stepped away to hang it up.

“My turn,” she told Knut when he’d stopped kissing her breasts to hang her bra over a chair. She stripped off his shirt. When he’d removed his undershirt -- she’d have needed a ladder to pull anything over his arms -- she kissed his chest, ending on one nipple.

“Oh Sarah,” he said and hugged her tight.

When he let go, she stepped out of her shoes and lay down on the bed. He kissed her mouth, kissed her left nipple, and removed her slacks. He repeated the process, except that it was her right nipple, for her pantyhose. He sat down on the side of the bed to remove his shoes, socks, and trousers. Then he kissed her thoroughly, his body covering hers as his tongue played with hers.

When he left her mouth, he kissed down to her left breast. After licking and sucking on the nipple, he kissed down her torso. When he got to the panties, he put his hand on each side. She lifted her hips for the third time as he removed them.

He lay down to her right. When his kisses reached her breast, his hand stroked up between her thighs. He caressed her vulva as he sucked on her nipple. He shifted his head once to suck her other nipple. Then, when she was near, so near, he kissed her again on the mouth.

She went over during that kiss. When she collapsed back, he cuddled her and kissed her forehead and eyebrows. His hand rested unmoving on her mound.

When she turned towards him, he kissed her. Soon his hand was moving again. He kissed from one breast to the other and back, stroking her lower lips the whole time. She wanted him this time. She tugged at his jockey shorts. He rolled away long enough to strip them down. Then he grabbed the condom from the nightstand. That wasn’t necessary, but he put it on before she could say so.

Then he was over her and at her entrance. She spread her legs and raised her groin to meet him. “Oh, Sarah,” he said. He slid in smoothly, occupying her while he covered her with his body. He put a hand on each of her breasts and kissed her forehead. “Lovely Sarah,” he said as he moved out. His pace of his strokes started off slow, but they sped up.

Her arousal was approaching its peak. She ran her hands up and down his back. She pulled him against her as she climaxed. “Oh, Sarah!” he said and thrust more deeply into her.

The next thing she noticed was being cuddled as he lay beside her. She turned on her side and snuggled hard against him in the spoon position. He tucked the sheet and blanket around them and circled her with his arm. “Sarah,” he said.

“Mmm, hmm,” she answered but he didn’t say anything else.

Sarah felt a hug and somebody moving off the bed, but she didn’t really wake up until Knut came back into the room. Knut! Now she was awake and clutched the covers over her. This was a little silly; he’d already seen all there was to see.

“Want a robe?” he asked. He handed her the robe and turned his back. In the bathroom, her brain caught up with her body. She was engaged to Knut, after all. She was going to marry him, and he was going to see her every day. She’d wear a nightgown, though.

“Good morning,” he said when she returned to the bedroom. He was in pajamas and robe. They had a kiss with his hands smoothing down her back to her butt. “Breakfast?”

“Still have the corn flakes?” she asked.

“Still have the corn flakes. Still have the eggs, for that matter. Well, I have other eggs. I’ll have to watch my language married to an English teacher.”

She wasn’t that hard on her students, much less her fiancé; she laughed. “Corn flakes would be fine.” They ate breakfast across from each other in the kitchen. He had eggs. Did he expect to cook his own breakfast when they were married? “Look, we still have things to work out.”

“Yep. Let’s clear this away, and I’ll get out the pads and pencils again.” He got the bowl, plate, and silverware into the dishwasher. The pads seemed to be in the bedroom.

They sat across from each other with the pads and coffee cups.

“Your turn, I think,” he said.

“I am a responsible woman. I can take care of birth control.”

“There is a question before that. Do you want another child?”

Want one? Sometimes. Billy was a tremendous hassle but often an even greater source of joy. Plan to have one? Hell no! “No.” Would he want one?

“Okay. You want to handle contraception in the marriage?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. There may be times when that isn’t convenient, but you’re responsible for telling me when.”

“Do you plan to cook your own breakfasts?” she asked.

“Let’s play that by ear. I’m not going to go all macho on you and say, ‘You’re the woman -- you’re the cook.’ We’ll be four people around the breakfast table. That’s one place you’re more lenient right now; I won’t buy Cocoa Puffs for ‘Becca.”

“You want me to change?”

“Not unless you want to. Even then, it’s not a good idea. Stepfather makes him eat less sugar; Billy resents stepfather. On the other hand, stepmother lets her eat candy for breakfast; ‘Becca appreciates stepmother. Anyway...”

“Anyway, we’ll see how it works out. Maybe I’ll join you for eggs.” If he would cooperate, she might not mind actually cooking the breakfasts. Or usually cooking the breakfasts. She could cook; she made breakfasts for Billy and herself, after all. It’s just that he should understand that he wasn’t marrying a housekeeper.

“The rest of the meals, you’ll probably cook -- or teach ‘Becca to cook, which won’t be any easier. That’s not a sex stereotype; it’s a matter of how well I cook.”

“I can live with that.”

“Off rush times, I can cook some. But it won’t be special meals. Mother’s Day, your birthday, we’ll go out to eat.” That sounded good. “Right now,” he continued “‘Becca takes care of her own room except for major vacuuming. I set the standards. Otherwise, I do the cleaning except for special chores.”

“Rebecca has chores?” she asked.

“Not, despite her moans and groans, especially heavy ones. Cooking isn’t a chore for her; it’s something she wants. Probably more work than carrying down the trash and dusting the three rooms.”

“That’s something which will have to be decided again.”

“Sure. A new place, for one thing. Billy will have to do something; I’m sure he does now. Before we move in, I’ll give you a list of her current chores. You know more about that sort of thing than I do. You divide up what each one does. Probably, I should tell ‘Becca, and you should tell Billy, though. For that matter, you’ll have to decide what each of us -- you and me -- does about our room. I don’t want either kid wandering through it.”

“Okay. I’m head housekeeper?”

“You’re head of housekeeping,” he said. She could tell that he meant a distinction with the different term, but she couldn’t see what. “Somebody has to be. Besides, if I want something different -- and I doubt that I will -- I’ll ask you.”

“Allowance is something else,” he continued. “We’ll have to agree on what each gets. Probably ‘Becca will get more, but both will increase over age. Billy has to know that what she gets at eleven, he’ll get at eleven. (Plus cost-of-living increases, but we won’t mention that.) Probably more important is what the allowance covers.”

“I don’t give Billy much.”

“Well, we’ll figure it out. I don’t want him getting a big jump when he moves in. It would look like bribery. When we figure it out, if it comes to an increase, you can give him the increase earlier. I’ll supply it, if necessary.”

“Giving it to me wouldn’t be bribery?” she asked.

“Lady, if I thought you could be bribed, I would have tried. Believe me.”

They talked for hours more. Knut tore another sheet off his pad and wrote down everything which they had put off until later. Finally, he said: “Rings.”