Chapter 8

Okay, I'm back. Actually, I'm awake in my own bed in the wee hours of the morning. Well, it WAS my own bed until two days ago when I agreed that I was indeed in love with this nutcase lying next to me.

Nutcase? In the best possible way. She loves me. Says she loves me. She's right here next to me and any sane man would be thinking about how wonderful it was for the opportunity to have sex with a virginal but eager and athletic teen. And said random man would be thinking that he'd be going along for the ride to see how long it was.

But the clean smiling face in bed next to me, lit by dim light from the moonlight streaming in through the window, yeah, THAT face, belongs to a girl who swears she believes in love at first sight. And I'm more than a little inclined to believe her because I believe the same thing. I love her. In a life where 'love' meant a lot of different things to a lot of different people, I look at her and think 'forever'.

Of course, the clock says '0200' and the reason I'm awake for this reverie is that I'm arguing with my own bladder about the need to do some draining.

Bladder wins. I ease out of bed carefully, trying not to wake my companion. Thought I succeeded. Even sat on the toilet to pee so I wouldn't wake her up. I eased back into bed carefully and for all my care and effort I got wrapped up in a pair of arms with a purr in the middle.

"Shhhhh," she whispered. "Just kiss me."

I kissed her lightly. She pulled her soft lips away and nestled in against my chest, took a deep breath, sighing its release and we went back to sleep.

The next time we woke, it was the alarm, and no, it wasn't one of those noisy, irritating alarms. I'm past that. Music. Mozart clarinet concerto.

A little kitten-like whine, then arms and a purr and kiss. After the kiss, activity. She was getting dressed after making bathroom noises and I was doing the same. Kitchen. Coffee. Breakfast cereal. I threw her the keys to the SUV. She looked at me.

"What's this for?" she asked.

"My wife needs her own car."

"B-but..."

"I have my truck. We'll figure this out later."

"You trust me with your new car?"

"Correction. OUR new car. And trust you? I'm marrying you, for pete's sake."

She started to smile. "But I didn't think..."

"All those things go with the territory, princess. What's mine is yours..."

"And what's mine is yours. But Tim, I have NOTHING."

"Then wait'll this evening when we ask Jen about a dowry for you."

Over a bowl of cereal, that soft face broke into a grin. "Yeah. That's the custom in a lot of places. How much will she give us to get me off her hands." Giggle.

Unfortunately my work starts before Kim's school, and I have to fight traffic, so I kissed her on the way out the door. It's been a long time since I was so reluctant to leave home.

I walked into my office, dropped my computer case on the chair, removed the computer and docked it, then headed to the kitchenette. A coffeemaker there made it the social focus of the offices in the morning.

Harold "Buzz" Aldrin (no discernible relation to the astronaut) was stirring a bit of sugar into his mug of coffee. "SO tell me, Tim. You're usually an 'up' sort of guy, but it's like this week somebody turned up the burner. You hit the lottery? Rich uncle die?"

"Big changes," I said, "on the domestic front."

He grinned. "Domestic front? Like a new blender?"

"Worse than that," I said. "Fiancee'."

"Hell, boy! Two weeks ago you didn't even have a girlfriend. And I know that you went out with one of Gail's friends."

Gail was our department administrator and she had single friends. Her friend was one of those 'Get me in bed ONCE and I'm yours' types and it was HER face that I had in mind when I told Kim the '"People" magazine and two-syllable vocabulary' thing. But I didn't say that to Gail and I wasn't gonna repeat it to Buzz either. You never know whose cousin or sister-in-law or whatever might be the subject of conversations.

"Yeah, that one didn't click."

"I heard from reputable sources that she could suck a golfball through a garden hose."

Okay, maybe I COULD talk about her in slightly coarser terms. Still. "I wouldn't know first-hand, and while that's an admirable talent, at the end of the day you still need to have somebody to talk with."

He laughed. "You can TALK to the guys at work."

"Nah," I said. "And I wanted one that would look the same in the morning as she does when she crawls in bed at night. I'd've hated to chisel through the top layer of makeup to find skin."

"That ain't the skin I'd be interested in," he kept on.

"We need to have this conversation with YOUR wife around," I countered.

"Are you CRAZY? I'm just tryin' to set you up with some domestic bliss like I got." He grinned. "I know what side MY bread's buttered on. But if you want, bring the new lady over sometime. We'll do some steaks on the grill and tell lies to each other."

And now I'm getting this picture of me showing up at Buzz's house with a sixteen year old cutie on my arm. THAT issue was going to be sticky. But choices ... Hmmm, let me see ... Kimmy. Buzz. Wasn't much of a choice. Of course, the best of the two worlds would have Buzz and his wife (and several others) thinking 'That Tim sure looks odd with that young wife of his, but they're happy and she doesn't LOOK like a bimbo.'

Was that too much to hope? Something to discuss delicately with Kimberly.

So I did. When I pulled up in the apartment parking lot, my SUV, uh, let's make that Kim's SUV was already there, as expected. Also expected was the idea that she was at Jen's. That one was wrong. The phone call to her on the way home from work was "I'm at OUR apartment, baby."

"By yourself?"

"Uh-huh. I just paused some Schumann on the stereo. I'm going over the week's school stuff. And I'm looking at some ground meat and a recipe."

"You're gonna COOK?!?!"

"You get a wife out of all this. I'm also a domestic goddess. In training."

"So what's a pound of ground meat telling you?"

"Ummm, I'm looking at a pasta sauce."

"That'll work."

So that's what I expected when I walked in. Unexpected. Jen sitting on the sofa.

"Hi, soon to be husband of Kim."

"Hi, Kim's beloved aunt."

"I'm pasta sauce tech support," Jen said. "It's like a dinner show. You keep sharp knives, Tim. We almost lost a finger on your new wife."

The light brown head was peering out of the door to the kitchen. "Close, but no blood. Hi, sweetie. Didja miss me?"

"Only like crazy," I said.

"Your knives. They're SHARP!"

"That's a surpise?"

"Aunt Jen's aren't."

I looked at Jen.

"When they get too dull I buy new ones."

"I started out with good ones and I sharpen them."

"Novel!" Jen said. "Uh, since I gave you Kim, do I get free knife sharpening?"

Kim giggled. "Uh, Aunt Jen, about THAT, Tim and I were talking last night..."

Jen snorted. "You stopped long enough to TALK?"

Kim's faked outrage. "Uh, AUNT Jen! I'm SURE! We're NOT just about SEX!"

"'Just'?!?!" Jen laughed.

I was loving this because BOTH of the participants in this exchange were smiling.

"ANYWAY," Kim continued, "traditionally speaking, you, as my parent, owe my future husband a dowry suitable for a bride of my obvious quality."

Should've known that Jen wasn't gonna go down easy.

"Oooo-kayyyy," she said. "What is the suitable dowry for a mid-range teen with water boiling skills and a predilection for vocabulary and Trivial Pursuit?"

"Still angling for Laci as 'Best Man'," I said.

Squeal! Giggle. "That's BRILLIANT!" Kim giggled. I'd forgotten that I never had told HER of that idea. Something between Jen and me.

By this time I made it to the kitchen and was looking at the red mass seething in a pot. I sampled.

"Needs something, doesn't it?" Kim said. "Looks right. Lacks authority. Doesn't TASTE Italian. You know? Like that restaurant?"

"What recipe did you use?"

She pushed a printed page on the counter. "Got it off the internet."

"Guidelines. Recipes are guidelines. Get the proportions of the main ingredients, then TASTE. Know what herbs and spices add which tastes and how they blend."

She tiptoed, spoon in hand, to kiss me. "Mmmmm," she said. "A dish that needs no augmentation."

"I'm IN here," Jen called. "Being ignored."

"Not ignoring you," I said. "Come stick your finger in this sauce."

A knock on the door.

"Come in!" Kim said loudly. To me she said, "That'll be the best man for our wedding." Giggle.

Laci entered, striding through the great room and into the kitchen with the rest of us. "Smells like spaghetti sauce."

Kim waved her spoon. "Will be as soon as me an' Tim spice it up right. Aunt Jen, there's a big pot in that corner cabinet. Put the pasta water on to boil, please."

I was handing spice bottles to Kim, admonishing her about amounts. "Add a little, stir, wait a bit, and taste. You can always add more. Taking some out is harder."

"Oooooo, will ya listen to THAT! Guy's got kitchen skills!" Laci flashed a smile.

"Kim's the cook tonight," I said.

"Wow, boy! You tamed 'er pretty fast, Timmy boy!"

Kimmy remembered. "He DID! Wanna see my new leash? You can borrow it sometimes!" And a lopsided fake grin for emphasis.

Kim and I got the spices the way SHE wanted in the sauce and when the pasta was al dente, I passed out plates. "And a bottle of chianti," I said.

"Oh, no ... I don't know if I want wine," Kimmy said. "Aunt Jen liked to've killed me last time."

"Just ONE glass with your meal, Kim," I said. "Won't get you hung over. But if you don't like the taste..."

"But it goes well with that sauce you built. Try it," Jen said. "Just ONE glass."

"Yeah, drink the nice Kool-aid, little girl," I said in my best 'Chester the Molester' imitation. Then in an aside worthy of vaudeville, "I just need to get 'er close enough to leash 'er..."

"If she shows up tomorrow with a collar, buddy..." Jen laughed.

I got a surreptitious wink from Kim. Looks like I need to measure her for a collar. And a leash. And no, neither of us had said a thing to each other about any sort of fetish. This was for Jen's benefit. A few bucks for a few laughs.

We finished dinner together as a strange family, but a family nonetheless. Laci helped Kim tidy up the kitchen while Jen and I talked.