******
Mattie tidied the living room, and went into the kitchen to throw away some papers, and heard the doorbell. She glanced at her watch, and smiled as she saw that it was seven o'clock sharp. She walked calmly to the front door and opened it to see Clay standing on the porch, a small bouquet of flowers in his left hand.
"You look lovely." He smiled softly as he handed her the bouquet.
"Thank you." Mattie took the soft, crinkled cone of white florist paper, and looked down at the lovely white and yellow asters, nestled in the fragile looking lavender scabius, and the deeper purple hydrangeas. Several shades of greenery filled out the bouquet. "Oh, Clay, they're beautiful." She touched one of the tiny petals of the scabius, then raised her eyes to his.
"You wore lavender today, so I thought you might like these," he smiled and she moved aside so he could enter. She closed the front door.
"Let me put these in a vase." She walked toward the kitchen, and he followed, looking around her living room, softly lit by several table lamps. He paused beside her bookshelf in the office area.
"You have an impressive stash of books here, Mattie." he whistled softly, and she could see him tilting his head to read the titles on the spines. He looked very handsome in dark blue jeans, and a light blue shirt under his black peacoat.
"Yes, well, that's a necessity in my field," she laughed as she pulled out a vase from the cabinet underneath the sink. "Besides, I've just always loved to read about other cultures, and art in general."
"Ah, here's a book on Frank Lloyd Wright." He pulled it out and joined her in the kitchen as she arranged the stems in the vase. He leaned against the black and white tiled countertop and flipped through the pages as she added the greenery, then held the vase under the faucet and filled it half-way up with water. "Here's the Guggenheim Museum. I know you've been there." She noticed that his hair, pulled back in his usual pony tail was still damp, and she smiled at that. The thought of each of them getting ready for the other took on a whole new meaning in her mind, for some reason.
"Yes, several times in fact."
"And....here's a home that I drove by a few years ago, Graycliff Estates, in Derby, New York, built in 'twenty-nine. Very impressive. I'm still a big fan of his prairie style, though."
She nodded as she wiped off the vase with a towel, then headed back into the living room, setting the vase on the coffee table.
"They're beautiful, Clay." She turned to see him replacing the book in its former location. He rose and walked over to her.
"I'm glad you like them. I like your apartment, by the way. Just the right size." He put his hand on her shoulder and leaned down to kiss her softly.
"Thanks, I like it too." She smiled up at him, then walked over to the closet and rested her cane against the wall as she pulled out her long black coat, and he held it as she slid her arms in the sleeves. They left the apartment, and she locked the door, and he held her right elbow as they walked down the steps and turned right toward the faculty parking lot in the cold, late October night air.
"I'm fine," she laughed as she pulled herself up into the passenger seat of the black Jeep, and adjusted her long coat and skirt. She watched Clay walk around to his side and climb in. He turned to smile at her for a moment in the darkness, then he leaned toward her and kissed her again lightly before turning back to start the Jeep.
"On the menu tonight is sauteed mushrooms, scallions, peppers, and shrimp over linguine, with a wine, butter, and basil reduction sauce." His voice was serious as he put the Jeep in reverse, but after the Campbell's soup he'd brought that morning, she wasn't quite sure if he was teasing her.
"That sounds incredible."Mattie turned and smiled at him as he drove out of the parking area onto the small street in back of the college, heading back in the direction of the stables.
"Yes, well, I used to cook a lot more than I do now, so this is a treat for me." He glanced over at her as they passed the left turn to the stables. "I hope you like white wine. I bought us a Riesling. It should be chilled by the time we get there."
So he was seriously into cooking. Hmm..interesting. And she'd thought he was joking. "White wine is my favorite, actually." He nodded at her reply. What else would she learn about him tonight? He turned right, and they bounced along the uneven, narrow dirt road.
"Up ahead to the right, where that group of trees are, is where I keep the trailer when I'm in Brooksford."
"Is this a campground?" Mattie peered down the dark road and saw stringed lights in the distance. "I'm not familiar with this area."
"No, I rent the land from the owner of this farm." He turned as they reached the trees, and pulled the Jeep up under a tree, and turned off the engine. "This is my home away from home when I'm in New Hampshire." He jumped down and walked around, opening her door, and helping her down from the high seat.
"Thank you," she murmured as she looked around at the outdoor space. A white canopy jutted out from the turquoise and white curved metal camper, beneath which a couple of beach chairs sat next to a small black grill.
"When the weather is warmer, I cook out on the grill." The area was lit by strings of white lights, tossed over the tree branches and canopy, and she smiled. "It's called the 'canned ham' design, for obvious reasons," he laughed.
"I like it, Clay," she looked up at him. "It's very cozy."
"Thank you." He preceded her to the camper, and unlocked the narrow metal door, holding it open for her. "Watch your step." He held her elbow as she stepped up into the dimly-lit camper. She waited for him to enter and close the door, then he turned on two more wall lamps and she looked around her at the small space. She glanced down at the tan linoleum beneath her boots, and then up at the curved white slat ceiling.
"It's thirteen feet long, and relatively lightweight - about twelve hundred pounds." He pointed to the kitchen area, to the right of the door, along the front end of the camper. She turned and saw the faux butcher block countertop, and oak cabinets, and a small double sink with a narrow aluminum window above it, and red curtains on either side. "There's a three-burner propane stove, and oven, and the fridge is under here."
"You obviously have electricity."
"Yes, we're not far from the owner's barn, and I run a line from there." He opened the door to the small white appliance, and she could see it packed full with the ingredients for their dinner as well as the bottle of white wine. She was fascinated by the compactness of the space. He helped her shrug out of her heavy coat, and she held it as he continued his tour. He gestured toward the other end of the camper. There's the eating area." She saw the booth, which took up the entire width of the back of the trailer, topped with floral-printed red cushions, and the butcher-block table in the middle. Above the booth were narrow wrap-around aluminum windows on all three sides, edged with the same red curtains. "The table folds down, and the booths open up and it turns into a double bed."
"Do you have a bathroom?" She hadn't seen evidence of one so far, and was a little curious about that. He laughed.
"Yes, of sorts." He pointed to a very narrow door directly across from them, between the other side of the kitchen and the booth. "There's a portable toilet in there." She made a face at that, and he laughed again. "It's not so bad."
"Do you have running water?"
"Yes, I hooked up to his barn's water source." He looked down at her. "However, I'll buy a large container of water for cooking and keep it outside. I'm not a hundred percent sure about the purity of the well water on a farm, with pesticides and all of that." She nodded as he shrugged off his jacket. "Here, let me take your coat, and I'll get started on dinner." Surprisingly, there was a narrow closet next to the bathroom door, and he opened it and hung her coat and his in the tiny space crammed with the rest of his clothes. He turned around and smiled at her, his hands on his hips. "This has been my home for the last eighteen months."
"I like it, Clay." She gazed around the trailer, so cozy-feeling with the warm glow from the wall lamps.
She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "What can I do to help?"
"Not a thing. You can relax at the table, and enjoy a glass of wine while I prep." He smiled broadly at her, and she took two steps and slid into the booth.
"I think you have restaurant experience in your past."
"Yes, I worked at a restaurant while I was in college." He pulled out the bottle of wine from the fridge and a corkscrew from a drawer, and peeled off the metal wrapper, throwing it into a trashcan under the sink. He twisted the screw into the cork and pulled it out. After taking down two small glasses from an upper cabinet, he took one stride and slid into the booth across from her. He poured them each a half-glass, then recorked the bottle. "I hope this is chilled enough." They sipped the wine.
"Umm. It's perfect."
"I'm glad you like it. Let me get started, then." He took the bottle and the glass and returned to the kitchen area, and pulled out the ingredients for their dinner from the fridge and replaced the bottle. "I've already washed everything, by the way." He unbuttoned the cuffs of his long sleeved shirt, and rolled them up on his forearms, and stuck the end of a white dishtowel in his front belt loop.
She watched him, fascinated, as she sipped her wine. He set the large pan on the stove, turned on the flame, and slid in a pat of butter, then quickly pulled out a wooden board and began slicing the peppers and dicing the scallions, sliding them into the sizzling butter. He reached up and pulled down a large pot hanging from a hook in the ceiling. "I'll be right back." And he disappeared out the door, returning a moment later with a pot full of water, and a grin on his handsome face. "It may not look like it, but cooking is very relaxing to me." He set it on the back burner and turned on the flame, then turned on the hooded vent above the stove. "Are you all right over there?" He picked up his glass and took a sip as he eyed her. She was starting to feel very warm, and she wasn't sure if it was from the wine or the heat from the propane stove in the small space.
"I'm fine," she smiled at him.
He turned back to the stove to stir the scallions and peppers, then tossed in a small bag of mushrooms. "Could you add the pasta to the water...?"
"Sure." She got up and walked over and picked up the package of linguine. The water was boiling at that point, and she opened the package and immersed the strands of pasta in the water. She looked down at the contents of the pan Clay was stirring. "This smells so good."
They laughed as they bumped into each other several times as he reached for items in the tiny cooking area. "Would you hand me the pepper? It's over there." He motioned to her left and she laughed as she handed him the tall metal peppercorn grinder.
"I'm going to get out of your way now." She slid back into the booth and sipped her wine. "By the way, how is your business doing in Plattsburgh?"
"I talked to my brother last night, as a matter of fact, and it's doing well." Clay looked at her for a moment, then turned back to stir the pasta, and wipe his hand on the dishtowel. "He wants me to come back soon, though, to work on some drawings for a new client's home - a very substantial home, I might add - on the side of a mountain. I like the possibilities of that one. There's a chance I can add some of Wright's touches to the design, with the horizontal lines, and natural elements, local stonework, possibly. I can get creative with it, I think."
"It sounds like you miss your business."
"I do, occasionally." Clay opened a foil packet and held it over the pan, adding the large shrimp to the rest of the sizzling ingredients. He turned to her. "What I'm doing now, though, is much more important to me. It's something I feel compelled to do, for Henry's sake," he eyed her seriously. "I have the rest of my life to be an architect. You should come with me, Mattie...to one of the hospitals. It's very rewarding. Every hospital I visit is understaffed and they really appreciate the help."
"What do you do exactly, when you go to the hospitals?"
"I transport patients from their rooms to physical therapy, and sometimes I help with their weight lifting, or help with their daily routines - getting dressed - that sort of thing." He stirred the contents of the pan. He reached down and pulled out the bottle of wine, uncorked it and poured a little into the pan, and a cloud of steam rose and was sucked up into the vent. He added a large pat of butter, and sprinkled in the torn basil, then turned and glanced at her. "By the way, I have a confession to make."
"Oh?" She couldn't imagine what he was about to tell her. "What is it?" She sipped her wine, noticing that her glass was almost empty.
"The day I came to your classroom..." he glanced over at her. "Wait a minute, see if this is to your liking." He pulled out a strand of the linguine with a fork, and held his other hand under it as he carried it over to her. He held it out for her, and she bit off a piece, chewing it while she watched him pop the rest in his mouth.
"Yes, that's perfect. I like it al dente."
"Good." He returned to the kitchen, and turned off the flame under the pot, and scooped out all the strands of pasta, adding them to the large pan. He turned off the flame, and stirred all of the ingredients together. He removed the dishtowel from his belt loop and wiped his hands, and got two shallow white bowls out of the upper cabinet, silverware and napkins from the drawer and carried them as well as his glass of wine to the table. Mattie set their places as he went back for the pan and wine. He carried the large pan to the table and set it on an oven mitt at the back of the table.
"Would you like more wine?"
"Yes, please."
He poured some more into both their glasses, then picked up her bowl and filled it with the pasta and shrimp. She looked down, completely impressed with the elegant dish before her, as he served himself. He took a sip of wine, and leaned back against the cushion. "It's a little warm in here, I know."
"I'm fine, and this looks absolutely gorgeous." She twirled the pasta around her fork and speared a shrimp. "Clay, it's wonderful." She could see that he was pleased at her response, and they ate for a moment in silence. She picked up her glass. "You were going to tell me something?"
He smiled as he finished chewing and wiped his mouth with the napkin. "The day I came to your classroom?" She nodded, sipping her wine. "I have to confess that I stood outside your door for quite a while, getting up the nerve to go in after your students had left."
"Oh?" She slowly twirled more pasta.
"I was very impressed with your lecture."
"Thank you." She looked at him, a little puzzled, as she took another bite.
"I didn't intentionally eavesdrop, but couldn't help but hear you since your door was open." He drank some of his wine. "I'm telling you this, because when I was in college, I took a couple of art history courses to fulfill the requirements for my degree." He took a deep breath as she squinted her eyes at him. "Your lecture was so much more interesting...not anything like my professors." She smiled at him now as she took another bite. "They were very dry, and boring, and only interested in doling out facts." His eyes were warm as he gazed at her across the table. "If I were a student at Brooksford, I would sign up for every class you taught, Professor Shaw." She laughed, and he joined her. "I have to admit, after hearing you, I felt a little intimidated, and almost didn't come in your room."
"I'm glad you weren't intimidated." She tilted her head at him. "Hmm...I have a confession, as well." He raised his eyebrows at her quizzically and smiled.
"And what is that?"
"When I first saw you at the demonstration that night?" She saw him nod and search her eyes, a slight smile on his lips as he rubbed his lightly bearded jaw. "I thought you were a government agent or an outside agitator at the very least, coming to our quiet little school to cause a disruption."
He laughed at that, and peered intently at her as he clasped his hands in front of him. "I understand now, why you looked at me with such suspicion." He squinted his dark eyes at her. "You're very protective of your students, aren't you?"
"Yes, I suppose I am," she sighed as she sipped her wine. "They seem s
o young and vulnerable, and I believe that they feel helpless against a world that is violent and spiraling out of control." She glanced at him and shook her head. "But, I don't want to talk about the war tonight. This has been such an enjoyable day."
"That's fine, we don't have to." They finished their meal and he cleared the table. When he returned, he poured the last of the wine into their glasses.
"Clay, that was a wonderful meal." She saw that he seemed really pleased with her response. "Next time, it's my turn to cook for you."
"That's a deal." He grinned at her, as he lifted the glass to his lips. "Your place next time...you set the date and hour." She nodded in agreement. "What will you fix, do you think?"
"Hmm..well, you've certainly set the bar very high." She sipped her wine, and tilted her head to the side, considering all of her favorites "How does an appetizer of escargot in garlic butter with bruschetta sound?"
"I like it." He sipped his wine, raising his brows at her. "Go on."
"Then, hmm..m....let me think." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and fiddled with her dangling earring as she eyed him. "Oh, yes...an entree of broiled wild salmon, with roasted red potatoes and zucchini." She raised one brow at him and smiled enticingly.
"I sense we have a seafood theme going on here."
"And, my specialty - apple pie - for dessert."
"A la mode?"
"Of course."
"Then, it's a date," he laughed and held his glass out and they clinked their glasses.
Mattie lost all track of time as they leaned in towards each other across the table and shared stories about their respective families, and childhood experiences, and she was enthralled as he described to her his favorite place on earth - Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. She watched his eyes light up as he told her about Cabot Trail, the winding road that followed the Atlantic coastline and ran along some of the highest, rolling green mountains in the country with truly breathtaking views of the ocean. She sensed that he enjoyed seclusion, and despite his large family, and his current volunteering, he was somewhat a solitary man, and very self-aware, and she admired those traits immensely. She enjoyed watching his mouth twist up in a soft smile as she related a story from her childhood to him, and they laughed many times at each others' self-deprecating tales of mishaps or humorous misadventures. She wiped a tear from her eye as he related one of his and Caleb's boyhood antics involving antique swords they'd found during an excursion into their home's attic. They'd decided to duel like they'd seen in the movies, and they chased each other around the attic, swinging the sabers dramatically at each other's neck and chest. Fortunately, Clay told her, the slash he'd received on his lower arm was minor compared to what could have occurred, looking back on it. The sight of blood spurting from the deep slit caused him to scream for his mother, as Caleb ran and hid behind a cedar chest in the eaves. Being accustomed to two rambunctious boys, Clay related, his mother came upstairs, eyed his wound and calmly wrapped her apron around his arm to stem the bleeding. Without a word of admonishment, she led him downstairs to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet for an even more painful pouring on of merthiolate to banish any bacteria from the old sword, and a final taping on of a large bandage. Clay pointed to the area on his left arm, above his leather watch strap and dial, and she leaned her head down to get a better look and she ran her finger along the still slightly-raised silvery line on his warm skin, noticing that the dark hair on the rest of his arm was absent along the scar.
"Surprisingly, we weren't punished." Clay laughed as she raised her eyes to his. "I guess mom figured that the methiolate was punishment enough for me, which it was - it stung like hell - and that I would get Cal back somehow, which, of course, I did."
"From the thickness of the scar, I'd say you had a pretty deep cut." Mattie ran her fingers along the scar again, fascinated by the feel of his warm skin.
"I most likely needed stitches," he laughed. "But, we both survived to torture each other for several more years."
She tilted her head to the side and looked at the tiny black hands on the dial of his watch.
"Clay, do you realize that it's almost two o'clock?"
"Really?" He peered down at the dial, then into her eyes, and all he had to do was smile. He pursed his lips and his expression turned serious. "We do need to figure something out though. We didn't finish our earlier discussion on Fallingwater."
"I still can't believe I fell asleep." She clasped her hands loosely on the table in front of her and raised her brows, shaking her head as he smiled. He reached over and took her hands in his, and she stared at his strong hands, mesmerized, as he lightly rubbed his thumbs over her skin, and her pulse quickened. She remembered how good he'd felt earlier as they'd sat on the blanket and held each other, and she blinked softly. It was as if they were in some sort of exquisite choreography...circling each other...embracing at times... both anticipating the culmination of the dance.
"I'm looking forward to traveling to Fallingwater with you next weekend, if we can do it. Is Saturday still all right with you?"
"Yes, but how far away did you say it was?"
"As you were falling asleep," he smiled, "I was in the process of saying that I'd forgotten that it's a ten or eleven hour trip from here...pretty far."
"Oh my goodness. A twenty-two hour round trip." She stared at him, as they both pondered the logistics of their planned excursion. She saw him gaze down at her hands as he held them, rubbing his thumb over her fingernails. "That's a long drive." She sighed again and searched his face, as he nodded, and pursed his lips, looking a bit disappointed. "I'd love to see the house, though. We'll have to get hotel rooms nearby, I suppose. That's the most logical solution." She glanced up at him hopefully. "Any other ideas?"
"It is a long trip." He looked at her seriously. "I would suggest that we leave Friday night and make a weekend of it. We could take this camper, and you could have the bed..." He gestured with his hand at the booth, then smiled at her disarmingly. "...and I could hang a sheet across the middle of the camper and sleep on the kitchen floor." They stared at each other.
"Hmm..mm. As in It Happened One Night?"
"I'll be Clark Gable, and you could be Claudette Colbert."
There was a long pause as they stared at each other, and she thought that he must surely be able to sense her thoughts, or her racing pulse as he softly rubbed her hands. She lifted her chin and gazed at him with lowered lids, her eyes soft.
"We both know how that movie ended," she whispered.
"Yes, we do."
"However, that idea is tempting." She blinked softly and found that she couldn't pull her eyes away from his warm, dark gaze. Her pulse quickened at a thought and she whispered. "I'm curious, though. How does this booth transform into a bed?" She saw him purse his lips and narrow his eyes at her question. There was a pause, and he continued to rub his thumbs across the tops of her hands as they looked at each other thoughtfully.
"I could show you if you like." His deep voice was soft, and he smiled at her, his eyes serious, and she nodded slightly and raised her brows.
"I would like that," she whispered, and as he got up and picked up their glasses, putting them in the sink, she slid out of the booth and leaned against the wall, so he could fold down the table.
Mattie watched him take two slow steps over to her, and she looked up into his eyes as he wrapped his strong arms around her waist and drew her close. She raised her face to him, and her lashes fluttered as she felt his warm lips on her forehead, then her cheek, then her neck, and she thought she would die of happiness as she raised her arms onto his broad shoulders and caressed his neck and ponytail, and he kissed her lips.
She felt herself tremble as they pulled away from each other, and she watched as, without a word, he turned and lifted the table and folded down the metal support, then set it in place. Everything appeared to her to be in slow motion in the muted gold light, as she watched him reach back under the cushions and pull out a
light blue sheet and slide the boards over the table to form the base of the bed. He carefully arranged the cushions over the base, and unfolded the sheet, spreading it out and taking time to tuck it in neatly around the cushions. Clay stood and turned to her, and she couldn't breathe, seeing him gaze down at her, his eyes luminous in the dim light of the camper. He smiled at her as he ran his thumb along her jaw and bent to kiss her again. This time, she had to hold onto his arms for support, and she heard herself moan softly. He broke off the kiss and she felt him scoop her up and set her on the bed. She scooted back, smiling softly, holding her arms out to him as he joined her.