Memoir in the Making: A May-December Romance Page 17

  “What happened to no judgment between us?” she asked. “What happened that it’s not allowed anymore?”

  “When you throw out your life that rule gets tossed in the dumpster. You can’t do this to yourself.”

  “I can, and I have. Just forget it. I don’t need you to sit there and judge me for something you would completely do yourself.”

  “I’m different.”

  “Why?” she said loudly enough to get the attention of a few other tables next to them. “Why are you different? Because you’re a man? What kind of bullshit is that?”

  “Because I don’t care about sex with random people. You do. That’s what makes the difference.”

  All Ainsley heard was the clatter of the room. She glared at Adam, her face reddening and her heart clenching. She grabbed her food tray, but Adam reached over and grabbed her hands instead. She sat back down fully in the booth and waited for him to speak.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t mean for it to come off like that. I just don’t want you to get hurt, because that’s not fun for anyone around. I want you to be careful. Make sure you know what the consequences are.”

  “I know what they are.”

  “Good. Then think about them before you take another step because I really don’t want to have to pick up the pieces. I will pick them up, Ainsley. I’m not abandoning you, but I would rather avoid you being hurt than just wait for it to happen.”

  Ainsley sighed and rested back in the booth. She nodded in his direction, emotions swirling through her. She needed to really sit down and talk it through with Meredith. She wanted labels or at least some sort of confirmation of what they were doing. Perhaps at dinner—yes, that would be ideal.

  “So…” Adam said. “Are you going to tell me all about it? You know I want the deets.”

  Ainsley couldn’t help the smile that graced her lips and began with the morning Meredith had waltzed into the bedroom with nothing but a towel draped around her torso.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Butterflies swam around in her stomach as she knocked on Meredith’s front door Thursday evening. Since her conversation with Adam, she wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Ainsley swallowed and couldn’t help smiling when Meredith opened the door with a grin on her face. Meredith reached through the doorway and tugged Ainsley inside. Before Ainsley could even catch a whiff of whatever Meredith was making, Meredith was in her arms kissing her.

  Their lips locked together, and she held on for dear life. Her head swam, Meredith’s perfume intoxicating her. Her back was against the door, and Meredith was pressed hard against her front. Ainsley gripped Meredith’s waist to hold herself steady as she tried to catch her breath and her brain, both of which had gone out the window the second she’d cross the threshold.

  “I’m so glad you came,” Meredith whispered into Ainsley’s ear, and if Ainsley hadn’t been trying her hardest to figure out what was happening, she might have done just that.

  “Me too,” she breathed the words out. “Come back here.”

  Ainsley pulled Meredith back and continued kissing her, having finally caught up with what was going on. She ran her hands up Meredith’s back and then down to her ass, moving her in even closer. She leaned against the door and spread her legs so Meredith could fit nicely between them. If this was going to be their routine, then Ainsley would be happy for the rest of her life—or at least the rest of their time together, depending on how their conversation went that evening.

  Meredith jerked back suddenly and ran to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder. “I don’t what it to burn!”

  “Right.”

  Ainsley pulled off her jacket and gloves, hanging them on the hook by the front door. If she hadn’t been there to witness it herself, she would say Meredith was giddy. Her energy level was higher than normal, and she couldn’t stop moving around. She truly was acting very different from the first few times Ainsley had been in her presence. She was no longer cool and calculated but excited and happy. Ainsley smiled to herself and stepped out of her shoes, following the scents of food into the kitchen.

  Wrapping her arms around Meredith’s waist and looking over her shoulder, Ainsley studied the pots on the stove. “What is it?”

  “Couscous and chicken with vegetables.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “It will be.”

  Ainsley smirked and then moved to the counter, finding two glasses of wine already poured, one half drunk already. She picked the fuller of the two glasses and sipped gingerly at it. Whatever wine it was, it was good, but then again, she expected nothing less from Meredith.

  “I was hoping we could talk,” Ainsley said, not wanting to bog down their whole night with bad conversation.

  “Oh?” Meredith turned and gave her a quick look before focusing back on the chicken. “Dinner will be ready soon. We can eat and talk.”

  “Sure.”

  Meredith pulled the meat and couscous off the stove but stirred the vegetables a bit longer. Once they were seated with plates and wine in front of them, Ainsley took a breath. Meredith already had a bite in her mouth, but Ainsley wasn’t interested in eating. Her stomach was doing somersaults again, and she just needed to get the feeling off her chest.

  “What are we doing?” she asked.

  “Pardon?”

  Ainsley shook her head and rephrased her question. “You and me. What are we doing? Are we dating?”

  Meredith set her fork down gently on the edge of her plate and swallowed the bite she’d been chewing. Ainsley’s heart was in her throat, and she couldn’t swallow it down like she wanted. Nausea rolled through her stomach and into her chest, and she took a deep breath.

  “I don’t know,” Meredith answered honestly. “I just wanted to enjoy a meal with you and thought you might like to eat something other than cafeteria food and take out.”

  Ainsley smirked and shook her head, looking down at her plate filled with food. It was true that anything was better than cafeteria food, but that hadn’t quite been what she meant when she asked the question. Trying again, she said, “Do you even want to date?”

  “I haven’t dated in years. I always figured I was a bit old for it.”

  Ainsley clenched her lips shut. She could deny Meredith’s age all she wanted, but the fact the matter was, Meredith was much older. “How old are you, anyway? You know how old I am, but I don’t think I ever asked you how old you are.”

  “Fifty-two.”

  Taking a deep breath, Ainsley picked up her fork and took a small bite of food. Meredith hadn’t touched her plate since they’d started talking, but she did reach for her wine and take a long sip. Ainsley chewed silently, thinking and comparing. Meredith was older than her mother. She hadn’t quite thought that through all the way before, but now it was right in front of her and she couldn’t help but think about it. Meredith was six years older than Ainsley’s mom, and that would certainly not go over well at the family dinners.

  “Yeah,” Meredith said after silence had filled the room.

  Ainsley hadn’t known what to say in response to Meredith’s age. She’d been surprised in one part and not in the other. She’d certainly thought about it, but without having a number to confirm her suspicions, she easily ignored it.

  “If that bothers you—”

  “It doesn’t so much as the fact it doesn’t. Does that even make sense?”

  “No,” Meredith said with a slight chuckle.

  Tension ruminated in Ainsley’s stomach, and she closed her eyes, trying to find the right words. “It doesn’t bother me. And it should, and it’s the fact that it should bother me that bothers me.”

  “Ah. Yeah. I’ve run into that.”

  Ainsley nodded and sipped at her own wine. “You’re never too old to date, by the way. I know grandmas who are dating.”

  Meredith gave a slight smile. “It never occurred to me I would be dating again at my age. I thought I was done with romantic relationships of all kinds years ago.”r />
  “When your ex left?”

  “Not quite when Sarah left. Maybe five or ten years after that. I tried to date, believe me, I tried. No one caught my interest quite like you have, though.”

  Ainsley played with the stem of her wine glass, still unsure of what to say. She didn’t want to make the situation any more tense than it already was, but she did want answers. Taking a deep breath, she locked gazes with Meredith’s. “Do you want to date now?”

  She could have sworn her heart thumping could be heard throughout the entire house. Meredith would certainly be able to hear it just sitting across the table from her. Ainsley shook her head after a while when Meredith didn’t answer.

  “Never mind. Forget I even asked that question.”

  “No, don’t do that.” Meredith touched the top of Ainsley’s hand. “To answer your question—yes, I do. But I’m not sure how it’ll work. I want it to, but I’m hesitant is all.”

  “So you just want to have sex, hold hands, kiss, share meals together, share time together and lives together but you don’t want to put a label on it?”

  “That would be ideal if not impossible. Labels help with communication.” Meredith’s fingers twined together with Ainsley’s, and Ainsley wasn’t sure what to say in response, so she said nothing. “You want a label? How about this…I like you, Ainsley. I feel a connection with you like I’ve never felt with anyone before, and while it scares me, it thrills me at the same time. I don’t want to lose that connection.”

  “Okay,” Ainsley said.

  “Okay?”

  Ainsley nodded again and then smiled.

  “Sarah and I moved quickly. Too quickly if you ask me, and it wasn’t good for either one of us. We fought all the time, even after we had kids, but we just went with the motions because that’s the only thing we could think of doing. When she left, she left. She never came back, and we never talked about it. She moved to the other side of the country, and only ever sent me pictures of the kids. Pictures—no words, nothing. I couldn’t go to the courts and demand custody of a child that wasn’t mine. I couldn’t go to the courts and demand visitation. Every time I tried to get hold of Sarah, she ignored me. I can’t and won’t do that again. But for some reason I don’t think that will happen with you.”

  “It won’t. I’m a communicator.”

  “I noticed,” Meredith said with a smile in her eyes. “You like to talk too much to leave me in the dark.”

  “I won’t leave.”

  A hushed tone entered the room, and Ainsley was very close to confessing the one thing she did not want to confess—at least not yet anyway. She bit her tongue and looked at Meredith.

  “I won’t leave. I can promise you that.”

  Meredith nodded and then looked down at Ainsley’s plate. “Eat up. Couscous isn’t good when it’s cold.”

  Complying, Ainsley took a bite of dinner. Meredith mimicked her. The first few minutes were in silence, but soon enough conversation was flowing again, and Ainsley had almost forgotten their serious talk about where they stood with each other—almost.

  #

  Meredith relaxed back onto the couch as much as she could. Ainsley had thrown her a curve ball she hadn’t been expecting, but she’d handled it well enough. Truth was, she didn’t want to label it. If she labeled it, then it would be real, and if it was real, she would have to make some serious life changes. Not that she hadn’t been planning on quitting her day job of teaching for years, but she hadn’t expected to do it so quickly. Meredith had wanted to be earning more in royalties before she quit.

  She sipped at her wine and waited for Ainsley to return from the bathroom. She had a blanket tossed over her lap and was deep in thought. She could certainly quit then and there if she wanted to. She would miss the daily interaction with students, but that was about the only part of her job she enjoyed. She much preferred to write scandalous stories behind the walls of her house than to teach intro to English to freshman students who didn’t care about anything except passing.

  Ainsley came back up with a sway to her hips and sat next to Meredith, stealing part of the blanket when she did. Meredith stretched her legs out on Ainsley’s lap and rested her head against the back of the couch. She set her wine glass on the floor and reached for Ainsley’s hand, grasping it tightly.

  “What do you like to read?” Meredith asked. They’d discussed the issues of literary critique, but they hadn’t ever discussed what they read. Meredith was curious what books Ainsley would find interesting on a personal level.

  “What you assign me for class.”

  “Not that,” Meredith said, rolling her eyes. “For fun, what do you read for fun?”

  Ainsley popped her lips and grinned. “No one you have ever heard of, I’m sure.”

  Meredith sat up straighter. “What makes you say that?”

  “I read independent authors, mostly. Small press published, self-published. I have a whole slew of books on my kindle from people who are unknown and often comfortable with that.”

  “Oh? Like who?”

  “You won’t know them.”

  Meredith squeezed Ainsley’s fingers and closed her eyes briefly. “Try me. You never know. I’ve read a small author a time or two in my life.”

  “Fine.”

  Meredith knew that if Ainsley rattled off half a dozen names she probably wouldn’t know even one of them. But she wanted the conversation to continue, wanted to learn as much about Ainsley as she could, and reading and love of literature was something they both had in common.

  “My favorite indie author is K. P. Schilling. I’ve read all of her books except the last few that were released this summer. I didn’t get to them before the school year started, so that means I’ll binge read them over the Christmas break. I’ve also read…”

  Ainsley continued, but Meredith stopped listening. Fuzz echoed in her ears, and she didn’t catch a word of what Ainsley had said. It wasn’t until Ainsley shook her head and laughed at her that Meredith was able to focus on her again.

  “See? I told you that you’d never heard of them before.”

  Meredith took a deep breath and let it out before speaking. “Did you say K. P. Schilling in there?”

  “I did. My favorite author. Why?”

  Meredith’s heart hurt so much from the tension. She rubbed a hand along the top of her chest and then moved to sit up and not touch Ainsley. She took a deep breath before standing and walking to her office without saying anything. Ainsley followed her, and when she turned the light on in her office, Meredith went straight to the bookshelf.

  “Sit down,” Meredith said.

  Ainsley sat on the day bed in the corner of the room and waited while Meredith picked up one of the paperback copies of her newest release.

  “You should have told me you enjoyed gay fiction,” Meredith said, sitting next to Ainsley. She handed Ainsley the book and then waited for a reaction.

  Ainsley looked it over, her eyes growing wide as she flipped the book over and over in her hands. “Oh my God! This is her newest one. I didn’t know you read her books. You like gay fiction?”

  “I do,” Meredith said, her heart still in her throat. It wasn’t quite the reaction she had expected, but then again, she hadn’t been very clear in what she’d been saying to Ainsley. “I read gay fiction, and I write gay fiction in my spare time. I am K. P. Schilling.”

  Ainsley said nothing. Her eyes were as wide as saucers, and she just stared at Meredith with a terrified expression on her face. Meredith swallowed and calmed, knowing if she had met her favorite author she would probably be having close to the same reaction. Sleeping with her favorite author and she would probably have a heart attack and run out the door.

  “You’re lying,” Ainsley said.

  “I’m not. Why would I lie? I released this book on June first of this summer. I released its sequel on August first, and a new series in July. I spent the entire summer immersed in my releases and marketing. It was exhausting. I was actua
lly a bit glad to get back to the school year and the normalcy of teaching.”

  “You’re lying,” Ainsley repeated.

  “I’m not. I’ve been writing under this pen name for almost ten years.”

  “I—I can’t believe it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because—because you’re a lesbian!”

  Meredith laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. She shook her head as her laugh reverberated through her chest and into her stomach. She fell back on the bed, giggles still erupting from her. Meredith sat back up and grabbed Ainsley quickly by the cheeks, landing a kiss on her lips before brushing away the tears from her laughter.

  “You’re a lesbian who reads gay romance. Be honest, why can’t I write one?”

  “You—there’s no reason. I just—that’s not what I would expect. Why don’t you write lesbian romance or something?”

  “I’ve thought about it. Maybe I’ll give it a try in the spring when I have more time.”

  Ainsley fell silent. Meredith let out a breath, knowing her decision had already been made. Spring would ensure she had far more free time than she had that fall. Meredith watched carefully as Ainsley flipped the book around in her hands, reading the front and back covers several times before she turned and looked at Meredith.

  “What is it?” Meredith asked.

  “Can I—can I have an autograph? Adam will never believe me.”

  “You can’t tell Adam.”

  “I know, but he’d never believe me either way.”

  Meredith bit her lower lip before shaking her head and sliding forward. She took the book from Ainsley’s hand and then curled her other hand around the back of Ainsley’s neck. Meredith dropped the book to the floor and sat up on her knees, towering over Ainsley.

  “You have something much better than an autograph.”

  “Yeah, I do, but I can’t bring that with me wherever I go and show it off.”

  Meredith laughed again, pushing Ainsley back onto the day bed. She covered Ainsley’s body with her own, feeling the warmth of the wine and the heat of Ainsley’s skin all over her. She couldn’t resist kissing Ainsley again. If anything, the fact she loved to read gay romance and didn’t want to admit it made Meredith love her even more than she already did.