twenty-three

Playing house.  That’s how Meghan thought of the past few days, living in John’s place like it was hers.  Theirs, actually.  They hung out and watched TV and swam in the pool and every night since James left, they’d gone to bed together and woken up the same way.  It felt luxurious and decadent, like John was a vacation and Meghan was enjoying her visit.

Now he was buttoning up a short-sleeved shirt covered in black and white checks.

“Is this too plaid?”  The tiny repeating design in his reflection was making John a little dizzy.  He lifted his eyes to see Meghan where she stood behind him; in fact he’d been watching her most of the time, brushing her hair and fastening a pair of sparkly teardrop earrings into place.  John would never understand how she did that without a mirror.

“I like it.”

“Okay,” he said.  “Sam has one like it.”

Meghan laughed.  She was learning that Sam set a lot of trends in his relationship with John -  a year older, Sam was part best friend and part big brother.  He was also a touch less awkward than John and obviously the local fashion plate.  The fact that John looked up to someone less famous and less wealthy was a mark of the kind of person he truly was.  Meghan walked up behind John, looped her arms under his and buttoned one last button, leaving the top two open.  

John frowned slightly, then left them as she had.  If this was how Meghan liked him to dress, she could have it.  Especially when she’d spent the last few mornings looking very undressed in his bed.

It was heaven, waking up to her every morning and going to sleep the same way.  Not wondering if he’d see her that day, or what might keep her away.  Meghan had a carefree, easy way of making the days seem short but worthwhile - and it wasn’t just the sex.  She was funny and smart and definitely knew how to make breakfast.  John was getting used to being this happy all the time.  That was going to be a problem.

For another day, he told himself before turning to kiss her.

They drove into the city.  A bar John liked had dollar oysters on Wednesday nights, then they planned to see a movie or walk around or do something.  It was an unspoken agreement to get out of the house and act like normal people.

By six o’clock, Nome Izakaya was already crowded with happy hour drinkers and early diners.  John put their name on the list while Meghan managed to claim a stool at the bar.  He walked around, examining the tap handles across the bar to see what he should drink.  He was squinting at the small lettering on one when the person behind it came into view.

Michael Del Zotto.  

Shit, John thought.  Of all the people in Canada.  He glanced toward Meghan, which of course made DZ do the same.  Then big smile spread across the Ranger’s face.

DZ detached himself from his group at the bar.  John went back the way he came, trying to gracefully push everyone out of his way.  He followed Michael’s curly head of hair on its slow progress but knew he’d never make it there first.

Meghan was reading the menu of fried things John could not eat when it was tipped down away from her.

“Michael!” she dropped off the stool and onto her feet, for no reason.

“Hello gorgeous.  Waiting for me to arrive?”

He had the same million dollar grin and gleam in his eye that Del Zotto always had, the vibe that he might pick a girl up and sling her over his shoulder.  This was the first time it ever made Meghan tense.

“I, we, uh….”

John’s left hand arrived first, slipping around Meghan’s waist.  His body filled the space next to her, nice and close.  It was a small gesture that left no question John was marking his spot.  DZ’s smile only widened.

In their short relationship Meghan had tested John’s patience, but this was about pride.  She knew how he felt about the Rangers in general, Michael specifically and also her own giddy friendship with the defenseman.  DZ probably made John nervous as hell and Meghan could not stomach that.  She put her hand over top of John’s at her waist, and stepped back into his arms.

“We are having dinner.”

Michael’s laugh was more like a whoop of celebration.  It was in his nature to challenge any guy for a beautiful girl’s attention, especially this girl.  But he didn’t want to win - it was just as satisfying to see proof that he’d been right all along.  DZ slapped John on the shoulder, then stuck out his hand.

“You are alright, for an Islander,” he said.

The reaction caught both Meghan and John off-guard.  John warily took the offered handshake.  Meghan just slugged DZ in the side.  No way could she hurt those impenetrable abs.  Michael caught her with a half-hug and she allowed herself to be dragged in.

“You are a jerk,” she pinched his waist.

“A jerk who told you so,” Michael replied.

They talked for a minute, then DZ excused himself from what was obviously a date he could not sabotage.  He left them both laughing and went off to find his friends at whatever table they’d been seated.  John and Meghan both watched until he was out of sight.

“What does he mean, he told you so?”

Meghan’s heels made her almost as tall as John, so it was easy to look him right in the eye.  Even surrounded by a hundred people in a loud restaurant after a surprise experience, his gaze still made her feel quiet and safe.

“He told me you were a good guy.”

John blinked in surprise, his heavy brow furrowing.

“And that I should go out with you.”

That wasn’t precisely true - Michael had said that John would make a great boyfriend.  Meghan found herself a lot closer to that than expected, but she wasn’t quite ready yet.  She needed to be a better girlfriend first.

“He said that?” John looked toward the direction where Michael had disappeared.

Meghan nodded.  “And he was right.  Now we’ll never hear the end of it.”

They ordered drinks and John kept waiting for Meghan to suddenly remember, leap up and run off.  He wasn’t going to remind her.  Only Meghan didn’t - she stayed there chatting until John was so distracted she finally called him out.

“What?” She tilted her head.

John hated being the one to do this.  It went against his own interests except that he was more interested in Meghan’s happiness than in his own, especially since the two concepts were so closely linked.  “Shouldn’t you tell Del Zotto not to mention this to James?”

She shook her head, laughing to herself like it was a private joke.  “Oh no, Michael doesn’t kiss and tell.  Plus, he would want me to start sharing any stories about him.”

The gleam in her eye convinced John even as it unsettled him.  He had the feeling that being with Meghan meant always having Michael Del Zotto in his life.  

“I worry about the two of you.”

Meghan sipped her drink.  “Now that you guys are friends, I should worry about that.”

She steered the conversation back to safer ground, and John thought about what he’d just done.  He’d stood up for himself in a small but meaningful way.  Meghan had not objected.  Maybe he just needed to be a little more assertive with their relationship - after all, he intended to make it last beyond the summer if he could.  It’s wasn’t too soon to put that plan into action.   

When the hostess finally called their name almost an hour later, she did so loudly and with the incorrect pronunciation that everyone seemed to use.

“TAVAHHRES!”

More than one head turned.  John tried not to blush - he focused his eyes on Meghan’s back, but that didn’t help.  Her little slip of a white dress moved around the lithe shape of a body he was now very familiar with.  It was easier to face adoring fans than keep his cool around a beautiful girl.  Lifting his eyes, he caught a few people looking his way and nodded in reply.

When they reached the podium, Meghan said very clearly, “That’s us.  TavAIRes.”

____

Dinner.  A movie.  A drive home.

Just like real people, Meghan thought.

Meghan’s mind wandered during the film.  Her original plan to keep things with John fun and light, like a game, was long gone.  Now that she knew him better, Meghan could hardly believe she’d ever thought that would work.  John wasn’t the kind of guy who played around.  She’d expected more of a typical guy but could hardly complain that he’d turned out to be so great.  Even if it was making things complicated.

He pushed the armrest between them away and they settled in close, watching the screen as they would the TV at home.  Her hand rested on his thigh and he no longer flinched when she touched too high.  Well, maybe a little.  And she still giggled.  But he had really come out of his shell in the past few weeks.

A few weeks.  That’s all they’d had and all they had ahead of them.  Beyond that, who knew?  New York was on Meghan’s list - it was the biggest job market in North America - but have never been a priority.  Over the past few days of practically living with John, she’d begun to consider what life in New York might really be like.

Which was exactly John’s plan, and she knew it.  Maybe he wasn’t so innocent after all.

Tonight he took a big step, standing up to Del Zotto.  Meghan could tell John was relieved both at having done it and her reaction.  He would be doing that again.  Maybe Meghan had given him that confidence; now she had to contend with it.  She couldn’t expect John to accept getting pushed around forever.

I’ve created a monster.  She smiled in the dark, and kissed his cheek.

John felt more comfortable than ever.  The idea that Meghan had talked to Del Zotto about him - and gotten a thumbs up - made his heart soar.  On the drive home, he held her hand.  When they got inside, he pulled it right up the stairs.  

She followed without hurry.  This wasn’t like before when they rushed together so she could leave.  Dropping her shoes one by one, followed by her purse, Meghan left a trail toward his stairs.  When they reached his room, she went right for the buttons on his shirt as he worked her sheer, slippery dress off.  Zippers and clasps gave way, but when he moved to lay her down Meghan stopped him.  She turned and pressed her back to his chest.

“What you did before was really sexy,” she said.  John’s small gesture of possession against Michael had been buzzing in her blood all night.  She placed his hand at her hips, helped him guide her panties down.  He didn’t need much encouragement.  Meghan pushed one of his hands into the space between her legs, only to gasp as he quickly took the lead.  John was hardening against her backside, pressing against her with every stroke of his fingers. She helped a little, rocking on her heels, which made John breathe heavily against her neck.  He guided Meghan down onto her hands and knees at the edge of the bed.  He was already lined up - one push and he was taking her from behind.

Meghan sighed as John slowly screwed himself inside.  He was usually gentle but she didn’t want that now - maybe she didn’t deserve it.  He’d play the game if she started it.  Bucking her hips back into his lap, Meghan twisted a soft cry from his throat.

John squeezed his eyes shut against the pressure.  This was a whole new level of intimacy, not the face to face, connected moment he was used to sharing.  This was about sex and lust and strength.  It was about getting what he wanted because he was willing to take it.  John buried himself to the hilt and Meghan sobbed out a breath.

Her body was perfect.  Running a hand up her spine, John grabbed her shoulder and thrust again.  Their skin met with a soft slap every time, almost a gasp as if it were surprised to find them like this.  The tan line below her waist stood out, reminding John he was in a place no one else got to go.  

Meghan tossed her hair over one shoulder and turned her head.  Their eyes met briefly.

It wasn’t close enough.  John wanted to take her like a man but he needed to hold her too, the best of both worlds.  With a push he had her flat on her stomach, laying himself on her back.  Meghan’s voice became a moan as he brought his weight down through his cock.

“John,” she said.

He kissed the back of her neck where it meets her shoulders, a hot spot discovered the previous morning while she stood in the kitchen, making breakfast.  The pressure point gave easily beneath his mouth.  Now he timed it with a deep, hard stroke and she cried out.

“You feel so good,” he said with reverence, unable to believe that after weeks of sex things kept getting better.  Her ass was soft but muscular, giving him something to work against as he tried to find that million dollar spot.

“Let me.”  She raised her hips to allow her hand underneath.  He realized what she was doing just as she did it.

“OhGod,” Meghan breathed.  Her fingers brushed her swollen clit, just above where John drove himself inside her.

“Do it again,” he rasped in her ear.  She did and they both rang her bell at the same time - Meghan with more finesse and John with more force.  The combination was dizzying and John had to grunt to push through her clenched space.

“Fuck.”  His heart skipped a beat.  Meghan kept her hand moving; her pussy rippled and fluttered along his cock, working him on the in and out.  Stars popped at the corners of John’s vision.  She had to be close too.

“Come with me, Meghan.”  He didn’t know what he was saying, just begging and wishing and trying to buy time.

She never expected him to use her name, forget tell her what dirty things he wanted.  It was nothing original but such a phrase from John’s lips was as good to Meghan as any shade of gray.  She pushed her body to oblige, easily finding the spot.  Her lower body arched and rolled as best it could with over two hundred pounds of muscle on her back.  John’s mouth found her neck, his teeth too, holding onto that spot while he lost everything else.  He moaned deeply as he burst inside her, chest heaving.  When it passed they both fell quiet.

I love you, came to his mind.  That must have been the hormones talking.  He caught his tongue, half-delirious, and said, “That was incredible.”

“You are incredible, John.”

____

The week flew by and it was Friday before Meghan knew what hit her.  Leaving John’s house was like the end of summer camp - she was melancholy and anxious and finding her clothes everywhere.  He kissed her goodbye in the driveway like he might never see her again - hands roaming, heat rising.  She giggled at his enthusiasm and sent him to burn off that energy at the gym.  Meghan went home, packed another bag and headed for her parents’ house.

“Happy birthday!” she shouted, rolling in the front door.

“It’s not till tomorrow!” her mother called back.

“Yeah, give her one last day before she’s old and decrepit.”  Meghan’s dad kissed her cheek and took her bag, slinging into an empty chair.  “Caroline, your daughter’s here to make you feel young again.”

Her mom rolled her eyes.  “Just for that, we’re having champagne.  All day.”

Meghan and her mom were headed for an overnight to a nearby spa and hotel.  They always tried to spend one of their birthdays together, but while in London Meghan had missed them both.  Now her dad was eager to make up for it by sending them off together - and getting the house to himself.

“Make sure they don’t dye her hair blue, she’d not that old yet,” he joked.

“Watch your mouth when I have your credit card,” her mom replied.

St. Anne’s Spa was an hour away, east along the lake.  Halfway through their drive, Meghan got a text from James asking if she’d be home tonight.  It was the first time she’d told him the truth in weeks.

Mom’s birthday, overnight at St. Anne’s.  See you tomorrow!

They arrived two minutes after check-in, eager to have every moment of their getaway.  A clerk showed their through the ornate, old-fashioned lobby to one of 16 rooms in the main building.  It had pink walls, high blond headboards and more throw pillows than Meghan had ever seen.  The comfortable, classic style was in sharp contrast to the last hotel she’d stayed in - the Thompson, with John, on their first two nights together.

No sooner had the unpacked the essentials than an employee rang their doorbell.  “It’s time for your first treatment.”

Her father had booked everything as a couple, so Meghan and her mom donned thick, cozy robes in the changing area and followed an attendant to a dimly lit room.  They each had their hair soaked in warm water, then a parade of essential oils rubbed into their scalps and hair, scents swirling their skin tingled.  Meghan sat in an ergonomic massage chair, her face in the cradle, and sighed.

She didn’t want to think about anything - not James coming home, not about telling him, not even about John.  The whole thing wasn’t that complicated, she just needed to do it and deal with the consequences.  It was that part that worried her.  

The only option was to prepare for the worst, and hope James would exceeded expectations.  Initially he’d be angry, but he’d get over it.  Their friendship would survive this - but their living arrangement would not.  A few days of living with John had been fun but it wasn’t something Meghan was prepared to ask for a month.  Or longer.  Girls didn’t move in with guys they’d been dating for three weeks.

That left her parents.  It would at least make her more ambitious about finding a job.  As skilled fingers raked jojoba oil through her long hair, Meghan tried to resign herself to moving back home.

The treatment finished and Meghan and her mom were bundled next door, into a room with deep side by side tubs set into a wide marble frame.  Steam rose from each, flower petals floating on the top.  Sinking into the bath, hair wrapped high on her head, Meghan felt a bit like a mermaid.  They both sighed as they sank beneath the water.

“At least consider marrying rich, honey,” her mom said as therapists began giving them hand massages.  “If for nothing more than this.”

“Mom,” Meghan scoffed

Caroline laughed.  “You know, when most mothers say that to their daughters….”

“Most mothers never say that to their daughters.”

“... they don’t actually have several young, handsome millionaires running around the choose from.”  

Meghan flicked a splash of water in that direction.  “I’m telling dad you said that.”

“Oh honey, he just doesn’t want to ruin some team’s chances if he has to break the guy’s arm.”  She settled lower into the tub.  “Speaking of which….”

Here we go, Meghan knew.

“How’s John?”

“That took you a whole three hours to ask,” Meghan teased.  That whole time she’d searched for a single word that would sum John up, would express the sweetness she had expected and the surprises she not.  

“He’s... great,” was the best she could do.  With that simple admission, a million things rushed to follow.  “He’s sweet and funny and he’s so nice, Mom.   Half the time he’s such a dork but every once in a while there’s this confident, kick-ass guy who was a number one draft pick and MVP nominee.  I think he’s always dated girls who were quiet and shy, so he thought he was too.  But he’s not really.”

“Quiet and shy is not a problem that you have,” her mother agreed.

Meghan snorted.  “Sometimes I think he doesn’t know what to do with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I still haven’t told James.”  Meghan heard the water swish as her mother turned toward her.  She kept her eyes on the flower petals floating on top of her own tub.

“I’m scared, Mom.  James is just James, like always, until every once in a while he’s this person I’ve never known.  He’s jealous and protective and sometimes he...,” Meghan trailed off, chewing her lip.  The night on James’ boat was fresh in her mind though she’d hardly seen him since.  “Sometimes he thinks he’s in love with me.”

Her mother turned back, another lap of water.  A quiet moment passed in which Meghan hoped her mom was formulating some sage advice, because her own compass was spinning.

“Thinking you’re in love with someone is the same as being in love,” Caroline finally said.

“Well then I’m in trouble,” Meghan admitted.  “Because I think I’m falling for John.”

The idea made her want to cry.  It was hot and steamy in the spa room, the lights dim enough to close her eyes and dream all this drama away.  Yet at the same time it wasn’t dramatic.  Meghan knew she had the good life going: too many options, too many opportunities.  And maybe too many incredible guys vying for her attention.  Still the whole thing seemed like a house of cards built on the foundation she’d always known: her and James, home and away, friends forever.  If the cost of everything was one of those things, Meghan had to be sure John was worth it.

God, why is he so worth it?  Meghan slipped lower into the bath.  John was nothing but worth it.  Could she live up to that?

“Sweetie,” her mom said, “James has been following you around since you were kids.  The fact you never noticed - never cared - just made him clam up.  He was always waiting for someone to tell him he could do something.  Now he has everything and he still doesn’t have you.”

“Mom,” Meghan warned.

“Remember the first Christmas he came back from Portland?  After you brought that boyfriend of yours - What was his name? Vanilla Ice? - to a game?  He was all of seventeen and I thought he would propose right there in the yard, hockey bag over one shoulder, fresh off a bus from Maine.  His mom said to me, when he’d been gone a few weeks and was having a blast like he was at uni, ‘The only things he misses are dinner and Meghan.’  But he never told you that.  He didn’t come home and knock out Marky Mark and tell you to wait for him.”

Heat rose in Meghan’s face.  If James had felt that way at seventeen - why hadn’t he said something?  What if he had?  People didn’t marry their high school sweethearts anymore, this wasn’t Grease.  But in truth a lot of NHL players did marry girls from home because those girls were the last normal thing they ever knew.  James hadn’t wanted normal, he wanted the big leagues.  Junior had been one level up, the NHL another, but the Penguins were something else entirely.  He had reached a pinnacle that even Meghan, his number one fan, had never dreamed of. Did he look back now and see something he’d missed?

“You know why?” her mom asked.

“Why?”

“Because he didn’t want you.  James was scared shitless - just a kid, away from home for the first time - and he couldn’t wait to get back and see you and tell you everything, but that was it.  And you didn’t even notice.  That’s how I knew you didn’t want him either.”

“Mom,” Meghan repeated, only this time her voice was thick with tears.

“Maybe he changed his mind.  But I’m guessing he’s just scared again.  Everything is changing and he wants to keep you.”

“He still can.”

The water moved again, and this time Meghan met her mother’s eyes.  They hadn’t had a heart-to-heart since before Meghan went overseas for a year, and she’d missed the firm kindness of her mother’s advice.

“He can’t, honey. James can be your friend but it sounds like the part of you that idolized him belongs to John now.  And you have to let it.  It’s a powerful gift to give someone, you can’t ask John to share it.”

Moms always knew.  If people could read Meghan the way her mother did, she wouldn’t stand a chance in this world.  She had been holding back part of herself for James as if it belonged to him, when truly it was hers to give away.  And without it, John would always be left empty-handed in their relationship.

“But what if it’s just summer with John?  What if I get a job in LA and he goes back to New York and that’s it?”

Her mother shrugged with finality.  “Then you go.  Or maybe you wait.  What are the chances you get a job in Pittsburgh or all places?  Less that New York.”

“Yeah, but....”

“But you’d wait for James,” her mother interjected.  “You’ve been waiting for him a hundred years, what are a few more?  Then you might as well wait for John.  At least you know there’s something at the end there.”

Meghan considered her mother’s guidance.  It wasn’t so much that she’d waited for James, but they always ended up back in the same place.  Once she moved away from Whitby for good, that would be gone.  She and James would be redefined regardless of John.  She and her mom soaked a while longer, then were shuffled off to neighboring massage tables.  As the therapist used elbows and forearms to drive tension out of Meghan’s body, she tried to let it go from her mind.

Might as well wait for John repeated in her head.

But Meghan had no intention of waiting for anyone.  She would make her own way and worry about it when she got there.  

____

They ambled into their bedroom well before dinner time, feeling already like they could sleep all night.  Caroline circled around the to a table at the far side of the room.

“What’s this?” she asked a huge bouquet of tiger lilies and ferns, a veritable orange and black jungle stuffed into a vase. Meghan figured they were her father’s finishing touch until her mother spoke.

“It’s for you,” Caroline announced.  

“They’re for me?”

“No.  Those are for me,” her mom pointed at the flowers.  “This is for you.”  She passed the small white card to Meghan.  It was a computer generated message, clearly read into an automated machine.

Happy birthday to the beautiful mother of a daughter who’s all right too. - James

“Jerk,” Meghan said with a smile.

Her mother snickered.  “Yeah, but he’s our jerk.”

____

James set the phone down on the kitchen counter and stepped around his still-full suitcase.  The fridge was half-full, as he’d left it, and he wondered if Meghan had been here at all during the last week.  He wondered where else she would have been, and with who, and what they were doing. He hoped it was Lucy.

A week away had sounded like a great idea until James woke up in Quebec on the third morning.  He and Subban had caught up with some guys they knew, played a few rounds of golf and been out both previous nights.  The French girls were hot, no doubt.  Their accents left no question in James’ mind why guys like Tanger and Talbot pulled chicks so easily.  Hell, even Crosby could speak French, as if he need another weapon.

The first night, James got close with one girl but it didn’t pan out.  He waited for the next.  She was blond, breathy and busting out of a dress - usually his type.  Only this girl didn’t last twenty minutes.  James actually faked a bathroom trip and dodged her on the return.  After that, he didn’t see any talent he wanted to test drive and was in bed before last call.  He called it being selective, but really he was comparing every girl he saw to Meghan.  Some were hotter, taller, with longer legs or bigger racks.  He approached a few - some had sexier voices, wider smiles.  Still none of them had her spark.  They were here to pick up guys and James was just another, albeit bigger, target on the board.  One who went home alone.

James didn’t want to work that hard.  He didn’t want to weed through a hundred girls a night to find the one worth seeing the next day, when even that meant starting from scratch.  It sounded exhausting and pointless - no girl he met here was coming to Pittsburgh.  Why put forth the effort?

The second night he tried to outsmart himself by pounding drinks early on, then finding a girl and sticking with her.  She was nice enough - to give him a little reach around on the dance floor and a whole lot more once they got back to the hotel.

Then he’d woken up, head fuzzy and body sore, on the third morning in Quebec.  The girl was asleep, naked and tangled in his legs.  James’ first thought was not to wake her.  His second was of Meghan.

His third was not to puke.

This is why I’m not the one. James had intended to keep the promises he’d made to Meghan, even if she didn’t want them.  Now one bad night and he was back to his old tricks.  Life in the NHL was full of nights far worse than this and James had quickly proven himself unworthy.  He carefully extracted himself and dressed in the dark.  Leaving a note - Had a great night! or something equally vile - James slipped from the room and walked to a nearby diner where he proceeded to eat everything that would make Gary Roberts sick.  It did little to settle his own stomach except take long enough that when he returned, on tip toes in stealth mode, the French girl was gone.

James spent the next two days putting on a happy face.  His performance in the tournament was mediocre and over dinner, Subban asked a few questions he didn’t want to answer.

“How’s Meghan?”

She’s great.  She’s happy and fun and loves the life she has built around not being with me.

“Good,” he really said.

“You guys like living together?”

James remembered at the start of the summer, telling Tavares how great it was to live with Meghan, that she cooked and cleaned and lounged around the pool in her little bikinis.  How things had changed in a month.  James noticed the expectant look on PK’s face and something in his mind clicked.

“Did you talk to her?”

Subban shrugged. “Yeah, she called the other night to make sure you got here okay.”

At least she doesn’t hate me.  She must’ve been worried after the way I left, what I said on the boat.  He had the urge to call her and say he was fine, but he’d pretty much promised not to lie.  “Living together’s good.  The house feels full when she’s there.”

Now he was back in that house after five days away.  Meghan was on an overnight to celebrate her mom’s birthday, which James had forgotten.  A quick call to the hotel was all it took to get the biggest bouquet sent to their room.  His message was for Meghan - he hoped she read between the lines.

I miss you.  And for things that Meghan would never even know had happened, I’m sorry.

____

Meghan pushed her plate away with a sigh.  Everything on the menu was farm-fresh, organic, grown under a rainbow and fed from the hand of an angelic child but she’d still stuffed herself.  It was amazing that a day of being pampered could wear a girl out.  She and her mom each finished their second glass of wine and watched the waiter approach.

“No dessert,” her mom waved in defeat.  “I can’t.”

“Very well, ma’am,” the water smiled like he got that a lot.  “I’ll just leave this for you then, whenever you are ready.”

Caroline had Ben’s credit card out.  She winked at Meghan before opening the folder.  “Oh!” She burst out laughing.  Meghan took the black bill holder right from her mom’s hand.  Inside was a note, written by whomever had taken the message over the phone.

Happy birthday, Mrs. Fuller.  John Tavares

____

“Tomorrow night,” Meghan said as soon as the ringing stopped.

“What about tomorrow night?” John asked.

“You are coming over for dinner, at my mom’s insistence.  She is over the moon about you already, of course.  That was really nice, John, you did not have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he insisted.  “I told you, moms love me.”

“Well, I hope you wanted to meet mine.”

He hoped she could hear the smile in his voice.  “I do.”

_____