I wake up, and something is wrong. I'm on the wrong side of the bed. I sit up and see the dent in the other pillow, the covers pulled up. Ian. Holy mother of god, I remember all of Ian, and he is not in the bed. I listen, but everything is silent. I am alone in the flat. The clock says it's 7:30. The sky is overcast.
I get out of bed and find my robe. My clothes from the night before are folded on the armchair. Except for my panties which are missing. Creepy panty stealer? I take the clothes with me to the bathroom to throw in the hamper. The panties are there. Okay, so not a creepy panty-stealer, just a slightly less creepy panty-mover. While I brush my teeth, our night plays through my mind, and by the time I've spit out the toothpaste, I'm in want again. Oh yes, again and again and again.
The electric kettle is filled in the kitchen, and the tea is ready for me to make. There is a note in very small, neat handwriting. It says:
Dear Annie,
Thank you for a lovely evening. I have an early meeting, and I'm sorry I had to leave you. I will pick you up at 6:45 . Wear the skirt that looks like a cupcake?
Xxxx
IEH
Cupcake? I make the tea. In a way, I'm happy Ian is not here. Having just been relieved of semi-virginity, everything is sore or aches. The backs of my arms from holding on tight, my feet hurt from curling toes, and my nipples are telling me about how happy they were, as they touch the inside of my robe. As I drink my tea and look out the windows at the park, the night plays through my head. Exhilarating, terrifying, amazing night. I need a hot bath. I need to wash my hair.
I have a Zoom call with my daughters to tell them about the date. I don't tell them he spent the night. They are old enough to know, but I'm still processing whether I'm easy, desperate, or slutty. Or all of them at once. In three years, there have been men and a few women interested in me, but I didn't want any of them. Not like this.
Despite my lifelong dislike of calling people, I call Ian late in the afternoon. Phone phobia runs in the family.
"Hello Annie," he says when I reach him. "How are you?"
"Very well, thank you," I say. "Thank you for putting the keys through the slot and setting up the tea."
"Sorry I had to leave so early, I had to pick up my car and get home for a call. You looked so peaceful I didn't want to wake you."
"That's fine. I have a question for you."
"Sixty," he says.
I laugh. "Good to know, but not my question."
"March 18th," he says.
"No, no, let me ask."
"Six feet in my socks."
"Stop! No! All good to know but stop! What is the skirt that looks like a cupcake? I've been trying to sort that all day."
"White with lots of little pink flowers, in layers? It looked like a cupcake to me. Good enough to eat, like the rest of you. You are amazing, Annie. I can't stop thinking about you."
"Shhh, Ian, I feel the same. I will be ready at 6.45."
We say goodbye and disconnect. I wonder if I should eat dinner. I text to find out, don't like making phone calls.
I'm ready at 6:45, shoes on, jacket at the ready, in tights, a silk blouse, and the cupcake skirt. Ian texts to let me know he is parking the car and will be up in a minute. I go down the stairs to the front door to meet him as he is walking up the garden path, and my heart makes a small, interesting leap in my chest. He looks better than I remembered, and I thought he looked very, very good the last time I saw him naked in my bed.
He takes the front steps in twos when he sees me, and I'm in his embrace in a moment. He kisses me on the mouth like it was last night; my arms are around his neck, my body pressed into him, the warmth between us. I've dropped my pocketbook; keys, a lipstick, and some coins are around my feet, but the only thing is his mouth on mine, his arms around me, the warmth of his body against me, and his hand sliding down over the back of my cupcake skirt. My knees are shaking. Ian lets me go as my neighbor Chris clears his throat softly. He and his wife Joan are waiting to use the door we are blocking. We sheepishly part, but Chris and Joan are grinning.
"I think you dropped your bag," Joan says.
Chris gives Ian a raised eyebrow, "Have a nice evening, Annie." he says to me.
I pick up my pocketbook, and Ian gathers my things for me.
"Hello," he says.
"Hello, you."
"Nice to see you again."
"Nice to kiss you again," I say, and he laughs.
In the car, we look at each other for a long moment, smiling the secret smile of new lovers. A little more making out, and then we are on our way, his free hand on my knee.
Our destination is a Georgian house that was once a small estate but is now used for conferences, parties, and the occasional wedding. It is a beautiful house, elegant as the light just begins to fade from the day. Our gathering is in the large upstairs room. There are small tables and armchairs arranged about. At one end of the room, a lonely-looking podium stands. There is a buffet with nothing on it yet and a full bar with no bartender at the other end. No guests had arrived yet.
"Are we early?" I ask Ian.
"Uh, yes. I have to be here to finish setting up."
"Ok. What do we need to do?"
"I have to open this box, and then we're done until 7:30."
"What exactly is this 'thing'?"
"I'm the current chairman of the local Independent CPA Organization. ICPAO # 6. My main function is to not punch Craig and keep others from giving him a whack as well, and to give a very short speech before the serious drinking starts. Craig is seriously obnoxious, and there has been talk of making a No Craig rule at the next executive meeting."
I sit in a chair as he opens the box, and takes out three small plaques. It is now 6:58.
"What else do we have to do?" I ask.
"That was it. Would you like to see the house?" he asks. "We have plenty of time."
We pass the bartender and the waitress pushing a cart laden with fruit, crackers, cheeses, and little fancy cakes on our way out the door. Ian takes my hand, and we tour the rooms on this floor, then head upstairs. Here the rooms are smaller, but the views are better as the light leaves. There is a door at the very end of the hall that leads into a very small sitting room, just two soft chairs and a divan arranged near one small window. Ian closes the door behind us. He locks it.