All About All About Her

From “All About Her”

“Tell me a fantasy,” she persisted, pressing me down into the soft easy chair in the sunny corner of her study. “I’m out of ideas and I have a deadline.”

It wouldn’t be the first time she had made that request, but today, with afternoon shadows already heavy with winter cold, I didn’t feel like talking about the flash and fire of something fast and heady. I could come up with a hundred bar fantasies and a few true stories, but the comforting aroma of the hot apple cider she’d poured for me had dark and smoky rooms far from my imagination.

I watched her settle at her desk, her back to me. One hand lifted blond tendrils so she could briefly cup the back of her neck. It had taken me years to realize that the gesture was meant to warm her fingers before typing.

“You just talk and I’ll quietly type and I’m sure there’ll be something that’ll spark a story. I promise I won’t even look at you.”

The chill of the season seemed to be seeping into my bones more this year and my fantasy thoughts—to my chagrin—turned not to sex but warmth. I didn’t want to disappoint this lady, never her, so I hoped if I just got going I would find something that would amuse and divert. My day wasn’t right if I didn’t hear her laugh or make one of those appreciative “I love you to bits, Jac” noises of hers.

It was usually followed by a sigh of contentment that meant “You’re a good friend.” My head heard that part; it was my heart that wanted not to accept it.