It was dark when Miranda and Drew left Jack’s Steakhouse and climbed the wooden steps of the old boathouse. Beneath an open window, Lake Charlevoix danced against a moonlit sky. It had been a wonderful ”first date”.
The April night had grown cold and Drew went to his closet to get Miranda something warm to put on. She felt small and fragile as she pulled the big sweatshirt over her head, the sleeves hanging down past her hands. It smelled like leather and confidence. On the front it said NYU. She had never been upstairs in his loft before.
She was swept back to that day at the Boat Basin, how his kiss on the dock took her breath away. Pushing up the sleeves of the faded sweatshirt, Miranda reached up to smooth her hair. Drew took a step closer, looked in her eyes, and kissed her. She was dazed and a little confused. All this time they were just good friends. Was that about to change on their first real date?
“What are you thinking about, Kitten? You okay?”
He was surprised; she seemed nervous.
Drew Becker was a gentle man, physically strong, with a keen intellect to match. Miranda found herself attracted to both. He knew that whatever happened that night, he didn’t have to toy with her, their friendship ran deeper than that. He also knew that when he touched her she would melt in his hands.
No wonder he chose the boathouse over modern living. The furniture in the small space was as old as the wooden boats he worked on, and probably had stories to tell. The simple orderly environment suited him, a world away from the complications of city life. A worn quilt covered the bed.
Miranda liked that Drew was protective and strong, a source of comfort when she needed him, a good listener with wisdom to share. He was a fan of college football, old motorcycles, and the poetry of Robert Frost. But there was another part of him she was drawn to. She wondered if she would find out more tonight. Miranda hadn’t had a boyfriend in a long time. She was breakable– she knew she could get hurt.
Drew liked that Miranda was both lovely and fierce… a girl who could install a bilge pump by day, and put on a pretty dress that night. And even though he was sometimes appalled by her drinking, he knew deep down that all the effort he put into their relationship was worth it. He smiled when he thought about her throughout his day, which was more often than he cared to admit. He wondered if Miranda was thinking about him, too.
A wind blew through the open window, she heard a train in the distance. In the pale moonlight, Drew held her close. Tonight there were no bottles to hide behind, no red lipstick to smooth the way. Only goosebumps. It was time to be honest with him.
That cool spring night she fell asleep in his arms, his quilt pulled over her shoulders, the lake finally at rest. He watched her sleep, kissed her forehead, and said, “Goodnight, Kitten.”
To be Continued…
*This story is based on some true events, however, has been fictionalized and all persons appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2012, Shoes for an Imaginary Life. All rights reserved.