Frosted (a novella)

Chapter 7

Grace wasn't sure how long they'd been dozing, but when her eyes fluttered open, the cabin was almost dark, but for the rosy glow of the orange and lavender embers in the fireplace. It was cooler too, without the raging flames, but still tucked in her blanket with Tray nestled against her, she was more comfortable than she could ever remember.

Tears pricked her eyes as she realized that she'd probably slept beside Tray for several hours. In the whole of her life, she'd only kissed Harold, only slept next to Harold, and now, suddenly, there was another man's name on each of those lists. She didn't know why it made her sniffle softly, but it did. Maybe because one didn't anticipate so many firsts at fifty-six, let alone two whoppers in one day.

"Grace?"

She propped her head on her elbow to look up at him. "Mmm?"

"You cold?"

"I'm okay," she said, her voice soft and a little ragged from emotion.

"Hey," he said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Hey, now. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said. "I'm ridiculous."

He swung his legs over the side of the couch and slid up the slick leather until his hip was pressed up against her belly. His hand landed softly on her upturned cheek.

"You're crying."

She sniffled again, dropping her elbow and laying back. As she stared at the dark rafters on the ceiling, she felt a tear fall from her eye and slide into her hair.

"Remember what you said before? About the second year being the worst?"

"Mm-hm," he murmured, catching the next tear that tried to slip down her cheek, and gently rubbing it away.

"In the third year, you start finding your footing again. In the fourth year...you realize that you don't know anything."

"What do you mean?"

"Before you, I'd only slept beside one man, kissed one man..." Her breath hitched. "I've only ever made love to one man. And now he's gone. Am I expected to pick up where I left off at twenty-two? That's how little experience I have with this. That's how much I've missed."

"No, Grace. No. You haven't missed anything." His voice was tender as he took her hands and pulled her up against him until her chin rested on his shoulder. Wrapping her up in his arms, his strong chest pushed into her soft one as he took a long, deep breath. When he spoke again, his words fell soft and welcome in her ear. "You've lived. You've loved a man and shared his bed. Had children. Maybe grandchildren too. And no, you're not supposed to pick up where you left off the day before you met your husband. You're just supposed to be whoever you are right now. Today."

"I hardly know who that is."

"How great is that?" he asked softly. "To have a second chance to find out who you are. A blank page for the next few decades that you can write as you go along. Who do you want to be, Grace?"

The question reverberated in her ears, too big, too profound to tackle. She'd been a rich little girl, then a college student, then a teacher, then a wife, then a mother, then a grandmother, then a widow. Who was she now? Who did she want to be?

She had no idea.

All she knew, right this minute, was that she wanted more time with Tray. She wanted to talk to him, to listen to his voice, to touch him, to feel him beside her. She'd only known him for a handful of hours, but the only thing written on that blank page was the name Tray.