The Way Back

Slower

He stood at the door with bag of takeout in one hand. Part of him wondered what he was doing standing on her doorstep after ten o'clock at night, but it was simple. He had been thinking about her. She had plagued his thoughts, settled into the back of his mind and drawn to the forefront at various times throughout the days since he'd crawled out of her bed and left her in the early morning light. He chewed his bottom lip with a hundred and one thoughts coursing through his mind - the food would get cold if he didn't make a move, would she answer the door if she would be the one to answer, and would he would be let in. If Stevie was on the other side, she would let him in. She always did. He laughed to himself, thinking how much of their relationship involved doors – apartment doors, studio doors, hotel doors, rental home doors, and emotional doors. Some doors were easier to open than others, and some simply remained locked. He shook his head. Therapy was doing a number on him. God, he hoped it wouldn't be Sharon to open the door. "Just ring the fucking bell, Buckingham," he muttered to himself and pressed the button, grimacing as yapping began. He held his breath as he heard feet coming to the door.

Lindsey let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Stevie, fresh faced with her hair down. He always found her most beautiful without a stitch of make-up on her face. She stared at him with surprised eyes and leaned against the door. "Lindsey," she spoke softly, raising her wine glass to her face and taking a sip to hide the smile forming on her lips. She wasn't accustomed to seeing him so soon after a tryst.

He opened his mouth, but his words came out in a shrill, pained squeak as one of the dogs lunged, sinking her sharp, tiny teeth into his ankle. Lindsey shrugged the terrier off his leg as Stevie apologized profusely, lifting the dog and placing her into the house. She snapped her fingers and pointed behind her. "Go to bed," she reprimanded sharply, turning to Lindsey. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay? And what are you doing here?"

"I'll be fine," he told her and lifted the bag of food. "Dinner?"

Stevie smirked and stepped aside, allowing him into her home. He strolled through the foyer and into the sitting room, placing the bag on the coffee table. She moved into the kitchen for another glass.

Lindsey glanced around as he took the containers of food out of the bags. He glanced nervously as the dog growled at him from her spot on the dog bed. "Rat mop," he grumbled the insult, noticing the silence of the house. "Stevie, where are the girls?" Lindsey inquired, raising his voice so she could hear him.

"Sharon and Sara went out. I didn't feel like going," she called out, securing a glass from the cabinet and deciding to bring the whole bottle of merlot in the living room. She carried the items and stopped, gawking at the spread before her.

Her laughter echoed through the room as Lindsey looked up at her from his spot on the floor. "Are we going back to 1970?" she asked, gesturing to the packages of Chinese takeout scattered around him. She remembered the tiny apartment they shared with no furniture and eating nearly every meal on the floor.

He shook his head and offered his hand to her. She accepted the offered hand and lowered herself onto the floor next to him. "I thought we'd have a late-night picnic of sorts," he admitted bashfully and looked over the takeout. "What would you like? I got egg drop soup, sweet and sour chicken, moo goo gai pan, shrimp lo mein, and orange chicken," he rattled off, frowning at her gloomy expression.

"No egg rolls?" she asked, peeking into a bag with disappointment slathered on her features.

Lindsey put his hand over his heart, mouth gaping wide in mock hurt. "Of course, I got egg rolls."

She laughed, punching his shoulder lightly. "I love egg rolls, you know."

"I remember you like to dip them in the egg drop soup," he said, handing over the container of egg rolls along with the soup.