Delivery

2. Giving Over

"Thanks for making the drive tonight, Harry, I know my order was a bit late and the roads couldn't have been easy." She remembered his name, he thought to himself. As he stomped his boots and stepped over the threshold, he snuck a glance at her. This evening she looked not a whit like the professor he had known in class, save for the reading glasses that she quickly slid off her pert nose and up to her head. She used them to push her hair further back into the mess of it that was gathered at her crown. That one move was just about the sexiest thing Harry had seen. Catching himself, he focused on getting the pizza out of the hotbox.

"Is there someplace you'd like me to set this? It's rather hot to the touch; I don't want you to get burned"

"Oh, sure, that's sweet of you. Would you mind just putting the pizza on the coffee table in the living room? I'm planning to eat in front of the fire while I finish grading papers."

Harry strode out of the entryway into the open living room and slid the cardboard box onto the sturdy, Shaker-style coffee table. He appreciated the space. It was large, but felt cozy and inviting. She had a fire crackling behind the grate of a smooth stone hearth; next to which was a long chocolate-colored, tufted couch. It was a particular style that he thought his mother called a settee, but he was certain his grandmother had once referred to as a fainting couch. The piece had a short back and arms at one end; the rest looked like a slightly curved, and narrow bed. There were big cushions on the floor and some kind of pillowy down blanket that was half on, half off the couch thing. The low table that he had slid the pizza onto was at the other side of the room and parallel to an oversized burgundy sofa with a masculine looking club chair at one end. Above the sofa was a painting that ran the full length of the wall it hung from. He could tell it was original and whoever had painted it loved color. Aside from the woman standing next to him, it was the brightest thing he could see. There was very little else in the room save for the thick area rugs beneath the furniture.

"Here's your credit card receipt; I just need to have you sign the bottom," said Harry handing it to her along with a pen. She took it from him and bent over to sign the paper on the coffee table, adding a healthy tip to the grand total. As she leaned down, Harry could not help but notice the soft-looking swathe of skin that showed when her top rode up and the leggings she wore stretched down over her bum. It was a fantastic view.

"Damn, um, Professor Conroy, I forgot your salad in the Highlander. I'll be right back." With that, Harry dashed outside, closing the door loudly behind him. Madelyn thought it was adorable that he was still calling her professor while she was admiring his tight ass hustling out her front door.

She watched him through the peep and jerked the door open again as he approached. "Here you go, so sorry about that!" He sounded breathless, but it was probably because of the cold. She took the salad box from his outstretched hand, unintentionally pulling her fingers over his as he made the transfer. Her hands were warm; his were chilled. The contrast was shocking.

"Harry, will you be alright to drive down the mountain in this snow? I'm sure you have things to do to close up the restaurant, but it's really coming down now."

"Thanks, that's really kind of you to think of me, but I'm actually done for the night, so I can take all the time I need getting back to my place." When she pulled the door open for him to re-enter, her wrap had fallen away from her breasts, and there was no doubt in Harry's mind that she was not wearing a stitch beneath that top. The chill night air had caused her nipples to constrict and it was all he could do to keep from noticeably staring. 

"Hmmm... as that's the case, would you like to have a slice with me before you head out? I have more than enough to share." Why the hell did she ask him that? She must be hungrier than she had realized.

Harry did a slow blink and nodded his head in the affirmative. "Sure, I'd like to join you, I happen to know the pizza from Etta's is terrific. Thanks, Prof..."

"Just call me Madelyn, Harry. We're long past the classroom." Yikes! With that, she realized that she might be flirting with him. But why not, she thought as a smile bloomed on her face. He caught her eye and grinned back.

"Sure, I'm good with that. Would you prefer that I kick off my boots?" he questioned. She gave him a quick nod as she proceeded to the semi-open kitchen to gather plates and utensils. From her vantage point, Madelyn was able to watch as Harry bent over to unlace. His legs were long and while he was lean, he also appeared to be solid. She could see the muscles in his thighs shift beneath his unbelievably tight jeans as he reached down to pull his boots off while remaining standing. He had already removed his parka, so there was the added bonus of watching the muscles in his back ripple beneath his snug, long-sleeved t-shirt.

Mentally shaking herself, Madelyn called out to ask Harry if he wanted water, a soda, or something stronger to drink with his pizza. "I'll have whatever you're having," he replied.

She returned to the living room with plates and utensils; additionally, she was now carrying two large, stemless wine glasses while precariously bracing an open bottle of red under her left arm. Harry reached for the wine that looked ready to drop and grazed her breast in the process. He could hear her take in a quick gasp of air. She didn't acknowledge the contact in any other way. Instead, she asked him if he would mind if they sat on the cushions by the fire to eat. Harry pulled the table with the food nearer to the cushions as she removed the wine from his other hand and poured it for two.

Harry knew she had some kind of wireless stereo system because although he could see no equipment, he could hear music in surround sound. As he accepted a plate from her and lowered himself onto a floor cushion, he asked, "What song is this? I don't recognize it."

She flipped open the pizza box, "Umm, Alabama Shakes, Sound & Color. Do you like music?" He grinned, reaching his plate out to accept the slice she was offering.

"Love it! Music is art.  Sometimes it's like the canvas behind the paint of our lives; a base, something we can layer our experiences onto so that when the music plays we remember those experiences. Other times it is the paint itself, the color that demands our attention because it is the experience." They talked about what kind of music they both enjoyed, specific bands, and songs. He discovered that her taste was eclectic and he enjoyed hearing Ray LaMontagne's You Are the Best Thing roll into classic Springsteen's I'm on Fire. She laughed when he admitted that he had a bit of a thing for Stevie Nicks and had to replace his dad's Fleetwood Mac CD, Rumors because he had literally played it to death when he was 18. The conversation was easy and relaxed. They had unconsciously drifted closer to one another, forgetting about dangerous roads and papers that needed to be read. The third glass of wine had been poured a while ago; the pizza and salad had been finished and the mood seemed to be making a noticeable shift.