Waking up with John late that first morning had seemed good and natural with none of that "morning after" awkwardness. We spent most of the day in my bed, making love. John was a sweet and considerate lover. We just seemed to fit.
The days and nights rolled by, and we spent most of our free time together, usually at my house. John always said my house was more cozy and seemed more like a home than his. I supposed that was because there was no woman taking care of his house, making it a home. On the nights I worked late, he'd come to the bar and wait so that he could drive me home. I loved having him there and never felt smothered by the attention, as I might have with someone else. It felt good belonging to someone that way. Nobody had worried about my safety or wanted to take care of me in years.
In May, my daughter called to tell me she wouldn't be coming home for the summer. She was staying on campus with her boyfriend, ostensibly to work and save money for the coming school year. I'd always tried not to hold my kids too tightly and encouraged their independence, but I hadn't seen her since Christmas and missed her terribly. John held me that night as I cried. He didn't try to give advice or cheer me up. He just held me and let me cry and listened when I needed to talk.
We went to movies, out to dinner, and on numerous long, afternoon motorcycle rides on John's Harley. I loved snuggling up to his back, his butt between my thighs, my arms wrapped around his waist. At first, I wore an old ill-fitting helmet of John's, but in June, he surprised me. We roared up to the front of a bike shop on the Harley and stopped. John smiled as he led me inside.
"What are we doing?"
"You'll see. C'mon." He led me inside by the hand, still grinning.
Inside, a large, muscular guy by the name of Ralph measured my head and proceeded to try several motorcycle helmets on me. Each time, he'd push the helmet down on my head, grab it with both hands and try to move it around.
"How does this feel?" he'd ask.
"Tight."
"It should feel snug and secure but not uncomfortable."
John simply stood leaning against the counter, watching, smug grin still in place.
We finally settled on a shiny black three-quarter helmet with the Harley-Davidson logo emblazoned on the front. Further surprising me, John bought himself a matching men's helmet. When I looked at him questioningly, he shrugged.
"Time for a new one, babe."
I loved the helmet. Having my own was so empowering, so sexy. At least, it felt that way to me. Later that night, I kept trying it on and admiring myself in front of the mirror. I never knew I had a secret longing to be a biker chick.
Still looking amused and pleased with himself, John watched me from the bed.
"You gonna sleep in it?"
"Maybe. Would you mind?"
"Might make sex kind of hard."
Sauntering over to the bed, I untied my robe and let it fall to the floor. I kneeled next to him on the bed and flipped the faceguard up.
"Since we have matching helmets now, does that mean we're engaged?"
I smiled as I spoke but immediately regretted saying it. What is it about women that we always have to put labels on relationships? So, there I sat, naked, wearing only a motorcycle helmet, with my foot in my mouth.
I needn't have worried, though, because John, aside from being obviously aroused, threw back his head and laughed uproariously, then pulled me close.
"Something like that, babe. Something like that."
In July, we strolled around our town's annual Founder's Day Festival, hand in hand, the warm wind billowing the long skirt of my flowered sundress. I hadn't attended the festivities since my kids were small and delighted in sharing them with John. I almost felt like a kid again myself. We ate powdered sugar-covered elephant ears and Italian sausage sandwiches smothered in onions and peppers and drank fresh-squeezed lemonade. We rode the Ferris wheel and crashed into each other in the bumper cars. John even won a giant blue stuffed poodle from one of the carnival games, which he presented to me with mock seriousness.
"For you, m'lady," he said with a deep bow.
The sticky heat of August brought an end to our idyll. Our relationship was still satisfying, and I'd never felt so loved and happy, but things took a bit of a turn, and for the first time I had some doubts about us.
Mid month, John asked me to help him choose a birthday gift for his daughter, Christy, whom I hadn't met. Actually, I hadn't met any of John's family, and it bothered me. He didn't seem especially close with any of them, except for his brother, whom he would occasionally mention. Still, it seemed kind of strange, but I hesitated to talk with him about it.
Christy was in her mid twenties and married with two small children. John was thinking about a gift that the whole family would enjoy.
"How about something just for her?" I suggested.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, she's a young mom and probably doesn't do much for herself or take much time just for herself."
John grinned. "What would I do without you, babe?"
"You'd be in trouble for sure." I laughed. "But I hope we never have to find out."
"Me neither. I love you, Daisy."
I think my heart skipped a beat every time he said it. He pulled me into his arms for a kiss.
"I love you, too, honey."
We settled on a spa day for Christy. John called an establishment in Camden, where she lived, and they agreed to print up a gift certificate for a manicure, pedicure, facial, massage, and haircut, which he would pick up that Saturday afternoon before the party.
Perfect, right? The problem, though, was that I assumed I'd be accompanying John to the party and meeting his family for the first time. I guess I figured helping with the gift kind of sealed it. John never mentioned it again though. He was on the midnight shift at work that week, and when I talked to him briefly on Thursday, he said he'd see me on Sunday.
"Sunday?" I was confused.
"Yeah. I'm going to Camden on Saturday, remember?"
I was stunned.
"Oh, right," I stammered. Had I missed something? Become confused somehow?
"Alright. I better get going. Love you, babe."
"Okay. Bye." I hung up the phone.
