Let Him Cry Pt 02

Note: The first part has published, and I can see a difference in how Literotica's Preview handles formatting vs. how the production process does. Something in the latter converts an en dash into a pair of hyphens even though it's a standard character. I'm sorry about that. I hope you can overlook the awkwardness. I'll see if I can do something to avoid it in this and the following parts.

Anyway, here's part 2 of the story about Matt's measured journey ... and I still promise that there will eventually be a romance in it to justify the category. As you might expect, if you haven't read the first part, this one won't make much sense.

Thanks to V. who had me think about Matt and Caitlyn quite a bit. I don't recognize the characters from the first draft anymore.

—C

CHAPTER III

Tuesday wasn't as bad as I expected. I had envisioned all kinds of embarrassing silences and looks caught from the corners of my eyes. Or worse, pointed questions about "What happened?" and "Are you all right now?"

Instead, Ruth gave me an approving little nod and then treated me like she had every other day. The Guy Code meant that John just asked a gruff, "You good?" before turning to the day's work as if nothing had happened.

Caitlyn wasn't quite so willing to gloss over things but contented herself with, "I'm glad you came. I think this is the best thing for you right now. Next time, if there is a next time, don't run off. We're here to listen." My response was a noncommittal grunt and we got to work.

Early in the afternoon, Bela showed up. She tracked me down to where I was installing some high-hat lights and pulled an insulated cup out of a bag. "I overheard you complain about your coffee last week."

"You have a coffee shop," I said, remembering.

"I do."

As I slid the lid open and took a whiff, she said, "I took you for a dark roast kind of guy, and" — she pulled a tiny container out of the bag — "cream, if needed, and sugar."

I shook my head. "Black's good." I took a sip. "Mm, now that's a cup of coffee."

"And, fortunately, it's right on your way here."

"Huh? How do you know where I live?"

"Oh, I don't. But now that you've tasted my coffee, I'm sure it will be right on your way."

I laughed and peered at the side of the cup: El Grano de Café. I looked a question at her.

"The Coffee Bean. My family's from Spain." She turned to go. At the door, she looked back, "On Fairview right across from the sushi place. New customers welcome. We open at six thirty." With a wink, she was gone. I appreciated the fact that, even though she must have heard about it, she didn't mention Saturday.

"Matt."

I turned from getting in my car at the end of the day to see Caitlyn walking over. The sun was behind her and caught her hair again, turning it into a fiery nimbus and lending a warmth to the chiaroscuro of her body.

"I owe you for that ride. How about I buy you dinner?"

"You don't owe me anything."

"Then let's just have dinner together anyway. You have to eat, right? I know a good mom and pop Italian place."

"My friend will be making dinner."

"You can call, right? Or, since we both should clean up, tell her when you get home. Come on." She took my shrug as settling matters, gave me brisk directions for how to find the place, and ended with, "It's four thirty now. Let's meet at six."

"We'll hold off on drinks," Caitlyn told the waiter before I could respond.

Looking back, I was an idiot. I figured she wanted to nag me about some other aspect of my life ... or maybe about one that she was already tackling but didn't think I was making enough progress on.

Hoping to head some of it off at the pass, I said, "I've cut back on the bourbon, and I'm walking more, and Abode gets me out to see people."

She cocked her head, reading the context. She had a faint smile on her face as she said, "Is the prospect of a meal with me that daunting?"

"No," I lied. Well, semi-lied. Well, actually, the prospect of a meal with her was rather intriguing. It was the prospect of being managed that was unpleasant.

"Liar. So ..." Here it comes, I thought during her brief pause. "... how the heck do you know so much about construction?"

Her smirk said she knew she'd caught me flat-footed. By the time I'd told her something of my life history, heard a little of hers — childhood and nursing stories, no reference to a former spouse — and finished a reasonably good chicken piccata, I was enjoying myself.

"Dutch," I insisted when the check came. "All I did was give you a ride." Disregarding her protest since two could play that game, I handed my card to the waiter. "Split it between the two, please." To Caitlyn, "I told you it was just a ride."

"Then I still owe you."

An astonishing ability to ignore answers, I reflected. As we stepped out onto the sidewalk, she paused and set her hand on my arm. I was in a good mood and stifled my response.

"My place is just a block that way. Come in for a glass of wine?" I looked at her in surprise. "I'm not anti-drinking, just anti-drinking too much" — a momentary vision of gray eyes accompanied by a silent murmur of agreement — "and one glass might be nice," she said, her blue eyes twinkling with amusement.

We sat on opposite ends of the couch, talking about this and that. I probably didn't carry my share of the conversation, but she didn't seem to mind. Part of it was nerves at being on what I finally realized was a date. Like I said: idiot.

A second part was that it was clear that more than just negative emotions like anger and depression were returning to my life. Libido was definitely entering stage right. I'm not totally crass, and my eyes were where they should be, but that didn't stop my peripheral vision from tracing a few curves along the snug capris or where the neckline of her blouse revealed a hint of cleavage.

We'd lingered over the well-filled wine glasses and the talk turned to the volunteering.

"I was surprised, but really glad, that you dove into it. You seem to enjoy it."

"I do. I like building things and, well, I guess it just makes me feel good."

She smiled warmly. "I thought it might. You just needed a push. But, as I said, you surprised me — in a good way — by becoming a regular. I know John is thanking his lucky stars and us girls are glad too."

"Why?"

"We only sorta know what we're doing, enough to follow instructions. But there are so many kids showing up lately who want something to look good on college applications that John gets overwhelmed trying to keep them in line." She snorted. "And you've seen how worthless some of the other adults are."

Thinking about Tweedledum and Tweedledee, my snort echoed hers.

"There used to be another Abode guy, but he hasn't been there for months. The company has been starving John for real help. He's mentioned it several times. So, it's nice to have someone else around who knows what they're doing. It makes a difference ...

you're

making a difference. Bela's been pretty worried that the house wouldn't be ready by the time the snow set in."

"We're fine," I said dismissively.

She gave me a look that conveyed how clueless I was. "We had to rebuild that front porch to make it safe. We worked on it for two whole Saturdays, and John still had to finish some of it himself during the week. You showed up and the extension was framed in a day; sheathed, roofed and sided by the end of the week. Not to mention the wiring.

"Besides ..." She paused and gave me a naughty grin. "Compared to most of the geezers who show up to help, the scenery is much better."

As I flushed, she laughed. "Come on! You've met Ruth; you have to be used to it by now," she teased. To cover my embarrassment, I finished the last swallow and made to rise. "I should go."

She nodded and rose with me. "Are you okay to drive?"

There was a pleasant warmth, but I was fine. As we reached her door, she asked with no warning, "What might a girl say in order to get a kiss?"

It was one of those moments that everyone has had once in a while, where you knew that time had to be slowing down because too much was happening simultaneously for its normal flow. Wheels losing grip on icy pavement, the moment you step off on a bungee line, a bus about to hit you ... a question like that.

One part of my brain was suddenly focused two feet away on a pair of lips that were just barely parted, below a set of eyes locked onto mine with a welcoming expression. And I wasn't blind to what the very slight lean in my direction did to that hint of cleavage.

A second part was repeating a guilty admonition consisting of the name of my wife iterated over and over in a jumble of redundancy.

A third was braying a DEFCON 3 panic alarm formed of some incoherent mishmash involving "over a year since ..." and "what if ..."

Only an instant in real time. An eternity of that suspended time. Caitlyn waited patiently to see which way I'd jump. I made my choice.

I heard the faint echo of Liv's words in my mind, "I will be well and truly pissed off if ..." and remembered that flash of gray eyes when Caitlyn invited me for the drink. They'd been far less disapproving than I was used to lately.

"She'd be okay with it," I told that second part of my brain.

"Shut up," I told the third.

The flinch at contact with a woman was still there, but I ignored it, concentrating on the luscious sensation of warm lips, followed by the tingle that might have been my imagination, or might have been another's tongue lightly brushing my lips for the briefest fraction of a moment.

She pulled back, gave me a warm smile, and opened the door for me to head out. "See you on the weekend. I have to work the next few days."

• • •

"Seriously?" Ruth asked. When I nodded, she continued. "Okay, she

is

hot. And, yeah, she gets guys coming on to her. Trust me, she's got more stories than the rest of the women here put together. 'Cept me, of course."

Somehow, Ruth had divined that something had happened and, with her usual blunt-force-trauma approach to things, demanded, "So, what happened? You get laid or something?"

Now she was responding to a rambling question that boiled down to "Why me?"

"But most times it's some two-bit Romeo in the supermarket or the bank. God help her if she dares go out for a drink with the girls." She leaned back against the side of the house. "And I know zippitydoodah about this Tinder thing, but she makes a face when she talks about it.

"But who does she meet day to day? Patients. Sometimes doctors. The patients are mostly women or guys who make me look young. The doctors are either happily married, engaged to be married, or married scumbags who play around, according to her.

"You, on the other hand, are neither geriatric nor a doctor. And" — I saw the twinkle and knew it was hopeless to expect more than a couple of serious sentences in a row — "you've been housebroken."

I ignored memory and settled for a sardonic, "Thanks. I love being compared to a puppy."

There was a flash of seriousness in her expression. "More like a wounded stray." I swayed to the side and the punch failed to connect, bringing a chuckle from her and, "You're learning."

She pushed back upright and picked up the bag of trash we'd collected, heading for the dumpster, pausing to say over her shoulder, "More than one of the girls has eyed you. Caitlyn just got out of the gate first." She shook her head in mock irritation. "Damn her! I had my sights on you."

One of us thought that was uproarious.

Terrell and Nia were drawing pictures at the table when I came in.

"We just got back. The pediatrician was running late," Tatyanna said, coming out from the back.

"How about pizza?" I asked, bringing cheers from the kids.

I answered the door to find a girl I vaguely recognized as one of the local college students standing there holding a box and a large bag. I waved toward the table. "Just put it there," I said and moved to the counter for my wallet.

"Keep the change" earned me a big smile that came with cute dimples and, following her to the door, I tried not to feel too pervy noticing that neither the skinny jeans nor the snug polo with "Ricciardi's Pizza" scrawled across the back did much to hide her figure.

Ten years too young for you, Matt, I chided myself, both amused and faintly relieved that the accompanying guilt flash was only at the slightly inappropriate thoughts — I'd never actually do anything about them — and not at a memory.

• • •

Friday morning, I found myself circling a particular block, looking for a place called Grano de Café. I was tired of not-so-good coffee on my way to the site. Ten minutes later, I was seated at a small table with a macchiato and a pecan Danish, and Bela glancing over periodically.

After about fifteen minutes, she dropped into the chair opposite me, setting down a fresh cup for me and one for herself. "Hopefully Malibu Ken," she nodded at the guy behind the counter, "can handle it for a short while." I must have looked puzzled because she added, "He's a hunky blond teenager who wears board shorts, calls people 'dude', and his name's Ken. What do you expect his nickname to be?"

A few minutes later, a young boy wandered up and Bela said, "This is Rafi. Say hello to Mr. Brennan." He was shy and barely managed to squeak out a greeting before scampering to the back of the shop. Then the bell on the front door jangled and a group came in. I saw Ken shoot a glance at Bela. She must have seen it too, because she stood with a grimace, "Duty calls. Sorry."

I watched the two of them deal with the rush, sipping my second cup. A thought occurred to me. I waited for the next lull and then wandered over, "Are you short-staffed?"

She looked surprised at the question. "Well, yes. This is always a bad time. College kids are heading back to school, but the high school kids aren't quite ready to start earning gas money yet."

"Would you hire someone older?"

She looked me up and down. "I thought you were taking half a year off."

"Not me."

She caught on almost instantly. "Are you talking about the woman staying with you?"

"Yes." I wondered how she knew about Tatyanna. I guess girls' time at the site. I wondered even more how she knew Tatyanna wasn't just a friend visiting temporarily. Women's Mafia, I thought.

"Matt, I doubt I pay what she's making at wherever she's working."

I shrugged. "Maybe. I don't think she makes that much at a nail salon. But I can tell you that she probably has less take-home there than she'd have here if you factor in daycare."

Again, she was quick. "You want me to let her bring her kids here, also?" I could see that unnerved her.

I shrugged again. "What would it matter? They're about the same age as Rafi and it would give him playmates. It costs you nothing and you'd get an employee who wasn't distracted by" — I smiled as I repeated her words — "the latest social media blowup or a boyfriend coming into the shop."

"How do you know she doesn't have a boyfriend?"

"She doesn't, just trust me on that one."

I could see the indecision. "Matt, I don't know. I mean, hiring someone who's living on the streets ..."

"She doesn't look like she's living on the streets and, actually, she's never lived on them, just shelters. She's responsible about her kids. She seems honest." I shrugged and finished, "You could try it for a day. If she doesn't work out, don't hire her."

She didn't answer right away. I didn't press it, just waited. Finally, she said, "I notice you didn't say, 'Hey, Bela, you've got people helping you with

your

life.'"

"Making someone feel guilty's not my way. If you're not willing, just say so and I'll drop it."

She studied my face. "Monday, 8 a.m., if she wants."

• • •

I told John I needed to head out a little early since Tatyanna and I had been invited upstairs for dinner. When I came in the door, the Bluetooth speaker was blasting out something I didn't recognize. I'm kind of a classic rock guy and this was hip-hop. I headed back along the hallway to grab a much-needed shower.

The guest room door was standing open five or six inches and, through it, I saw Tatyanna bouncing along to the beat as she dug in a drawer. A lot of Tatyanna — as in panties and nothing else. I checked involuntarily for a brief second in surprise.

The movement must have caught her eye in the mirror above the dresser because she straightened abruptly, and her eyes met mine in the reflection. There was a frozen moment, but before she could turn, I pulled the door shut, trying not to think about the image of hips and breasts keeping time with the bass line.

Her door was still closed when I came out. I figured the best thing to do was just to pretend it hadn't happened. She didn't meet my eyes when she emerged, and we were a silent pair as we walked up the stairs to Matt and Angela's with the kids trailing behind.

It was a fun evening: nothing remarkable, just four people sitting around enjoying each other's company while the kids conked out. Well, make that two people and two halves. Tatyanna was engaged in the conversations, and an occasional flash of her sarcastic brand of humor would crack us up, but I noticed she was quieter than she normally was. I knew the reason and figured things would be fine by morning.

For my part, I still wasn't totally comfortable with the casual affection Matt and Angela displayed with each other ... recent lustful thoughts notwithstanding. More than once, I found myself averting my eyes at a quick kiss or a gentle stroke across a partner's arm. Let's not even mention the pat on the ass that had Angela squealing and then snapping a kitchen towel at her spouse with a giggle.

As we were leaving, Matt clapped me on the shoulder. "I'm glad we were able to do this again. I missed it."

"Sorry."

He shook his head and leaned in for a quiet word. "If I lost Angie, I wouldn't be any different. Worse probably. You have nothing to apologize for ... grouchy," he finished with a smirk.

Things still didn't seem back to normal when I came into the kitchen the next morning. I took the bull by the horns. "What's up? It was embarrassing, yeah, but this seems a long time to be blushing over a little skin."

"Nothing."

That meant it was something. "Please tell me what I did wrong."

"You didn't do anything."

I shrugged, a little frustrated. Obviously, I must have, I thought. People don't say, "Nothing," when it's nothing.

Finally, she glanced down the hall to make sure the kids were still out of the room and earshot. "I was nervous there was going to be a knock on my door later. Please don't be angry. It was my insecurity, nothing you did."

At first, I didn't understand. Then I did.

"Please don't be angry," she repeated.

"I thought I made it clear I wouldn't do that."

"You did, but ..." I waited. "You did, and you've given me no reason to doubt you."

"Then why?"

"I just stood there. I wondered if you thought that was a come on."

"I assumed you were caught by surprise."

"I was. But you've been in a better mood since ... since, you know ... and I saw you check out the pizza delivery girl the other night." My face got hot. "I wondered if maybe a year without ..." Her voice trailed off in embarrassment.

I tried to keep my voice matter of fact. "Tatyanna, look. I think you're fun to be with, and smart, and quite pretty. In another time and place, maybe I would see if you were interested yourself."

I paused to gather my next thought and she cut in to supply, "But I'm not in the market for a guy, and you're not ready."