Page 14 of Miles. Alton & The 9:04 (Modern Mail Order Brides #19)
N ormally, Thom ended his evenings with a cup of chamomile while reading a few chapters of the latest bestseller.
In the rear of the home, and the only truly decorated room of the house, was the home office that also included his personal library and music collection.
Also in the room were his musical instruments which were off limits to the kids and the little lady whenever he finally got a little woman or kids for that matter.
The woman on the opposite end of the couch had his full attention, but he planned to take it slow with her even though the connection between them had become evident the moment she stepped off her adorable little train.
He had questions about the lady, but for now, the lady was here to find out about him and determine if he was, in fact some kind of nutter.
“Thom,” Mae said softly, “I need you to help me connect the dots between you, the trains, and jazz.”
“Zingales, the saxophonist,” she said.
“Have you ever played with Mateo, I mean, are you on any of his albums?”
“ Shitty Blues ,” Thom said, laughing, “an album dedicated to him and Chambers Claypool blowing up a bathroom in a nightclub in St. Louis.
I was in New York when they started recording, and he asked what I thought about the structure of the album.
I said the entire album didn't need to be instrumental. He brought in Shelly Varve, along with his favorite teacher at Julliard, Bethany Greene.”
“Bethany Greene? Are you serious?”
“Yeah, the ladies sang a track, and he asked me what else was needed,” Thom said.
“In my head, people expected a woman to sing on a jazz album, but it would be kind of cool to have some moody dude sing a song about looking for love and kissing frogs that just turned out to be overdressed toads with bad wigs.”
Mae watched his face as he lowered his head, running his finger across the screen of the phone.
Thom pressed a button, and the room filled with the sounds of a bass guitar, a croak of a frog, then a man's baritone.
The voice was smooth as silk, and the saxophone came in accompanying the singer.
Thom pressed mute on the phone, and as the man on the speaker stopped singing, Thom began to fill in the words a cappella. She blinked as she listened.
The man on the song was singing the same thing as the man on the couch.
The man on the couch was singing the same words as the man on the song.
The man on the song was Thom.
Thom was on the couch.
Thom was on the couch singing.
Thom was a great singer.
Mae moved down the couch. The more he sang, the closer she got until she was sitting directly next to him, watching his mouth as the words came out without effort. Mae wanted to touch the man with the pretty mouth words.
“Wow, you have such an amazing voice...do you want to make out?” She blurted out.
“Excuse me?” Thom was smiling as he pressed the unmute button on the song.
“Let's make out,” Mae said, “me and you.”
“Okay, but for the historical record, you're the initiator of this and not me,” he said, looking her in the eyes. He didn't need to say anything more as the woman straddled his lap and unhooked the buckles to the bib of her overalls, allowing the bib to fall around her waist.
Mae leaned into Thom, tentatively kissing him, and Thom kissed her back.
He paused, waiting to see what she'd do next.
She kissed him again, this time adding a bit of tongue as his hands went to her waist. Mae deepened the kiss, allowing their tongues to begin a gentle scrimmage match, and she shifted, feeling Thom's growing interest in the current situation. Her mouth tasted sweet and his mind began to wander to places it shouldn’t, asking silently if the rest of her was equally pleasing to his palate.
“Yes,” she told him. “I am consenting and this is a yes. I want this between us, and my answer is yes.”
She kissed him again, pressing her breasts to his chest, and Thom was losing the battle with the pretty train-driving woman.
In his arms, she felt right. However, every gift needs consideration of where to place the treasure in the home.
The question he often asked himself when adding a thoughtful item to his life, centered around the idea should the gift being on display or out of the purview of prying eyes?
“Is it a yes for you too, Thom?” she asked, moving suggestively against him.
“No,” he said, softly kissing her.
Mae stopped. She thought perhaps she had misheard him with her good ear, or maybe in his bad ear he didn't hear her consent to have hot, nasty sex with the man, starting on the couch and working their way down the hall to his bedroom.
“Thom, did you say no? I mean, what do you need to escalate this, slather me in peanut butter?” she asked as his forehead crinkled.
He stared at her in confusion.
“What? Do you want to run a mini train engine over my titties?” She asked as his eyebrows shot up as if he were considering the suggestion. “Thom? Seriously?”
“I'm confused! You suggested it, not me,” he said.
“Is that a thing? Is that your thing? I mean I have some mini engines around here somewhere.
Seriously, if that's how you like to party, we could eventually build bridges and tolls with little cutouts for the Magic Mountains Passovers. What? You started it!”
They both laughed as he leaned forward, resting his head on her chest. Taking a breather, he leaned back, his hands still around her waist, going no further. He wanted, no, he needed her to understand.
“Our first time together should be intentional,” he said.
“I don't want you to get on your train tomorrow and look back on our night as a situation that just kind of happened.
A passing thought of ‘I was on the job and spent the evening talking to a dude about Miles, Alton, and the 9:04 train line. I deserve more than that. If you want me, intimacy between us needs to be intentional.”
“Thom, I am intentionally trying to make some magic happen between us. Oh God, am I the one hearing fairies?” Mae asked shaking her head. “I don’t even know what that means for real.”
“No, my dear, you aren't hearing fairies. I simply want you, more than you truly know, but I want us to be planned,” he said.
She ran her finger over the small, deformed remnant of his ear. For the oddest reason, Mae leaned forward and kissed it, making Thom look her in the eye with a longing, years in the making. “What does the fairy thing mean, anyway?”
Thom took a pause, inhaling the subtle scent on her skin. He could sniff out lavender and maybe a citrus base in a lotion. She smelled like home and he liked it. He liked her vibe and he enjoyed the energy she generated between them.
“A fairy hunter is like a butterfly collector,” he explained.
“In their head, they’ve made plans of what will happen in their world once they have the fairy captured, but for the fairy, it becomes a cage.
The collector doesn’t truly love the fairy, it is an object, a means to an end.
An item to look at and say, I love this thing, yet they will never understand it.
Then, like the butterfly, it is pinned to a board, no longer able to fly. ”
“The woman, you said she was a fairy hunter,” Mae said. “You turned her down. You turned her down and said you wanted me, but you’re turning me down as well.”
Thom shook his head no, taking another moment to allow the situation growing between them to settle.
He took a braid into his hand, realizing it wasn’t her actual hair.
Then he looked at the lips. Gently, he kissed her again, desiring more than anything to take her to his bed, but this wasn’t how he wanted them to start the journey together.
“When you leave here, I want you to call me to let me know you've arrived home safely.
I'll wait until later on Wednesday to text, asking to see you again.
You'll wait until Thursday morning to reply, then Thursday afternoon, I'll call and let you know I'm arriving in Chicago around six on Friday and ask if you wish to meet for dinner.”
“Where to meet me for dinner?”
“Yes, your favorite spot for cocktails and apps or the restaurant you love but never like to go there alone,” he said.
“I'm at the restaurant when you arrive, in a suit, with flowers, looking at you like I'm going to devour you whole.
After dinner, we head to your place. I pretend I'm interested in the train engines you've collected, all the while working our way to your bedroom.”
“My bedroom,” Mae said, staring at the mouth she wanted on her boobies.
“Yes, I will have with me my weekender because I'm staying all weekend, Mae, to love you properly,” he said.
“Saturday night, maybe we go dance, do a little stepping, perhaps some karaoke, and I get up and impress the folks who didn't think an average looking white boy like me has any pipes, then we come back to your place, and well, my pipe goes to work again.”
He began to laugh along with Mae. “Intentional, Baby.
I move with intent. I'm not a jump-off, or a one-nighter, and I'm letting you know that.
When I come to Chicago this weekend, I'm staying all weekend, and when I leave, you might need to start thinking about how we're going to work this out for the long haul.”
Thom got to his feet, his hands under her bottom as he held Mae. He kissed her again before placing her on her feet. She sighed heavily, running her hand across the pipe he’d referenced, saddened there would be a waiting period, but she liked this man. She liked him a great deal.
“It has been a hell of a long day, Mae, and I am tired,” he said. “I placed fresh towels on the end of the guest bed. I shall see you in the morning. Rest well.”
“Rest well,” she parroted, watching his strong back walk down the hall. In the guest room, she looked about the beige walls, noting the room was as bland as the rest of the house.
She listened to the lock engage on his bedroom door, realizing the man was serious.
Mae Weston had thrown herself at him and he had turned her down.
He had turned her down after singing to her and turning her up; now she was all alone and sad.
She was also horny as a road lizard, which made Mae feel off centered.
“This entire house feels off,” she said, going to the kitchen.
She checked the cabinets, and there was a full set of dishes to serve 12.
Under the cabinets were full sets of cook and bakeware, plus the Butler's pantry. He’d either built the home for a family and woman who enjoyed cooking or for himself since he also seemed to enjoy cooking.
The wines were of excellent quality, as if he were collecting them as well.
Mae made her way down the hall where there was another bedroom, but in the back of the home, she found another room. The door wasn't locked and she opened it, letting herself inside. She flicked on the light, and her breath caught. This was Thom Brown.
A wide mahogany desk sat in the corner. Floor-to-ceiling shelves, complete with a rolling ladder for access to the higher storage areas, were evenly spaced with books, albums and musical CDs.
His guitar sat on a stand near a bench seat.
The trumpet rested next to a worn-out armchair, which sat next to a small table where a doily rested with a circular stain from his tea mug.
She walked to the shelves, spotting the Grammy award.
She peered at it, and true enough, his name was on the award for “Overdressed Toads” as a featured artist on Shitty Blues .
“Well damn,” she said. “A lady needs to be a bit more intentional with you, Mr. Brown. He sings. He mentioned stepping. I guess I need to prepare a nice weekend to spend with my new man.”
She turned off the light and exited his private space. Mae Weston needed time to think.
****
M EGAN DOOTCH SAT ON the porch of the small home, which turned out to be nicer than the home she’d left in South Dakota.
The Jiminy guy didn't seem like a creep as he brought in a twin bed frame with a mattress.
He cut away the wrapper and the mattress began to inflate from the foam compression.
Next, he returned with a dolly, pushing a perfectly sized love seat.
“Thank you so much.” She told him, feeling her face get warm. “As soon as I get operational, I will start paying rent. We do need to come to terms on that pretty soon so there are no misunderstandings.”
“There are no misunderstandings, Ms. Dootch,” Jiminy said. “I'll draw up a contract giving you four month's free rent, then we will go a thousand a month, considering I'm providing water and power.”
“Okay,” she said softly.
“Let me help you begin unloading your camper,” he said to her.
“No, I got it,” she said, feeling her tummy rumble.
A man wearing an apron appeared at the side of Jiminy's home. He pulled behind him a wagon loaded with bags. His eyes searched the two people, resting on Megan.
“I have a grocery delivery here,” he said, bringing the little red wagon forward.
Megan pointed him to the tiny house, looking at Jiminy, who shook his head no. Thom Brown did this. Although he’d rejected her as his woman, he kept his word on wanting to be her friend. The grocery bags were a truly friendly gesture.
Jiminy reminded her about the wood stash for the fireplace in the home, warning of spiders in the stacks. In the home, she put away the groceries, grateful for Thom and Jiminy and not having to return to South Dakota with her tail between her legs.
“I can do this,” she said, feeling better as she opened a can of chicken and made a quick chicken salad. “I've got this.”