Page 31

Starring Gloria and Wesley from Haunted Hearts

“ F eels like a lazy day,” Gloria stretched and yawned.

Wesley didn’t point out that for a ghost, days could always be lazy. That wasn’t the case in Pine Ridge. As his wife, in her corporeal form, rested against him, he looked at his phone.

This Wednesday, the book club would be at their house, as always.

Thursday and Friday, six women from the New York State Garden Social Club were staying the night and touring the White Pine Estates gardens.

Saturday, they had Chloe and Jared’s wedding, which was supposed to be a small, intimate affair that turned into a medium-intimate affair for one hundred and fifty, catered by Cakes for Claire and The Pine Loft Coffee Shop.

Sunday, Mr. Minegold was coming over for dinner and chess.

Monday, the Pine Ridge Chamber Orchestra was meeting with the new piano teacher at the elementary school. They were planning to do some concerto or other in the ballroom for a school fundraiser.

“Yes. Let’s have a lazy day.”

Gloria waited, biting her lip. “I don’t think you ever had a lazy day in your life, Wesley Creighton, not until your heart kicked your backside and put you in your place.

Even then... You were raising a little hell, trying to battle a certain glamorous ghost, solve a cold case, and turn this place into a wedding venue.

You know what the surgeon in Boston said.

You’re a prime candidate for the heart tissue regeneration trial, but you have to take care of yourself. ”

“I eat like a rabbit on a health kick.”

“He didn’t mean just diet and exercise.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Wesley kissed the top of her dark, curling bob, and Gloria sat up. With a thought, she changed from wearing nothing to a peach peignoir. “I’ve been exercising plenty, sweetheart. You’re my daily workout.”

“Well, today, we’re going to have a lazy day like I used to when Daddy was in the city and there were no parties to go to. I wonder... I wonder if the cook’s old recipe book survived the years and the various clean-outs and rearrangements...”

“What do you need it for?”

Gloria looked at him and smiled. “She used to bake me a Lazy Daisy Cake, and called me Miss Lazy Daisy. I’d go for a long swim, floating in the pool with my bathing cap on and records playing on the phonograph,” Gloria sighed and as she did so, her outfit changed into a dark blue swimsuit that was in quite a daring cut for the 1920s, a tight fitting top and ending midway down her thighs in a snug skirt, complete with a bathing cap with chinstrap.

Wesley beamed. He loved hearing about her life.

Loved hearing about when she was young. And though a part of him mourned for the crime that cut it short, it found solace that, as a ghost, she had met her soul mate.

Things worked out in strange ways, including his own near-death event that brought him to her side.

“So, I make this cake if we can find the recipe? We swim. We float. We listen to records. I’m loving it.

Although, there’s no cook here today. No one is here except Lennox in the garden, and he won’t bother us if I text him we’re busy—which I’m doing now.

I say I want the full Lazy Daisy in all of her glory.

Petals on display.” He licked his lips and could tell his wife was blushing, even though there was no real color in her cheeks.

“Wesley!”

“Sex is out of the question on a lazy day? What if it’s slow, lazy sex? Lots of time lapping you up, petals first, eating cake off my favorite plate,” he teased, squeezing her cheeks as she sank back next to him.

“Mmm-maybe,” her answer was broken as his hand found her breast and his lips found her throat.

“More?” he asked, hand trailing down between her legs now, finding the split of her pale white flesh, sliding easily into the warm, sucking center of her that felt not quite solid, not quite liquid, a warm, pulsating gel that clamped hungrily onto his fingers.

“God, yes,” she let out a shaky squeak as his thumb found her clit and teased it slowly, firmly, just the way she wanted, just the way she craved.

“And what happens after you take off this suit, and we swim naked in our pool? After I find your favorite record, and I push up against the edge and fuck you nice and slow until you beg me to go faster?” Wesley asked, his fingers mimicking the pace of his words.

Gloria moaned and her suit vanished, leaving her naked in his arms, sprawling, mewling, clinging as he stirred his fingers in her sex, weaving a magic potion of pleasure that they’d only ever shared with each other. She grabbed his shoulder and tugged, pulling him on top of her.

“After I fill you up here, and then later, and then maybe again, after I cover you in the frosting from that cake—”

“There’s no frosting. It’s a pecan topping,” Gloria gasped as his cock sank into her easily, sliding to the hilt. She wrapped herself around it, her body breaking all the human laws of motion and mass, sucking him into her pussy as if her nether lips belonged on her mouth.

Wesley held still above her, eyes closed against the pumping pleasure she delivered.

“We could just stay in bed all day,” she purred, calf gliding against his hip as she anchored him deeper inside of her.

“No, no. I want to have the day you wanted to have. The cake, the pool, the records. I want a thousand days like this with you.” Wesley kissed her forehead, then her lips, finally laying his scarred chest down against her nearly translucent one.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, rocking together, chasing the peaks that seemed to come so easily with love and lust for each other.

No one mentioned the fact that she was already there, in the time where thousands of days meant nothing, waiting for him to join her. She traced the scar that meant maybe his heart would give out far too young, far too soon, and send him to her sooner.

She kissed his collarbone, eyes closed. She didn’t say that she hoped he would make it to the end of the year, to Boston, to the new trials to heal damaged tissue. That she wanted to see his whole life, and then start over with him in the afterlife.

“We share a life, and a half-life, dancing on the line, twirling at the middle, where life and afterlife meet.” Wesley was the one who said things, sometimes.

Like now, saying this weighty, heavy thing, as he ground into her, as she dissolved around him in pleasure, and then, feeling their mutual climax, dissolved into airiness, solid form turning into airy shapes and insubstantial light.

“Must’ve been good,” Wesley teased as she floated up, over him.

“Amazing, and not nearly lazy enough, mister. That was short and intense. I might need to help you make that cake. You look winded.”

“I’m just fine.” Wesley sat up and reached for his Nebivolol, taking two pills instead of one as he breathed hard around a slice of pain that he knew his wife saw, even if she couldn’t feel. “I’m ready to go. You still didn’t tell me what comes after the pool?”

“Nothing has to come next, Wes. Nothing has to be scheduled next. That’s the beauty of a lazy day. We bake, we swim, we love. We dance on that line. Is that enough for you, Mr. Wall Street Wonder?”

He nodded. “All I want to do is dance with you.”