Cracked Foundations

In the dead silence that followed, I blushed till my ears burned. Up in the attic, I heard a loud thump, followed by the sweet peal of Rowena laughing.

Looking up at Stan, I saw that he was blushing too. Then he chuckled and gave me another wink. That boyish charm made him look so very roguish. I suddenly had no trouble envisioning him looking at me that way, but from much closer. With a bedroom ceiling fan turning above him, maybe.

Still blushing, I went to cut the wood.

The work was proceeding along well, and I was happy, I realized. Happier than I'd been for ages. I loved working on the house, spending time with Stan, and Rowena when she was there, and joking with the guys on the different crews. They were friendly and professional; I had a feeling Stan wouldn’t permit anything less.

Still, sometimes it was a lot of work. After a long day of pounding hammers and ear-splitting saws, the silence afterwards was deafening. I tried to relax and enjoy the absence of machinery while I sat on the porch. I sipped at some water and checked my watch. Half an hour late already. I didn't mind waiting and having some time to myself, but I was waiting for Bill Norman from the Historic Society, and truth was I still didn't like him.

Not that he had ever been anything but polite to me, ridiculously so at times. He was always here with his camera and that clipboard. Making notes and taking pictures. I knew he'd been driving Stan crazy.

Hearing a big truck pull around the from the back I waved to Andy as he pulled out, towing his mortar mixer behind him. The big mason waved back, then yelled out to me, "Have a good one!"

"Same to you," I called back. If he heard me over the sound of his truck's diesel engine, I don’t know. He pulled out of the drive way, the mixer bouncing behind him as it hit the curb.

Norman's gray Nissan pulled in almost as soon as Andy was out of sight. With a sigh, I got to my tired feet and went to the edge of the porch as he walked up.

"Miss Reynolds, nice to see you. You look tired. A hard day here at the house?"

He had left the clipboard behind, I noted. He stopped on the steps a little below me, putting him at eye level with my breasts. No doubt he thought he'd done it discreetly. I saw his eyes do a quick look, as though making sure they were still there. What a jerk.

"It was a good day. We got a lot done," I said.

"I would like to see, if you don't mind, even though that's not the reason I'm here." He walked up to the rest of the way when I moved towards the door. He rushed ahead and caught the door before I could open it. The feel of his hand on my lower back as I stepped through was an unwelcome surprise, and I stepped away.

The living room ceiling was still open to the rafters. The newer wood contrasted sharply with the hundred-and-fifty-year-old wood my great-grandfather's grandfather had put there. Stan had promised that he could do something nice with the warped wood he had cut out so that we didn't have to lose it entirely.

Norman started tsking the moment he looked up. He shook his head and looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

"What I expected from Mr. Duncan, I'm afraid. He has, I must say, a justifiably poor reputation with some in this community. I'm afraid his standards of construction are maybe acceptable in, ah, new construction." He said the phrase like it was distasteful to him; it probably was. "But they do not come anywhere close to what is demanded in the restoration business. All that needs to be torn down and redone to a proper standard."

If he had punched me in the stomach I wouldn't have felt worse. "What?"

He nodded his head, then looked back up. "Yes, yes. I'm afraid that all of that is simply unacceptable. Looking up there you should hardly be able to see that a repair had been done. If you will remember, the first time we met I advised him that using modern lumber was frowned upon."

"But all of that is going to be behind plaster! It will never be seen again."

"Oh yes, I'm afraid it will. In about twenty years when that lumber he put there begins to decay and all of this work need to be done again." He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. His condescending manner set my teeth on edge. "You see, the older style milling of wood left it in much freer of defects and damages to the inner grain of the wood than the modern sawing methods do. They also did not use the chemicals that, while advertised to help the wood, actually make it break down faster. I'm afraid Mr. Duncan has cheated you terribly, my dear."

Bastard. I would happily admit a mistake, but I would not have him blaming Stan. He didn't know I'd done some research myself, and from what I could tell, Norman was full of it.

"I don't think that I shall be tearing it back out, thank you. If twenty years from now I start to have problems I will be sure to call you and let you say I told you so. Until then I'm going to trust my instincts on this and stay with the carpenter that I know is doing a good job. So Mr. Norman, I would like to go home and get cleaned up. I have had a long day, and you have made it that much longer."

"Oh, of course. I can see that you're fatigued. I'll call again tomorrow to collect the money." He gave me a smug look and turned towards the door.

I didn't want to take the bait, but I had to. "The money?"

"Yes. The loan the society gave you. If you will not follow our building standards I'm going to have to report your account in noncompliance. We will of course need the full amount returned. It was in the contract you signed."

The sudden loss of half of the money, or the possible loss of Stan? Both ideas staggered me. While I tried to think it through, Norman stared at me, smug look still there. Then his eyes left my face and slid down my body. When he met my eyes again, he grinned.

"Of course I realize that every case is different. How about we discuss your situation? Say, after dinner tonight? You're not doing anything tonight, are you? After all, for the sake of your loan, what's a little, shall we say, negotiation over drinks worth? It would only be a few hours of your time."

I just stood there. Stunned. How the hell did this slimy weasel think for even a second that I would—

"Here, give me a call after you are showered and presentable and I'll tell you where to meet me." He pulled one of his business cards from his pocket and before I could stop him reached over and tucked it into my T-shirt's pocket. I felt his fingers deliberately brush my breast. He looked at my face and either didn't see or ignored my building rage.

"Think about it, but don't think too long and keep me waiting. The longer I have to wait the more inclined I will be to send my recommendation to the office. Maybe even one to your bank, to let them know you have lost your principal financing. That would be unfortunate to say the least."

Leaving me feeling kicked in the chest, he walked out, but stopped at the stairs.

"And of course the more I have to wait the more it will take to persuade me to not call the loan." His eyes again went to my breasts. "Wear something in red, but nothing under it, of course."

I recovered my voice. "Get the fuck out of my yard."

He laughed all the way to his car.

Seething, I drove back to the apartment. I gripped the steering wheel so tightly I was surprised I didn't break it. How dare that little bastard try to blackmail me.

I couldn't be positive, but I was pretty sure that everything he'd said was a crock of shit. Stan had worked on Historic Society jobs before, and he'd never mentioned such a thing. Neither had Andy or anyone else working on my house. After a few weeks of working with them, I'd come to trust them, and I trusted that someone would have spoken up if we were doing things wrong.

The sky darkened, matching my mood, and rain splattered on the steps as I walked up to the door. I managed not to slam it, but only because it was Stan's door and not mine.

I tried to calm down but it was hard. Everything I'd worked for could be yanked away just because Bill Norman thought his dick was more attractive than losing my loan.

Stan had invited me to dinner, and I had planned on that—and a little more—but now I didn't want to, which pissed me off even more. I would tell Stan about it, since at the least he deserved to know what Norman was saying about him. I didn't intend to tell him the rest, not yet.

I could feel the stress and depression creeping back. All I wanted to do was hole up in the apartment and sleep. Or cry. Or both.

I showered and changed into a plain sundress, then combed my hair out, not caring what it looked like. The rain fell steadily, but I didn't bother looking for an umbrella before leaving. I hurried over to the house and knocked. When Stan opened it, he grinned.

"When you said you were going to get a shower," he said, "I thought you meant inside."

"So did I." I made no move to go inside when he held the door open.

"What's wrong? Natalie, are you all right? Did something happen?" Concerned, he came out onto the porch and took my arm. I let him lead me inside.

"Look, Stan, I'm really not hungry. Thanks, but I'm just going to go back to the apartment." I couldn't meet his eyes, and turned to leave, my arms crossed over my chest as though I'd get less wet that way.

"No, not yet." Stan guided me into his living room and sat me down on the couch. "Hold on." He disappeared for a moment and returned with a towel. He handed it to me and said, "First, you tell me what happened."

"It's nothing, I'm fine."

"No, you're not," he put a finger under my chin and made me look at him. "Natalie, tell me."

It felt good to have someone concerned for me, despite how upset I was. I took a few breaths and savored the feeling while I twisted the towel in my hands.

"Okay, Bill Norman came to the house today. He said everything was wrong." Once I got going, the words tumbled out, and I told him what Norman had said about the wood, the rafters, and Stan's work in general. Stan's eyes narrowed behind his glasses and his lips pressed into a thin line.

"What a son of a bitch," Stan said.

"Yeah, I thought so." Somehow, I was both relieved and more upset. I guess telling Stan made it real. "I wanted you to know what he'd said about you, because I know it isn't true and I didn't want him to hurt your reputation or cost you business."

"I'd be fine, but thank you." Stan took one of my hands in his. "Now, tell me the rest."

"How do you know there's a rest?" I asked, trying to kid. He just gave me a look. "All right. Norman told me that perhaps he could be persuaded to revise his opinion and not take the money back."

"I'll just bet." Stan's expression grew dark.

"Yeah, it involved dinner and me in a red dress, and I don't think he intended me to stay in the dress."

"You're not doing it," he said, a statement more than a question.

"No, I'm not." I shook my head. "I've been through it before. And I don't care what he says about the money. I'll sell if I can't complete it. I'd rather lose the money than you." It took me a minute to realize what I'd said, and could have kicked myself. It's not that it wasn't true, I just hadn't wanted it to come out that way.

"Is that so?" Stan asked.

I looked up and couldn't quite interpret the look on his face. Hell with it, I thought, it was out and I wasn't going to take it back. "Yes, that's so."

"Well, aren't you something." He smiled, and at last, I relaxed a bit.

"I suppose I am." I sighed and stood. "Thanks, Stan. I—"

"Where are you going?" He tugged my hand and I sat down again.

"Just to the apartment. Obviously it's been quite a day, and I'm just… I'm kind of frazzled, I guess. Upset and tired and I don't know what else."

"Listen, Norman is so far off base I can't begin to tell you," Stan said, still holding my hand. He moved his thumb in circles on the back of my hand, a soothing motion I didn't want him to stop. "I have done work with the society before, and I'm not doing anything differently now than I did then. He's just being a bastard, trying to throw around what little weight he has."

"I hoped so," I admitted. "I thought so, but I just—when he said that, it freaked me out a little."

"I understand. But he's wrong. And I know I wasn't there, but you should file a complaint with the society, and I'll back you up."

"Oh, lord," I groaned. "I know I should, but I thought I was done with all that crap. The thought of doing it again . . . Jesus."

"You wouldn't have to do it alone. I'd be there," he reminded me. "The society members aren't all like Mr. I-Don't-Know-Crap Norman. Only some of them are assholes. The others will listen."

I smiled. "That's the best thing I've heard all day."

"So will you stay for dinner?"

"Sure." I wasn't sure I was hungry, but I didn't want to go back, alone, to the apartment. Calmer now, I realized that there was a wonderful aroma in the house. "That smells delicious, Stan. What is it?"

"Chili. Grandma's recipe." I followed him out to the kitchen, where he stirred and sampled it. "Just about done, too. I have some corn bread in the oven, mind getting it out for me?"

"Sure." I found an oven mitt and pulled the pan out. Like the chili, it smelled heavenly. "You really didn't need to go to this trouble, Stan," I said as I set the bread down on a hot pad.

"No trouble. I like to make a batch every once in a while. Gives me leftovers for a while, and Rowena likes it, too."

"Well, anyway, I appreciate it." I stepped over and kissed him on the cheek.

He snaked an arm around my waist and kissed me on the lips. "You're welcome."

The chili and cornbread tasted even better than they smelled and went well with a cold beer. After dinner, Stan suggested we go out on the porch. The rain had passed, and it was still humid, but I didn't mind. I took a deep breath, savoring the night smells and admiring the clear skies.

"It's beautiful out here," I said.

"It is," Stan agreed.

I turned to find him looking at me; I blushed. "You don't have to say that."

"But it's true. I told you I only teach the beautiful students, so it must be true." He traced a finger along my jaw.

My heart raced. "You've taught me a lot. I never thought I'd learn so much about fixing up houses." I couldn't believe I was saying this. What I wanted to say was "Take me to bed," and instead I was fumbling, nervous.

"Fixing up houses is good. Gives you time to think about what else might need fixing."

"Yes, it does."

"Oh hell, I'm done waiting." Stan pulled me close and kissed me.

Any nervousness fled; I was done waiting, too. I wrapped my arms around his neck and parted my lips, moaning as our tongues met. I pressed my body against his, aching to feel as much as I could. Every part of me was aroused or excited, and when I moved my hips, I could tell he was too.

He moved his lips down my neck and I shivered. His goatee was soft, not scratchy as I expected. I grasped at his shoulders as he sucked at the pulse point on my neck. His hands were strong and warm on my back, and I didn’t resist as they explored.

"You are beautiful, Natalie," he said before returning for another kiss.

"You're going to take me to bed, right?" I was breathless.

"Does it have to be a bed?" he asked. One hand moved to my breast and I gasped at his touch even through the material. "Because I'm not sure I can wait that long."

"I'm flexible," I murmured, and we both laughed at the double meaning. "But won't anyone else see?"

"I don't think I care if they do." He nibbled at my ear lobe.

"Jesus, Stan, you're driving me crazy," I said between kisses.

"Back at you."

He reached around and unzipped my dress, then worked it down so that it slid to my feet. Determined not to be the only one undressed, I pulled his shirt up and reveled in his groans when I dragged my nails lightly over his skin. I pushed the shirt up more so I could taste him. He tugged the shirt off the rest of the way and let his head fall back.

Next was the jeans. I wanted all of him. I reached down and undid his belt, then worked the fly. He caught my face in his hands and kissed me, making the task more difficult. He smiled against my lips until I managed to get my hand inside his jeans.

"There, that's better." I gave him a wicked grin as I took his cock in one hand. He was hard, hot and thick and groaned as I stroked him. With my free hand I pushed his jeans down over his hips so I had easier access.

"Come here," he said in a rough voice. He stepped back to a love seat that he kept on the porch, sat down and pulled me with him so that I straddled his lap.

I hadn't worn a bra, and Stan took advantage. He cupped my breasts, kneaded them, and teased my nipples with his thumb. I panted and wished desperately he'd take one in his mouth; he did and I couldn’t stifle a cry. His tongue swirled in circles around one nipple while his other hand squeezed and twisted lightly on the other side. Heat whirled in my body and settled between my legs.

I reached for his cock, wanting to return some of what he was giving me. His breath was harsh now, matching mine, and he took one hand and slid it between my legs. We both groaned as his fingers stroked me through my panties; no one had ever made me this excited, this wet before.

I moved so I could get rid of my underwear, and he wasted no time replacing his hand and sliding a finger inside me, then two. I leaned forward and kissed him, my tongue darting in his mouth. As he had with the first kiss, one hand came up to cradle my head and hold me steady. He kissed me back, refusing to let go while his other hand found a rhythm, stroking and rubbing my clit.

My body tensed and I broke the kiss, gasping for breath as I felt my orgasm building. "Don't stop," I gasped out. "Please, don't—" Then it hit me. I came like I never had before, my hips bucking on his hand while I tried to stifle my cries.

He put his hands on my hips and guided me so that I was over his cock, then thrust up inside me. I came again within a couple of strokes, loving the feel of him inside of me.

"Oh, God, Natalie, you feel so good. I'm not going to last long." He had his eyes shut, concentrating on lasting as he moved his hips. He slowed down and the feel of him sliding in, then out, in, then out, almost killed me.

"It's okay. I want you to come, Stan, please. I want to feel it."

I don't know if it was what I said or how we moved, but he came a moment later, his hands digging into my hips and his cock pressing up inside me.

We stayed there on the seat, with me leaning forward and resting my head on his shoulder while he was still inside. He put his arms around me and rubbed a hand over my back. Had it not been for the cool night air getting cooler on our naked skin, we might have stayed there longer.

I sat back, now slightly embarrassed about everything. I knew I shouldn't be, but making love with someone on their front porch was new territory.

Stan looked at me and smiled. "That was something, and worth waiting for."

"Yeah, it was," I said. "I hope we don't have to wait so long for next time."

He smiled. "Let's go inside and get comfy, and then we'll have round two in a little while. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a plan."

We gathered our things and went inside, laughing together at what we'd done. Then he led me to the bedroom, where we didn't wait too long to do it again.

Stan

I moaned a deep grumble of pleasure as Natalie ran her fingers over my back. She traced the lines of my tattoo with a nail that just scratched.

"What does this say? Is this Latin?"

"No." With a sigh, I turned over to face her, then all the way to my back. I ran my hand through her sweaty hair as she laid her head on my chest. "It's Hebrew. Ho tou Tektōnos huios."