A Widow's Comfort Ch. 02 - Sex Stories

A Widow's Comfort Ch. 02

... fancy four-slice toaster that I remembered her being so proud of when she brought it home. The round, flat griddle was on the stove with bacon strips lying on a paper plate on the countertop.

I snuck up behind her and laid my hands on her hips.

She didn't jump.

"You always did know how to take care of your men," I said, kissing the back of her head.

"And now you're the Man of the House," she said, leaning her head to the side, offering her neck.

The way she said "Man of the House" made the capitalization obvious but, more importantly, made me understand, or at least have the first glimmerings of understanding, our new relationship.

I chuckled, bent, and nipped the soft skin she offered.

"Okay, Lady of the Manor," I said, reaching across her to get a cup from the cabinet.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and then sat at the kitchen table, watching and thinking.

And having a conversation with myself.

"She called you the 'Man of the House,'" I thought, "what does that mean?"

"Nothing, dumbass," I replied to myself, "just breakfast chatter after you laid your hands on her hips like that."

"But she slept with me," I thought.

"She was lonely and still in shock," I replied.

"That felt like something more," I thought.

"Don't flatter yourself, Romeo," I replied.

"Where are you?" she asked, making me jump, both physically from being startled and figuratively as I broke out of my reverie.

I smiled and looked down at what was a ...

... restaurant-quality breakfast.

"I was just thinking that you probably have some pet chores the Man of the House should take care of," I said, smiling across the table at her.

Mom is fun to eat with. She gave up dieting long ago and thoroughly enjoys every bite. It was good to see her eating with gusto. After the way I found her yesterday, I was worried.

But I needn't have been. She obviously enjoyed every bite and, well, it WAS Saturday so that double shot ofGrey Goose she added to her orange juice was a little early but so what?

"Well," she said around a healthy mouthful of omelet, "there is that screen door that won't seem to latch."

"Sounds like my Saturday project," I said.

We finished breakfast in companionable silence and then washed, dried, and put dishes away in a dance we had rehearsed over the years.

I felt a moment's nostalgia as I got Dad's general-purpose toolbox from its accustomed place on a shelf under the garage workbench and went to work on the malfunctioning screen door. I could almost feel Dad standing there as I tested the door, identified the sticking area, removed it, applied a few strokes with Dad's, well, now I suppose, "my" old block plane, and rehung the door. It sounds simple, I know, but it took pretty much all morning.

Which brought me to lunch and one of Mom's four-cheese grilled cheese and tomato soup meals.

"Trying to fatten me up?" I asked across the table, chuckling.

"Maybe you can catch up with me," she said, giggling and ...