Sylvain Reynard - Gabriel’s Redemption

He moved his hands to fit over them and squeezed.

“It fits you like a glove. You have a beautiful figure.”

A soft look came into her eyes. “You really think that.”

“I do.” He caressed her breasts through the fabric, passing his thumbs ever so gently over her sensitive nipples.

Her lips parted as she watched him touch her, feeling the sensations tingle across her flesh while seeing the hunger in his eyes.

Here was a man hopelessly aroused and eager, plying his seductive trade.

Gabriel brushed her hair aside and brought his lips to her ear. “Just think how I’ll make you feel when I remove it.”

Throwing caution aside, he placed his lips to her neck, his tongue darting out to taste her skin.

“It’s getting hot in here.” She closed her eyes, leaning into his embrace.

“I’m just getting started.” He pressed himself against the curve of her backside so that she could feel his prominent arousal. “I think we can agree that we’ll take what you’re wearing. Now choose something else.”

She turned to kiss him, reaching up to tangle her fingers in his hair. She kissed him until they were almost ready to forgo shopping before returning to the clothes rack.

Gabriel walked to a nearby table and lifted the house phone.

“Patricia? We’re going to need more ice.”

August 2012

Near Burlington, Vermont

As the winter months passed, Paul spent more and more time with Allison. They went to dinner and to the movies. They flirted via email and text message. And his cupboards at the Norris farmhouse were always filled with Dunkin’ Donuts coffee and homemade cookies.

In fact, his friendship with Ali (for so he was still calling it) had become very important to him. He eagerly looked forward to spending time with her every weekend. And although their physical relationship hadn’t progressed beyond a few chaste kisses, their connection continued to deepen.

However, neither of them could have anticipated the overwhelming joy that was to come in early March when Paul was offered the position of assistant professor in the Department of English at Saint Michael’s College. He didn’t waste time fussing over the salary or negotiating a lighter teaching load or other perks. He simply accepted the job. Gladly.

He emailed Julia about his job offer and they resumed their occasional, friendly correspondence. He was stunned when, in mid-April, she emailed him announcing that she was pregnant.

Given the fact that they’d had a gap in their correspondence, Paul didn’t feel comfortable interrogating her about the timing of her pregnancy. He certainly didn’t want to upset her, not only because he treasured their friendship but because he didn’t want Gabriel to withdraw his approval of his completed dissertation. Consequently, Paul simply sent her a congratulatory message and promised that he would send the baby a gift from Vermont.

Having successfully completed and defended his dissertation, and having survived graduation from the University of Toronto in June, Paul moved into his new office on the campus of St. Michael’s College at the end of August.

He was happy. He was going to live at home while he saved for a down payment on a house. He would help out on the farm when he could, but his father’s hired hands seemed to have everything running smoothly. And his father’s health had improved significantly.

As he unpacked his books in his new office, he found his Dante and Beatrice action figures. Alas, the company that produced them had ignored his repeated requests for a Virgil action figure.

(Once again, their official position was that Virgil was not worthy of action.)

He was just positioning Dante and Beatrice on top of his desk when he heard a knock.

“Come in,” he called over his shoulder, not turning around. “The door’s open.”

“Hi.”

Paul turned from Dante and Beatrice to see Allison standing in the doorway.

In that instant, although he’d seen her a thousand times, although he’d known her for years, Paul was struck by how pretty she was—her hair, her face, her eyes. She was beautiful.

“I thought you might be here. I wondered if you might need some help.”

“There isn’t much to do. I’m just arranging my books.” He placed the empty box on the floor.

Her face fell.

“Oh. Well, I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll let you get back to work.”

She turned to go, and Paul’s heart plummeted into his shoes.

“Wait.”

He stood up and walked over to her, catching her hand in his.

“It’s good to see you.”

She smiled up at him. “It’s good to be seen.”

“You were gone for two weeks.”

“My sister needed help with her kids. I only planned to be gone for a week, but you know how it is.” She reached up and pushed some of his hair back from his forehead. “I missed you. I’ve been counting the days.”

“I missed you, too. A lot.”

They stared at one another for what seemed like an age before Paul found his words.

“I was going to take a break anyway. How about I take you to American Flatbread for pizza?”

“I’d like that.”

She moved to exit his office, but he tugged on her hand.

She looked up at him questioningly.

“Roses,” he whispered, stroking his work-roughened fingers over her knuckles.

“What?”

“Our first time together. Your skin smelled of roses.”

Two patches of pink appeared on her face.

“I didn’t think you’d remember.”

He looked down at her intensely.

“How could I forget? To this day, every time I smell roses I think of you.”

“I don’t wear roses anymore. I thought I grew out of them.”

He reached up to cup her face in his hand.

She leaned into it and closed her eyes.

“Would you wear roses again? For me?”

She opened her eyes, searching his.

“Only if you’re serious.”

“I am.” He tried to show her with his expression that he was telling the truth.

“Then yes.”

Allison moved into the gap between them and lightly pressed their lips together.

With a gentle push, Paul closed the door to his office and pulled her into his arms.

September 9, 2012

Cambridge, Massachusetts

A strangled moan emanated from the bathroom.

Gabriel’s eyes snapped open. He was confused. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was.

When he heard the moan again, he stumbled sleepily through the darkened bedroom.

“Darling? Are you all right?”

When he entered the bathroom, he found Julia almost doubled over, clutching the marble-topped vanity with white-knuckled hands. She was breathing deeply.

“Do you want me to wake Rebecca?” Gabriel turned to go, readying himself to sprint down the hall.

“No, call the hospital.”

“What should I tell them?”

“Tell them I think I’m in labor.”

Immediately, he flew into a panic, hurriedly asking her questions, fumbling back into the bedroom to find his glasses and his cell phone, and hastily dialing the maternity ward of Mount Auburn Hospital.

“Has your water broken?” he asked, after he successfully reached a nurse.

“No. Your hardwood floors are safe.”

“Very funny, Julianne. Are you in active labor?”

“I think so. The contractions are painful and regular.” Julia tried to keep her breathing deep and relaxed, a technique she had practiced over and over again with her prenatal yoga teacher, who had promised success.

(Julia was contemplating asking for her money back.)

“How far apart are your contractions?”

“Six minutes.”

She focused every ounce of her attention on her breathing and shut out the sound of his voice.

(She loved him, it was true, but he wasn’t exactly helping.)

“The nurse said I should bring you in right now. I have your bag and the bag you packed for the baby. Are you ready?” He tried to sound calm and began to rub her back through her loose-fitting T-shirt.

“Yes. Let’s go.”

Julia straightened up and took a good look at her husband.

“You can’t go like that.”

“Why not?” He combed his hair with his fingers, trying to make himself look like someone who’d had a full night’s sleep. Then he scratched at his stubbled face. “I don’t have time to shave.”

“Look at yourself.”

Gabriel gazed at his reflection in the mirror. To his shock and dismay, he was clad only in his underwear, a cheeky pair of boxer shorts that had the phrase Medievalists Do It in the Dark (Ages) printed all over them in phosphorescent lettering.

“Damn it! Give me a minute.”

Julia waddled after him into the bedroom, chuckling. “Scott will be very pleased that his Christmas present is coming with us to the hospital. At least if there’s a power outage we’ll be able to find you. You’ll just have to drop your pants.”

“You are the soul of comedy, Mrs. Emerson.”

She giggled, finding his fashion faux pas slightly funnier than usual.

During the past couple of weeks, she’d forgone the expensive lingerie he’d bought her at Agent Provocateur, arguing that the items weren’t warm enough. In response, Gabriel had declared that her maternity yoga pants and T-shirts “did a grave injustice to her sexiness” and suggested she rely on his body to warm her.

She hugged a body pillow instead.