“I like it too. I have a lot of treasures here that mean a lot to me.”

“I can see that,” he said, thinking that she was rapidly becoming a treasure that meant a lot to him. Now that he saw her again, he realized that he liked her even better than he had before. There was something very real and meaningful about seeing her where she lived. It was different than seeing her in restaurants, or on Charlie's boat. She had looked beautiful and appealing to him then, but now she seemed more real.

They talked about her gallery then, and the artists she represented, while they waited for the pizza to arrive.

“I'd love to see your work,” she said thoughtfully, and he nodded.

“I'd like you to see it too. It's not the kind of work you show.”

“Who's your gallery?” She was curious, he had never mentioned it to her, and he shrugged when he answered.

“I don't have one at the moment. I was really unhappy with my last dealer. I have to do something about finding someone else. I don't have enough for a show yet anyway, so I'm in no rush.”

The pizza arrived then, and Sylvia paid for it, although Gray offered to. She told him it was his fee for stopping her leak. They sat at her kitchen table, and ate the pizza as they chatted comfortably. She shared the wine with him, turned down the lights, lit candles, and served the pizza on good-looking Italian plates. Everything she did or touched or owned had a sense of elegance and style. Just as she did, in her simple ponytail, bare feet, and jeans. She was wearing the same stack of turquoise bracelets he had noticed her wearing in Italy.

They sat there for a long time, talking about nothing in particular. They just enjoyed being together, and she was glad he had come over to help her with the leak. It was ten o'clock when he finally admitted that the jet lag was getting to him. That with the wine was putting him to sleep. He got up from the table regretfully, helped her put the dishes in the dishwasher, although she insisted she could do it herself after he left. He liked helping her, and he could see it wasn't familiar to her. She was used to doing things herself, just as he had been all his life. But it was nicer doing things together, and he was sorry to leave. He liked being with her, and when he turned to her before he left, she was looking up at him.

“Thanks for coming by, and helping me, Gray. I appreciate it. I'd be swimming around my kitchen by now if you hadn't turned the water off for me.”

“You'd have figured it out. It was a great excuse to see you,” he said honestly. “Thanks for the pizza, and the good company.” He reached out and hugged her then, and kissed her on both cheeks, and then he stopped and looked at her, and held her there, wondering if it was too soon. There was a question in his eyes, and she answered it for him. She reached up to him and pulled him closer to her, and as she did, their lips met, and it was hard to tell if he had kissed her, or she had kissed him. It no longer mattered, they were holding tightly to each other, with all the longing they had felt for each other in the past few weeks, and the emptiness they had lived with for months and years before that. It was an endless, breath-consuming, life-giving kiss. And when he held her afterward, she leaned her face against his.

“Wow!” she whispered. “I wasn't expecting to do that.…I thought you just came over to fix my sink.”

“I did,” he whispered back. “I wanted to do this in Italy, but I thought it was too soon.” She nodded, knowing it probably would have been. She wanted to go to bed with him, but she knew it was much, much too soon, according to all the rules. They had barely known each other for a month, and hadn't seen each other in weeks. One day at a time, she told herself. She was still savoring their first kiss. And just as she thought about it, he kissed her again. This one was more passionate, and she couldn't help wondering how many times he had done this with other women, how many affairs he'd had, how many crazy women had come into his life, wanting him to rescue them, how many times it had ended, and how many times he had started over again with someone else. He had had a lifetime of meaningless relationships, like a merry-go-round of women, and in her whole life, she had loved only two men. And now him. She didn't love him yet. But she thought she could one day. There was something about him that made her want him to stay and stay and stay, and never leave. Like the man who came to dinner, and never left, and just moved in.

“I'd better go,” he said in a gentle sexy voice that aroused her just listening to him. She nodded, thinking she should agree, but she didn't. She opened the door for him, and he hesitated.

“If I turn the water on tomorrow,” she whispered, “will you come back to turn it off again?” She looked at him innocently, her hair slightly tousled, her eyes full of dreams, and he chuckled at her.

“I could turn it on right now, and give us an excuse for me to stay,” he whispered hopefully.

“I don't need an excuse, but I don't think we should,” she said demurely.

“Why's that?” He was playing with her neck, and running his lips across her face tantalizingly. She ran her hands through his hair, and pulled him close to her.

“I think there's a rule book somewhere about situations like this. I think it says you're not supposed to sleep with each other on the first date, after eating pizza and fixing a sink.”

“Damn, if I'd known that, I wouldn't have fixed the sink or eaten the pizza.” He smiled at her and kept kissing her. He wanted her more than he ever had any woman he could remember. And he could see she wanted him just as badly, but still felt she shouldn't. She was savoring the moment and thoroughly enjoying him.

“See you tomorrow?” she said softly. It was nearly a tease, but not quite, and he was surprised to find he liked it, waiting for her, and the right moment, whenever that was. For him, it would have been right then, or whenever she wanted. He was willing to wait, if Sylvia preferred it. She was worth waiting for. He had waited fifty years for her.

“Your place or mine?” he whispered. “I'd love you to come to mine, but it's a mess. I've been gone for a month and no one's cleaned it. Maybe this weekend. Why don't I come back here tomorrow and see how your sink is doing?” The gallery was closed for the Labor Day holiday, and she was planning to work at home. She had nothing else to do the next day.

“I'll be here all day. Come whenever you want. I'll cook you dinner.”

“I'll cook. I'll call you in the morning.” He kissed her again, then left, and she stood silently, looking at the door after she'd closed it. He was a remarkable man, and it was a magical moment. She walked into her bedroom, as though seeing it for the first time, and wondered how it would look with him in it.

And as he walked out into the street and hailed a cab, he felt as though everything in his life had changed in a single evening.





6


GRAY CALLED SYLVIA AT TEN O'CLOCK THE NEXT MORN-ing. His whole apartment looked a mess, and he hadn't even bothered to unpack his suitcase. He had fallen into bed the night before, thinking of her, and the moment he woke up, he called her. She had been working on some papers, and smiled when she heard him.

They asked each other how they'd slept. She had been awake half the night, thinking about him, and he had slept like a baby.

“How's your sink holding up?”

“It's fine.” She smiled.

“Maybe I'd better come over and check on it.” She laughed at him, and they chatted for a few minutes. He said he had some things to do at home after his trip, but offered to bring her lunch around twelve-thirty.

“I thought we were doing dinner,” she said, sounding surprised, although she had told him she'd be home all day, which was a tacit invitation, and she'd meant it.

“I don't think I can wait that long,” he said honestly. “I waited fifty years for you to come along. Another nine hours might kill me. Are you free for lunch?” he asked nervously, and she smiled. She was free for anything he wanted. She had decided the night before when he kissed her that she was ready to let him into her world, and share her life with him. She didn't know why it felt right to her, but everything about him did. She wanted to be with him.

“I'm free anytime you want to come over.”

“Can I bring anything? Quiche? Cheese? Wine?”

“I've got some stuff here. You don't need to bring anything.” There were so many things she wanted to do with him, walk through Central Park, wander around the Village, go to a movie, lie in bed and watch TV, go out to dinner, stay home and cook for him, see his work, show him her gallery, or just lie in bed and hold him. She hardly knew him, and yet at the same time, she felt as though she had always known him.

In his studio, Gray opened his mail, checked his bills, and haphazardly took his clothes out of his suitcase. He left most of them lying on the floor, and took out what he wanted. He showered, shaved, dressed, quickly wrote some checks, ran out the door, mailed them, and went to the only florist he found open. He bought her two dozen roses, hailed a cab, and gave the driver her address in SoHo. At noon, he rang the bell, and was standing in her doorway. The plumber had just left, and her eyes widened instantly when she saw the roses.

“Oh my God, they're beautiful.… Gray, you shouldn't.” And she meant it, she knew he was a starving artist, and she was bowled over by the tenderness and generosity of the gesture. He was a true romantic. After a lifetime of narcissists, she had finally found a man whom she not only cared about, but to whom she mattered.

“If I could afford to, I'd send you roses every day. This may be the last of it for a while,” he said regretfully. He still had to pay his rent and his phone bill, and the ticket to France had been fearfully expensive. He wouldn't let Charlie pay for it. He thought the least he could do was pay his own way to get there. He had hoped to hop a ride on Adam's plane, but Adam had flown straight to Europe from Las Vegas on the way over, and to London with his kids after. “I wanted to get you roses today, because today is special.”