Dating : Cold Winds Meet Rising Temps

I strolled up Peter’s sidewalk in my Ugg boots.

“Hey, sexy lady,” he said. The first major cold front of the year brought temperatures down to the upper 40s, which was boot weather for women in Central Texas. Nebraska’s new branch manager liked to give me crap about how women up north needed temps to hover in the teens before they even consider wearing a coat.

Not me. I moved from Kansas City in my mid 20’s after a winter of seven significant weather events. I left snow shoveling and ice scraping behind in exchange for endless summer and Texas thunderstorms. These days, I needed a coat when temperatures dropped below 70.

“You look like a Swedish model!”

“Thanks, doll,” I said with a flip of my blond hair. My trip to L.A. last week included a shopping spree at H&M in Hollywood. I wore the black wool sweater with snowflakes as I crossed the threshold into his bachelor abode.

“How’s your week been?” I asked.

“Not too bad. I was trying to close a big sale at work, so that’s taken up most of my time. My ex-wife has caused some drama with the divorce, though. It looks like it may take a little longer to wrap this thing up than I thought.”

“Oh, well, that doesn’t sound good. What’s happening?”

“She’s insisting I take our kids to church every weekend they’re with me.”

“And that’s a problem; why?”

“I don’t believe in all that crap.”

I couldn’t fault him there, although the charge in his voice took me by surprise. “Ah, I see. Where do you attend church?”

“That’s the other thing. I grew up Catholic, but she insists on us going to Hill Country Bible.”

“Hmm, sorry to hear that, I think?” Neil and I had never taken our kids to church despite our more traditional religious backgrounds.

Like Peter, Neil grew up Catholic. A convert to the Episcopal religion in college, I appreciated how my Catholic-light traditions synced up with my husband’s. Our journeys out of organized religion paired well with each other, too. We benefited by not having the other one force dogma on the other or the kids in the wake of our divorce.

“What will you do?” I asked Peter. I followed him into his sparsely filled living room. A sectional, recliner sofa and 60-inch television were the only items filling the space.

“You know what? I prefer to focus on you than my soon-to-be ex-wife. Why don’t you turn around to face me and sit on my lap?

“Only if you insist.”

“Oh, I demand it.”

“I like a man who knows what he wants!”

I can’t believe how quickly things have evolved with Peter and that I’m starting a relationship with someone from Starbucks. This will be one to write Howard Schultz about if it ever becomes serious.

“Yeah, sit on top of me just like that so I can see you.” I straddled Peter’s legs as he rested his arms on my legs. He clasped his hands together behind my waist. “Comfortable?”

“Very. You?”

“Very.” Peter pulled me closer toward him for a kiss, our first since a Tuesday-morning coffee break at Starbucks. We met at our favorite location and walked hand-in-hand to the store for the first time. Mick greeted us with raised eyebrows that day, looking genuinely happy for us.

“Ah, look at the love birds. Don’t y’all make a cute pair.” Sharon handed us our drinks. Was it too soon to be called a couple? As much as I liked Peter, we remained legally tethered to our respective spouses. Besides, I didn’t want him getting weird over being perceived as a couple by strangers, even if they were our so-called friends in green aprons.

I pushed the memory of Tuesday out of mind as Peter brushed his lips across mine. He started with soft, tender kisses that turned passionate with the introduction of his tongue. His hands explored my back under my sweater, and I felt him respond below me. Other than Flynn, this was the first person I’d kissed besides Neil in thirteen years.

Peter lifted me to sit up taller in the couch. His legs, the ones I’d admired back in late October, were solid muscle and fully supportive of my weight as I squirmed on top of him. I felt like a girl back in high school, making out with the football team captain. I started to imagine what sex would be like when a reminder went off on my phone.

“What’s that?”

“An alarm reminding me to pick up the kids.”

“Saved by the bell, then?”

“Ha, yes. This time anyway,” I said with a wink.

“My kids are with their mom this weekend. Would you like to go out for dinner Saturday night?”

“Sounds lovely. I have the girls, but I can get a sitter.”

“Perfect. I’ll pick you up at 6.”

I pulled into the Montessori school parking lot ten minutes later, just as Isabella was exiting her car to walk inside.

“Lakin. How’s it going?” It amused me how she and her husband both insisted on calling Neil and me by our last names.

“Hey, Isabella.” I closed the car door to walk alongside her.

“You’re face looks flushed. Are you okay?”

Shit! I remembered the scruffiness of Peter’s beard on my neck. “Well, to be honest. I, uh. I’ve just had a date with someone I met a few weeks ago. He’s very hot.”

“Oh?” Isabella, twelve years my junior and highly opinionated, cast a long look of curious judgment at me as I pulled the door open to the school. I had shared the pending status of my divorce from Neil a few days after the Halloween party. A devout Catholic, she likely held several opinions on divorce, let alone on striking up a romance with someone before it was officially over.

“Nothing serious just yet. We both will wrap our divorces up later this month. So we’ll see,” I said. Was this the beginning of the end of our friendship?

“Sounds fun, I’m jealous.” No, she wasn’t. Her husband catered to her every need, plus he was a stud. I knew that from looking at him but also from how Isabella described their sex life. Hmm, now that I thought about it, perhaps there was less judgment than suspicion in her tone of voice. Frank did resemble Peter in certain ways, and I’d caught him looking at me in a less-than-platonic manner a few times.

“I hope you have a good time with your new friend,” Isabella said as we passed through the second set of doors to the back of the school. “Let me know how it goes.”

“Mommy!” Rachel said as I opened the door to their classroom.

“Hi, baby. Ready to get Sister and go home?”

“Yes. What’s for dinner?”

“You have dinner with your dad tonight, so I’m not sure,” I said, catching Isabella’s stare as I helped Rachel with her coat. “I’ll catch up with you later, Isabella.”

Rachel and I crossed the quaint courtyard to retrieve Stella. With everyone’s coats zipped up and their lunch bags in tow, we made our way out front as Isabella put her car in reverse. She offered a wave and a slight smile as we crossed the parking lot. I felt different in her eyes now, like a less serious person somehow, or even a ho.

“Mommy, look what I made today,” Stella said. She showed me a homemade Christmas decoration. “It’s for the tree.”

I looked at my little girl in the eyes. “It’s beautiful, sweetie.”

All buckled up in the car, the girls sang Christmas carols on the drive home as I contemplated my relationship status. It was the start of something new with Peter, but something told me the final chapters were closing on my friendships with the moms from school.