Chapter 31: To Love A Woman

Love for a woman… It could make one act like a fool.

Harry definitely felt foolish standing outside George’s apartment building. He had been there for just over an hour, alternating between waiting in his car and on the sidewalk. The African-American driver who was in the front seat of the massive SUV had given him a few suspicious looks, but he didn’t mind. He had to see her again. At some point, he had considered going up to George’s apartment and just hanging out till he eventually heard Isla’s door open. Two steps back into the building though, he changed his mind. George was too sensitive and would know something was out of place.

The woman who had asked for the location was just too perfect and, as silly as it felt, he just couldn’t tear himself away. He had a thing for older women he kept under wraps for fear of being teased by his friends. What they did not know was that over eighty percent of his sexual escapades were with women older than him. Younger women were clingy and, more often than not, didn’t have their lives near figured out, always seeking for some sort of assistance or the other. Older women never stressed him out, and the mere sight of this particular one had stirred his blood. He had to have her.

He was just about to give up his wait when the door opened and he was face to face with the object of his very recent, very wild fantasies.

He cocked her a smile, ensuring his voice was a husky drawl that women said made them all gooey inside. “Well, hello there.” Her smile was instant, showing perfect rows of whitish teeth. The cleavage peeking beneath the fur coat got Harry mentally licking his lips. He sure would have some fun with this one.

***

It was 11 pm when George finally got back in his apartment. It had been a day marked with a roller coaster of emotions and, although he was exhausted, he could not sleep. His mind was still too busy to settle and give in to the oblivion that accompanies sleep. He wondered how Isla was holding up. He had been with her since Julie had ceremoniously left up till just a few minutes ago. She had sunk on the sofa George assumed was her sitting place during the ‘visit’, burying her face in her hands and staying motionless. The stillness had bothered him and he had moved to her side slowly, cautious not to startle her. He resisted touching her however, instinctively knowing that was not what she needed at the time. He had hoped she would fall into his arms and weep, or sigh in relief once Julie left, but fought back the dissapointment, reminding himself that victims of trauma responded in different ways. He would be sensitive to her and let her open up at her own pace.

Looking around the living area and kitchen, he had decided the best way to help her was to reduce the amount of work she would have to do when she came out of that state. As he started to tidy the area, returning unfinished cookies and wine glasses to the kitchen, Isla finally spoke.

“You do that too much.”

Frowning in susprise at the unexpected statement, and then confusion at the words, he had looked up at her, releived that she wasn't weeping. Her eyes were clear and her face almost neutral.

“I do what too much?” he had asked, seeking clarity.

“Clean up my place,” she had answered, standing to take the glasses from him. “I’m starting to feel like an unkempt teenager with you picking up after me the way you do. Let me handle this.”

“Can I at least help?” he had asked, smiling.

George's hands rubbed at his left cheek that Isla had pressed a kiss to the next second, and if it were possible, his head would have physically swollen with pride at the words she murmured following the kiss.

"You have no idea, how much you help me already."

***

An hour later and George was still wide awake in bed.

He had made himself a pot of coffee, lacing it with as much milk and honey as humanely possible in a bid to sleep. His long nimble fingers plucked the open novel turned face down on his lampstand, and he flicked it open to the page he had bookmarked.

It was one of Isla’s fiction novels. She wasn’t aware he had gotten it, and he didn’t plan on telling her anytime soon. He had an intense urge to know everything he could about this woman who was starting to build one hell of a residence in his heart. He grinned, anticipating the shock on her face when he would eventually open up to her how he had been reading up on her work. He had no doubt she would be thrilled; writing was her life and being able to share it with him would be something special.

He sipped his coffee and frowned at it. Isla’s Moroccan brand had spoiled him and his, which he formerly had no problem with, now tasted like liquid sadness. He looked in the direction of her apartment, fighting the urge to go borrow some actual coffee. Mentally slapping himself for the shameless thought, he pressed his back further into the pillows behind him and, was just about to begin reading when a knock at his door snatched his attention.

It was succeeded by a quiet, “George? You up?”

Worried, he rushed to the door where his woman stood. The unspoken expression stunned him briefly; when had he begun to consider her his woman? He smiled privately, wondering what her reaction would be if she could read his mind. “Hey you,” he welcomed her softly, opening the door wider, to invite her in. “You okay?”

She chuckled nervously as she stepped in, tucking a stray gold strand of hair behind her ear. As George turned around to face her, she wrapped both arms around his neck, hugging him. “I just came to say thank you again,” she whispered in his right ear. “For everything.”

George rubbed her back affectionately, a strong wave of protectiveness going through him. He pulled her away from him slightly, he needed to see her eyes. Those bright blues that just pulled him deeper in love with her with each passing second.

A woman that had bared herself to him. George decided then that the deceit was enough. This woman who had come to mean so much to him deserved more. Much more. Telling her the truth about who he was, was the least he could do. He swallowed nervously, knowing this could go well or blow up in his face.

“Isla,” he started.

“Yes, George,” she responded, looking equally unsettled. His expression must have betrayed that what he had to tell her was dire. Just as he was about to continue, they heard a bang on what sounded to be the door on the next apartment. Hers.

Then a familiar gruff male voice drawled out, “Islaaaaaaaaa. Where are you, my darling?”

Isla met George's equally puzzled look. It was obvious they had the same question running through their minds. 'What now?'