“Later that day I got to thinking about relationships. There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging, and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you find someone to love the you you love, well, that’s just fabulous.” – Sex and the City
When I wake up, it’s to the sound of my buzzing phone. I open my eyes to see the brightness of the Manhattan skyline and John is still next to me. Did I really sleep through the night? I reach for my phone and see my mother had texted me five minutes before and now my brother is calling me because she wasn’t answered immediately. It’s a weird power play of my mother’s that she has done for years, even when I was married. I often wonder why my brother feeds into it, but sometimes I think he likes playing the drama game and so I pick up the phone.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Your mother had me call you because you didn’t answer her,” he says, with little reflection in his voice.
“Yeah, I am just waking up. I’m sorry I missed a text from…six minutes ago. I’ll be there for the kids this afternoon as discussed.”
“Kay, I’ll let her know.”
He hangs up.
“Everything okay, mama,” John asks with sleepy huskiness.
“Yeah, my mom can just make things difficult when they don’t have to be. My kids are fine,” I put my phone back on the nightstand and roll over to face him. “Thank you for last night, that was a really nice first date.”
He smiles at me, his warm sleepy smile. “You’re welcome, it was a really nice first date.”
“You know, I did notice something though,” I say flirtatiously.
“Oh? What have you noticed?”
“You haven’t kissed me yet.”
He smiles at me again, this time his coy smile. “I was trying to last night. I wanted to go back down to the bar, but you were exhausted at that point.”
“That would have been very romantic underneath the little lights,” I say, smiling more than I should have.
“Yes, I thought so too, but maybe this morning I’ll be more like Julia Roberts.”
I laugh, picking up on the Pretty Woman reference. “Well, I guess you are, lured up to a hotel room to sleep without a goodnight kiss,” I say, our faces coming closer together.
And then, he kisses me. It is a kiss that is warm and tender that brings with it an overwhelming sense of peace. It is my favorite first kiss. We separate again and he holds my gaze for a moment before he says, “Happy Mother’s Day, Daisy. Are you hungry?”
“Yes, I am,” I say, trying to break up the feelings of hunger and the feelings of excitement and butterflies.
He hands me the room service menu. “We also have the wine that we didn’t have last night.”
I laugh. “Well, it is Mother’s Day!”
He chuckles and pours a glass of wine for me and orders room service. For a little bit, I sit in bed sipping wine on my first Mother’s Day as a widow and watch the busyness of Manhattan outside the window. John is moving around the room getting ready to start packing up. I would later realize that he tends to focus on tasks when he gets nervous about things. I think it centers him.
“Are you busy next weekend? Would you like to come over and meet my children maybe,” I throw out, not as eloquently as I had hoped.
He stops what he is doing and looks at me. “Yes, I would like that.”
I smile. “I don’t really see a way of continuing this without involving them,” I admit.
“So, what then? A lot of Netflix and chill,” he half jokes.
I laugh. “Well big dates like this are really nice every once in awhile, but I do not expect them to be a regular thing so yes, a lot of that Netflix and chill kind of dating.”
“I can’t argue with that, I may save a small fortune.” He laughs. “I’m kidding and yes big dates are nice every once in awhile.”
John goes back to packing and then my food arrives. He excuses himself to shower and I can hear him signing to himself. It is a habit of his that I will come to love because when I hear him singing, I know he’s feeling peaceful which puts me at ease and makes me feel at home. I begin to gather my things and get myself ready before it’s my turn to change.
It seems very fast but then suddenly we are checked out and back out on the street. John steps away to have a cigarette and I suddenly ask him for one. It is an old habit from art school that Phil made me quit when we were first dating because he refused to date a smoker, but suddenly in that moment, I wanted one and I wanted to stand there with John smoking. And so we did.
As we leaned against the cool brick wall of the hotel, the bustling energy of Manhattan instantly surrounded us—the honking taxis, the rush of pedestrians on the sidewalks, and that ever-present hum of life in the city. In this moment, it felt like we were in our own little bubble, a tiny retreat from the chaos outside. I took a slow drag from the cigarette, letting the smoke curl into the air, and watched as John took his first puff, a knowing smile crossing his lips.
“You know, it’s silly, but I kind of missed this,” I admitted, glancing over at him. “Not the smoking part necessarily, but the… sharing a moment like this.”
He nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “I get that. Sometimes it’s the simplest things that make us feel connected.”
“And here we are,” I joked lightly, “sharing a smoke while the city wakes up.”
He laughed softly and then took another drag, exhaling slowly. “Exactly. Just two people trying to navigate their way through.”
As we continued to smoke, I felt the connection between us growing, solidifying in the shared silence and glances. I couldn’t help but think about how quickly we had gone from strangers to something more; a hint of excitement coursed through me. “This weekend has been an unexpected journey,” I mused aloud.
“Every good story has its surprises,” he replied, brushing his hand over his head while he watched the crowd. “What do you think this is shaping up to be?”
“I’m not sure yet,” I said, taking a final drag before letting the smoke drift away. “But I’m definitely curious to see where it goes.”
“Me too,” he smiled, the sincerity in his eyes making my heart flutter. We flicked our cigarettes away, and as we stepped back onto the bustling street, I felt a sense of liberation. It felt as if we had both shed a layer of our pasts, ready to embrace whatever was coming next. “Let’s go grab you that coffee,” he suggested, and I nodded eagerly, ready for the next chapter of this unexpected story.
Debbie Macomber books are the kinds of books that you go back to when you want something that is comfortable and consistent. Her books are “cozy” books for me because they often are about female friendship throughout the years that span time and love and loss. Window on the Bay is no different.
I was probably a little too young when I first read a Diana Plamer book. I had to have been about 13 or 14 when I fished Magnolia out of a bag of books my grandmother had given to my mom. At that point, I had just started to write and I loved romances. I would just get lost in them and Palmer’s Magnolia did not disappoint. I fell in love with her writing and the steamy romances she whipped up with brooding, handsome men and the strong women they all always seemed to fall in love with. I went on to read all of her mercenary books and dove right into her Long, Tall Texan series of which, Unleashed is number 47 in the series.
Steeped in the turmoil of the non-unified Italy of the 1400’s, Marina Fiorato skillfully weaves a detailed and evasive mystery around one of Botticelli’s more famous paintings, Primavera or Allegory of Spring. The painting is packed with meaning alone, but Fiorato takes the painting to an entirely new level in her book, The Botticelli Secret.
Many creative geniuses have a torrid past with the women that loved them. Pablo Picasso and Jackson Pollock are just two examples. However, in T.C. Boyle’s The Women, he focuses on the madness and the passion that engulfed much of famed architect Frank Lloyd Wright’s life.
A blocked writer, unhappy with her life and relationship takes off for a Parisian vacation. It is there that Tulia Rose encounters beautiful chalk drawings of some of Raphael’s most beautiful and famous creations of cherubs and light. The chalk drawings’ artist Raffaello, intrigues Tulia. She quickly finds herself asking if she loves him? Or is he a stalker? Or could he even be the reincarnation of the Renaissance artist Raphael?
Katherine Kuzma-Beck 