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A Glass of Love

a love story

By Kim Golden Published 3 years ago 17 min read
6
Photo by Jeff Siepman on Unsplash

“How’d it go with the mingle last night?” Naomi bustled in from the kitchen with a tray of freshly baked scones. “Was it a good crowd?”

“Yeah, actually. Everyone seemed like they had a nice time,” Corinne carefully set the carrot cake she’d just finished icing on a cake stand and then covered it with a cloche. “I even have a date tonight.”

“Wait—you have a date? I thought we were supposed to focus on our customers finding love.” Naomi teased. “Did you steal one of the hotties away from the ladies?”

“I didn’t have to,” Corinne smiled. “He came to me.”

“Nice. So what’s his name?”

“Milo Hedlund.”

“That name sounds familiar…” Naomi tapped her chin with her index finger.

“He said he used to be a regular at the old café on Rittenhouse Square.”

“Tino, do you remember Milo Hedlund?” Naomi waddled over to Tino’s table. He’d settled at his favorite spot, close enough to the window to see the intersection of 36th Street and Lancaster Avenue, but not so close that he felt a draught. One thing that Corinne had learned since she’d started working at Another Latte was that every customer had their quirks and for Tino it was his obsession with draughts.

“Milo Hedlund? Lemme think…” Tino drummed his thumbs on the tabletop. “Tall guy? Dark hair? He’s an architect, right?”

“That’s him,” Corinne confirmed. She would have also added very handsome, a little shy, funny.

“He’s a good egg, Corrie.” Tino said. “Big Eagles fan too.”

“You always like everyone who’s an Eagles fan.” Naomi brought a cup of coffee over to Tino. And Tino was so solicitous of Naomi, always pulling chairs out for her, bringing flowers for her whenever he’d had time to stop by Reading Terminal or the Italian Market before heading to the café.

“Well, this is Eagles Nation, Naomi, my dear. We should all be cheering for our guys in green and white.”

“Don’t worry, Tino. You know my blood runs green and white.”

“Sure it does. You’re a Philly girl through and through.” He gestured at Corinne. “But our lovely baker there, she’s from Washington. A Redskins fan most likely.”

“Tino, you know I am not big on sports.”

“Sure, sure. We’ll make an Eagles fan out of you yet.”

Corinne suppressed her laugh and went back to filling the display case. This was one of her favorite parts of working here—seeing all the newly baked cakes, cookies and pastries on display and breathing in the comforting scent of vanilla, chocolate and cinnamon. In the kitchen, a pot of chicken enchilada soup was simmering on the stovetop and trays of already-prepped chicken salad, wraps avocado and egg salad sandwiches and mozzarella and tomato paninis were ready for the lunch crowd when it arrived. She checked the clock above the brightly painted swinging doors leading to the kitchen. It was only ten o’clock. She wouldn’t need to begin prepping the electric soup kettle for a few more minutes.

“Hey Corrie, where’s he taking you?” Tino asked as he spread out his Philadelphia Inquirer across the tabletop. He had a whole battery of grimaces and facial expressions to express himself. His bifocals slid down his nose and he pushed them up again with his knuckled.

“We’re going to meet for drinks at the biergarten down by Market Street and then maybe grab some Thai food.”

“Well, don’t go following those dumb dating rules they keep talkin’ about on the View or whatever that show is called.”

“Tino, what dating rules are you talking about?” Corine could feel a stubborn giggle bubbling up in her throat. She tried to swallow it down, but it burst out anyway. Tino didn’t mind. He let out a gruff laugh of his own.

“You know the ones I mean: all this ‘don’t call him, let him call you’ or ‘never ask him about his job’ or whatever else they say you’re not supposed to talk about.” Tino shook his head and rolled his eyes upwards. “What kinda bullshit is that?”

“Language, Tino…” Naomi reminded him. Mamie Schwarzenberg and Esther van der Kuyl, the grand dames who’d arrived earlier tutted at Tino. They adored him and found him charming in his own way. While they were used to his bluntness, but they still thought that one day they’d succeed in transforming him to a refned gentleman they could invite to their dinner parties. Corrie suspected it was wishful thinking on their part.

“Don’t worry, Tino. I don’t follow those ridiculous dating rules. I go with my gut instints.”

“Atta girl, that’s how we do things. You don’t worry about what those nit-wits say on TV.”

“Tino, let the girl alone,” Esther reprimanded. “She knows her own mind. Don’t you, Corinne, my dear?”

“I do.” Well, sometimes she did. There were times when she wasn’t so sure, but she was pretty certain that Milo was a nice guy…and he was very attractive.

“Lovely, now do you think I could trouble you for some of those delightful turtles? I don’t think one or two will spoil my appetite.”

                                                                                                    

Milo was even better-looking than Corinne remembered. She noticed it as soon as he walked into the café. Something about him was different—was it that he seemed more confident? Or had he cut his hair? Whatever it was, it worked. She was glad she’d put a little more effort into her outfit. Instead of her usual white vee-neck t-shirt, worn-in jeans and scuffed Converses, she’d changed into a red linen sundress and leather sandals. She’d topped it with a paisley-print silk shawl she’d found in a consignment shop on 18th Street.

Gav gave her an appreciateive whistle as she called out goodbyes.

“You should wear red more often,” he said. “It suits you.”

“I’ll try to remember that,” Corinne laughed. But judging from the way Milo was drinking her in with his eyes, he agreed with Gav.

“Wow! You look great…”

Corinne bit back the urge to tease Milo. He’d as much as admitted to her that he wasn’t good at dating or small talk, even though she thought he’d done okay last night. Those women at the Singles Mingle were idiots. How could they pass him up for those boring banker types?

“You look pretty nice too,” she said. Milo held the door open for her and waited for her to pass. Once they were out on the street, the last vestiges of summer heat and humidity hit them.

“So where are we going?”

“It’s just down here,” Corinne gestured for him to follow. The biergarten had opened at the beginning of the summer and had become a staple for Corinne and the rest of the staff at Another Latte. When their work day ended, they often stopped by for a beer and fish tacos or pork buns from one of the food trucks. They’d crowd togther at one fo the picnic tables and laugh about what had happened during the day.

As they walked, Corinne peppered him with questions to ease the mood. Past experience had led her to expect all first dates to be disastrous. And, for some reason, Corinne didn’t want her date with Milo to add to that archive of bad dates. She liked how shy he seemed now that they were togehter. And yet, even if he seemed less effusive now than the night before, he kept stealing glances at her and the nervous smile he wore let her know he was glad to be there. “So you know I’m a pastry chef and a café manager,” she said lightly. “What do you do when you’re not picking up girls like me at singles mingles?”

“I’m an architect. I mostly work on restaurants and office spaces, but I want to work more with houses.” he explained as they apprroached the biergarten.

“Here we are,” Corinne announced and spread her arms wide. “This is where I like to come after work.”

There was already a good crowd filling what had once been a parking lot but was now a haven for craft beer lovers. The chainlink fence around the biergarten had been painted white and decorated with gaudy artitificial flowers and garlands of chili pepper lamps. Strands of brightly colored zigzaged between the food trucks and beer stalls. Corinne loved how haphazard it all seemed—it contrasted with the sleek, shiny office buildings of the University City Science Centre and brick townhomes behind them.

“This is great.” Milo looked around. “Where should we start?”

“I'm a red wine girl. What about you?”

“More of a pale ale kind of a guy.”

“I’ll get the first shout,” she said. “You grab a table…and maybe some food?”

“Sure, that works.”

She veered to her favorite beer stall and placed their orders. While she waited, she texted Naomi: “So far, so good.”

- Then I don’t need to call and pretend there’s an emergency?

- Nope, I think I can handle him.

- Awesome! Details tomorrow?

- You bet!

Photo by Matthew T Rader on Unsplash

Once Milo's bear ready, Corinne ventured over to the wine stall and got a glass of merlot for herself before heading to the table Milo had chosen for them. It was close to the taco truck—always a good choice, she figured. He’d picked out a nice selection of food too—chips and guacamole with salsa verde, two orders of chicken and mango tacos with cojito cheese and bowls of black beans and rice with pico de gallo. The only downside was that other guests were already trying to crowd them out. She set down their beers and claimed her space.

“Sorry,” Milo said. “I tried to make sure we’d have a little space to ourselves. It was hard to find any other tables.”

“It’s always like this.” She pushed his beer toward him. “India Pale Ale for you, Mr. Hedlund.”

“Thanks.” Now he peered at her glass of merlot. “Yours looks pretty tasty. Maybe I should have gotten one of those instead.”

“Try it.” She held out her glass to him. “Go on, take a sip.”

After their first sips, they both relaxed. His knees bumped into hers under the table, and they both laughed. He joked about being glad he was wearing jeans and not shorts—his skin was too sticky, they’d be plastered together otherwise. And Corinne liked how he didn’t seem embarrassed covered in sweat in the late summer heat.

“You’re the first white guy I’ve ever been on a date with,” she confessed.

“Really?”

She nodded. “I just never thought about going out with a white guy before. And I guess maybe the ones I knew didn’t think I’d be interested because they never asked.”

“They were crazy then.” Milo ducked his head as scooped up some guacamole with the white corn chips he’d ordered for them. “As soon as I saw you, I wanted to get to know you. You kind of hooked me.”

“Yeah…I kind of noticed,” she teased. They both sipped their drinks now, eyeing one another over the rims of their glasses. When he reached for her glass, something gold caught her attention.

“Are you married?” Her stare lingered on his left hand. “Because if you are, then this date is definitely over.”

“It’s not like that—no, shit, I knew I should have taken the ring off.”

“So you do this often?”

“No, no, please—Corinne. She died. My wife. She died five years ago.”

His confession jarred her. She’d been expecting him to blurt out that he was in the middle of a divorce or that his wife just didn’t understand him or any of the other excuses she’d heard from married men who wanted a little something on the side. Corinne glanced away. She tried to regain her composure.

“Can we go somewhere else? I wanted to tell you about Lisette but…it just seemed too early.”

Corinne nodded. A crowded bar definitely wasn’t the best place to talk about his dead wife. She put on her coat while he paid the bill, then they eased through the throng of people in the Tap House and stepped out into the chilly night air. They walked down the stairs together and then stood for a moment on the pavement, uncertain of where to go now.

“There’s another bar over there.” Corinne pointed to the corner occupied by the Metro Bar. “Or we could go to my place. It’s just around the corner.” Her suggestion hung in the air as if suspended by frost. “There’s probably no food in my fridge but we could pick up some takeout and make the best of it.”

Milo nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets. “That sounds like a good idea. I don’t really do so well in crowded places.”

“Neither do I.”

They walked down Walnut Street together, huddled against the wind in their winter coats. She wondered what people thought, seeing them together. In Richmond, she knew people would have cast furtive glances or stared openly without trying to hide their curiosity or animosity. On UPenn’s campus, they were harder to read. Did people know they were on a date? Were they giving off date vibes? She could feel her attraction for him streaming through her veins. If he touched her, she would melt. She was sure of it. But he kept his hands to himself. Maybe he wasn’t sure if it was worth the effort. She hoped he liked her. She got the feeling he liked her. When he smiled at her, his face lit up and those beautiful pale blue eyes burned bright. He had such a perfect mouth. His lips were so beautifully formed, made for kissing.

Photo by Em M. on Unsplash

She blushed just thinking these thoughts. She’d never dated a white man before, not even in high school when she’d been tempted by one beautiful boy named Andreas who’d flirted with her for weeks and then gave up when her reticence became embarrassing. Would Milo’s lips feel any different from Curtis’s?

Photo by Master Wen on Unsplash

They stopped at Dancing Orchid Thai and picked up enough spring rolls and beef satay to get them through the evening, then they continued along 38th Street past the student bars and apartments until they came to her neighborhood.

Inside her apartment, she turned on the lamps and told Milo to make himself comfortable. “I have a bottle of white wine in the fridge,” she said. “Probably a few beers too. Which would you like?”

“A beer would be great.”

“Okay, well…turn on some music, I’ll get the beers and some plates…”

When she came back, Milo had turned on a John Mayer CD and was sitting on the sofa. His dark hair curled around his ears in silky rings. He was staring down at his clasped hands like a little boy waiting to be scolded. Corinne set the plates and beers down on the coffee table then began serving up their food.

“So you’re not married…and this isn’t a booty call.”

“No…and no.”

“You’re a widower.”

“Yeah. I guess I should have told you this when we first met,” Milo said softly. “I don’t date much so I don’t really know what the rules are these days.”

“I’m not sure either. I guess neither of us is dating experts.”

“Lisette and I…we were together for a while,” he started. “I’m not really sure what you want to know or what I should tell you.”

“Tell me everything. We’ve got all night, don’t we?”

He nodded. “My sister is babysitting. She said you and I had passed the sex threshold so she assumed I would be spending the night.“

Corinne laughed. “She assumes a lot.”

“Yeah, that’s what I told her too.”

“But… you could spend the night.” The words rushed out of Corinne before she could stop herself. “If you wanted to. I wouldn’t be adverse to it.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want a booty call.”

“Is this a booty call?”

“No, I don’t think so anyway. I’m not really sure what a booty call is. I’ve just heard people say it.”

“Do you like me or do you just want to fuck me?”

“I like you.”

“I like you too.”

“I hate the word ‘fuck’ though.”

“Well, we don’t really know each other well enough to ‘make love’.”

“No, I guess not.”

“Forget about the sex for now, let’s eat and you tell me about Lisette.”

So Milo told her the story of his wife, or as he called her, his not-quite-wife and how she died. Their food lay forgotten and congealed on their plates. The more he told her, the more his voice shook and crackled with emotion. Corinne reached out and stroked his hair and the gesture startled him. His voice caught in his throat as he described the two years he’d spent raising his daughters on his own and how, even now as he told her all of this, he was struggling with the guilt he felt for wanting to sleep with Corinne when a part of him still missed his wife.

“Every time I see you, I want to kiss you,” he admitted, “but there’s this voice in my head that tells me I’m cheating on Lisette. But I still want to be here with you and I don’t know if I should listen to that voice or go with how I feel.”

A dull ache had awakened inside Corinne. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. Her breakup with Curtis seemed so puny and ridiculous in comparison to the weight of Milo’s grief.

“Maybe you should kiss me.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Then I’ll kiss you,” Corinne said. “I’ve been wanting to all night.” She leaned in, close enough so that her lips were within grazing distance of his. She breathed in his scent for a moment and little sparks went off around them. She felt his lips opening and she dove towards him, letting her tongue gently touch his lower lip before sliding it into his mouth to meet his. Oh the sparks…so many crackled around them—kissing him, feeling his reluctance crumble as he responded to her. His hands sought her, cupping her shoulders, sliding along her arms and then his hands grabbing her hips. She deepened the kiss and savored the taste of him.

She was glad she’d worn a dress, gladder still when she was straddling his thighs and rubbing against him, feeling how hard he was through his jeans as he pressed her closer to him. The urgency of his touch, his kisses, pulled her deeper and she knew he wouldn’t be going home tonight.

Photo by Zane Lee on Unsplash

At some point, they abandoned the couch and retreated to her bedroom. They undressed in haste, their clothes forming misshapen mounds on her hardwood floor. She took in the sight of his nakedness. He had the lean body of a natural athlete and his creamy pale skin was more rosy than white. She hadn’t really known what to expect. The only times she’d seen white men naked were in movies and once on a nudist beach in Florida. But he wasn’t overly muscular. And his body was not adorned with piercings or tattoos. He climbed into bed beside her and slid his hand between her thighs. His long fingers stroked her clit, sending jolts of want and surprise through her. Her nipples tautened and he dipped his head toward them, sucking them, biting gently, dipping his index finger inside her, then another finger and she was moaning and thrusting against his hand. Her breath came hot and heavy. She would come any minute. She could feel the pressure building inside her, and she wanted to feel his cock more than his fingers…but it felt so good.

Beneath them, her bed squeaked and groaned. Corinne grabbed at the brass headboard, but Milo entwined her fingers with his and, for just a moment, their eyes met and a silent consent blossomed between them. Yes, she told him without words. Keep going, don’t stop. She reached down with her free hand, took his hard cock in her grasp and squeezed just enough to elicit a moan from Milo. She loved how his eyelids fluttered when she touched him a certain way, how his lower lip glistened, the warm scent of his skin.

“I want to be inside you.” He took her nipple in his mouth again and tugged at it with his teeth. A moan swirled in her throat and slid along her tongue.

“I want that too…”

“Do you…”

“In the top drawer…there, in the bedside table.” He rolled away and she heard him fumbling with the condom packaging. She stroked his bare skin, the pale triangle of silky hair at the base of his spine.

Once the condom was on, she rolled him on his back and straddled him. She eased him inside her and took control.

Afterwards, when they were both exhausted and lying on her damp, twisted sheets and breathing heavily. Corinne slid her arm around Milo’s waist and molded her body to his. He turned towards her. She studied his face, the slow smile forming on his lips, the beads of sweat forming on his forehead and slid down his neck. The tips of his ears burned pink.

She met his smile with a kiss that lingered long enough for her to feel his body responding again to her.

“You’re going to wear me out,” he said with a grin.

“I hope so…” she grinned back.

“So are we dating now?”

She nodded. “Yeah, after this…we most definitely are.”

relationships
6

About the Creator

Kim Golden

Kim Golden is a USA Today bestselling author of romantic fiction. Born and raised in the City of Brotherly Love, Kim left the US in 1995 and moved to Sweden for love with a capital L.

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