His Lovely Guest

Cole Goodsell had come recommended to Liesel by way of her editor, Rick. Rick drove a Hummer a distance of 2 miles from home to work and back every day but prided himself on eating only organic, and this included his weekly trip to the local farmers market.

"I reached out to some of my contacts, and I was given his name. He'd be happy to speak with you." Rick slipped her a number from across the desk. Liesel presumed by "reaching out to his contacts," he meant that he'd chatted up some of the good old boys while buying summer squash. She stared at the little scrap of paper and fidgeted in her seat. Rick's office reeked of cigarette smoke, even though he claimed to have quit months ago, and it made her itch.

"Have you spoken to him at all yet? Do you know what his deal is? What kind of farm he runs or...?"

"Nope. It's all on you, Liesel." And in a heartbeat, Rick had turned her off, his focus back to the computer screen in front of him. Online poker, she figured. She grimaced involuntarily, took the number, and left.

Back at home in her own office, Liesel massaged her temples, then leaned over to let her forehead rest on a pile of paperwork on the desk in front of her. Her dark hair tumbled down around her, blissfully hiding her eyes from the sun shining in through the window, which had started to seem a touch too bright. Her features were delicate and pale, with big dark eyes and the faintest freckles at each wing of cheekbone. She was a slim woman, and petite at 5'2", but her breasts were C-cup. She treated this as though it were her secret, though, and liked to dress modestly. On this day, she was wearing trousers with a little pink blouse that tied at the neck and a dark gray cardigan over it.

To say that she wasn't looking forward to the assignment was an understatement. She was curious about her subject but she wanted to write meatier pieces, something to do with global politics maybe. It didn't make her feel any better that she hated using the phone or that she had a good feeling this farmer wouldn't be of much help to her. Regardless, she hoisted herself up, took a swig of cold coffee, and started dialing.

"Hello, this is Cole."

"Hi, Mr. Goodsell. This is Liesel Lang with the Times."

"Oh, right. Liesel. That's a very unusual name." Liesel was caught off guard. He spoke it as if he were looking at some little bauble, studying it, turning it over in his palm.

She paused, and then replied, "That's true. It was my grandmother's name."

"It's a beautiful name."

"Well, thank you." She paused and nervously, purposelessly rustled some papers. "Um, is this a good time?"

"Actually, I am a little busy right now. Is tomorrow too late for us to have a chat?" Liesel expected to hear cows lowing or horses neighing or corn cracking in the background, but apparently a farm was a little quieter than she'd imagined.

"I think that should be fine. What time should I call?"

"I was thinking maybe you could come over here, out to my little ranch. Don't you think that would be better?" Liesel bit the inside of her cheek to stifle a groan.

"All right, okay, sure."

"Great. Just stop by whenever, afternoon is usually a good time. I'll give you the address, if you have a pen handy."

Riverside was a three-hour drive, as it turned out. So Liesel was on her way to farm country. She passed through electric green hills with patches of pale desert between, saw cows grazing. The landscape was familiar for a long time but then pavement became gravel and that gave way to dirt roads. The buildings she passed by took her back to Anne of Green Gables. There were churches, tiny houses, non-descript shops made of brick or dark wood. She could tell that this was a town where people still square-danced in gingham and bonnets or gossiped about a married woman being seen alone with another man. She passed by billboards about the Lord, printed with short passages from the Bible. Somehow, it was worse than she thought it'd be.

Cole was standing out front when she arrived. She pulled up, parked, and watched for a moment. His back was to her, but she could already tell he was young. He had that hard look of youth, the broad high shoulders, a modestly muscled back, and jeans that fit his ass perfectly. A full head of wavy dark blonde hair. When she stepped out of the car and slammed the door, he turned toward her, and she felt her face get hot despite herself. He was forty at most, with clear eyes and a crooked nose that kept his face from being just a little too pretty.

"Liesel," he announced as she approached. He took a long look at her.

"Mr. Goodsell." They shook hands.

"Cole. Why don't you come inside?" She nodded and followed.

The inside of his house smelled like citrus and smoked wood. The décor was minimal without being unwelcoming, that trademark look of a bachelor pad. A giant hammered-silver silhouette of wild horses hung on the wall near her and glinted blindingly in the light. Liesel admired it for a moment, until Cole directed her to a big leather couch.

"Would you like something to drink? I just fixed myself some tea."

"Tea would be great, thanks." Cole left, and Liesel took a moment to breathe deeply. She wriggled out of her coat and set her purse gingerly on the floor. She took out a pen and her notepad and set them on her knee, double-checked whether she had everything she needed. It had been hard for her to figure out what to wear on a farm, so she'd gone with jeans and a tailored plaid button-up and little brown leather boots. She could hear the familiar clink of china and tried to peer into the kitchen just as Cole emerged, pushing the door open with a tea tray. He set it down onto the coffee table and handed her a mug, then glanced at her.

"Why don't you let me take your things?" Before she answered, he had leaned over to pick up her coat. But as Liesel reached down for her purse to hand to him, she felt one of her blouse buttons unsnap. For a split second, she froze, panicked, looked wildly at the floor as though the answer was written there. She exhaled sharply and grabbed the purse handle. His hand touched hers for a moment, and he straightened up. She peered up and noticed him looking down at her.

"Ah, excuse me," she said, clumsily snapping the top of her shirt shut. He smiled and turned and walked into the hall. She held her face with her hands for a moment but tried to look composed when she heard a door in the hall close.

Cole sat down in the chair across from her and took the other mug into his hands. He took a drink, then spoke. "So I've been told this article is some kind of farming for city folk 101."

"That's a good way to put it. You know, teaching people who live out in the suburbs or even in an apartment how to live sustainably. 'City hens' are big these days. Growing tomato plants out on the fire escape. People miss feeling connected to something more than just concrete."

"So is this what you do for a living? You're a journalist?" Liesel cocked her head at his question.

"Well, I write freelance. I'm doing this newspaper job right now, I've done a little technical writing. And I do fiction, too."

"Who do you submit to?"

Liesel choked on her tea, and their eyes met. It seemed like he was smirking, but she wrote it off as her imagination. "I mean, ah, mostly small publications. Local lit magazines."

"I just submitted to the New Yorker last week. Pipe dream, but you never know."

Her eyes widened at this. "What do you usually like to write?"

"Satire, mostly." He stopped and swirled his mug, looked at his hands thoughtfully, then looked at her. "You seem surprised."

Liesel blushed. "Well, you definitely weren't what I expected. I mean, is that surprising to you?"

"No, not at all," he laughed disarmingly. "I used to live in the city myself. Came from a pretty well-off family. Went to college, even, owned a business. Given my history, I've been told it's an unorthodox choice."

"So why did you make the choice?"

"At first, I did it on a whim. In the district where I lived, there were rules about how many dogs you could own. Two maximum or else, you know. I wanted at least four or five. And who doesn't love the idea of wide open spaces? So I bought up this land, but my wife at the time hated it here, and she ended up leaving me for a younger man who lives in a condo in the city with cats. So I stayed, took a mental health leave you could say, which then became a permanent leave. Farming became a kind of therapy for me."

Liesel was taken aback by Cole's openness and uncertain as to what she should say next. She shifted against the leather, which she was slowly realizing was making her uncomfortably warm, and tried to read something in his face. But Cole had lowered his head and seemed to be studying the hardwood floor. "A man with cats? Cats, plural? That isn't a red flag?"

Cole looked up at her and laughed, and she felt instantaneous relief. "You'd think so. Anyway, sorry to unload that on you. But, that's the story."

"So what do you grow here?" She relaxed a little into her seat and watched his face, which was slowly brightening again.

"I dabbled in livestock for a while, but now it's oranges and grapefruit. We sell a lot of them at a stand in town and then distribute to local grocers."

Talking to Cole was easy, and it wasn't until nightfall that either of them took note of the time. "You know, I should probably be going. I have a three-hour drive to look forward to. I'm sorry if I've overstayed."

"No, of course not. It's been a pleasure. I'll get your things." Cole came back from the hall closet and held up her coat. It took her a moment to realize that he meant to help her into it. She slid each arm into the sleeves, one at a time. She could feel his hands up at her shoulders where he gripped the coat. Then his hands at her waist, smoothing it at the belt. And finally he lifted her hair up from underneath the coat and arranged it over her collar. When she turned to look at him, he was holding her purse out. "Let me walk you to your car," he offered, and opened the door for her before she responded.

They were a few steps away from her car when she saw her front left tire. She stopped. It suddenly felt as though she had deflated, too. Cole bumped into her, stopped, and followed her line of vision.

"Oh," he blurted.

Liesel was already rummaging through her purse and grabbing for her cell.

"It's these old terrible roads, you know." He looked over at her, saw her dialing. "Now, wait. You should just stay the night, and I'll call someone in the morning."

"Oh, but I..."

Cole interrupted her. "No, really. It was ungentlemanly of me to let you go, anyway. I wasn't thinking. You haven't eaten, and you'd be driving by yourself, late at night. I know for a fact that the roads back your way aren't well-lit."

Liesel turned to him and let her arm holding the phone drop to her side. "I couldn't put you out, though. You barely know me." And I barely know you, she thought.

"No, it'll be great. I have an extra room, I hardly ever get visitors. You can use my laptop, if getting a head-start on your article is what you're worried about." Cole looked at her pleadingly. She shrugged and assented.

Cole had made her dinner, chicken with orange glaze. He had lent her his laptop, asked whether she wanted to read any of his books. Given her one of his flannel shirts to wear to bed, offered an extra toothbrush. She had been cold so he turned on the heater in the extra room. Just before she drifted off to sleep, she played with herself, thinking of his taut lines and soft hair. She wondered as she came and bit the pillow whether or not it would turn him on to know what she'd done in his shirt.

The next morning, Cole found Liesel in the kitchen, still in his shirt, working at his laptop.

"Something about being out here makes it easier to think," she explained when she noticed him. "Maybe it's the air." He hadn't yet showered, and Liesel took note of his bed-head and rumpled pajamas, wondered casually to herself whether a farm man smelled like hay and hickory, and whether he usually slept in pajamas.

Cole smiled and took inventory of the kitchen, breathed deeply, looked puzzled. "Did you make coffee?"

"I did. I hope that wasn't presumptuous. There are a few more cups worth left. I almost made breakfast for us but I wasn't sure what you'd want."

"How do waffles and eggs sound?" he asked, stretching. She caught a flash of belly as his shirt rose up, a dusting of gold hair at his navel.

"Perfect."

The two were silent as he went about his breakfast prep. The smells and the steady sound of his cooking were soothing to Liesel. When he was done, he slid a full plate over to her and sat down in the chair next to her with his own.

"Why don't you stay a few more days?" he asked to break the silence, his mouth already full of scrambled eggs. "Just until you finish the article."

Liesel started at this. "I mean, that shouldn't be necessary. I do appreciate the offer, but as soon as my tire gets fixed..."

"I insist. It's nice having someone around, besides dogs and fruits," he admitted. Liesel clapped the laptop shut and pushed it away. She brought her plate closer to her and stared at it. It was difficult to tell whether she was considering the food or his offer.

"I don't have a change of clothes or toiletries or anything, though," she said finally, looking over at him, his face seeming awfully close.

"Is that your only objection?"

"I guess so. I don't have any reason to be in the city for a little while. But I think my 'only' objection is still a pretty major one."

"No, this one's easy. I'll just buy you whatever you need when I'm out running errands. Just give me a list." He leaned back in his chair and took a big bite of waffle.

"Well," she responded quietly, "I don't really have the money, either."

But Cole waved her off. "Don't even worry about it."

It had been a week since her flat tire, and four days since the tire had been fixed. Liesel was still staying with Cole. As the days had passed, it almost felt as though it had become more difficult for her to get a read on him, to judge his intent, why he wanted her around. That first night, she had been worried, even locked the guestroom door behind her. But after a few days, she'd already forgotten about the lock. He was an unusual man, certainly. Giving and friendly yet closed off somehow. But she was developing an affection for the land and for Cole alike. And it seemed like her writing was better than ever, too. They had even established a routine. They made meals for each other, ran errands for each other. He had bought her some outfits and a set of pajamas, but after he had gone to bed, she would always slip back into his shirt, back under the covers, to pleasure herself.

On this night, the seventh night, Cole had a business dinner to attend. Liesel withdrew to her room while he was gone, undressed, and pulled the shirt on over her underwear. She was almost done with her article, so she decided to finish reading one of Cole's books before bed as a reward. She must have dozed off, though, because when she opened her eyes again, the room was dark, even though she couldn't remember turning out the light herself.

"You're still wearing it."

"Cole?" Liesel tried to focus on the shapes surrounding her.

"The shirt. You're still wearing my shirt."

"What are you doing in here?" The moonlight filtering through the blinds helped lift the veil of darkness for her as her eyes adjusted. Cole was sitting up against the wall near her bed, his arms folded over his knees, which were up near his chest. He was barefoot but still wearing the suit that he'd worn to dinner. Panic started to overwhelm her, and it tasted bitter at the back of her throat.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't sleep."

"Are you drunk?"

"I don't drink."

"So what are you doing in here?" she repeated.

"You left the door open, and the light on. I came in here to turn it off, but then I decided to stick around and think. I was kind of counting on you not waking up." Liesel frowned at this. "I don't mean it like that," he offered. "I just didn't want to spook you. You've been relaxing to have around. I thought it might help me think if I was near you." Liesel felt herself calm down and sat back against the pillows, letting her arms drop into her lap.

Cole stood up. "Are you hungry?"

"I mean..." she looked around, found the clock, laughed. It was 2 in the morning. "I guess I am, actually."

"I brought you leftovers." And with that, he was out of the room. Liesel massaged the bridge of her nose, then stared blankly at the door, wondering. It was then that she looked down at his shirt and remembered to be embarrassed. Just in time for Cole to reenter the room. He turned on the light, and she squinted. He was holding a plate and a glass and sat next to her on the bed. It was cold in her room and his welcome heat washed over her.

"Thank you. What is all this?"

"That's a dandelion salad, and roasted squash, and this is aglio olio."

"What are these here?" she asked, pointing to the salad.

"Capers, I think." He stretched out next to her, lay on his side, propped himself up with an elbow to watch her eat.

"Do you want any of this?"

"I'm good," he shook his head. "Still full."

"So how was the dinner?" she asked between bites.

"Boring, uncomfortable. Blissfully short. I'm glad to be home." He looked down his own length, then back up at her face. "So, what's the story?"

"How do you mean?"

"Shirt." He motioned his chin her way. Liesel blushed, and he grinned.

"It's just more comfortable than the pajamas you got me," she bluffed.

"You're kidding. It's freezing in here, those pajamas are warm. And they're like 900-thread count. That's luxury."

Liesel laughed despite herself. "That's just sheets!"

"Says who?" Cole worked his way back up to sitting and scooted closer to Liesel. She wondered whether an all-over, full-body blush was possible. Even her feet felt hot. She pretended to concentrate on the squash. Then Cole's hand was at her plate, finding a caper. He plucked it and presented it to her. The look on her face was quizzical. And then Cole's hand was at her mouth, the caper at her lips. She opened and he reached and as she took the caper in and chewed it, his fingertip lingered on her lip. Liesel froze and studied his face. His mouth was curled into a half smile, watchful. They looked at each other as though waiting for some signal. But Liesel shut out her thoughts, took his hand between hers, and let her mouth close over his finger for a moment. And in the next moment, she had let go. Cole looked surprised, his face serious. He rose from the bed, taking the plate out of her lap, setting it down on the nightstand. She felt exposed and tugged at his shirttail like a child, imploring.

Cole turned toward her. Then he was back on the bed in front of her, on his knees. Liesel gasped. He reached for the back of her knees, pulling her legs toward him, letting himself fall over her. His hands were around her face, his mouth met her mouth, and the heat of his belly warmed her through his dress shirt. She worked her hand around his tie and pulled it tight, pulled him toward her as they kissed. And she could feel Cole's heat through his trousers, too.

"You're already so hard," she gasped.

"You coming here, looking like a little cowgirl. I almost popped a button on my jeans when your shirt popped open," he breathlessly explained. "I think I've been hard since we met." He sat up, still between her legs. Gazed down at her. "My lovely guest," he wondered aloud. Something outside the window suddenly seemed to catch his attention. "Do you want to come outside with me? I want to show you something." He stood up and took hold of the bedspread, then wrapped it around Liesel. "Is that okay?"