Ch 21 ~ Starting Over

Even in the darkness of the wee hours, the small town dotted with vineyards that Rachel called home was as familiar to Jon as his own backyard.  It was a quaint community, reminding him very much of Red Bank.

I could live here. 

Gliding to a stop at the end of the freeway exit, he punched off the GPS.  He didn’t need directions to Rachel’s from here.  He could make this drive with his eyes closed, and when they approached the house, his hand knew exactly where to find the garage door opener.  He knew about the pattern of the automatic light flickering and exactly how far to pull into the garage so that the bumper wouldn’t get scuffed by the descending door.

Live here or not, it’s still home. 

Jon shifted the car into park and turned to Rachel with slight smile.  Leaning over the center console that separated them, he puckered up for a kiss – which Rachel readily granted him.  It wasn’t passionate.  It wasn’t riddled with lust.  It was a simple, yet poignant brushing of lips that signified the end of a long day and the beginning of their first real night together in far too long.

“It’s good to be home with you, Rach.” 

“Mm.”  She unfastened her seatbelt with a thoughtful smile.  “I don’t know which is more surprising; that I’m thrilled you’re here, or that you’re here at all.  A week ago I couldn’t have imagined you being back in my life.”

“Never count me out, baby,” he chuckled as he was getting out of the car.

“Oh!”  She stopped halfway to the door and turned to speak over her shoulder.  “Your birthday present is in the trunk.  Grab it for me, will ya?”

She had gotten him a present.  He grinned widely, his heart irrationally singing like drunken Sambora at a karaoke bar.  It shouldn’t please him so much, but damned if it didn’t. 

“You got me a present, huh? What is it?  Can I open it now?”

“Oh my word!  Could you let me get inside the door before you start drilling me about the gift?”

The way her palm slammed into her forehead was incredibly amusing – and cute.  His heart went into a second chorus of karaoke “Prayer” and he made a shooing motion with the same goofy-ass grin still in place.

“Just get yourself in the house and open me a bottle of wine.  I’ll build you a fire and you can give me my present, okay?”

Rachel was through the door and shaking her head at him by the time he got the trunk popped.  Doing his own fair share of head-shaking, Jon snagged his bag from the backseat and circled to the back of the car.  Inside the trunk, as promised, there was a gift.  About the size of a ream of paper, the package was wrapped in blue and sheathed with enough white ribbon to deck out Cupid in a designer diaper.  Honest to God, the bow was bigger than both of his fists. 

Women and gift wrap.  I will never understand why they put so much effort into something that’s just gonna get torn up.

Jon tucked the package under his arm and closed the trunk, walking around the car to the house entrance.  A single punch of the button had the garage door rumbling a quiet descent and he locked the house door behind him when he went in.    

He dropped his bag by the door, tossed the package onto the kitchen table and realized the downstairs was quiet, meaning Rachel had gone straight upstairs.  If he had to guess, she was shucking her clothes in favor of something comfortable.  And, considering that the house was freezing, her wardrobe change would not only be comfortable, but warm.    

This is what he’d missed more than anything.  Coming home with his girl, unloading the car and warming the house while she changed clothes...  Just the simple joy of ordinary, day-to-day stuff with her.

Jon sighed contentedly as he meandered on into the living room and checked the firewood situation.  There looked to be enough wood on the hearth that he didn’t bother to bring more in, but he still silently half-bitched about her refusal to install a gas fireplace in this room.  She liked the sound of the snapping and popping of the wood, she insisted, and claimed she didn’t mind carrying in wood. 

Of course she doesn’t mind.  She never carries it in.  

That really wasn’t true.  She just wouldn’t carry the wood in when Jon was around to do it.  Rachel was completely self-sufficient when she chose to be.  It was readily apparent by the looks of the house.  She was clearly as anal about maintaining her property as she was her body and car.   

The fire was crackling and popping by the time Rachel returned, wearing one of the girly lounge outfits she favored at home.  She tugged at the hem of the black zippered jacket as he stood and pinned her with a wounded look.    

“Since nobody else is obviously gonna do it... I guess the birthday boy’s gonna hafta get his own booze tonight.”

Good Lord, how was the man keeping his eyes open?  This night had mentally and physically drained her, and she hadn’t been prancing all over the stage for three hours.  The only thing she wanted to do was take off the clothes she’d just put on – or rather have him take them off – and consummate this renewing of their relationship so she could get some rest. 

“Ugh,” she moaned, pushing a hand through her hair.  “I don’t know how the birthday boy can still be standing at this hour.  Aren’t you exhausted?”

“Vampire hours.  It’s the nature of touring.”  He bent at the waist behind the wet bar, no doubt poking into the nearly full case of wine he’d bought when they went to a wine tasting together early last year.  “Holy shit, you’ve still got this?  Not that I’m complaining…”

Rachel padded over toward him, admiring the view of the backside encased in better-fitting denim than he’d worn at the concert.  A covetous little smile slipped over her lips as she recalled her appreciative neighbor from the show. 

Eat your heart out, lady.

A blind hand plopped his selection on top of the bar and her view changed considerably as he went rummaging through the drawers.  His bent head and broad shoulders took center stage as she stepped into the enclosed area to join him.

“Where’s the corkscrew?”

“In the same drawer that it’s always been,” she replied, purposefully brushing her hips against his back pockets as she moved to the overhead glass cabinet.  Maybe a little alcohol would chase away the weariness and give her the pep she needed to end this night on a screaming high note.

“It’s not here, Rach.”

An annoyed sigh slipped from between her lips, the bit of testiness disrupting the beginnings of her little fantasy.  She attributed it partially to her fatigue, but men were so clueless sometimes that she wasn’t willing to shoulder the full blame. 

Don’t let something silly ruin your mood.  Pretend it’s some kind of obscure foreplay.

Patiently putting two glasses on the counter, she reached around him.   A single flick of the wrist had the drawer open and unerring fingers immediately plucked the requested utensil from within.  She promptly pressed it into his hand.    

“Same drawer as always, Jon,” she repeated, unable to keep herself from giving him a blatantly pointed look.

“You planted that there when I wasn’t looking, didn’t you?”  Oblivious to the eye roll that she simply couldn’t hold back, he didn’t wait for an answer to his ridiculous question.  “Where are the bigger glasses?  We had those big motherfuckers that hold half a bottle in each glass.  I want those.  It’s my birthday and all that.”

This time, rather than being aggravated, her heart warmed at his choice of words. 

“I love how you still use the term ‘we’.”

Rachel gladly returned the previously chosen glasses to the cabinet and replaced them with the huge glasses Jon favored. 

“And right there, folks, is the difference between men and women,” he noted while filling both glasses.  “Women pick up on the ‘we’ part, while the man is focused on obtaining the biggest available vessel to hold his drug of choice.”

There went that little tick of annoyance again.  While she was all focused on reuniting, he was more interested in getting his wine fix.  She would’ve thought he’d be all over her by now.

“Hmpf.  I thought I was going to be your drug of choice tonight.”

“You,” he whispered, stepping into her, “are gonna be my partner in crime, tonight… I hope.”

Her pique was instantly soothed by the flash of lust she saw in his eyes.  It was as intense as it was encouraging.  When she leaned more fully into him and slid her hands around the back of his neck, she found that his jeans weren’t only tight in the back, but in the front, too.  Flatteringly so. 

So maybe I was wrong.  He is a bit more interested in me than the wine. 

She tried her best to stifle a mischievously delighted grin as she all but purred, “In business, I was always taught ‘hope is not a strategy’.  Do you have a strategy in mind to make me your partner in crime tonight or are you sticking with ‘hope’?”

The way her breasts brushed against his chest when she inhaled was enough to make Jon forget about the wine.  His focus was solely on her lips as he bent to kiss her. 

It felt like forever since they’d touched like this and it would have been easier to just go with the flow and haul her off to bed.  She was as anxious for it as he was, that was obvious in the way she moaned and flicked her tongue against his. 

The two of you are actually having meaningful communication tonight.  Don’t drop it like a hot potato because you can’t wait to be buried inside her.  Delayed gratification never killed anybody, and it will be all the sweeter knowing that the slate is completely clear.

“Can’t say it feels like I need a strategy,” he muttered, pulling back and retrieving the two glasses of wine he’d filled while moving to the sofa.  “C’mon… come talk with me.”

His back to her, Jon couldn’t see the confusion on Rachel’s face as he walked away.  He was more interested in shifting his clothes to a more comfortable fit as he sat down.

Rachel sat across from him and accepted the wineglass he offered, took a sip and set it on the coffee table with a bit more force than necessary, the translucent liquid sloshing perilously close to the rim.  She was clearly peeved with him. 

“When you showed up here in the middle of the night a few days ago, you said that we used to love each other.  The way you’re acting, I can only assume that means you no longer do.  You chase me, then you pull back when I give in to you.  I’m getting all sorts of mixed signals from you and am seriously starting to wonder why the hell you’re here.”

Sexual frustration was not a good look on her, Jon thought.  When she’d been with him, she’d always been as sexually charged as most men ever thought of being.  Although he’d never denied her sexual urges before, he plainly recognized it as the reason for her current irritability. 

He would have been amused by it if she wasn’t looking like a spitting cobra about to strike.  Self-preservation was the only thing that kept his grin smothered. 

“I’m here, honey, because you asked me to be,” he reminded her reasonably.  “And I’m here because I do love you.  I want us to work things out and, as much as I’d like to ravage your delightful little body, you’re the one who said our physical attraction in the beginning of our relationship prevented us from building a foundation.  I’m trying to respect that and work through some things.  Throw a little credit my way, will ya?”

Her shoulders heaved with a deeply inhaled, then expelled breath.  His sensibility had pierced the fog of arousal clouding her brain and she obviously reining in her frustration.

“I’m sorry, and I appreciate that, but it’s the middle of the night, for crying out loud.  I’m completely drained and you act like you’re just getting started.  You want to talk, I want to… well… I’m not sure I’m up for a lot more talking.  You want wine, I want to be in bed.  With you.  Naked.  Doing things that will make me sleep really well afterward.”

“Somebody’s cranky,” he observed with soft affection.  “We’ll go to bed soon, I promise.  But first… why don’t you let me enjoy this much-deserved wine while you tell me why you were really late getting to the venue tonight.  Getting lost and detours… I know that’s secret code for something deep but I don’t know what, exactly.”

Green eyes blinked silently and he wondered if she would answer or tell him to go to hell and stomp upstairs to bed.  It was touch and go for a long, quiet minute until she looked him square in the eye.  There was a spark in those green eyes, fueled by some kind of renewed energy and determination. 

“I was late because I changed my mind and turned around.  Now let’s go to bed,” she declared, popping up out of her seat.

He had figured it was something like that, so no surprise there.  The real question in Jon’s mind was would she be willing to tell him her thought process without running away.  They had to be able to talk in order for them to really move onto a sustainable relationship.

“Sit your ass down and indulge me for a minute.”  He gave her a gentle push and she plopped back onto the cushion with a disgruntled huff.  “You changed your mind about seeing me and turned around to go back home?  Is that what you’re saying?”

She nodded, ran her fingers through her hair and reached for her wine glass.  Silence hung in the air while she sipped and then replaced the glass on the coffee table. 

Jon assumed, in Rachel’s mind, she had answered the question and that was that.  Well, that wasn’t going to fly.  He wanted more details.

“Okay…  Let me be a little more specific.  What made you change your mind?”

She rubbed at her eyes and exhaled a long-held breath. 

“I saw this big sign in front of the arena with your face flashing all over it and there was some song playing that made me think of the past – our past.  I just didn’t want to get my hopes up only to have things fall apart.  At that moment I couldn’t see things being any different than they had been, and I decided to leave.”

“So you ran away?”

“But I came back!” Her response was immediate, tinged with a hint of defensiveness. 

“You did,” he conceded.  “Tell me what it was that made you come back.”

“Some song on my playlist,” she shrugged.

He stifled a sigh. 

Jesus, it was still like pulling teeth with her.   

It took every trick in the book to keep audiences of thousands in his corner and one of those tricks was learning the art of body language.  Rachel’s body language was telling him more than her words.  Yes, she was talking to him and he was grateful, but she was as fidgety as a caged tiger looking for its next meal.  That meant was more to this than the clipped dialogue she was giving him, and Jon wanted to know what it was.

“What was the song?”

“An old Aaron Neville song with Linda Ronstadt.   ‘Don’t Know Much’”, she replied quietly.  “It could have been written by me.  Or for me.”

And out of nowhere, Jon was left speechless, because Rachel’s eyes filled with tears.  They spilled down her cheeks in tiny rivulets and he ached to pull her into his arms and wipe them away, but he held his position as she finally – thank you, Jesus – opened up.

“It talked about getting older, a life that you’re unsure where it’s headed, broken and battered dreams… But in the end the song came to the same conclusion I did.  There’s not much I’m certain of, but I know I love you, and maybe that really is all I need to know.”  She reached for the blanket on the back of the sofa to wipe her eyes.  “I know it’s a sappy love song, but it’s pretty simple.   I realized I didn’t need to have the answers to all the questions, or the solutions to all the problems to know that I love you.  So I turned around and got back on the road I should’ve stayed on in the first place.” 

Well, I’ll be damned.

She had run, just like she always did, but that’s where the similarities between now and then ended.  This time she hadn’t even finished running away before she turned around and came back to him of her own free will.  He hadn’t had to chase her, he hadn’t had to hound or nag her to get her to open up...  And Jon had finally been able to let her in on his deepest secret.  

Tonight they had both walked different paths than they had in their past.  A new path.  Maybe even the same path that was wide enough to journey on side by side.

Harps played and angels sang.  They were going to make it this time, by God.  He just knew it.

“I think we’ve covered more ground tonight than we did the entire time we were together.  That’s good, right?”

“Mm.  Maybe we’re just willing to try harder now,” she speculated.

His hand stroked the hair at the back of her head, while he leaned in and kissed the corners of her lips.  “I’m willing.  And whatever it is that you need, that’s what I’m willing to give you.”

Rachel shifted her mouth so that they engaged in a full on kiss that was as sweet as it was light before she pushed it further, until, with a moan, it became a  passionate, breathy exchange. 

“Just tell me I’m the most important woman in your life now, tell me I’ll never be brushed aside again and then take me to bed.  Because what I need most is you.  ” 

The hair on the back of his neck stood straight up as her hands roamed restlessly over his head. 

Now.  Now’s the time.

Jon had come here tonight with a single item on his agenda.  Well, two, but sex was secondary. 

He’d been plotting and planning for this moment since the night he’d come to her after the San Jose show – in the wee hours of the morning with both of them broken.   He knew then what he had to do and the time had finally come to put his plan into action.  It was time to prove, once and for all, that he would put his money where his mouth was.

“Marry me, Rachel.”