I took a long swallow of wine. Bette did the same.

“So, Bette, what shall we talk about? It’s not my intention to pry,” I said uncomfortably, “but I do want to offer you the opportunity to talk about what upset you earlier, with Angelica and Tina. Or we can discuss what happened with us the other night. Or whatever you’d like.”

Bette stared into her wine glass. Then she shifted in her seat and gazed out over the horizon. I waited for her to speak.

“No,” she finally said simply, setting her glass down.

Oh, Jesus, ‘No.’ What kind of response was that? Was she angry? Was Bette going to get up and leave me here, alone and confused?

“No, what?” I asked for clarification.

Leaning over the table, Bette looked me in my eyes, and smiled. “You have beautiful eyes, Helena.”

I averted my gaze. God, what this woman was doing to me. “Thank you,” I replied, reaching for another piece of fruit.

“You’re welcome. And what I meant to say was, no, I don’t want to talk about what happened with Tina today. I’ve already ranted to you enough about it. And I don’t want to be upset again.” Bette paused before continuing. Slowly, as if in slow motion, her hand moved above the table and clasped mine hovering over the cheese and fruit. She placed my hand on the table, with hers covering it. Gently, she massaged her palm on the back of my hand for a moment, before pulling away. “And I don’t want to talk about what happened the other night. Not now. Not tonight. I’m relaxed. I just want to enjoy the evening in your company without any heavy conversation. Is that all right?” she asked. “Let me get to know you, Helena.”

My gaze moved from my tingling hand, resting on the table, back to Bette’s eyes.

“Of course, it’s all right,” I said softly. “Would you like to go for a walk on the beach now? While the sun sets. Before it gets dark?”

“Sounds lovely,” Bette replied, caressing her wine glass.

“Finish your wine then, while I take the food inside. Then we’ll go.”

*****************

While waiting for Helena to return, I removed my sandals. I wanted to feel the sand on the bottoms of my feet. Pulling the bottle of wine from the ice bucket, I poured a few more ounces of Pinot Blanc for myself and sat back down. I swished a long sip of wine in my mouth ,and over my palate, savoring its fruity flavors. It was cool, and felt good against my throat when I swallowed.

The music Helena had playing inside on the stereo was piped out onto the deck. It was a smoky sounding jazz, with a prominent saxophone. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes to listen. The ambiance was perfect. I couldn’t help but muse, ‘If Helena’s intention is to provide an atmosphere conducive to seduction, her efforts are impeccable.’

I heard the melting ice slosh in the wine bucket. When I opened my eyes slightly, Helena was pouring more wine into her glass.

She saw me squinting to look at her with my head still back.

“Just a few more sips for the road,” she joked. She placed her free hand on her hip as she stood surveying the shoreline. With the other hand, she freely sipped. “This wine really is extraordinary, Bette. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” I said, my eyes taking in her slender, sensuous form.

Emptying her glass and setting it on the table, she asked, “Are you ready to go for our walk?”

She held out her hand to me, to help rouse me from my repose. I took her hand and she tugged gently. When I stood up, I found Helena’s face and lips dangerously close to mine and our bodies only inches apart. Our proximity was tantalizing. Her lips were so tempting. Her eyes, arresting. I could barely, but unmistakably, perceive her face moving slightly towards mine. Suddenly, she stopped, and let go of my hand. Fuck! What was I doing? What was I doing? What was I doing?

She stepped away and walked off, saying, “We better go, Bette. It’ll be dark before we know it.”

Was she strategically and purposely forcing me to make the first move?

“I’m right behind you,” I assured her.

As we walked along the beach, I was surprised at how easily and spontaneously our conversation flowed. There was no decipherable strain. We discussed her interest in the culinary arts and my interest in the cultural arts. We talked about my knowledge of wine. English boarding schools. And traveling abroad. We touched on the work of different philanthropic organizations. And the movement of the tides. And the beauty of the seagulls. We picked up the incidental seashell and, examining it in the dimming light, marveled at the intricacy of natural design. I was having fun for the first time in a long time. We laughed and occasionally nudged each other jokingly as we walked side by side.

All too soon, as we made our way back to Helena’s beach house, it grew dark.

“I should begin preparing dinner,” she said. “Are you hungry?”

She started to veer towards the steps that led up to her deck. I stopped abruptly and reached to grab her hand and to pull her back to me in the darkness. “Wait,” I whispered.

My heart was pounding.