The Mayor's Wife

The shopping cart rolled smoothly over the walk-off mat at the automatic door, then veered sharply to the left the moment the front wheels hit the linoleum. I wrenched it back into line and pointed the nose toward the frozen food section, shaking my head. How the hell did I manage to pick out the wonky one every single time.

I cruised past the end caps, sneakers squeaking crisply on the freshly mopped floor. The morning was a bit cool, so I'd thrown on a pair of slim fleece joggers and a light full zip jacket over a tee shirt for what I intended would be a quick jaunt to the grocery store to grab something for my brother's birthday cookout that evening. But now that I was here, I realized I had no idea what I wanted to take.

I slowed upon reaching the freezers, peeking through the lightly misted glass at packets of vegetables, boxes of burger patties and oversized bags of drumsticks and wings. All reasonable fodder for a barbeque. But not particularly exciting. Anyone could grill chicken. I needed something more sophisticated. Something everyone would talk about instead of my brother's brisket.

I drifted down the row toward the deli, waffling between smoking salmon and grilling ribeye. Behind the counter the butcher scooped something into a foil tin, snapped a cover on top and passed it to a tired-looking woman with a basket full of packaged snacks and shredded cheese. And suddenly it hit me. Baked lasagna on the grill.

Okay, so my taste in food was...different than that of the rest of my family. But one thing we all agreed on (begrudgingly on my brother's part) was my pasta - my lasagna in particular. Tender noodles topped with fresh mozzarella, San Marzano marinara - perfectly spiced. It was always a hit at family dinners, which is why I suspected my brother opted for an oven-free venue this year. But that was about to backfire. Grab my ingredients and a nice foil pan and I'd be well on my way to king of the cookout.

I snatched up several packets of imported Italian noodles, mozzarella balls in whey, cracked black pepper and San Marzano tomatoes. A foil pan and lid were deposited into the cart as I traversed the baking aisle, then wheeled back toward the front of the store to procure the required herbs and spices. Fighting the wayward wheel I leaned into the corner just past the bread on the endcap and turned smack into the front of an oncoming cart, my tin lid sliding out and clattering to the floor.

"Oh, shit," I gasped, scooping it from the tile, "I'm so sorry."

I was surprised to hear my words echoed back to me almost in unison in a lively and strangely familiar female voice. My head snapped up to a beautiful brunette in her late 30s, with shoulder-length hair and tortoise-shell glasses extending an arm to help me up. Our eyes met as I rose. A memory triggered.

"Olivia?"

She paused. Frowned. Tilted her head. Brightened. "Cole?"

We shared surprise, then a hug and a good hearty laugh. "Oh my god," she gushed, detangling our carts, "It's been what...like...four months? How are you?"

"Good," I replied, buoyed by her energy and flare. She wore a slim hooded jacket over an orange cinch tank top, and sleek blue leggings with orange piping down each leg, terminating at brightly trimmed sneakers. She was tall, with a runner's build; lean, long-legged, and smaller breasted; everything curved, firm and tight. Not much had changed since I last saw her in person. "Glad to see you're still able to go shopping in your sweats," I added.

She laughed, amused that I remembered our inside joke. "It's the glasses," she said, pointing. "Completely incognito."

"Well you look great. How's life in the Mayor's Mansion?"

She smiled sheepishly, tucking hair behind her ear and glancing at the floor. "Quiet, actually. Mason's always at the office and the kids are in school now most of the day, so it's really just me and my Zoom calls."

I shrugged. "I told you you should have run instead." She blushed a little. "You would have had at least my vote."

"What's going on with you," she asked, quickly changing the subject. "Did you get your studio up and running?"

"I did! Actually, your workshop on building business through relationships got me hooked up with the space and the money to get it renovated. Sooo...I owe you a huge thank you."

Her face lit up with that bright white smile I remembered so fondly. "That's fantastic!" She wrapped me in another quick but warm embrace. "I'm so happy for you. You'd been working on that for a long time."

I had forgotten she was a hugger. I liked that.

"Thank you," I nodded. "Hey, why don't you come by sometime and we'll get some promo shots for your new consulting group!"

"Oh that's very generous, but - "

"It's the least I can do. Really. Bring the whole office, we'll make a morning out of it."

She hesitated before nodding ascent. "I would really appreciate that, thank you."

There was a tone in her voice I couldn't quite place. A resonant weight that altered the gravity of her words. Something starkly at odds with her effervescent personality.

I gave her my number and suggested a few days the following week when I'd be available. We apologized profusely for the cart collision and with too many smiles and waves, said our goodbyes and wheeled away.

I stopped at the end of the aisle to gather my oregano and thyme and stole a glance over my shoulder. Her jacket cut just above her ass, revealing two firm, perky hemispheres switching side to side as she strolled away. I smiled to myself, kicked away a dirty thought and returned to sourcing my ingredients.

....

It took longer than I expected to ring everything up and get out the door. It was warmer now, but the sky was dark; storm clouds rolling in from the west. I frowned to myself. It wasn't supposed to rain today. Arriving at the car I popped the trunk, brushed aside the small box of clothes I'd been meaning to donate forever, and set my groceries in the cargo net. Setting off to return the cart a frustrated sigh broadsided me from the far side of the adjacent SUV.

I ignored it at first, nesting the cart in the corral and heading back. But as I approached this time a growl greeted my return, followed by the thud of a flat palm on a sheet metal surface. Now curious, I detoured slightly, peeking around the taillights of the late model Mercedes. There I found myself surprised for the second time that morning.

"Hey," I said softly, "are you okay?"

Olivia turned toward me, her face sour, thumbs banging away at her phone. Her mouth opened like she was about to speak. But when she recognized me she covered the scowl with a half-smile before lowering her head, chagrined.

"Yeah," she replied, unconvincingly. "My um...my car won't start."

I took a quick look at the vehicle and frowned. "Really? I mean...it looks new."

"It is," she sighed. "I know what the problem is, it's...the ignition switch. There's a recall out on it. I planned to take it in later this week but...I guess I should have done it today instead."

She glanced down at her phone as it chimed and moments later, obviously frustrated, shoved it into her pocket.

"I texted Mason but he's in meetings all morning and can't come and get me." She slumped against the door and folded her arms. "I guess I'll have to get it towed." Her head drooped again. "All I wanted to do was to get the friggin' grocery shopping done and now I'll be friggin' stuck here waiting for the friggin' tow truck."

Her pseudo-cursing was adorable. She'd been so proper and professional in her seminars I assumed she'd be the same off the clock - or even the polar opposite, swearing like a drunken sailor. This limbo state was amusing.

I looked at her cart still filled with grocery bags. In the distance the sky groaned and rumbled through the dense gray clouds. The air was thick with the coming storm. I couldn't just leave her to wait in the rain.

"I can um...." I stuttered slightly, confused as to why. "I can...drive you home, if you want."

She smiled - fully this time, turning to me before looking away. "It's okay," she said, "I'll handle it. I'm sure you have more important things to do than chauffeur me around."

"Actually," I replied, I don't."

She laughed. Muffled thunder covered her tailing off.

"Seriously," I continued, "It's no trouble. It's the least I can do."

Her lips pursed, eyes closed. Head nodded just a little. "Thank you...," she said, "...so much."

There it was again. That tone I couldn't quite place. An honesty unintended for acquaintance. A rain drop pinged the back of my neck, derailing my train of thought. "Let's go," I said, nodding toward my car, "before we get wet."

She flashed a smile to herself, but said nothing.

....

By the time we pulled into the driveway it was pouring. Sheets of rain lashed the windshield, drowning out the stereo inside the car. We sat quietly, the coupe still running, staring awkwardly at the sidewalk from the garage to the back of the house.

'Mayoral Mansion' was a bit of an exaggeration. It was a large mid-century modern on the edge of the historical district of our mid-sized midwestern city, with a driveway and detached garage accessed off the alley behind. It had been endowed to the city by its longest serving mayor on the condition that it be routinely maintained and available for use by the current mayor as his or her residence during their term. At this point it was tradition - our own little version of the White House, or Downing Street. And now that I was here I kinda wanted to see it.

"We might have to make a run for it," I said, trying not to shout over the noise. She checked the radar map and nodded, tucking her phone away and flipping her hood up over her head.

"Let's do it," she said, her words tinged with mischief. I hit the trunk release on the key fob and zipped up my jacket. Coiled and ready, I shut off the engine, counted us down from three and flung open the door.

We were drenched before we left our seats.

We scrambled to the back, each retrieving two bags, and made a beeline up the walk to the back door. She fumbled with her keys in the lock, dropping them once before finally getting the deadbolt retracted and the door opened. Together we spilled inside, slipping and laughing and soaked through our clothes.

"We should

not

have made a run for it," Olivia giggled, peeling her hair away from her lenses.

I set my bags on the counter just as they disintegrated. A jar of spaghetti sauce broke free and rolled to the edge of the sink. I snagged it and set it back with the others, then flicked water off my forehead. "I feel like someone pushed me into a swimming pool."

She turned to me, then took a good long look at the storm through the trapezoidal windows. "Maybe you should stay for a bit. See if this blows over."

Weighted and chilled, I looked at the groceries now strewn about the white marbled quartz. Lightning split the darkness in my periphery. Anything was better than returning to that. Smiling, I peeled off my jacket and laid it carefully over the back of the nearest chair. "Tell me where everything goes."

I set about placing packages in the pantry as directed, while she toweled up our tracks to the door. Returning to the counter for more items I peeked around the corner to the for a view of the living and dining space. The house was vast. Tall windows at the opposite end of the room bathing the hardwood floor in gloomy gray light. The furniture looked comfortable, and the rooms were tidy. But it felt somehow...barren.

"You know," she said softly, meeting me at the freezer with bags of frozen vegetables, "this is the most excitement I've had here in a while."

I laughed - louder than I'd intended. "Oh I doubt that. You have school-aged kids, nothing's wilder than that."

She smiled and shrugged. "Fair. But most of the time, it's just me." She paused for a moment, staring at the floor. "Gets awfully quiet."

She shut the drawer and crossed behind me toward the counter. I felt her hand catch the top of my hip, give a gentle squeeze, then trail lightly across back. My eyes darted left as my head remained still, but she never appeared in my periphery. I placed the box of ice cream sandwiches next to the ice trays and shut the door. Turning around I found her shelving boxes of spaghetti, like nothing happened.

Maybe that was true. Maybe the wet jacket snagged when I reached for the freezer. Or, maybe I just felt what I wanted to feel. Not like the thought hadn't crossed my mind all three days of the workshop. Her bright hazel eyes, confident smile, the ease with which she flowed from consummate professional to casual conversationalist to smiling social butterfly and back again. And that figure. It was a minor miracle I retained any information at all. I returned to the frozen food.

"Sometimes," she continued, "you just want to talk to an adult, you know? And not online. A real live person. With texture. And heat."

"I suppose that is nice," I chuckled. "Once in a while."

Her voice drifted closer. "Sometimes you just want to...."

This time there was no mistaking it. She slipped her hands around my waist, cinching the layers of cold, heavy fabric against my skin. My arms raised instinctively and I whirled around, bumping the drawer shut as I flattened against the fridge.

"Whooooa!"

She snapped her hands away, her coy smile flipping to startled concern. "Shoot, I'm sorry, I didn't even think to ask. Is there a...do you have a...."

"What? No!" I replied, the shock of the moment plastered across my face. "No, I don't...have...but you...you do?"

Her expression eased, confusing me further. She replaced her hands and tugged just a little. "Why don't you let me worry about that."

I continued my protest. Part of me below my waist rose to question why.

"Wait wait wait. I don't want to get between you and your family. You're happily married, with adorable children and a lovely home. And I don't want to ruin any of that."

She bowed her head. "I'm married," she countered, her voice low and flat. "The kids are in school and the house is empty. Not a whole lot here to ruin." She lifted her chin to look me in the eye.

"Do you know the last time we had sex?"

My forehead wrinkled on its own, bewildered as to how or why I would know the answer to that question. She smiled.

"Yeah, neither do I. At least eight months. Maybe twelve - I don't know. I stopped counting, it was pissing me off."

I shook my head sharply, disbelieving my ears. Who could abstain from this woman for eight days, let alone

eight months

?

"I don't...understand," I stammered. "I mean, any time I see you together you seem -"

"- Politics," she interrupted, laden with frustration. "Smoke and mirrors."

She sighed staring at the floor. "Look, I love my husband," she continued softly. "He's a kind man, a good father, and a great mayor. He loves his job and I want him to succeed. So I do what I need to do to support him. If that means smiling and swooning sometimes when I don't feel it, then I'll do it. But it also means that now and then, I need to do something for myself." She leaned in, pressing her cold clothes and warm body into mine. "Today, this is that thing."

She closed her hands around my waist and stretched up on her toes to touch her soft red lips to my cheek. Drenched as we were her perfume lingered in her hair; light and floral and reeling me in 'till my lips touched her skin and felt the strong, steady beat of her heart pulsing through her neck.

She sighed against my chest. Her arms slipped round behind my back and pulled me in tight, stepping us back against the edge of the counter and pressing the thickening bulge in my joggers against her abdomen.

Her chest heaved, smushing her breasts between us. She kissed me hard on the mouth, breathing hard and deep. It felt like the first kiss of teenagers in lust, eager to discover for themselves what everyone older refused to tell them. Still, I dithered. Kissing married women was not a habit I cultivated.

My eyes drifted toward the windows, looking to see if someone was watching. Of course no one was out in this deluge. And even if they were all they would see would be shadows and blurs. Smooth, cold fingers slid across my cheek, recapturing my focus. Subtly she shifted her feet to shimmy her pelvis across my groin. A twinge shot up my spine. She pulled away, the corners of her mouth creased upward. Tilting her head she whispered to my ear. "I want this."

One time did not make a habit. Right?

Gripping her around the waist I hoisted her up and set her on the counter, leveling us eye to eye. Her knees parted and she reeled me in. Lips pressed together. Tongues tangled. Fingers clawed at backs and shoulders, wringing water from our clothes. She grabbed like she wanted to pull me through her - to make one desperate lover out of two.

The zipper of her jacket jabbed me in the chest. I wormed a hand between us and yanked it down to her waist. With a shake the shiny spandex blend sluffed from her shoulders and bunched around her elbows. She squirmed to free her arms. I worked down the nape of her neck and across the flare of her collar. Her chest heaved just below, and her thighs squeezed my waist like a vice.

The jacket flashed across my periphery, pooling on the floor. I paused and pulled back. Her hands crossed in front, scrunched the hem of her tank top, and in one fluid motion, hauled it off over her head. Two beautiful, natural B-cup breasts settled over her ribs. Immediately my attention shifted, dimpling the firm yet spongy tissue with my fingers and swabbing the pert, dark nipples under my thumbs.

She drew in a breath through clenched teeth, arching toward me while bracing against the counter. I cupped each teardrop orb in a palm, feeling the weight and the buoyancy together. I squeezed and she sighed. I tweaked and she gasped. I leaned down and nibbled one gently. She growled in my ear and hooked her heels round my legs.

I drifted purposely across her chest, circling each areola with the tip of my tongue before kissing and suckling them into my mouth. An arm draped round my neck, nimble fingers raking and clutching at my hair. There was a stutter to her breath. A hitch in her composure. She was trying to slow down, to savor each sensation. But her body was restless and rearing to go.

"God that feels so good," she whispered to the ceiling. "It's been so fucking long."

There it was. The drunken sailor I suspected lived in there all along. I shushed her with a thumb to her lips. Our eyes met and I smiled. She stared like a hunter tracking prey. Gently I pushed up on her chin, reclining her onto the cold quartz slab as I traced my way down her swelling chest and trembling stomach toward the prize concealed between her thighs.

She barely seemed to notice the chill on her back. Her abdomen undulated under my touch. I lingered around her navel, drifting out to each side before returning to center just above her waist. Her hands settled near the top of my head, nudging me gently downward. I glanced up to catch her eyes burning with anticipation through the lenses of her glasses. I flashed an impish grin. Hooked my fingers over her waistband.

I pulled. She shimmied her hips and the stretchy blue fabric rolled and bunched around her knees. The gentle curves at the top of her tightly toned thighs pointed me down to their convergence at a smoothly waxed mound with just a glimpse of soft pink lips tucked in between. Pressing my lips against it I sighed to myself. Who could wake up next to this every morning and not find himself in this same position?

Before she could wiggle free I hoisted her legs up and pushed her knees to her breasts. My tongue dove through her slit, piercing the veil with a single lap from the base to her clit. She gasped above me, muscles freezing like she'd fallen into freezing water. But I continued gently probing and moments later her limbs turned to jelly and the moans of a woman too long denied spilled from her throat through the cavernous empty house.