“Thank you.” He studied her for a moment and added, “We’re not on campus anymore, Jenny.”

She set her malt down. “No, we’re not. Does that mean you’d like to kiss me, Benjamin?” She might as well say what had been on her mind all morning.

He smiled. “I would, if you have no objection.”

“None at all, dear.”

Leaning down he kissed her lightly, then straightened. “I think I love the taste of chocolate on your lips.”

She thought of adding that she could rub the malt all over her, but she guessed that would panic him. She settled for, “Would you like to touch my breasts?”

Benjamin frowned.

She was disappointed that the question hadn’t worked a second time.

He straightened, as if about to lecture her, but instead his words were low, almost a whisper. “I want a great deal more than that.”

“Me too.” She grinned.

Before she could close the space between them, he took her hand and led her into his bedroom. For a man of few words, Benjamin was making it clear what he wanted. She might have liked a few endearments, but it had been so long since she’d slept with a man, communicating with touch might work out just fine.

She pulled down the covers while he locked the door and closed the blinds. Then she stood perfectly still as he unbuttoned her blouse. As flesh began to show, he slowly moved his hand over her. Piece by piece he removed her clothes and folded them over a chair.

They were not college kids; they were old enough to know just what they wanted. They made love, and then he held her close to him as she drifted to sleep. Just as she knew he would, as she relaxed, his hands made long strokes along her side, slowing at every curve. When his fingers crossed over her breasts, which she’d always thought were too big, she heard him whisper, “I love touching you, dear.”

An hour of afternoon passed in peace, then the low buzz of his cell woke them both. Ben slipped from the bed and dug in his trousers for his phone. He was walking out of the room when she heard him say, “What’s up, Dad?”

Jenny scrambled off the bed and started dressing as she heard Ben repeating over and over, “Calm down, Dad. Calm down.”

She was in the bathroom brushing her hair when she heard Ben getting dressed. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

Ben didn’t look up as he tied his shoes. “You might say that. My dad sounds like he’s having a heart attack.”

“Oh no. Do you want me to go with you or call an ambulance?”

“No,” he snapped. “Not that kind of heart attack. He’s not dying. At least, I don’t think he is.”

She moved closer, trying to understand or offer comfort to a man who suddenly looked angry.