56 - Sage Wisdom

It had been a late night, but even so, Jon had been awake for some time when he felt Sheridan stirring next to him. 

“You’re awake,” she mumbled sleepily, squinting in the light of the Christmas tree that had burned all night.  The strands of little bulbs had offered enough light for him to spend the last half-our or so lost in the tropical storm painting she had chosen as his gift.   “What time is it?”

Running an open palm from the top of her head to the center of her back as she snuggled into his chest, he pressed a kiss at the crown of bed-tousled locks.  “A little before six, I guess.”

“Too early for Christmas morning.”  She burrowed her face into him with a delicate groan, now draped across his torso like a sunning cat.  “Why are you up?”

“I gotta go pretty soon.”  As much as he wanted to be with his kids, leaving her this morning was gonna bite a big one.  After several days apart, he just wasn't ready to let her go yet.  Sure, he would see her later today, but that whole meeting the parents thing…  Wayyy too many years had passed since he’d done that scene, and Jon couldn’t say he was eager to do it now.  Sure, it would likely turn out fine, but nothing changed the fact that it was awkward as hell to look a man in the eye when you were fucking his daughter.

“So soon?”

“Yeah.  I promised Romeo I’d be there by eight and it’s about an hour’s drive.”  He jerked his chin lightly toward the painting propped on top of the dresser.  “And I’ve been looking at that for a while.”

Head came up and she gingerly planted her chin in the center of his chest.  “Yeah?  You don’t like it?”

“Just the opposite.  It stirs good memories.”

Her smile was lazy, but no less vibrant for its wistfulness.  “For me, too.”

“I’m glad.”  Using his fingertips, Jon pushed the hair away from her face and traced along her forehead, down to the tip of her nose.  “Kitten, I want you to do something for me.”

“Just because I’m half-asleep is no reason to take advantage of me.”  A perfectly shaped eyebrow arched suspiciously.  She had no idea that her fresh-faced, sleepy look was about the least intimidating thing he’d ever seen in his life.

He snickered softly.  “I’ll take advantage of you when you’re awake, asleep or anywhere in between.  Because you like it.”

Her face crumpled into a disgruntled frown, and she huffed.  The warm puff of air tickled as it blew through his chest hair.  “Don’t go confusing the matter with facts, Bongiovi.  What is it you want?”

“Next time I’ve got my kids, and you feel those creative… juices flowing…  Why don’t you send me another one of those emails?”

“Huh?”  The chin that had been propped in his sternum lifted and turned to a more quizzical angle. 

He nudged the corner of his mouth into a half-smile, but Jon was solemn when saying, “That night on the balcony would make a great bedtime story.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I am.  I bet you could write the hell out of that."

“Wow.  I think I’m flattered.”

And Sheridan was still feeling that way many hours later when the twin hellions she called nephews were tearing through her parents’ Stamford, Connecticut home like wild men.  Well, she felt that way when she had a moment to think about it, in between dodging seven-year-old tornadoes and fielding questions from Mandi and Riley about when Jon would be there and if he was bringing his kids. 

Leaving her father, siblings, their spouses and children in the living room of the lodge-style house, she slipped away, seeking the refuge of the kitchen.  There, she took in the array of food that was either prepared or nearly so:  turkey, ham, dressing, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, corn, broccoli casserole, homemade rolls and a bakery-worthy assortment of pies.  Those smells prompted an overwhelming nostalgia of Christmases past and made Sheridan feel like a young girl again.

“Mom, can I help with anything?”

Pam Norris looked up from the napkins she was folding, her hair still more copper than silver even at sixty-seven.  With a smile, she declined.  “No, honey, I think I’ve got everything under control.  Why don’t you have a cup of a coffee?  I just made a fresh pot.”

She had smelled that around the same time her mother offered.  It was the one scent that didn’t quite live up to its part of the olfactory orgasm that encompassed the rustic kitchen.  One good whiff of coffee could usually send Sheridan into an aroma-induced bliss, but it wasn’t doing the trick today. 

“Maybe later.”  Leaning over the pan of dressing, she inhaled.  The sage flooded her nostrils chased away the oddly-offensive chicory.    “Mmm.  That smells so good.  I love your dressing.”

“I know you do.  That’s why I’m making extra for you to take home.”  A wise emerald eye winked knowingly.  Her mother had always had that maternal insight as to what pleased her children.  Based on past performance, there was likely an extra pecan pie tucked back for Riley, extra ham put away for Cole, and the molasses and sugar cookies that were always stashed for the grandchildren.  Even the teenagers still asked Gramma’s ‘special’ cookies.

“When is this young man of yours going to get here?  Dinner will be ready shortly.”

Checking the clock, Sheridan did the mental calculation.  It was almost five, and Jon had texted her when he was leaving his mom and dad’s house at three-thirty.  She’d insisted that a ninety-minute drive was too far for him to come, but his logic had reasoned it was only forty-five minutes past Manhattan and he had to go that far anyway.  Of course, he’d tacked on a teasing reminder about promising Riley he would be here.

“He should be here any time now.”

Her mother nodded and went back to her napkins, nonchalantly asking, “So tell me again where you met this man?”

With a sigh, she twirled the Possession bracelet around her wrist and repeated the same thing she’d told her twice already today.  “We met when I went to Jamaica in August and a mutual friend recently re-introduced us.”

“Mhm.”

Sheridan bristled at the disbelief in her mother’s voice.  “You act like you don’t believe me.”

“Of course I believe you, dear.”  She pulled an oven mitt from the hook beside the oven before reaching inside to remove her traditional homemade rolls.  “Bring the bread basket, please.”

Obediently grabbing the evergreen lined wicker, Sheridan put it on the counter and began transferring the heated bread from the baking sheet that Pam had extracted.  “Then what is it?”

“Well, it’s none of my business…”

No, it probably wasn’t, Sheridan thought as the older woman busied herself around the kitchen to avoid looking at her daughter.  Not knowing what was going through her mom’s worrisome mind would drive her crazy, though. 

“Just tell me.”

“Honestly?  I’m a little worried about you.”

“Why is that?”

With a tiny frown, her mother turned from the refrigerator and meticulously placed the retrieved milk and butter on the other end of the counter, where the mixer was standing at the ready to whip the potatoes.

“It’s only been a short time, yet I can already see that you have feelings for this man that you never had for Ian.  With his career and the women attached to it, I’m concerned that you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak.”

Truthfully, other women had never crossed Sheridan’s mind.  Perhaps that was naïve of her, but Jon Bon Jovi could have his choice of women and he’d had the freedom to choose them for months now.  He didn’t have to persistently pursue her, but he had.  No, they didn’t have a formal commitment, but she was inclined to believe he wasn’t fickle.

The sleeves of her white blouse were folded back to leave her wrists exposed, and the bracelet’s diamonds winked in the light as the doorbell chimes sing-songed through the house.

Possession.

“Mom, I appreciate the concern, but you’re worrying over nothing.  I’m not a brainwashed groupie, nor am I threatened by the women who are.”

That garnered her mother’s annoyance, evidenced by the sharp look of reproach and a slightly condescending, “Yes, but while you’re not being threatened, please don’t dismiss the fact that they exist.”

This… warming was coming from the same woman who had been onto Sheridan for ages, telling her to get out and find a nice man.  The same woman who had told her the massage therapy classes and aromatherapy dabblings were admirable personal growth, but they weren’t going to keep her bed warm at night. 

Well, she’d found a nice man.  One who warmed her bed with sheet-singeing heat. 

She plopped the basket on the holiday table bedecked in all of its holiday glory.  The deep burgundy tablecloth was echoed in the pattern dancing around the edges of the ivory dinner plates that reflected the light of the rustic ‘chandelier’.  Furthering the Christmas cheer was an evergreen centerpiece with the same burgundy dotted throughout it in the form of winter berries. 

“What’s with the negativity?” Sheridan demanded curiously, leaning on one of the ladder-back chairs.  “I thought you’d be happy that I’m not squandering my time on meaningless hobbies.”

The eyes inherited by all of the Norris children grew wide with surprise.  “I am happy, and I never said anything you do is meaningless.  I only said those things were no substitute for someone who can walk by your side and share your joys, fears and sorrows.”

“And without meeting him, you don’t think Jon is that person?”

 “A-HEM.”  The loud, male throat-clearing came from the kitchen doorway and both mother and daughter twisted their heads  to find that the origin was Cole.   Standing just over six feet tall, with a shock of graying auburn hair, Sheridan’s handsome brother looked a bit uncomfortable.  “Sheri, your guest is here.”

At his side was Jon, sinfully sexy in a black sweater and jeans, holding a bottle of wine and looking  endearingly embarrassed over his ill-timed arrival.