The next morning



“Golf at Callaway Gardens is nothing less than awe-inspiring,” Jason read from the guest activity program clandestinely slipped beneath his room door. “The superbly designed and meticulously maintained Georgia golf courses at Callaway Gardens feature woodland borders and mountain lakes accented by the dramatic beauty of the Gardens. No other golf course in Georgia can deliver this combination of a magnificent natural setting and a rich golf tradition. Founder Cason Callaway believed that “playing golf should be a pleasant experience in beautiful surroundings” - his vision has been surpassed by the Callaway golf experience.” He gave the other activities passing attention. “Well I know what I’ll be doing today.” He dropped the program on the dresser and went to shower.


Standing in the mirror brushing his teeth, Jason’s thoughts drifted back to where they’d been most of the night: Angela. He hoped his behavior hadn’t offended her. Maybe it was for the best they’d parted way when they had, he mused, massaging the sudden pain to his right temple.




A couple of hours later Angela lay staring up at her ceiling listening the other guest clinking flatware against their breakfast plates below. “Eight o’clock in the morning. This isn’t happening.” She closed her eyes and whined. Her writer’s schedule never saw her awake before ten o’clock but as a guest she felt obliged to get an early start, mingle. And for a fleeting instant she wished she could revisit the seconds before she walked away from Jason. Not even she was skilled enough to deny there had been a connection between them. Whirling from the bed she brushed those thoughts aside and concentrated on the day ahead.


Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the guest activity program lying on the floor, she retrieved it and read it on the way to the bathroom. “Whether you yearn for a quiet time to take leisurely strolls and spend time just observing your surroundings, or you prefer a full day packed with adventure and discovery, you'll find the Gardens to your liking,” she read, admiring Cynthia’s choice of location more and more. “The natural woodlands and shimmering lakes accented by wildlife and plants too numerous to name set the tone for a quiet experience to relax and inspire you, and at the same time, provide a stunning background for a day of adventure.”


“Callaway Gardens it is!” she trotted off in an unusually good humor for this time of morning.




                                       ******




A cheerful ‘good morning’ from Ann, the innkeeper’s wife and the rich aroma of brewing coffee met Angela when she stepped into the kitchen. The other guests were seated in the formal dining room, the front porch, and side porch devouring their breakfast. Angela was offered the choice of a sit down for formal service in the dining room or self-service at the buffet in the kitchen. With no sight of the happy couple or Jason, she wisely chose her meal from the buffet and headed for the secluded screened in porch where she could enjoy writing and gardenias in relative peace.


“Good morning!” she called briskly from the doorway. “I didn’t know you were out here.”


“Good morning,” Jason replied from his relaxed position on the cushioned wicker settee. “I’m so glad it’s you. I’m officially hiding from the aunts. If they find me again, I’m done.” He flicked his paper and went back to reading. “They’ve been force feeding me all morning. I don’t think I can eat another bite.”


“They mean well,” Angela laughed and sat in the chair opposite from him with a cup of coffee and a plate of assorted fruit. “And here I was going to offer you some of my breakfast.”


Jason raked a narrow-eyed look around his paper sending Angela into open laughter. “Looks good. Is that all you’re eating?” he retreated behind his paper.


“I never eat breakfast.”


“Why?”


“I’m not a morning person,” she curled her legs under her. “I’m rarely awake before ten o’clock. That’s a perk of being a writer---you set your own hours.”


“That’s reason enough. I was hoping you weren’t watching your weight.”


Angela’s mind went into hyper mode trying to grasp the meaning of his last statement. Jason felt her waiting for him to expound. He folded his paper and set it on the coffee table. “You don’t need to watch your weight.” His gaze caressed her, and suddenly he grinned. “You’re perfect just the way you are, if not a little too skinny. I like a woman with meat on her bones.”


“Do you think that goes for all men?”


He gave a short snort. “The smart ones, yes. A woman with more substance to her looks as if she’s enjoying life; not worried about what others think of her. Confidence is what makes a woman sexy, not the amount of hours she puts in at the gym.”


Angela took up her journal and pen. “Say that again.”


“What?”


“Repeat what you just said slowly. I need to remember those words for an upcoming story I’m writing.”


“Is this how you come up with your characters? Listening to men babble on aimlessly?” He went for her journal but she moved it out of his reach. “Let me see what you’re working on.”


“No!” she protested. “No one sees my work before it’s finished.”


“Well, at least read me a snippet.” He kicked his feet up on the table with the air of a man without a care in the world.


Her playful frown gave way to an arrogant sneer. There was nothing more she disliked talking about than her work. “Fine,” she conceded and began reading from her upcoming release.


Jason sat quietly watching every word fall from the softness of her lips. He longed to coil his fingers in the raven waves that fell about her smooth bare shoulders and draw her lips to his. He had to force himself to concentrate on what she was saying because he was thoroughly entranced by the provocative shape of her mouth.


“So, what did you think?” Angela asked.


Still he only stared at her, mutely, unable to think, to feel, to talk. Her words spun around him and he struggled to focus.


“Earth to Jason. Come in Jason.”


“Lovely.” He finally murmured. His singular word held more than one connotation.


She sensed his meaning and quietly closed her journal as she held his steady gaze. She was sure of his sincerity.


“I don’t mean to interrupt, however Rich and Cynthia are going to be in Atlanta most of the day; something about the wedding dress…I don’t know---I couldn’t make heads or tails of it. They’ve sent word for the guests to continue on without them.” Ann instructed from the entryway. “You have the activity programs I slipped under your doors?”


“Yes,” Both Angela and Jason answered.


“Good! I’m sure they wouldn’t want y’all sitting around here all day looking at me.” She gave big laugh. “I’ll be inside if you have any questions or need directions.”


“No, we’ll be fine. Thank you.” Jason stood collecting his paper. He turned to Angela. “Shall we go?”


“Where do you have in mind?” she gathered her belongings.


“No, honey, leave your plate and cup.” Ann sprung into action. “I’ll take care of it. You two enjoy your day.”


Angela offered her thanks.


Jason placed his hand on the small of Angela’s back and led her off the porch out on the herringbone designed brick pathway leading to his car. “I was going to Callaway Gardens for a round of golf.”


Angela’s face lit up. “I was thinking of going there myself.” She said suddenly aware that his hand was still lingering on her back, warm atop her crepe top. “Wait, um...”


“What?”


“I…I forgot my purse. I’ll just be a minute.” Angela darted off in to the inn, dumped the contents of her purse into a day bag along with her journal and pen, a quick glance on the mirror to pull herself together and she raced back downstairs.


Jason stood crossed legged at the end of the car, smartly dressed in khakis and a light polo…typical golf gear. He opened the door for Angela and again his hand went to the small of her back.




Once at the garden, Jason encouraged Angela to have a swing at a couple of holes. He was a patient teacher but soon realized his pupil was fundamentally hopeless when she flung his nine-iron across the sand dunes and marched off. Frustrated with her failure, Angela sought the comfort of the wide walking paths and arched bridges of the Azalea Bowl. There amongst the colorful palette of pinks, reds and whites she took up her pen and went to work.


They broke for lunch at the Mountain View clubhouse just off of the driving range. Angela found herself wholeheartedly listening to his incessant talk of golf and, but in the end, vaguely understood the nuances between that thing she flung and a pitching wedge. He spoke of his pub, his village, and his travels and obliged her by listening to her talk of her writing, day-to-day life and global explorations.


Neither could scarcely remember a time when they’d felt as comfortable with a person of the opposite sex. For Angela there was no need to ‘dumb it down’ with Jason as she would have expected when dealing with someone younger than her. She could be exactly who she was, ten dollars words and all.


With Angela, Jason found a lady with interest that ranged outside of the physical. Her thoughts and feelings ran deep; her personality was rich and vibrant with the colors she lent her writing. It took more than sexual bait to tempt a man like Jason, and she’d found it. He longed to touch her, to hold her.




It was well into the evening when they returned to the inn. The other guests were enjoying the evening’s entertainment inside the various tents and several sat lazily swinging under the dimly lit gazebos. Angela and Jason parted ways and went to freshen up before heading downstairs to meet Cynthia and Rich.


Angela arrived dressed in a stylish cranberry silk v-neck dress to find Cynthia surrounded by her in-laws and thought it best to steer clear of that train wreck. She stood bobbing her head to the band’s musical selection while scoping the room for Jason. “Surely,” she thought, “if I find the aunts he will be nearby.” In short order she spotted the aunts chatting up another young gentleman, but no Jason. The band changed genres twice before she felt a warm hand on the small of her back just as the female singer began a slow rendition of Frank Sinatra’s “The Way You Look Tonight”.


As she turned, Jason stood smiling down at her. She felt her heart skip a beat when she saw him standing clothed in a navy jacket over a white shirt, looking even better than she remembered.


“Angela….” Her name on his lips was low and husky, and he knew she sensed at once his change in sentiment. She knew he wanted her. “Would you like to dance?” He offered his arm.


She took his arm and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. He held her gently against him, stroking a sensual path along her back. She felt so small and feminine against his sculpted body; he wanted to savor this moment, them dancing, them touching, them exchanging hushed acknowledgement of their mutual attraction.


They swayed to the harmonious melody, one of her favorites that never failed to bring a tear to her eye. But not tonight. Looking up into Jason’s blue eyes tearing was the last thing on her mind. Her arms encircled his neck while his hands caressed her tenderly, gently falling to the curve of her hips. His heat seared through to her smooth skin under the flimsy material. Jason’s impassioned gaze devoured her, sweeping slowly downward from her lovely upturned face, down the curve of her slender throat, to the chocolate silkiness of her bare shoulders. He buried his lips in her hair, kissing the sensitive place beneath her earlobe until she melted into him.


A shallow hush of air passed between Angela’s lips.


“……the way you look…tonight…” the vocalist sang the last line of the song and the melody whined to a silken end.


They stood breathless, both seeking to prolong the delicious feeling, yet neither knowing the next step.


“Excuse me, honey,” Rich’s aunt interrupted kindly smiling. “…but I’m stealing him away from you.”


Angela stepped aside, beaming. “He’s all yours. Be gentle with him.”


“Come on auntie,” Jason teased. “Let’s see what you’re made of.” And they danced as he watched Angela gracefully retreat outside.