Slow Dance in Purgatory(34)

“Hot means….um, very appealing,” Maggie said judiciously.

Johnny got a strange expression on his face and didn’t respond – continuing to work with a deep furrow between his blue eyes. He worked faster and faster, his hands flying from one thing to the next. Maggie searched her brain for a new topic of conversation when he abruptly spoke up again.

“So, this Edward cat. If he’s so appealing why haven’t you mentioned him before? Is he from your old school?”

Maggie shrieked with laughter and, crawling under the big car, stared down into Johnny’s scowling face.

“Edward is a character from a very popular book series, silly. He’s a mythical creature – a vampire!”

“You mean like Dracula?” Johnny looked completely dumbfounded, and his hands stilled. “And you think he’s…hot?”

“Yes, along with 90% of all females from ages 13 to 90. Read the book, smarty pants. I can pretty much guarantee it’s in the library upstairs. I think you’ve spent too much time floating lately.”

“Huh,” Johnny grunted. “The world has changed more than I thought in the last fifty years.”

“You sound like a grumpy old man,” Maggie teased, still perched over him, laughter still curling the corners of her pink mouth. Her hair swung down around him in a fragrant curtain, cocooning them in a private world. He stared up at her for a moment, struck by the sheer miracle of her. Here she was beside him, laughing at him, looking at him. He’d been alone so long. He was also more than a little jealous of this Edward guy. Impetuously, he reached through the silky length of her hair and grabbed the back of her head and drew her to him, capturing her mouth with his.

Maggie had never been kissed like that.

When her lips touched his, it was like kissing an open flame – without the pain. His lips were smooth and insistent, and a bolt of electricity shot from her lips to the soles of her feet and hummed just below the surface of her skin like a live current. Light shimmered and spread around them, until Maggie felt like she was floating in a golden haze where nothing existed but Johnny, his lips, his scent, his hair beneath her seeking fingertips. It was like her dream…

She broke away from Johnny with a gasp, her blue eyes wide, searching his from only inches away. His expression was as stunned as hers. The dream had ended with her falling through darkness and losing herself in the process. The memory was like an infusion of ice water in her veins, and in a clumsy retreat, Maggie scooted out from under the old car to reclaim the safety of her previous spot.

Her pulse took longer to recover as she watched Johnny, all corded muscles and golden skin, resume his work without acknowledging what had just transpired between them. When he rolled out from under the car to retrieve a new tool, Maggie reached up to touch her still tingling lips, jerking when an arc of static zinged from her mouth to her finger tips.

The rest of the afternoon passed in relative normalcy, with Maggie and Johnny trading questions and answers, tidbits and tit for tat. The conversation was all lightness and ease, but an undercurrent of tension buzzed between them, and both avoided close proximity for a couple of hours.

They covered everything from favorite colors to favorite films, to least favorite foods and most embarrassing moments. Johnny seemed fascinated by the smallest details, and Maggie wondered if it was truly her he was fascinated by, or simply the intimacy of human contact so long denied him. Regardless, she relished his rapt attention and returned it tenfold. The late afternoon sun was beginning to descend when Johnny pronounced Belle, ‘good as new.” He asked Maggie to start her up, and when she offered to let him do the honors, he shook his head.

“I’m afraid I’ll throw a spark.”

Maggie didn’t question him. She knew he threw sparks. She climbed in and turned the key, pumping the pedal as she did. Belle roared to life and sat purring like a well-loved housecat. Maggie threw Johnny a delighted grin and, jumping out of the car, did a little happy dance around the shop room. Johnny tried not to notice how good she looked doing it. Girls in his day wore skirts most of the time. He hadn’t known what he was missing. He suspected, though, that most girls, both then and now, didn’t look like Maggie in a pair of blue jeans. He wisely turned away and began returning the borrowed tools to their proper shelves and trays.

“So….you used to go to drive-in movies, right?” Maggie said from behind him, easing up next to him, but still keeping a wide berth.

“Yeah. We called ‘em passion pits.” Johnny groaned inwardly at the awkward silence that ensued.

Maggie attempted a laugh and cleared her throat instead. “Well, I’ve never been to one. So I was thinking…maybe we could make our own. I’ll be able to drive the car back tonight, right? So I don’t have to leave any time soon. The library has a big projector, we can use the back wall as our screen, and I have the perfect movie. We can watch it sitting in the Caddy. It’ll be fun. Whaddayasay?”

Johnny couldn’t think of a sweeter agony than sitting next to Maggie for a couple of hours in the front seat of Irene Honeycutt’s car. He knew he was a fool. And worse, he knew none of this was good for Maggie. But so much had been taken from him, and he’d been stranded in Purgatory for so long. He couldn’t deny himself tonight. He wanted it too badly: the conversation, the laughter, the girl. Whatever she gave him -- time, attention, affection -- he would take it. He would worry about the consequences later. Later was something he had plenty of.