Fic: love like summer
Title: love like summer
Author: Mary (stillxmyxheart)
Beta: nylana
Rating: PG-13
Genre: AU, Fluff, Romance, Angst
Word Count: 3,562
Characters: Rose/Ten (cameos by Pete, Jack, and Mickey)
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize? Ain't mine.
Summary: A broken-down truck leads to far more than anyone ever expected.
A/N: For Challenge 21 at then_theres_us, and many many thanks to nylana for all of her help with this <3
The sun is burning low in the sky, turning the world a dusky orange, and Rose is seated on the porch, a book in her hands and a glass of tea on the table beside her.
The silence of the approaching evening is shattered by the explosive sound of a truck backfiring and she jumps, looking up sharply. On the road which runs in front of the house she sees the silhouette of a truck, followed closely by the silhouette of a man chasing after it and waving his arms in the air. The truck hits the ditch with a dull crash and the man trips over something in the road, which hasn't been grated in months and is littered with stones and pocked with ruts.
She sets her book down and stands, hurrying up the drive towards the road.
The man is sitting up as she approaches, slapping the road dust off his pinstriped trousers and swearing as he stares at the truck, now parked at a drunken angle in the ditch with smoke seeping from under the hood, and covered with so much dust that she can't tell what color it is, though she thinks it may be blue.
"Are you all right?" she asks.
"Oh, fine," he replies, pushing himself to his feet and striding over to the truck. He inspects it superficially, running a hand through his brown hair and making it stand up in crazy spikes, and then delivers a kick to the running board, letting loose another string of expletives under his breath.
"Did that help?" Rose asks, watching him anxiously.
"No," he grumbles, before leaning against the truck and raising his foot into his hands. "But it hurt."
"You... you're bleeding," Rose says, approaching him tentatively.
He raises a hand to his head and glances at his fingers. "So I am."
He finally looks up at her and seems to freeze for a moment, staring at her face. She blushes under his attentive gaze and drops her eyes to her hands.
"John Smith," the man says, extending his hand to her. She looks back up at him and smiles, shaking his hand.
"I'm Rose, Rose Tyler. That's a lot of blood, let me see..." She steps closer to him, pulling a towel from the pocket of her apron and touching it to the blood sheeting down the side of his head. He winces, sucking air in through his teeth, and she grabs his arm, keeping him from moving away from her.
"It's nothing serious," she says finally. "Head wounds have a habit of bleeding a lot, but it's all just a show."
"Really?" he says, raising a hand to his head. She grabs his arm.
"You'll just make it bleed again if you touch it." She shakes her head at him, tucking the bloody towel back into her apron. Twilight has descended upon them and the sky is a bruised bluish-purple, stars slowly dotting the space above.
"You may as well come to the house, it's getting dark and you won't get very far tonight." She casts a significant glance at the truck and he follows her gaze.
"Shouldn't we at least get her out of the ditch?" he asks, with a look on his face that Rose has only ever seen on men's faces when they look at their trucks.
"She'll still be here in the morning. C'mon."
John stands and yanks a small bag from the bed of the truck, following Rose to the house where the kitchen light is a friendly beacon beckoning them forward.
She sits him at the table so she can properly clean the cut on his forehead and bandage it, then asks if he'd like something to eat.
"I think there's still a bit left over from supper," she says, her voice muffled as she peers inside the oven. She places a plate in front of him, smiling as she pours him a glass of tea.
There's a dull thud from somewhere in the back of the house and Rose's smile fades.
"I'll be right back," she says and John watches her go, chewing his potatoes and thinking she's the prettiest thing he's seen in these past few months of traveling alone, with her full pink lips and warm brown eyes and long blonde hair spilling over the shoulders of her well-worn cotton dress, which might have once been blue but through repeated washings has turned nearly white.
She returns a few moments later and smiles apologetically at him.
"Sorry, it's my father, he's-"
John holds up a hand, stopping her. "It's none of my business," he says, his eyes kind and understanding and Rose nods, smiling vaguely at him.
She turns her attention to the dishes in the sink and is startled when John appears next to her, gently setting his plate with the other dirty ones.
"I should be off," he says and she shakes her head at him, setting the clean plate in her hands on the stack with the others.
"Don't be ridiculous, it's late and town is miles away. You'll stay here tonight and we'll figure out what to do with your truck in the morning."
He smiles at her and it transforms his face, warming his eyes and making her notice the freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose. She realizes he's younger than her initial estimation and is surprised by the fluttering in her stomach.
"Do you want some pie?" she asks, probably a little louder than necessary, and he takes a step back. "It's fresh," she continues, lowering her voice to a more normal volume, "I baked it this afternoon."
"What kind is it?" he asks, one eyebrow raised in interest.
"Peach. Home grown and everything."
He laughs and nods. "Sure. Only if you'll have some with me."
Rose grins. "All right."
She dries her hands on her apron and pulls the pie from the oven, pleased that it's still warm. She brings two plates over to the table, setting one in front of John and settling in the chair nearest to him with her own. He takes a bite and exclaims over the peaches and Rose laughs.
"We've been growing them for years. We've got a stand in town, do a pretty fair business."
"I can see why, they're fantastic."
Rose thanks him and they finish their pie in a silence that's not quite uncomfortable. She stands, gathering their plates and intending to finish the dishes before making up John's bed on the couch.
He offers to help, stating that he ought to pull his weight if she's being kind enough to give him a bed for the night. She agrees and washes while he dries. The dishes are done in half the time it usually takes and Rose is pleased, thinking she'll get to bed at a decent time tonight.
She pulls some sheets from the closet in the hall and makes up the couch, telling John he can use the quilt on the back of the couch if he gets cold, though they're in the middle of a Georgia summer and he probably won't even need the top sheet she's giving him.
"We haven't got running water, but there's a well just in back of the house, so if you want to get washed up before you go to sleep, you're more than welcome to."
John nods and Rose turns to leave.
"Rose?" he says and she turns back to him. "Thank you."
"Not at all," she says, smiling before she disappears down the hallway.
He wakes the next morning to the smell of sausage and the sight of a somber looking man sitting in a chair, staring at him. He's looking at him not as a man but as the father of a pretty daughter and John wonders at what point fathers learn this look, as he's seen it several times over the course of his life.
He sits up slowly, smiling tentatively. "Morning, sir. I'm John."
The man nods. "I know. Rosie told me." He makes a low rumbling sound deep in his chest and coughs loudly into his handkerchief.
John averts his eyes, reaching for his shirt and buttoning it as Rose enters the room and announces breakfast is ready.
The day is already hot as John and Rose head up to the road after breakfast to try and do something with his truck. After a bit of maneuvering they manage to get it out onto the road and down the driveway, parking it next to Rose's dad's old Ford.
John pops the hood of his truck and Rose leaves him to it, heading back into the house to check on her father and clean up the breakfast dishes.
The sun is high in the sky when she ventures out again and wavy lines of heat hover in the air. She's got a glass of water in her hand for John and she stops a few feet away from the truck. He's taken his shirt off and is half inside the truck, the muscles in his arms and slender torso moving as he works. She feels a little guilty for staring, but not so much that she doesn't smile slightly to herself before stepping closer and clearing her throat.
He emerges from the truck and looks at her, frustration evident in his features before he smiles at her and takes the water from her gratefully.
"Any luck?" she asks, peering inside at the dusty and ancient looking machinery.
"No," he says, sighing. "I think I need some parts."
"Well, lucky for you I have to go into town today. You can talk to the mechanics there. C'mon and get cleaned up, it's lunch time."
John follows her back to the house, using his shirt to wipe the grease from his arms and stopping at the wash basin on the porch to properly scrub his hands and face before going inside.
He changes his shirt after they eat and he and Rose head back out to the dusty Ford, Rose sliding behind the steering wheel and closing her eyes while she slides the key into the ignition. John is amused to realize that she's praying while waiting for the truck to start and she glances at him, noticing his grin.
"It doesn't always start," she says defensively and he holds up his hands, shaking his head as they start up the drive. Their laughter streams from the open windows as they turn onto the road, kicking up a plume of dust and rocks that slowly disperses as they drive towards town.
The auto shop and gas station in town is run by a man named Jack who came back from the war with a perpetually haunted look in his eyes and a persistent limp that worsens in bad weather. His assistant is a young black man named Mickey who is constantly surprised at how well-liked he is in this little town that has been seemingly untouched by the worst of the racism running rampant through the rest of the South. They are both sweet on Rose and favor her with broad smiles when she enters the mechanics' bay.
"Afternoon, boys," she says, smiling back at them and raising a hand to Mickey before he disappears back under a bottle green Mercury.
"Who's this?" Jack asks, approaching her with only a small shuffle in his gait.
"John. His truck broke down in front of the house last night and he needs some parts. I thought you two might be able to help him."
The two men shake hands and Jack shrugs.
"Unless it's a Ford, not much I can do for you. All of the cars here in town are Fords."
"It's a Chevy," John says, his face visibly falling.
"Not to worry, we'll just order what you need." Jack turns and starts for the small office. Rose ushers John on and tells him she'll be at the grocery when he's finished.
She's checking eggs when he appears at her side and she looks up at him, asking how it went with Jack.
"He said it'll be about two months before the parts I need get here, unless we want to drive all the way to Atlanta. I told him that was ridiculous."
"So you're stuck here for a couple of months. S'not so bad, I'm sure I'll find lots of stuff you can help me with," she says and grins at him.
She does indeed find plenty for him to do, from picking peaches off the three trees behind the house to taking a hammer and nails to loose floor boards to slapping a new coat of paint on the porch frame.
They kiss for the first time amid the peach trees. It is not something he intends to do but one moment she's eating a peach, juice dripping down her chin and laughing as she tries to catch it with her fingers, and the next his lips are on hers, tasting the sweet juice, his fingers diving into her long hair. She sighs happily and smiles against his lips and they can feel the heat of a summer love spreading between them.
Two days after the kiss, while Rose is hanging clothes in the side yard, John is approached by the formidable figure of Peter Tyler.
"You and I need to have a talk, son," the older man says, staring at John with his thumbs hooked over his belt. John lays his hammer down and stands, feeling apprehensive and hoping it doesn't show in his face.
"I see the way you look at my Rosie. And I'm not blind to the way she looks at you. But tell me this, what's going to happen when you get the parts for your truck? When you no longer have a reason to stay here?" He clears his throat and spits into the grass. "I'm not going to be around much longer and the last thing I want to see before I die is my daughter with a broken heart because the man she loved up and left her."
John stands, feeling quite speechless, and Pete shakes his head at him.
"You don't have to say anything now, but think on it, son. Just... think on it."
Pete turns and heads back to the house and John stands still a moment, glancing over at Rose, her arms stretched up over her head as she pins a skirt to the line. As he watches her he comes to the sudden realization that the thought of repairing his truck has been pushed to furthest reaches of his mind, that he's been imagining spending fall and winter here, imagining ushering in another summer right here with Rose at his side, and these thoughts bring a smile to his face.
He's lying in nothing more than his undershorts under the peach trees a month after his arrival, the weather too hot to sleep inside. The stars seem to wink at him through the leafy branches of the trees as they rustle gently in the warm breeze and he smiles faintly at the illusion.
He hears soft footsteps and turns his head to see Rose walking towards him, her smile ghostly in the pale moonlight. She lies down beside him and looks over at him.
"What are you doing?" she asks softly.
"Watching the stars. Too hot to sleep."
She murmurs her agreement and joins him in stargazing. He names the constellations for her, pointing them out and telling her all he knows about them.
She sits up suddenly and looks intently down at him.
"What will you do when your truck is fixed?" she asks, unintentionally parroting the same question her father asked him not so long ago. "Will you leave?"
"Don't know. But right now I'm here, with you, and I think that's enough."
She nods and smiles, leaning down to kiss him, her hair spilling across his chest. They stare at each other a moment and something unspoken passes between them, something powerful that makes him think of the heat lightning he's seen over the deserts out west and he presses his lips to hers again, rising and turning until she is on her back on the grass below him.
There is a nervousness in her eyes that makes him hesitate but she nods and pulls him down to her. He kisses a trail down her neck to her chest, one hand sliding down the length of her torso and making him realize that she's naked underneath her nightgown. Though this isn't terribly surprising, considering the heat, he finds it exciting all the same. His hand continues down and slips beneath the gown, his touch light on her inner thighs. She shivers as her legs part and his fingers slip easily inside of her. Her head falls back and she bites her lower lip in an effort to stay silent as his fingers work. He manages to slip his shorts off with one hand and he positions himself over her, replacing his fingers in one fluid movement as he covers her mouth with his own.
She clutches him tightly as they move and though she has never been with a man in this sense before, she's not naïve when it comes to her own body. There is pain, but the pleasure is far greater and she shudders as a warm wave spreads throughout her body, curling her toes and forcing a moan from her lips, which he catches in a fiery kiss as he moves against her.
They sleep under the stars and awake with the sun, stealing into the house as the sky lightens.
The summer continues and so do Rose and John's stolen moments under the peach trees. They spend many happy hours discussing all the exotic places John's been, from the beaches of California to the casinos of Las Vegas to the wild parties of New Orleans, places he promises to take her to someday, until Pete's condition seems to worsen overnight and Rose takes up a vigil beside his bed. John takes over her usual duties, cleaning the house and making sure she eats at least one meal a day. He returns from town one day in early August to find her sitting alone in the kitchen, staring blankly at the wall in front of her and even before she tells him he knows and pulls her into his arms as she dissolves into tears.
The day of the funeral is hot and humid, low storm clouds hanging over the heads of the assembly at the graveside and the sky opens up just as the services end. The mourners scurry to their cars or their homes, umbrellas snapping open with muted whooshing sounds, like so many birds taking wing.
Rose and John head for home and sit silently in the cab of what is now Rose's truck as the rain tattoos a pattern over their heads.
"What do I do now?" she asks quietly, staring out the windshield at the house, distorted by the water sheeting down the glass. "I don't know if I can stay here, but I don't know that I want to leave either."
"It's too soon to decide anything," he says, sliding an arm around her shoulders and pulling her to him, kissing the top of her head as they settle into the silence again.
The replacement parts for John's truck arrive a week or so later and he spends the majority of the afternoon fixing and replacing and tightening until his truck starts without a hitch.
Rose watches him work from the porch steps, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She winces when the truck starts, the engine somehow seeming much louder than that of her own. After a moment the truck is silenced and John emerges from the cab, a satisfied smile on his face.
The smile fades as he approaches the house and sees her standing there.
"You'll be leaving now, I guess," she says when he's within earshot and he can see the tears in her eyes. "I shouldn't really be surprised," she continues and she's trying to sound tough but her voice breaks and her hand rises to cover her mouth as she closes her eyes.
He climbs the porch steps and stands in front of her, brushing her hair away from her face. She opens her eyes and looks up at him and he smiles softly at her.
"I'm not going anywhere. At least not without you."
Her relief is evident in the way she sags against the post she's leaning on and he puts his arms around her, kissing her forehead.
It's two weeks later when she murmurs his name as they lie in bed, her breath light on his bare chest. He mumbles a sleepy response, trying to wake up enough to hear what she wants to say.
"I was thinking... what if we went to Florida?"
He opens his eyes and looks down at her. "For good?"
"For a while. See what the air's like."
He nods, contemplating the idea. "Florida sounds good. Try our hand at growing oranges."
Rose giggles softly and pulls herself up to kiss him, smiling at him in the dark.
"Thank you," she whispers and he touches her cheek, his lips soft on hers.
"Not at all."
Author: Mary (stillxmyxheart)
Beta: nylana
Rating: PG-13
Genre: AU, Fluff, Romance, Angst
Word Count: 3,562
Characters: Rose/Ten (cameos by Pete, Jack, and Mickey)
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize? Ain't mine.
Summary: A broken-down truck leads to far more than anyone ever expected.
A/N: For Challenge 21 at then_theres_us, and many many thanks to nylana for all of her help with this <3
The sun is burning low in the sky, turning the world a dusky orange, and Rose is seated on the porch, a book in her hands and a glass of tea on the table beside her.
The silence of the approaching evening is shattered by the explosive sound of a truck backfiring and she jumps, looking up sharply. On the road which runs in front of the house she sees the silhouette of a truck, followed closely by the silhouette of a man chasing after it and waving his arms in the air. The truck hits the ditch with a dull crash and the man trips over something in the road, which hasn't been grated in months and is littered with stones and pocked with ruts.
She sets her book down and stands, hurrying up the drive towards the road.
The man is sitting up as she approaches, slapping the road dust off his pinstriped trousers and swearing as he stares at the truck, now parked at a drunken angle in the ditch with smoke seeping from under the hood, and covered with so much dust that she can't tell what color it is, though she thinks it may be blue.
"Are you all right?" she asks.
"Oh, fine," he replies, pushing himself to his feet and striding over to the truck. He inspects it superficially, running a hand through his brown hair and making it stand up in crazy spikes, and then delivers a kick to the running board, letting loose another string of expletives under his breath.
"Did that help?" Rose asks, watching him anxiously.
"No," he grumbles, before leaning against the truck and raising his foot into his hands. "But it hurt."
"You... you're bleeding," Rose says, approaching him tentatively.
He raises a hand to his head and glances at his fingers. "So I am."
He finally looks up at her and seems to freeze for a moment, staring at her face. She blushes under his attentive gaze and drops her eyes to her hands.
"John Smith," the man says, extending his hand to her. She looks back up at him and smiles, shaking his hand.
"I'm Rose, Rose Tyler. That's a lot of blood, let me see..." She steps closer to him, pulling a towel from the pocket of her apron and touching it to the blood sheeting down the side of his head. He winces, sucking air in through his teeth, and she grabs his arm, keeping him from moving away from her.
"It's nothing serious," she says finally. "Head wounds have a habit of bleeding a lot, but it's all just a show."
"Really?" he says, raising a hand to his head. She grabs his arm.
"You'll just make it bleed again if you touch it." She shakes her head at him, tucking the bloody towel back into her apron. Twilight has descended upon them and the sky is a bruised bluish-purple, stars slowly dotting the space above.
"You may as well come to the house, it's getting dark and you won't get very far tonight." She casts a significant glance at the truck and he follows her gaze.
"Shouldn't we at least get her out of the ditch?" he asks, with a look on his face that Rose has only ever seen on men's faces when they look at their trucks.
"She'll still be here in the morning. C'mon."
John stands and yanks a small bag from the bed of the truck, following Rose to the house where the kitchen light is a friendly beacon beckoning them forward.
She sits him at the table so she can properly clean the cut on his forehead and bandage it, then asks if he'd like something to eat.
"I think there's still a bit left over from supper," she says, her voice muffled as she peers inside the oven. She places a plate in front of him, smiling as she pours him a glass of tea.
There's a dull thud from somewhere in the back of the house and Rose's smile fades.
"I'll be right back," she says and John watches her go, chewing his potatoes and thinking she's the prettiest thing he's seen in these past few months of traveling alone, with her full pink lips and warm brown eyes and long blonde hair spilling over the shoulders of her well-worn cotton dress, which might have once been blue but through repeated washings has turned nearly white.
She returns a few moments later and smiles apologetically at him.
"Sorry, it's my father, he's-"
John holds up a hand, stopping her. "It's none of my business," he says, his eyes kind and understanding and Rose nods, smiling vaguely at him.
She turns her attention to the dishes in the sink and is startled when John appears next to her, gently setting his plate with the other dirty ones.
"I should be off," he says and she shakes her head at him, setting the clean plate in her hands on the stack with the others.
"Don't be ridiculous, it's late and town is miles away. You'll stay here tonight and we'll figure out what to do with your truck in the morning."
He smiles at her and it transforms his face, warming his eyes and making her notice the freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose. She realizes he's younger than her initial estimation and is surprised by the fluttering in her stomach.
"Do you want some pie?" she asks, probably a little louder than necessary, and he takes a step back. "It's fresh," she continues, lowering her voice to a more normal volume, "I baked it this afternoon."
"What kind is it?" he asks, one eyebrow raised in interest.
"Peach. Home grown and everything."
He laughs and nods. "Sure. Only if you'll have some with me."
Rose grins. "All right."
She dries her hands on her apron and pulls the pie from the oven, pleased that it's still warm. She brings two plates over to the table, setting one in front of John and settling in the chair nearest to him with her own. He takes a bite and exclaims over the peaches and Rose laughs.
"We've been growing them for years. We've got a stand in town, do a pretty fair business."
"I can see why, they're fantastic."
Rose thanks him and they finish their pie in a silence that's not quite uncomfortable. She stands, gathering their plates and intending to finish the dishes before making up John's bed on the couch.
He offers to help, stating that he ought to pull his weight if she's being kind enough to give him a bed for the night. She agrees and washes while he dries. The dishes are done in half the time it usually takes and Rose is pleased, thinking she'll get to bed at a decent time tonight.
She pulls some sheets from the closet in the hall and makes up the couch, telling John he can use the quilt on the back of the couch if he gets cold, though they're in the middle of a Georgia summer and he probably won't even need the top sheet she's giving him.
"We haven't got running water, but there's a well just in back of the house, so if you want to get washed up before you go to sleep, you're more than welcome to."
John nods and Rose turns to leave.
"Rose?" he says and she turns back to him. "Thank you."
"Not at all," she says, smiling before she disappears down the hallway.
He wakes the next morning to the smell of sausage and the sight of a somber looking man sitting in a chair, staring at him. He's looking at him not as a man but as the father of a pretty daughter and John wonders at what point fathers learn this look, as he's seen it several times over the course of his life.
He sits up slowly, smiling tentatively. "Morning, sir. I'm John."
The man nods. "I know. Rosie told me." He makes a low rumbling sound deep in his chest and coughs loudly into his handkerchief.
John averts his eyes, reaching for his shirt and buttoning it as Rose enters the room and announces breakfast is ready.
The day is already hot as John and Rose head up to the road after breakfast to try and do something with his truck. After a bit of maneuvering they manage to get it out onto the road and down the driveway, parking it next to Rose's dad's old Ford.
John pops the hood of his truck and Rose leaves him to it, heading back into the house to check on her father and clean up the breakfast dishes.
The sun is high in the sky when she ventures out again and wavy lines of heat hover in the air. She's got a glass of water in her hand for John and she stops a few feet away from the truck. He's taken his shirt off and is half inside the truck, the muscles in his arms and slender torso moving as he works. She feels a little guilty for staring, but not so much that she doesn't smile slightly to herself before stepping closer and clearing her throat.
He emerges from the truck and looks at her, frustration evident in his features before he smiles at her and takes the water from her gratefully.
"Any luck?" she asks, peering inside at the dusty and ancient looking machinery.
"No," he says, sighing. "I think I need some parts."
"Well, lucky for you I have to go into town today. You can talk to the mechanics there. C'mon and get cleaned up, it's lunch time."
John follows her back to the house, using his shirt to wipe the grease from his arms and stopping at the wash basin on the porch to properly scrub his hands and face before going inside.
He changes his shirt after they eat and he and Rose head back out to the dusty Ford, Rose sliding behind the steering wheel and closing her eyes while she slides the key into the ignition. John is amused to realize that she's praying while waiting for the truck to start and she glances at him, noticing his grin.
"It doesn't always start," she says defensively and he holds up his hands, shaking his head as they start up the drive. Their laughter streams from the open windows as they turn onto the road, kicking up a plume of dust and rocks that slowly disperses as they drive towards town.
The auto shop and gas station in town is run by a man named Jack who came back from the war with a perpetually haunted look in his eyes and a persistent limp that worsens in bad weather. His assistant is a young black man named Mickey who is constantly surprised at how well-liked he is in this little town that has been seemingly untouched by the worst of the racism running rampant through the rest of the South. They are both sweet on Rose and favor her with broad smiles when she enters the mechanics' bay.
"Afternoon, boys," she says, smiling back at them and raising a hand to Mickey before he disappears back under a bottle green Mercury.
"Who's this?" Jack asks, approaching her with only a small shuffle in his gait.
"John. His truck broke down in front of the house last night and he needs some parts. I thought you two might be able to help him."
The two men shake hands and Jack shrugs.
"Unless it's a Ford, not much I can do for you. All of the cars here in town are Fords."
"It's a Chevy," John says, his face visibly falling.
"Not to worry, we'll just order what you need." Jack turns and starts for the small office. Rose ushers John on and tells him she'll be at the grocery when he's finished.
She's checking eggs when he appears at her side and she looks up at him, asking how it went with Jack.
"He said it'll be about two months before the parts I need get here, unless we want to drive all the way to Atlanta. I told him that was ridiculous."
"So you're stuck here for a couple of months. S'not so bad, I'm sure I'll find lots of stuff you can help me with," she says and grins at him.
She does indeed find plenty for him to do, from picking peaches off the three trees behind the house to taking a hammer and nails to loose floor boards to slapping a new coat of paint on the porch frame.
They kiss for the first time amid the peach trees. It is not something he intends to do but one moment she's eating a peach, juice dripping down her chin and laughing as she tries to catch it with her fingers, and the next his lips are on hers, tasting the sweet juice, his fingers diving into her long hair. She sighs happily and smiles against his lips and they can feel the heat of a summer love spreading between them.
Two days after the kiss, while Rose is hanging clothes in the side yard, John is approached by the formidable figure of Peter Tyler.
"You and I need to have a talk, son," the older man says, staring at John with his thumbs hooked over his belt. John lays his hammer down and stands, feeling apprehensive and hoping it doesn't show in his face.
"I see the way you look at my Rosie. And I'm not blind to the way she looks at you. But tell me this, what's going to happen when you get the parts for your truck? When you no longer have a reason to stay here?" He clears his throat and spits into the grass. "I'm not going to be around much longer and the last thing I want to see before I die is my daughter with a broken heart because the man she loved up and left her."
John stands, feeling quite speechless, and Pete shakes his head at him.
"You don't have to say anything now, but think on it, son. Just... think on it."
Pete turns and heads back to the house and John stands still a moment, glancing over at Rose, her arms stretched up over her head as she pins a skirt to the line. As he watches her he comes to the sudden realization that the thought of repairing his truck has been pushed to furthest reaches of his mind, that he's been imagining spending fall and winter here, imagining ushering in another summer right here with Rose at his side, and these thoughts bring a smile to his face.
He's lying in nothing more than his undershorts under the peach trees a month after his arrival, the weather too hot to sleep inside. The stars seem to wink at him through the leafy branches of the trees as they rustle gently in the warm breeze and he smiles faintly at the illusion.
He hears soft footsteps and turns his head to see Rose walking towards him, her smile ghostly in the pale moonlight. She lies down beside him and looks over at him.
"What are you doing?" she asks softly.
"Watching the stars. Too hot to sleep."
She murmurs her agreement and joins him in stargazing. He names the constellations for her, pointing them out and telling her all he knows about them.
She sits up suddenly and looks intently down at him.
"What will you do when your truck is fixed?" she asks, unintentionally parroting the same question her father asked him not so long ago. "Will you leave?"
"Don't know. But right now I'm here, with you, and I think that's enough."
She nods and smiles, leaning down to kiss him, her hair spilling across his chest. They stare at each other a moment and something unspoken passes between them, something powerful that makes him think of the heat lightning he's seen over the deserts out west and he presses his lips to hers again, rising and turning until she is on her back on the grass below him.
There is a nervousness in her eyes that makes him hesitate but she nods and pulls him down to her. He kisses a trail down her neck to her chest, one hand sliding down the length of her torso and making him realize that she's naked underneath her nightgown. Though this isn't terribly surprising, considering the heat, he finds it exciting all the same. His hand continues down and slips beneath the gown, his touch light on her inner thighs. She shivers as her legs part and his fingers slip easily inside of her. Her head falls back and she bites her lower lip in an effort to stay silent as his fingers work. He manages to slip his shorts off with one hand and he positions himself over her, replacing his fingers in one fluid movement as he covers her mouth with his own.
She clutches him tightly as they move and though she has never been with a man in this sense before, she's not naïve when it comes to her own body. There is pain, but the pleasure is far greater and she shudders as a warm wave spreads throughout her body, curling her toes and forcing a moan from her lips, which he catches in a fiery kiss as he moves against her.
They sleep under the stars and awake with the sun, stealing into the house as the sky lightens.
The summer continues and so do Rose and John's stolen moments under the peach trees. They spend many happy hours discussing all the exotic places John's been, from the beaches of California to the casinos of Las Vegas to the wild parties of New Orleans, places he promises to take her to someday, until Pete's condition seems to worsen overnight and Rose takes up a vigil beside his bed. John takes over her usual duties, cleaning the house and making sure she eats at least one meal a day. He returns from town one day in early August to find her sitting alone in the kitchen, staring blankly at the wall in front of her and even before she tells him he knows and pulls her into his arms as she dissolves into tears.
The day of the funeral is hot and humid, low storm clouds hanging over the heads of the assembly at the graveside and the sky opens up just as the services end. The mourners scurry to their cars or their homes, umbrellas snapping open with muted whooshing sounds, like so many birds taking wing.
Rose and John head for home and sit silently in the cab of what is now Rose's truck as the rain tattoos a pattern over their heads.
"What do I do now?" she asks quietly, staring out the windshield at the house, distorted by the water sheeting down the glass. "I don't know if I can stay here, but I don't know that I want to leave either."
"It's too soon to decide anything," he says, sliding an arm around her shoulders and pulling her to him, kissing the top of her head as they settle into the silence again.
The replacement parts for John's truck arrive a week or so later and he spends the majority of the afternoon fixing and replacing and tightening until his truck starts without a hitch.
Rose watches him work from the porch steps, arms crossed tightly over her chest. She winces when the truck starts, the engine somehow seeming much louder than that of her own. After a moment the truck is silenced and John emerges from the cab, a satisfied smile on his face.
The smile fades as he approaches the house and sees her standing there.
"You'll be leaving now, I guess," she says when he's within earshot and he can see the tears in her eyes. "I shouldn't really be surprised," she continues and she's trying to sound tough but her voice breaks and her hand rises to cover her mouth as she closes her eyes.
He climbs the porch steps and stands in front of her, brushing her hair away from her face. She opens her eyes and looks up at him and he smiles softly at her.
"I'm not going anywhere. At least not without you."
Her relief is evident in the way she sags against the post she's leaning on and he puts his arms around her, kissing her forehead.
It's two weeks later when she murmurs his name as they lie in bed, her breath light on his bare chest. He mumbles a sleepy response, trying to wake up enough to hear what she wants to say.
"I was thinking... what if we went to Florida?"
He opens his eyes and looks down at her. "For good?"
"For a while. See what the air's like."
He nods, contemplating the idea. "Florida sounds good. Try our hand at growing oranges."
Rose giggles softly and pulls herself up to kiss him, smiling at him in the dark.
"Thank you," she whispers and he touches her cheek, his lips soft on hers.
"Not at all."