Molly looked over at me again, almost as if pausing to think, and then down at herself again.
She unbuttoned the two top buttons of her dress and used the white handkerchief to dry down between her breasts as far as the edges of the white lace bra would allow.
Showing me even more of her breasts. It took me several seconds before I realized I was staring at her tits, and embarrassingly jerked my eyes back up to her face.
“Thank you,” she said softly, setting the handkerchief on the table next to my hand before reaching back to her dress and closing the top two buttons again.
“That was nice of you.”
“You’re welcome,” I answered, trying hard to return her smile, but just pasting it on without feeling it inside.
“So? You here alone?”
“Um. Yeah. Am afraid so.”
“Me too. Your wife couldn’t make it?”
I felt memories of my late wife wash me.
“No. She’s wasn’t able to make it.”
I looked back up at her just in time to see her eyes search mine for a moment. “You’re Greg?” she asked softly.
“Yeah. Do I know you?”
“Oh. No. I just heard some people talking and all of a sudden… well… I’m sorry. I don’t mean to intrude.”
“It’s okay,” I answered, even though it really wasn’t. But I knew that if Sheila were here, she’d be pissed if I was rude to her.
She suddenly twisted in her chair to face a bit more in my direction and held out her hand. “I’m Maureen, but my friends all call me Molly”
“Molly?” I asked curiously as I tentatively took her soft delicate hand. “Call me Greg”
I chuckled, the first time in months that humor actually managed to penetrate the darkness shrouding me.
“ You look very young, unlike me I feel old by the day”.
I couldn’t help but chuckle again. “Not hardly. Me? I’m old. You’re way too young and good looking to consider yourself old,” I said, instantly regretting the comment. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled.
“Sorry for what? You should never apologize for complimenting a woman,” she said with a soft smile. “But just for the record, how young do you think I am?”
“I’m afraid I’m not too good at guessing age,” I said, not wanting to insult her if I guessed wrong.
“No? Well, thank you for the compliment anyway, but I’m most definitely not young, at least not in my book,” she said without the smile leaving her lips. “So? Drinking beer?”
“Oh. Yeah,” I said, pushing the half empty cup of warm liquid. “Sort of.”
“Looks like it’s gotten warm.”
“Well, if you promise to watch my handbag, I’ll bring you a fresh one. If you don’t mind, that is,” she said as she stood up.
“Uh. No. That’s fine. Thanks,” I answered clumsily, my focus suddenly on her long slender legs instead of what she was asking. I watched her walk down the aisle between tables, her tall high heels trying to sink into the grass, making her walk more on the balls of her feet.
I sat, waiting, surprising myself that I was actually somewhat anxious to have her come back. I frowned at myself at the thought. What was I thinking? No. When she came back I’d just have to excuse myself. My sister will be surprised to see me and a lady after a while.
I saw her coming back, a cup of beer in each hand, again, walking on the balls of her feet to keep her high heels from sinking into the soft grass. I was still staring, probably openmouthed, as she approached and set the two beers on the table.
“Thank you for watching my handbag,” she said as she twisted the chair out from the table and closer to me.
She sat down, facing me, crossing one leg over the other, making the short skirt pull up slightly further. I could see the lacy top of her right stocking peeking from under the hem of the skirt as her knee almost touched my left thigh.