This is a challenge fic from my friend Paolo_Avis. She took me out of my comfort zone for sure! It had to be Constance/Travis (my first fic outside of Asylum). It had to contain the following ridiculous things: smut (no problem), the corporate ladder, shoe fetish, the great outdoors, home improvement. I think I got everything? Also...I really enjoyed writing Constance. Let me know if I did alright. -YRB

Constance Langdon had ever been an independent woman. She supposed she got the trait from her mother - a woman who'd had little tolerance for bullshit and even less tolerance for imperfection (be that in husbands, contractors, butchers, hairdressers, landscapers, or her daughter). Needless to say this had made Magnolia Jean Lafee (Maggie to friends and just Mags to closest friends) a force to be reckoned with when it came to DIY tasks. Her Virginia antebellum had been immaculate.

And in her youth Constance Amelia Lafee had found her mother's harping and demanding to be annoying in the finest moments and downright abusive (a psychologist would no doubt insist) in the worst moments. But now that she was older, wiser (not wider despite her hips' insistence of late), and raising her own imperfect daughter, she found she envied her matriarch's impressivo.

That dead bitch. Constance smirked, nipping a fringe of blue tape.

Addie (her imperfect daughter) was away at Camp Rainbow. For four blissful weeks the mother was guaranteed a peaceful, empty house. No Dora the Explorer loud in the background. No bickering over licking beaters. No three am requests for grilled cheeses. No monsters under the bed. Well...maybe next door, but...

That was neither here nor there.

She pried the lid off the paint can. Sighed as she dipped the #3 brush. Ballet Practice, it was called. Not quite white. Not quite gray. An ambiguous, unassuming, cool color. Perfect for the trim around the kitchen window. She hummed along to the kitchen radio as she painted. Smooth, even strokes, left to right. Built in primer. Work smarter, not harder, she'd thought.

Because she had a lot of hard work ahead of her. A list the length of the Mason Dixon line:

1 Paint the trim in the kitchen, hallway, and guest bathroom.

2. Replace the loose boards on the back deck.

3. Clean behind and beneath the refrigerator and stove (she dreaded to imagine what lurked there).

4. Mulch the back rose beds.

5. Sod on the front/back lawns.

6. Plant the new roses.

7. Mulch the new roses

8. Hanging baskets on the front porch.

9. New screen door.

10. Replace the leaky kitchen faucet.

11. Replace the leaky shower head.

12. Tighten the hinges on the kennel doors

And every now and then, something else popped into her head. So the list grew almost hourly. She sipped her bourbon and hissed. Tisked. "Damn. That's good."

Smooth, even strokes up the sides of the window. She really had a good groove going when her doorbell rang. The groove evaporated and she blinked, thinking. "Who in the seven hells..."

Nobody visited. Nobody. She didn't have friends, and she liked it that way. Well, there was Billie Dean, but she was off gallivanting somewhere with spirits no doubt. And if it was those goddamn Jehovah's Witnesses...

She huffed, slipping from her perch on the counter. Dusted at her skirt.Touched at her coif. Her heels clicked through the foyer to the front door and she steeled herself for a religious barrage. She'd already practiced her scathing response when she swung open the dark-stained oak (which could use a touch-up).

But there was no one there. Or so it seemed.

A dumbfounded gasp drew her eyes downward. Crouched on the porch was a man. Or...a boy. She cocked her head. A man-boy.

Who was staring at her shoes as he tied one of his own. She cleared her throat and he rose slowly, eyes tracking legs. His dirty blonde curls bounced. "Um..."

He was nearly angelic. Etched features and ernest green eyes. A chewable bottom lip. Scruffy, perhaps. But entirely...fuckable. She suddenly wished she'd checked her lipstick. "Well, hi there." Sugar dripped from her greeting.

"Um." A nervous smile. It was delicious. He wiped his hands on slightly stained jeans. "Ma'am. Yeah. Um - I'm uh...I'm Travis."

"Did you just remember that, Travis?" She leaned in her doorway, stroked one foot up her calf. Watched his eyes drop again as he laughed.

"No!" The curls shook. "No ma'am." Eyes back up. "Sorry. I was just..." He gathered himself. Coughed. "I'm Travis Wanderley. And I'm looking for work." An unnecessary gesture toward her house or...the yard or...the street. "I got laid off from my construction job. I can do just about anything, though. I've um - I've done landscaping and electrical, too. And I can also -"

"Wanderley." She interrupted him, fingering the top button on her v-neck blouse. "What a...romantic...name."

"Oh." He blushed. Profusely. Rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. Yes, ma'am. I guess it's um... unique."

"Oh?" A coy smile. And she knew it was coy. And she knew it was working. "So you don't come from a long line of Wanderleys?"

"Not really." He shrugged. "I come from Encino. Originally."

A full fledged laugh. "Well, we can't all be perfect."

He laughed, too. Had a nice smile with neat, white teeth. "No, ma'am. I guess we can't. Um...what's your name?"

She extended her hand. "I'm Constance, honey. Constance Langdon."

He took the hand and - as if he wasn't quite certain - bowed briskly and kissed the knuckles. She could have swooned. "It's real nice to meet you, Mrs. Langdon."

"Ms." Reluctantly, she extracted her tingling fingers from his slightly sweaty ones.

"Oh!" He winked. "Well, it's real nice to meet you, Ms. Langdon."

"Likewise, Mr. Wanderley." She was quick. She'd inherited that trait from her mother, too. He was harmless. Attractive and (dare she hope) attracted. She thought of the list on the fridge, and how helpful the man-boy could be. She considered the pleasure of watching his back tan in the sun and how sticky the sweat soaking his white tee shirt might be. She calculated the number of months (okay years now) since she'd been properly serviced (her self - not that money pit of a Mercedes parked in the drive). She wondered what the going rate was for...yard men...these days and what his going rate might be between her crisp, bleached sheets. She made all of this mathematics happen in less than three seconds and reached a quantitative decision. "Why don't you come in, Mr. Wanderley? Get out of this abominable heat. I've got a pitcher of cold sweet tea that ain't gonna drink itself."

His face - so bare and obvious - ran a gamut of emotions from relieved to hopeful to down right lustful in a heartbeat. "I would love that, Ms. Langdon. And...if you'd call me Travis?"

She gestured for him to enter, watched him walk past (yes his ass in those jeans was exactly as she'd expected), and closed the door with finality. "Right this way, Travis." He followed her and she could feel his eyes on about the same spot hers had been moments earlier. "Since we're going to be on such an...intimate...first name basis I'm simply going to have to insist you call me Constance. Ms. Langdon is so...formal." She flicked a finger toward the formica table in the kitchen. "Have a seat. You take ice?"

"Yes, please." He tested the waters. "Constance."

"There, now." She poured tea. "That was easy, huh?" She watched his neck move as he drank thirstily.

A refreshed sigh. "It was." She refilled the glass, maybe leaning a little too deeply. And that worked too. She followed his eyeline to her cleavage. "Thank you. This tea is...amazing."

"Lots of practice." She set the pitcher on the table and took her own seat, leaning on an elbow to regard him.

"I love your accent," he blurted.

She chuckled. "Why, thank you."

"Are you from...the south? I mean, obviously, yeah." He rolled his eyes self-deprecatingly. It was charming. "But I mean like...where in the south are you from?"

She didn't correct his poor grammar. "Let's see if you can guess."

"Georgia."

"Not quite. Although I do have some killer azaleas."

"Alabama!" He tried again, excited by this game.

"No, I never fucked a cousin." His surprise at the euphemism thrilled her a little. "I'll give ya one more try."

"Hmmm." He thought playfully. "I'll have to say...Kentucky."

"Oh, you saw my bourbon, Travis! You're trying to cheat!" She slapped the table. "But you're wrong. I'm from Virginia."

"Man!" He groaned. "I always forget about that one. Hey. Is it true what the commercials say? That Virginia is for lovers?"

"Absolutely." She crossed her legs and followed his eyeline again. "But I think California is starting to compete."

He swallowed. "Is it?"

"Nothing wrong with a healthy sense of competition, Travis."

"No ma'am. Not a thing." He looked around. "You've got a great place."

"It needs a lot of work."

"I see you're painting." He nodded toward the sink. "I'd be happy to finish that up. And um..." A nod to her fridge list. "Anything else you wanna throw at me."

"I have four weeks to get all that done." She leveled with him. "And more." Time to lay down her mood-killer. See how badly he really wanted it. "Until my daughter comes home from camp."

"You have a daughter?" He didn't seem exactly put off. In fact, his face seemed to brighten a bit.

Constance stood, swayed over to the counter and produced a picture frame. "I do. Adelaide." She handed over the frame. "My little beauty queen." A rueful laugh.

"She's very pretty." He was kind. Genuine. It warmed her.

"She has downs syndrome."

"Oh." He handed back the frame. "And you're raising her...alone?"

"If you want something done right..." She trailed off, sitting again. "This is the first time she's been away from me, actually. She's begged to go to this...Camp Rainbow for years."

"I hear it's a really great program."

"I thought it was for gays for the longest time." They laughed together, heads bending close at the table.

"Yeah, they maybe shoulda named it something else."

"Name it what it is!" Constance waved dramatically. "Camp Retard."

"Oh, shit!" Travis nearly spewed tea laughing this time.

"I'm a woman who speaks her mind, Travis. I hope you're not one of those...sensitive hippy types who wants to save whales and doesn't eat meat."

"No, ma'am. I love meat."

"And don't call me ma'am!" She insisted, slapping his hand. "Do I look that old?"

"No!" He caught her slapping hand, held it. "You look...fantastic. Constance."

"Hm." She let the moment linger. "You're sweeter than honey." She rubbed at the hand she'd slapped before pulling back. "Where you stayin', Travis? It's a long drive from Encino."

He blushed again now. "I'm kind of...couch surfing at the moment. Broke up with my girlfriend and...you know how that goes."

"Poor baby." Not yet, she thought. Feel him out before you feel him up. The thought of a man in the house was appealing, but... "So you'll be wanting to save up for your own place, I suppose."

"That's the goal."

"I admire an entrepreneurial spirit." She reached for her cigarettes and offered him one. He accepted sheepishly. Broke, she imagined. "I also um...run a little dog kennel. Just here out of the house. The basement is set up for about six pups at a time. But I don't have any boarders right now. I could certainly use your services in that, too."

"I'm at your mercy, Constance." He spread his hands.

Her Zippo flicked. She lit his, too. "How much?"

"Under the table?" She nodded. "Eight dollars an hour."

She exhaled a plume of smoke, thinking. He was dirt cheap. "I don't know when I can offer you a raise, Travis." But she suspected she already had.

"I'll just enjoy the scenery, then."

Now she blushed. A little. "Well. When can you start?"

He centralized the ashtray between them. "When I finish this smoke, I'll finish your trim."

Her brow quirked. "Men do love a little trim, don't they?"

He grinned, ignoring her bait. "And tomorrow I'll get started out back. Finish your outside stuff before all the inside stuff. That way I won't be tracking a bunch of dirt in."

"So thoughtful."

"I try."

"I bet you do, Travis."

Their fates were sealed.

Constance was traditionally an early riser. Raising four children tended to alter one's life schedule permanently. So the next morning she was up at 6 am. Travis would be arriving at eight, and she wanted to be ready. Ready meant legs smooth and bronzed, hair set, makeup on point. She changed clothes three times before deciding on a knee length lavender number with some off the shoulder action. It was casual enough to suggest she intended to do some housework, but managed to subtly scream 'seduce me.'

At 7:50 she was making a final turn before her full length mirror, and the doorbell rang. "Punctual," she murmured to herself. She tugged that shoulder down just a little lower. Slipped into four inch heels. (Those were casual, too.)

"Well. Good morning, Travis." She smirked. "And a beautiful morning, too."

"Constance!" He looked so genuinely happy to see her. "Definitely beautiful." A flush on chiseled cheeks. "The morning, I mean. Like you said." Nervously, he thrust a cup toward her. "I got you a coffee."

She took the cup, curled it to her chest. "Why, I'm beside myself. Thank you." He left a waft of pleasant cologne as he walked past her toward the kitchen.

"I uh - I didn't know how you took it, sooo...I left it alone. Figured you had cream and all that, anyway."

"I like my coffee like I like my men," she explained, taking down the sugar bowl. "Sweet, strong, and thick." He spluttered on a sip. "Want some half and half? I mean, if you didn't drink yours on the way here."

"Oh. No, thanks. I fixed mine at the Starbucks. I'm still working on it." He shook the cup a little. "I guess I take my coffee like I take my women?"

She leaned on the counter, facing him, cup poised at her lips. "And how is that, pray tell?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Slowly?"

She licked her lips. "Best way to really enjoy it."

"Absolutely." They stared at each other for a moment, sipping coffees. Finally, Travis looked at the kitchen tiles. "You um...you look really pretty today."

"You're sweet." Her insides melted a little. She could tell because they dripped into her matching panties. "Can I ask you a question, Travis?"

"Sure."

"How old are you?"

"24."

"Jesus Christ." She rubbed her temple. "You're still a baby, practically!"

"Am not!" His defensiveness was adorable. "I feel old already!"

"Just how do you quantify old?"

"My knees already ache sometimes."

She laughed openly. "You do a lot of work on your knees?"

"Well, electrical work -" He paused when he caught her joke. "Oh, come on!" He joined her laughter. "You're something else, you know that?"

She shrugged. "I've done some of my best work on my knees."

He raised a hand. "I'm not even touching that."

She sidled up to him. "We'll see about that." He didn't step away. In his personal space, she could feel his breath on her shoulder.Her breasts barely brushed his chest. Snagged her list from the refrigerator. "Speaking of work..."

"Oh, yeah. That." Still not stepping away, he reached up to slip the list from her fingers. "I should get started."

"Mm-hm."

She smoked while he cleaned behind the stove and the refrigerator. It was nice watching him move the heavy appliances with such ease. Promising. His muscular arms tightened up nicely and she imagined he could move her just as easily. When he started on the leaky sink faucet, she started cooking.

He had to tighten the pipe underneath the sink. His shirt slipped up a bit when he was on his back, and she studied the muscular abdomen. Whisk in one hand and measuring cup in the other, she stepped over his raised knee. "Travis?"

"Yeah?" He poked his head from beneath the sink and looked up at her, eyes traveling slowly up legs.

"You like macaroni and cheese?"

"Are you - are you cooking for me?"

"Well, we gotta eat lunch, baby."

He blinked. "I fricking love macaroni and cheese."

"Oh, good!" She shifted, knowing she was offering him an unobscured view up her dress. "How about...fried chicken?"

"My mouth is watering right now."

A Suzy-homemaker smile. "I guess I don't have to ask about a hot caramel apple pie."

"I bet your hot pie is...delicious."

She let the innuendo lay. "Want ice cream on it?"

"You're killing me here, Constance."

She chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes." Sighed. "I'll just let you get back to work then." But he watched her step back over his leg as if lunch was the last thing on his mind. And that was just how she wanted it.

When she called him for lunch he was finishing the trim in the hallway. She'd never seen a man so eager to eat, though, or quite so vocal in his enjoyment. Travis moaned, grunted, and hummed throughout lunch. He licked and sucked his fingers. Drank her tea with gusto. She found herself impossibly turned on just sitting across from him. "I'm so glad to see a young man with a healthy appetite."

"I don't think I've ever had food this good in my whole life."

"Well." She tried to appear humble. "I imagine your mama was a pretty good cook."

"I never knew her."

"Oh." Just what she needed: mommy issues. But honestly she could tolerate the issues if the sex was as phenomenal as she imagined it would be. "I'm sorry, Travis." She hoped her hand on his was comforting.

But he didn't seem too bothered by the lack. "Constance."

"What, darlin'?"

"Thank you." He wiped his greasy mouth on a cloth napkin. "I mean - not just for lunch, but...for this job. For you know - trusting me, and -"

"Travis."

"What?"

Shyly, she touched at her ear. "I'll admit I hired you...selfishly. I like having you here. I was worried I was going to be awfully lonely without Addie."

He smiled, happy to be of service and to be of company. "What um...what about Addie's dad? I mean - if it's okay if I ask."

She hesitated only for a second. "He disappeared on me a long time ago. Pretty certain he took off with our slutty maid."

"Wait. He cheated on you?"

"It's not unheard of, Travis."

"No. It's just..." He poked at the pile of chicken bones on his plate."I don't know how any man could cheat on a woman like you." Her insides melted again. She would have spread for him then and there if he'd simply asked. "You never remarried?"

"I did. And...re-divorced."

"Did he cheat on you, too!?"

"No." She lit a cigarette. "He worshiped the ground I walked on. But he also bored the hell out of me."

Travis nearly leapt from his seat, pointing with excitement. "Holy shit! See? That's what I was trying to tell Stacy! It's like -"

"Who's Stacy?" She interrupted.

"Oh, my ex. She kicked me out of our apartment because she said I needed to be more practical. That I needed to settle down in a job or open a studio of my own and work a regular schedule and shit. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not lazy! I just..." He rolled his eyes and accepted the cigarette she offered. "I just don't want some soul-crushing nine to five job. I have aspirations to something really great."

"Like what?" She leaned forward, fascinated at this turn of his personality.

"I think I could be an actor. Or a model. I mean...I may not have a lot going for me smarts wise, but plenty of people have told me I look like model material." He held up his hands. "I'm not fishing or anything! Just saying."

Constance sighed. "Far be it from me to argue your dreams, honey. I wouldn't dare be the woman to dash hopes on the rocks of pragmatism. But...I had similar dreams when I came out here. And I learned the hard way that it's tough, dirty work to make it in Hollywood."

"You were an actress?" His eyes lit.

"Oh God no!" She laughed. "But I tried. I was invited to a couple of castings."

"They didn't want you?"

"They wanted me on the couch." She blew a thick plume of smoke aside. "If you catch my drift."

"Oh." He frowned. "Yeah. I get it. I think it's tougher for women in the business. Especially if they're as attractive as you are."

Constance smiled, stamping out her smoke. "But. Times have changed. And I completely agree with all those people who told you you're model material." She stood, and stroked the side of his face. "You're quite the specimen."

His jaw quivered in her palm. "You are, too, Constance."

She bit her lips. Took a deep breath. "I should let you get back to work."

"Yeah! Yeah." He stood, rubbing his belly. "I'm gonna take a look at those kennel doors. Aaand then...I'll replace your shower head."

She patted his cheek affectionately. "I'll come get you when that pie is ready."

"I'm looking forward to it."

The kennels took longer than he'd anticipated. He ended up replacing some hinges entirely, and decided two doors needed new latches. He also gave the whole thing a good scrubbing, and cleaned all the bowls, too. He was bounding up the stairs and nearly collided with the lady of the house. "Woah, there!" He took her shoulders, steadying her on the steps. "Sorry!"

"Oh, it's fine." She stroked the hands on her shoulders. His fingers on her bare skin felt sinfully good - a little calloused. A little rough. "I was coming to fetch you for pie."

"Well, I'm done down here if you wanna take a peek." He gestured. "And that pie is gonna hit the spot." She was duly impressed with his work, expressing her gratitude through dessert. After a coffee and pie break, he headed up to her bathroom.

She washed up their few dishes, swaying to the kitchen radio. Hearing the noises of plumbing overhead, she climbed the stairs quietly. Her bedroom carpet muffled the sounds of her heels clicking. The bathroom floor was littered with tools and the discarded shower head. Travis' dirty boots were overturned near her garden tub. He was inside he shower stall, singing to himself and Constance leaned against the door jamb. She smiled softly, and muffled her laughter when he cursed.

"You stupid aluminum bastard!" He muttered. "You'll go in there like I fuckin' said." Some light banging. Twisting. "Yeah. That's what I thought. Let's see here..." The knob made a squealing sound when he turned it, and suddenly water slashed across the frosted door, exploding in the stall before leveling into a hard spray. "Hell! Shit!" She laughed harder as the young man struggled, wrestling with the knobs before staggering out. She sobered quite suddenly when he pulled his white tee over his head, using it to dry his face and arms. He turned, and cursed again. "Shit! Constance! I didn't know you were in here."

"I can tell." She stroked her chest, imagining those wet sculpted abs beneath her fingers. "D'you get that aluminum bastard to cooperate?"

"Damn right I did." He grinned and swung open the shower door. "Works like a dream. And uh - got some nice water pressure now, too."

"Well, I'm sure I'll enjoy that."

"Also um...be careful if you get in your tub later." He walked over to the installation, tapping his sock foot on the steps. "I reglued a couple of these tiles and they're still tacky."

"You're a true gem."

He sat on the tub rim, putting his shirt back on. "Biggest bathroom I've ever seen."

"I need my space."

Travis chuckled. "Nice tub, too."

"Mm-hm." She sat on the rim beside him, not touching. "I like it." She caught him staring at her. "What?"

"Is your hair long?"

She touched the tight coif. "Not really. It's about to my shoulders, I guess."

"Huh." He nodded. "I'd like to see it down sometime."

"Oh." She blinked. "Well, maybe you will."

He was right about the water pressure. Her shower that night was like a scalding massage. It felt incredible. Lounging in her bed, satin gown caressing clean skin, she wondered what couch Travis slept on. And she wondered if he wondered about her.

The next three days passed blissfully. Travis was keen to get started outside, doing a good amount of prep work in the beds around the house. Constance lounged a lot, listening to his trowels and shovels in the soft soil outside. On Wednesday, she changed the sheets on her bed while he sang along to the portable radio just beneath her window. She peered down to watch the top of his head and shoulders move in the cool shade. He was a lovely thing. She flopped onto the clean sheets and bit her lip while her fingers traced sleek designs up the insides of her thighs... Her body sang along with his voice, and when the singing stopped, she ordered sod.

"Good morning, sunshine." His smile was quick when she opened the door. "Your hair is down!"

She shook the thick, blonde curls. "I take requests." She shrugged. "Not to mention it saved me about thirty minutes this morning."

"Well." He handed her a coffee. "I think you look as pretty as always."

She giggled (genuinely giggled) and grabbed his face for a little cheek smooch. "Give me some sugar. You're startin' to make me a morning person, baby!" Travis couldn't have blushed any harder.

In the kitchen, they laid out their plan for the day, Constance leaning against her table. Sod would be delivered at noon. Travis would be on mulch detail until then, and she planned to do some planting and repotting. "I noticed a couple of your front window boxes looked loose." Travis tossed an apple in the air, catching it. "I'm going to take a look at those today, too."

"If you have time after all that sod." She perched a hip on her table. "I don't want ya to overdo it."

His hip brushed her knee when he replaced the apple in the fruit bowl. "I don't mind putting in a long hard day in the great outdoors."

"You make it sound nice." She whispered, leaning toward him.

He leaned toward her, too. "Might get rough."

"I like it a little rough."

"Oh, fuck..." His forehead rested on her shoulder for a second. When her dress strap slipped down, he gently tugged it back in place. "You're something else, Constance."

"You've mentioned that."

"It bears repeating."

She wiggled a little closer to him. "You wanna start with window boxes? Or mulch?"

"Mulch." He straightened somewhat reluctantly, grimacing and shifting. She noticed, and stepped away grinning. "Hopefully I can get that done before the sod gets here."

"What you want for lunch?"

"I was secretly hoping you'd cook again."

"I don't believe in secrets, honey."

"Somehow I don't believe that." He was following her out the back door. "So. If you don't believe in secrets, can I tell you something?"

"Of course." On the back porch, she began arranging empty hanging baskets.

"I think you smell good."

"Shalimar."

"What?" He tossed a bag of potting soil her way like it was nothing.

"Perfume," she explained, separating two geraniums. "It's Shalimar."

"Oh." He sliced open the potting soil. "Well. It's nice."

"Thank you." She stood, reached past him for a trowel on the shelf. "It's my signature scent. My mother always said every woman should have one."

"I also think it's pretty cool that you're potting plants right now in two inch heels."

"Four inches." She looked backwards at the Lanvins on her feet.

Travis grinned, shrugging. "Well. Size doesn't matter, right?"

"Whoever keeps perpetrating that particular myth is doing the women of this world a grand disservice."

His grin fell. "Oh."

When she went back to her hanging baskets, Travis leapt over the porch rail to begin distributing bags of mulch. She would have chuckled at the boyish energy had it not struck such salacious fantasies of his agility.

By the time the sod arrived, she had eight hanging baskets and four well-mulched rose beds. She smoked, leaning on a porch railing while Travis unrolled the first of two dozen grass carpets. Sweat had soaked through the white tee, leaving little of his sculpted upper body to the imagination. She was hanging the third basket when he took the shirt off, and she had to lean on the ladder for genuine support when he used the hose to spray himself. The water rolling off of his tan skin was like an invitation to sin. "Jesus H. Christ." She rubbed at her face. "The devil made that boy then regretted it."

"Hey!" A quick spray of water hit the backs of her legs and she yelped. Travis laughed up at her. He'd sneaked onto the porch somehow. "I've got a bunch of odd shaped remnants of sod I cut. I was thinking of putting it around your mailbox?"

"That sounds good." She gestured. "Pass me that basket, baby."

He handed up the hanging basket, staring at her shoes. "Constance."

"Hm?" She was having a little trouble getting this particular basket's hook to settle in the porch's hook.

"I kinda like when you call me baby."

"Do you?" She was smiling. Almost had that hook in there...

"And honey."

"Mm-hm." Almost...

"And darlin'."

"Well, honey -" The hooks hooked, yes, but at the expense of her over-extending her arm. The ladder pitched. Heels slipped. It happened so quickly she didn't even scream - and honestly there was no need to. Her shirtless gardening paramour caught her as smoothly as if he'd practiced the maneuver nine times before coming over that morning.

"Holy shit!" He squeezed her, cradling her bridal style to his (yep - still naked) chest. "Are you alright?"

Her stunned face slid reluctantly from the crook of his neck. He smelled like sweat and sunshine and fresh cut grass and skin recovering from cheap cologne and pure unadulterated sex. "Baby." She met his eyes. "I'm fine."

"Scared the hell out of me."

"Me, too."

"Those shoes are gorgeous and all, but..."

"Maybe I should have kicked them off before I climbed a ladder?"

"Maybe."

"Hm." Her fingers stroked his back. Just a little stroke. "You can put me down now."

"Do I have to?"

He was close enough to kiss. And he wanted to kiss - she could tell. She was pushing all the right buttons. But it was still too soon. This was a dangerous game she knew well. And she certainly didn't want to come off like some easy, sleazy tramp. Above all else, she was still a lady. And besides - he'd probably known enough tramps skipping through the streets of L.A. and god only knew where else he'd wandered. So she patted his shoulder and gave a hinting wiggle. He lowered her legs slowly until she stood, knees just a touch shaky. "Thank you."

He swallowed. "What I'm here for."

"To save my life?"

"And lay sod."

"Well." She dusted off her lilac sundress. Straightened the straps. "Maybe you'll be laying more than sod, soon." His brows rose. "I'm going to fix us up some tea." She clicked into the house, rubbing at the back of her neck.

He finished hanging the baskets. When she brought out two icy glasses of tea, he was piecing together sod around her mailbox. She rubbed the icy glass across the back of his neck and he hissed, leaping to his feet. "Damn!"

She chuckled. "You looked like you needed a little cooling off."

"You're something else." He made quick work of the tea, handing back the glass. "Thanks."

"Almost done?"

"Done with the back. I'll start on the front next."

"I'm making some sandwiches."

"I'll wash up and be in in a second."

Their lunch table conversation dipped deeper today. "Is Addie your only child?"

"No." She opened the mayonnaise jar. "I have - had - four children."

"Had?"

"Three of them are dead."

"Shit." He stared at her, concerned. "I'm so sorry, Constance."

She shook her head. "Life is a fickle gift-giver, hon. It took back the nicest gifts it ever gave to me."

"Man. I would be devastated if that ever happened to me."

Constance blinked. She hadn't thought about that. "Do you um...do you have any children?"

"No, no." He ate hungrily as usual, talking behind his napkin. "But I love kids. They're fun. I could see myself being a dad one day."

"Well, you're gonna have to find yourself a girlfriend who'll wait for you to settle down in that accounting job if you want to sow your seeds. More patient than the last one." She winked.

"Oh, I wouldn't have been sowing seeds with her anyway." He picked baked turkey from his plate. "She barely touched me."

"What?" That was surprising.

"She was into this yoga stuff. Said that you know - sex is unnecessary and detrimental to the spirit or something like that. I don't know."

Constance found this companion so amusing. "Or maybe you just sucked in the sack and she didn't want to tell you."

He drew up predictably. "That was not the case."

She laughed. "So she kicked you out for trying too hard?"

"She said I was basing our relationship on the physical plane."

"Oh boy."

"Right?!" He reinforced his point. "I'm a 24 year old dude! Guess what! I think about sex all the time!"

"All the time?" She fingered a button between her breasts.

"Well. Almost all the time."

"How tragic for her."

"It was tragic for me, Constance!"

"I can see your point."

"Can you?"

"Let me make one of my own, though. Okay?" She calmly spread her palms. "Bear with me here. Your ex was how old?"

"22."

"Well, there's your problem." She poured him more tea. "God played such a cruel joke when he designed men and women. Because he gave you a sexual peak starting in your early twenties and women a sexual peak starting in their late thirties. It's intrinsically unfair."

He considered, face as serious as she'd seen it so far. "So...I need an older woman."

She shrugged. "You might discover the right outlet for all of that spiritually detrimental

energy on a more mature physical plane."

"That sounds...amazing."

She lit them both cigarettes. "Something to think about."

"Yeah." He took a long drag, staring at her shoes again. "Something to think about."

That night,it rained a California rain. Unending and dense - like it had saved up for months. Because she supposed it had. So she laid on the couch watching television. Not her typical evening in the slightest, but it was important to keep Addie on a schedule. And without Addie, the schedule was shot to shit. Not to mention her ankle ached, and this way she could prop it on the arm of the sofa. She rubbed at the ankle absently, pretty sure she'd twisted it on the ladder. Maybe a nice long bath after the forensic specialists on TV solved that murder... Meanwhile - there was bourbon.

When the doorbell rang, she froze, tumbler at her lips. The clock on the mantel said it was 9:51. Nothing good came calling at ten o'clock at night. Shoulders squared, she extracted the .38 from beneath the couch cushion (it was always nearby) and pocketed it in her robe. But a peek through the peephole reassured her.

"Travis!" He stood on the porch soaking wet, a soaking wet duffel bag at his feet.

"Constance." He looked miserable. "I'm sorry. I know it's late and -"

"Come in, baby!" She pulled him over the threshold. "What in the world has you out in this weather?"

"Um." He twiddled nervously, dripping in the foyer. "Look. I promise I will never ask for this ever again, but...can I please sleep here tonight? Like even on the floor. I don't care. I just need a place out of the rain."

"Travis, what happened to the couch you were sleeping on?"

"My idiot friend got his apartment raided by the cops.Come to find out he was selling drugs."

"Oh, honey!" She paused. "You don't mess with that stuff, do you?"

"No!"

"I didn't think so." She waved dismissively. "You can stay here. I've got a spare room. Look at you." She tisked. "Come on now and let's get you out of those wet clothes."

"Constance. Seriously. I can't thank you enough. I promise this is like - not a thing I would normally do. And honestly if it wasn't raining I don't care about sleeping outside somewhere."

He apologized and explained all the way down the hall.

Across from Addie's room was the guest room. Painted a pleasant blue with white fixings. "Travis." She was getting tired of hearing this apologetic tone. "You would be back here at eight in the morning anyway." She shered him into the guest room. "Might as well come back here, right?"

"I guess so." He held the duffel awkwardly, clearly hesitant to set it down on the polished hardwood or pristine white rug.

"Here." She took the bag briskly with a touch of grimace. "It doesn't look like you're gonna have any dry clothes unless I toss these in the dryer."

He frowned. "Those haven't seen a washer or a dryer in a while."

"Oh, dear." She sighed. "Well, there's nothing wrong with some late night laundry."

"I'll do it!" He reached for the duffel.

"The hell you will!" She dropped the sack in the hall, fussed while she turned down the bed. "And mess up all the settings on my machine? Men aren't meant for laundering unless it's money. No. You are going to have a nice hot shower right here across the hall while I get your clothes started. Honey, you'll catch your death soaked through like this!"

She scuttled him into the guest bath, still fussing. "Now I'm gonna get you a rag and a towel and some soap because I doubt you want to smell like rose and lavender."

"I don't mind lavender."

"Baby, don't be silly! I'll be right back.You go on and get started and I'll leave your towel and rag right here on this counter, okay?"

"Constance."

She paused in the doorway. "What?"

"I don't know how to thank you."

She tried to withhold the smirk but failed. "I'm sure I can think of something."

But truthfully his presence in the house - in the bathroom, under the shower, naked - made her feel quite nervous. She could feel the elevenses creasing between her eyes when she started his laundry. (And those clothes were a genuine tragedy. She had to hold her nose.) She chewed on her lip while the washing machine filled. Well he was here now, she supposed. So she would have to make the best of it.

It didn't seem like any cause to fret, after all. She couldn't see him being the type to rob her. Not that she had anything that valuable, anyway. And she doubted he could hurt a fly. That one was a lover, not a fighter. So murder and rape were the last of her worries. Especially rape. Hell, at this point she worried she just might rape him.

A brief knock on the bathroom door. "Travis?" She opened it cautiously. "I'm just dropping off your linens."

The shower curtain rustled and his wet head appeared. "I'll take that rag."

She handed it over. "And I found you some soap that's decidedly less feminine."

He grinned. "Thanks. Wanna wash my back?"

"Oh, stop." She pulled her robe tighter over her chest.

"I'll wash yours."

"Travis. Baby. If you can't be good, I'll let you sleep in the kennels." She leaned in the door jamb, smiling coyly.

He smiled coyly back. "I will be good. I promise."

"I just bet you will." She closed the door on his teasing and pressed herself to the wall. She hadn't expected him to give as good as he got - at least not yet. She shifted his clothes to the dryer while she fretted over the development. She fretted all the way into the kitchen. Fretted while she lit a cigarette. Fretted while she poured a generous bourbon. She fretted while she drank the bourbon, leaning against her stove.

It was bad enough she'd hired this complete stranger - with no presented licensing to speak of - to work on her house based on his appearance alone. Bad enough she'd masturbated at least seven times now to fantasies of the same stranger - not to mention once while he was right outside the bedroom window! Bad enough she'd now taken him in for a night - one night, mind you. Bad enough she was thinking about him soaping that beautiful body under her guest shower right now. Was she seriously considering taking a man over twenty years her junior to bed?

The sound of bare feet slapping snapped her from her reverie. When she looked up, he stood in the kitchen arch, naked save for a navy towel wrapped low around his hips. It was impressively tented, and his dark eyes searched hers across the room.

Yes. She was seriously considering taking a man over twenty years her junior to bed. Probably quickly.

"Um...are my clothes dry?"

"No." She rubbed the cool tumbler across her suddenly hot chest. "Are you?"

"No." He walked toward her, certainty building, and slipped the tumbler from her fingers. He winced when he sipped it. "Are you?"

"No."

He set the tumbler on the counter behind her, letting his hand rest on the edge, trapping her. She swallowed. "Constance." He whispered.

"What, baby?" She whispered back, voice not promising. Her fingers, tingling, curled over the counter edge near his own. His thumbs stroked her pinkies. She could feel the heat of his body, and his erection barely brushed her stomach.

"You're something else," he murmured against her jaw.

"Honey, you have no idea what I really am," she murmured against his ear.

"I wanna find out."

His kiss was searing - eager and damning. Her knees went weak and he gripped her hips like a bag of potting soil, lifting her onto the counter. Even in height now, they devoured each others' mouths. He found the tie on her robe, opening it up and sliding it from her shoulders. "You're so beautiful," he nipped down her neck.

"You, too!" She arched her neck to give him better access, tangling fingers in his wet hair. Now he was tugging at the thin straps on her silk gown, desperate to bare more of her. "Travis," she gasped. "Do you want to -"

"I'm taking you to bed," he snapped, pulling her off the counter.

"Oh!" She gripped his shoulders with her arms and his waist with her legs. The towel slipped free, barely caught between their bodies. And apparently, her upstairs bedroom was too far to travel because he hurried them down the hall to his guest bed instead. When he lowered her beside the mattress, the towel fell away. "Jesus, Travis." She stroked the generous flesh until he stopped her hand with a groan.

"Don't." He kissed her wandering fingers, and resumed disrobing her. "Get all this off." She cooperated, head swimming when he pulled her gown over her head. His hands began to wander, too, worshiping. "Fuck, you've got an amazing body."

The caresses were spectacular. Her pragmatism had long since convinced her she was far from the waifish anorexics men seemed to prefer nowadays, but it was nice to be reminded there were still aficionados of real women; women with curves, and hips, and soft bellies and strong thighs; women who'd carried life. "I'm not quite what I used to be." But she moaned when he pressed her to bed, hand squeezing a breast.

"You feel so good," he muttered, mindless, sucking a hard nipple into his mouth. A little nip and she hissed.

"You're making me feel real good, baby." She cradled him in her thighs. "You wanna feel good, too?"

His hardness stroked her softness. "Shit, you're wet."

"I told you."

"I want you so bad."

She surged against him. "Then come on, honey."

"Oh," he groaned painfully. Kissed her open mouthed and sloppy. "I won't last."

"We got all night." She squeezed her fingers in between them, thrilling at the sensation of her palm against her clit as she adjusted him. "I bet you're packin' a speedloader."

"I don't have a condom!" He gasped suddenly.

And Christ, she hadn't even thought of that. Let her lust take off with her good damn sense. She tried to think for a second, but found her practical brain completely compromised by her wanton vagina. She grabbed his jaw with her free hand, still holding his cock with the other. "Look at me, Travis." He did - somehow. "Are you clean, baby? Don't lie to me."

"I am!" He gripped her jaw, too. "I promise. Constance, I wouldn't -"

She cut him off with a dirty kiss, bit his lip, sucked on his tongue until he panted for breath. "So fuck me, baby. Nice and hard."

"Dammit," he growled. But he did as he was bade (as usual), pulling her roughly to the edge of the bed and sliding into her in one thrust. They cried out together and her initial resistance slowed him. "Am I hurting you?"

"It's just been a while." She shifted. "I'm fine, baby. Move for me." She wanted badly to come. God, that would feel good. Sent her fingers to do their work above his cock.

He watched her touch herself, thrusting lazily for the moment. "That's so fucking hot."

"Mm-hm." And there was the pleasure - just at the end of his full thrust. Perfect. She felt a smile spread with the sensation and her thighs over his elbows. Her toes curled at his shoulders. "That cock hits the spot, honey."

"Yeah?" He couldn't help a self-satisfied smirk. Sped his thrusts a little.

"Yeah! Oh, Travis! God!" The increased pace was nice, too. She felt the precipice looming, squeezed her eyes closed.

"Watch me." He bit out, hips beginning to really snap now. "Watch me pound this tight pussy, Constance."

She'd never been averse to some dirty talk. In fact, she reveled in it. It was hard to keep her eyes open. But he really was gorgeous, standing over her like some young god burying his rod in her like a piston. She pinched her clit now, seeing his own struggle with control, wanting to join him in that release. But surprisingly she ripped apart first, seams unraveling when his grip roughened on her thighs, maybe bruising. It was just what she needed to push her into a strong, prolonged orgasm. "Shit! Yes! There! That's -" The rest was swallowed by a guttural, humiliating animal death cry that she couldn't have controlled if she wanted to.

"Fuck yeah!" Travis shouted, victorious when he felt her milking him. "That's it, babe. Yeah! Come for me." He fell over her, back strained, and gathered her tight against him. Groaned loudly into her neck as he pumped his own release inside her, not bothering to ask permission for that, she noticed.

Sticky in so many ways, they panted in the moonlight. Constance had to push against her suitor to urge him off of her. He rolled and she lowered her legs with a greatly relieved sigh, then yelped when he pulled her against him. She grumbled as he settled them awkwardly in the pillows, content to hold her, stroking her back. "That was..." He laughed suddenly, rubbed at his face. "Holy shit."

"Not exactly holy," she muttered against his pec.

"I don't know. It was pretty close." He laughed again.

"What's so damn funny?" But she was smiling, too. Happy. Satisfied.

"It's not funny!" He amended when she propped on his chest, staring at him. "Just..."

"What?" She pinched his thigh.

"Ow!" He snagged the offending hand, playfully bit the fingers. "Talk about a lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets."

"Are you calling me a freak?!" She climbed completely atop him.

"I'm not complaining!" He took her arms that were threatening to flay him. "I mean that in the best possible way. Trust me." She settled and he touched her cheek. "You are something else, Constance Langdon."

"You seem to be thorough in that particular conviction." She sucked on the fingers that caressed her face.

"Let's date."

She blinked down at him. "What?"

"You heard me. Let's hook up. Me and you. Be my girlfriend."

"Baby. I'm a little beyond girlfriend material at this point."

"Stop." He rolled them again, resting atop her this time. "Don't pull the age thing."

"It's a valid concern, honey."

"It's bullshit." He insisted. "I'm way in love with you."

She laughed aloud. "You barely know me!"

"I know I love you!" He tickled her ribs, making her squirm and squeal. "Besides. No other dude is gonna treat you like I will."

"You mean no other dude is gonna fuck me like you do."

"That, too."

"You made me lay in a wet spot for five minutes," She accused.

"You made the wet spot." He argued.

She huffed. "So what are you gonna do? Move in now?"

"Are you inviting me?"

"I didn't say that."

He shrugged. "Free house and yard work."

"I hired you if you recall correctly." She pushed at him again and they rolled. "And I'm not a woman who pays for sex."

"You sure?" He asked, now beneath her again. "Could be hot."

"Travis!"

"You can fire me. Then, I'll move in and be your boyfriend."

"Because every middle aged woman wants to support a free loading gigolo."

"I'll get another job!"

"You're damn right you will." She huffed. His erection poked her ass. "I do like the consistent and...timely delivery of your services."

"Yeah?" He adjusted her against the hard-on. "Well, I like watching your tits shake when I bang you."

"That's very romantic."

"I'm a poet."

She chuckled. "I'm gonna be sore tomorrow, aren't I?"

"Hell yeah." He sat up suddenly, kissing her. "Can we move to your bed? It's bigger."

She looked at him suspiciously. "I have a feeling you're into some kinky shit."

He cupped her breasts unapologetically. "Is that a problem?"

She shrugged. "Depends."

"Can I fuck you in those heels?"

"I knew it!" She slapped his chest, talking over his laughter. "You're a total deviant!" Their hands tussled, bordering on slap fight.

"Hey! Hey." He managed to control her flailing.

She blew bangs from her eyes. "What?"

"Sit on my face."

She paused, considering, before sliding off of him. "You're right. Let's go to my bed. It's bigger." He eagerly followed her upstairs, tugging at her robe the entire time she tried to put it back on. They giggled as she kicked her bedroom door closed behind them.