A Crossing of Paths

Chapter Five

Melissa rose more refreshed than usual, and once dressed, headed into the kitchen to try out the fancy new stove by creating some of her award winning banana bread. Well, maybe not award winning, but damn good, in her opinion. She shoved the pans of batter into the oven and went to her study to answer some e-mails and pay some bills online while the tantalizing smell of the bread pervaded the house. She wasn't making the bread for herself. She was intent on meeting this mysterious neighbor of hers, and the banana bread was her "in". She never met a man who could resist it.
Pretty soon she was caught up with mundane business, the bread was out of the oven and cooling, and she had to decide what to wear for her mission. She giggled, thinking of an all black body suit with a ninja hood, but this was not a covert reconnoissance, no, she was mounting a full frontal assault. This would require something that got a man's attention, but in a good way, without coming off as slutty. So, she choose a close fitting top and a somewhat modest miniskirt, barely revealing any cleavage or thigh. Studying herself in the mirror, she approved the mission and headed to the kitchen to secure her weapons, placing the bread, wrapped in tin foil, in a nice woven picnic basket, then headed out the door and down the road. She totally forgot to lock or alarm the house, but out here it seemed an elective.
She enjoyed the feel of the morning sun and light breeze on her skin as she set an easy pace on the pock-marked surface of her road, reminding herself to check the budget and get the thing resurfaced if possible. Within fifteen minutes she was close enough to the cabin to see that he had no visitors as of yet, and hoped there wouldn't be any for awhile. Parked towards the back of the cabin she could see a range-rover, which she took to be his, but still no sign of him outside. She wondered what kept him inside so much, with such a beautiful day out here and a nice place to be outside in. Then, she made it to his front porch, and gingerly made her way up to the entrance, where a rather old and elaborate iron knocker was affixed to the door. Seeing no doorbell, she lifted it, and struck the plate a few times, hoping he was not to startled to have an unexpected visitor. Within a few seconds, the handle of the door rotated down, and the door swung open, as she held her breath with anticipation.
The morning sun ran up his body as he stepped into the doorway, creeping up to illuminate his face, and Melissa was struck with the strangest combination of deja-vu and anticlimax. She knew this face without any memory of having seen it, and seeing it was like reading the punch line of a joke she had already figured out. She searched her memory frantically to connect him with perhaps an actor on television or perhaps the portrait of the author of some book she had read, and drew a complete blank. If someone had coined the phrase, "It was like meeting an old friend for the very first time...", she knew exactly what it meant.
The man standing in the doorway appeared to be in his late fifties, maybe early sixties, with salt and pepper hair, and plenty enough of it. His face was graced with a beard that had a dark streak thru the middle, pure white on the sides. He had that well-earned "character" etched into his face that saved him from being considered ugly or plain, while denying him a hands-down claim to being handsome. His eyes twinkled, while his neutral expression could have labeled him as less than pleased. He stood about five foot eight, which in some circles would have been considered short, but his body was perfectly proportioned for his height, with no gut fighting to escape the well worn jeans he was wearing. He could have passed for a mellowed biker or a reformed hippy equally well.
As she stood staring at him with her mouth open, nothing coming to mind as how to greet him, he broke the ice with a puzzled smile and an extended hand........."I've always fantasized about being considered amazing, my dear, and you are coming very close to making that dream come true", he said, "perhaps I can do something for you?" Melissa was torn from her paralysis by his strong yet friendly voice and stammered. "Oh, I's so sorry, Sir, it's just that you seem so familiar to me for some reason, but I swear I've never met you! I'm Melissa", she took his hand and shook it, "I moved into the house down the road there just a few days ago, and I'm sorry it took so long to introduce myself.......well, I wasn't even sure you'd want me to intrude at all, this quickly at least......anyway, I brought you a get-to-know-my-neighbor present, just a little something I baked this morning.....oh christ, I'm babbling, aren't I? She laughed, feeling somewhat silly and insecure in front of him.
His smile of understanding set her at ease though, and he ushered her into his living room with a sweep of his hand, closing the door behind them. She examined her surroundings, a most fascinating collection of eclectic native american crafts and erotic sculpture and prints. The furniture was simple, well built and functional, owing to no particular style except that every piece seemed to fit perfectly. Some of the sculptures and prints would have caused most prudes to run back out the door, but she recognized the taste and talent that created each piece, even if some of them did lean towards a darker expression of sensuousness. As she turned around in the middle of the room, her curiosity seemed to build upon itself, and when she turned back towards him again, he was seated in what obviously must be "The" chair, with a rather large and plump pillow next to it. Instead of asking her to sit somewhere, he motioned her towards the bar that separated the living room from the kitchen. "Whatever you care to partake of, Melissa, I probably have stocked over there. Help yourself." As odd as this might have seemed to most women who would have expected her host to serve his guest, as per normal etiquette, it didn't bother Melissa in the least, and she asked him if he desired anything while she examined his stock of liqueurs and mixers behind the bar. "I have a pitcher of my favorite Sangria recipe already made up in the fridge there, dear, I wouldn't mind a mug of it. I recommend it highly if you'd like to try it, if sweet wines don't bother you, that is." Melissa opened up the ice box and pulled out the large pitcher brimming with the purple stuff, pieces of chopped citrus fruit floating around in the mix, and poured them both a frosty mug of the beverage, bringing them into the living room to begin what would prove to be one of the most interesting afternoons she ever remembered having.