Solvency, George Foster thought, was much more comfortable than the alternative. Sylvia was a dear, and she hadn't expressed any worries about his grandfather's trust coming through. But the trust had taken a while, and then the bank sat on the money until the check cleared. He had worried, and he didn't enjoy sponging off the girl he loved. Now, he had bills in his wallet and his checks would be good.

His first stop was at a supermarket. He could cook only a few meals, fewer still that he'd want to share with as good a cook as Sylvia. Warming up canned franks and beans would keep the body alive, but it was likely to kill romance. Even worse would be serving canned spaghetti to someone who cooked such marvelous spaghetti herself.

His grilled chicken breasts, however, would please her. And, coming home from teaching on a Friday, she'd enjoy any meal she didn't have to cook. He bought the ingredients, including lemon juice and oregano. He'd have done better to check whether she had those. He knew she didn't stock butter. He got a few tomatoes and cukes and a head of lettuce. A package of green beans and a quart of sherbet completed his purchases. He'd provide the entire meal except for beverages and bread.

She did have oregano, but he couldn't find lemon juice in the 'fridge. He prepared the marinade and left the chicken soaking in it while he took his coat to a cleaners. "You do leather?" he asked.

"They do." But the man looked dubious. "The bill is likely to be more than this coat is worth, though."

"More than it cost, anyway," he told him. The cost had been in escudos. Santiago merchants were glad -- indeed eager -- to take dollars; the people in the village preferred barter to even their own currency. "But it keeps me warm. Do you want me to pay in advance?" The man didn't.

Back home, he busied himself with meal preparation. When Sylvia came back he washed his hands and removed his glasses before kissing her. When he broke the kiss, he kept hugging her against his chest.

"Lovely," she said, "but I have to take off my shoes and start dinner."

"Dinner is almost ready. Sit here, and I'll take care of your shoes. No. Lie down."

She lay on the bed. He took off her shoes while she put her glasses on the nightstand. He rubbed her feet through the pantyhose. She sighed. He lay down beside her to kiss. Her mouth welcomed his tongue. "I love this," he finally said, "but dinner isn't going to cook itself."

He got the chicken out of the marinade and under the broiler. He washed and cut up the tomatoes, peeled and sliced the cukes, tore up the lettuce. When the timer rang, he turned off the broiler and turned on the burner under the pan. He added a little water and dumped the beans in when that water boiled. He set the timer for five minutes. When it rang again, he turned off the stove. "Dinner is served," he said in his best fake- British accent.

"Mmm," she said when she'd washed and sat down, "I think I'll keep him."

"You have been keeping me," he pointed out. "I can pay rent now, though. We'll settle up after dinner."

They did. "And how much did your groceries cost?" she asked. "I'll subtract that."

"My treat. I decided. I didn't consult you, and I won't make you put it in your food budget. I don't plan to do this often enough to make a dent."

"Still, it was sweet of you."

"Then let me be completely sweet." He washed the dishes by himself.

It was dismal out -- cool with dripping rain alternating with downpours. Neither suggested that they go out. She did some chores, and he got three solid hours in on his field notes. When she went into the bathroom, he took the last page out of the typewriter. He had his piles of paper back in order when she came out and slipped rapidly into bed. He'd convinced her to sleep naked, but she was still shy about going around naked when he was dressed.

His own preparations done, he joined her. "Mmm," he said after the kiss. "Bed morning, tomorrow?" His hand smoothed down her taut belly to her mound.

"Tomorrow, great. Not tonight, okay?" She removed his hand.

"Okay. Cuddle."

She turned her back and moved over against him. "I'm sorry, George, and you were so nice tonight, too. It's just that the week was...."

"Hey," he said. "You don't need to explain. Tomorrow is fine. Morning love is better. Even better, I mean." For that matter, having a naked Sylvia in his arms all night was more than he had dreamed of for the last year. He tucked her afghan around them both and kept his hands off her breasts by an act of will.

When he woke in the morning, before Sylvia for once, the afghan had slipped off. His back was chilly, though she had kept his front nice and warm. He tucked her in again before going to shower and shave. Shaving with hot running water was a luxury he was quite happy about getting used to once again.

He was having breakfast seated at the table in jeans when Sylvia woke up. He popped two slices in the toaster when he heard the shower stop. She came out of the bathroom in her robe.

"Toast?" he asked.

"Mmm, butter."

"The chicken required it. So we have a lot left."

"Is that check going to last out the month at this rate?"

"The quarter. The last two checks are somewhere in some country's mail system. They canceled them and put the whole amount in this one. Anyway, it's not going to be 'at this rate.' I have some special expenses right now, but I'm not going to turn into a wastrel. I came back with one change of clothes, as you well know. I need some more, grateful as I am for your loan. The underwear will pay for itself in fewer trips to the laundromat. I need a robe." He had dressed to eat, though he hoped to get her back to bed when her hunger was satisfied. "I was thinking of a blanket. On the other hand, that afghan forces you to sleep close."

"Rightly," she said "I should pay half the cost of the blanket. Though you're right; we do need one that fits."

"Don't see that. Most of the furnishings are yours. We don't split the costs, and we won't have to split the goods." And he didn't want to think about her needing a blanket wide enough to cover two when he wasn't one of the two. "Have any serious color preferences? Aversions?"

"Having everything color coordinated sounds terribly domestic, but it's hard to see where it would start considering what we've got. How about blue? But if you see something cheaper or warmer, go with that."

"Great. Should I get another set of sheets, too?" he asked. "That's the end of my planned purchases."

"Probably. You wouldn't think that two would get sheets dirtier than one, but we do."

"I wonder why. Speaking of which...."

"You want," she said, "what you missed out on last night." Actually, according to his plans, she was the only one who'd missed out on anything last night. Well, he loved being with her when she came, loved stroking her to that orgasm. But she was implying something more directly his pleasure, implying -- assuming really -- that he was an archetypically selfish male.

"What I got last night was to cherish the woman I love. I just want more of that this morning. And more of the woman I love; you were down to a remnant after dealing with the classroom all week."

"You're a poet. And the week wasn't that bad, though I'll admit I might not have seen it that way last night. Let me have my breakfast first."

"Of course," he said. After he had brushed his teeth, he sat across from her, watching in silence while she ate her cereal.

She took the few dishes to the sink and rinsed them off before going to brush her own teeth. He tried to pretend patience until she came out and started to take off her robe. "Let me do that," he said.

She smiled at this, but allowed him to remove the robe. She was delightful in her nakedness. He stroked her back while he kissed her. Then, he brought his hands from her butt to the sides of her waist and caressed upward. When he had a breast in each hand, he said, "Oh Sylvia!"

He kept his left hand on her breast, but his right stroked lower. He scratched/tickled her belly with the backs of his nails while renewing the kiss. He played with the hair on her mound for a minute before moving on toward her vulva. When he stroked upward on her inner thighs, she changed her stance to part her legs. He stroked the lips for a moment, before parting them. She was a little wet there, beginning to get aroused.

He spread that liquid around, stroked those responsive lips, and gently brushed her clit until she pushed him away. By now, he was used to her actions. He didn't worry that this was rejection.

She tugged at his belt. "Lose these," she said, and returned to the bed. He wore only a wristwatch when he joined her. Kissing was easier like this, he could shove himself lower in the bed rather than bending down. First they shared a long kiss mouth to mouth. As he kissed a path down to her breast, he returned his hand to her vulva. She spread her legs to ease his access. He rubbed one inner lip against the other while kissing all over the smoothness of her breast.

He timed his movements so that his first suck on her nipple was simultaneous with his first stroke on her clit. "Oh," she said. "Oh, yes." She tensed as his strokes continued.

When he remembered to switch breasts, however, she grasped his cock. He reached over to the nightstand for the box of condoms.

"Do you need those?" she asked.

He abandoned her breasts to look her in the face. "Don't you have to give the pill time?"

"Either you ovulate or you don't."

"Oh, Sylvia," he replied. When she tugged gently on his cock, he climbed into position. She was so smooth against his bare cock, so liquid, so warm. He slipped right in.

"Oh, darling," he said as he began to move through her velvet vulva. She was warm and tight around him, thrusting back responsively under him. What with the greater sensation and with the uncompleted cuddle from the night before, he was peaking rapidly.

He didn't need to hold back, though. She was there before him. He stopped his motion as she tightened around him, and then drove urgently a few times in and out of that convulsing warmth.

Then he came himself. He thrust hard into her and erupted. For a moment (an eternity?) he was all tightness, muscles hard as his bones. Then he couldn't tighten anything. He reached for his cock as he tumbled sideways, only remembering as he grasped the base that he'd never put on a condom.

"Oh Sylvia," he panted. He reached out weakly to pull the sheet around her sweating frame. She took his hand in hers. He drifted back to sleep like that.