The Real Iris

Iris practically dragged Roy across the parking lot. The late afternoon sun hung warm over the apartment complex, bouncing off windshields hard enough to make her squint behind her sunglasses. Somewhere nearby, a lawn mower droned lazily. Somebody's kid laughed from a balcony. Ordinary Saturday sounds. Domestic sounds.

None of it matched the riot happening inside her body.

Her pulse felt lodged halfway up her throat. Every kiss Roy gave her seemed to linger physically, like static electricity trapped beneath her skin. Lips tingled. Chest felt too tight. Even the air moving across her bare shoulders seemed oversensitive somehow.

God, he was attractive.

Not in the polished, gym-sculpted, Instagram way younger women obsessed over. Roy looked real. Soft around the middle. Slightly rumpled. Hair thinning enough that most men would probably panic about it.

Iris adored every inch.

Maybe that said something about her. Maybe it said something about getting older. Somewhere along the line, perfection had stopped mattering nearly as much as comfort. Presence. Warmth. The feeling of being seen by somebody who actually wanted you instead of merely appreciating the effort you put into maintaining yourself.

George appreciated her.

Roy wanted her.

Difference there. Huge difference.

The thought sent another pleasant wave curling low through her stomach as she unlocked the van with a sharp chirp.

"Get in," she told him, breathless and smiling at the same time. "Before I climb you right here in the parking lot and Zara never forgives either of us."

Roy laughed nervously as he climbed into the enger seat. "I still feel like she might not forgive us anyway."

"Please. Zara forgives everybody." Iris shut the driver's door behind herself and immediately leaned across the centre console to kiss him again.

God.

There it was again.

That dizzy warmth.

Her hand slid up into the short hair at the back of his head while she pressed against him harder than she'd intended. Roy kissed like somebody who'd spent most of his life wanting affection and was still shocked every single time he received it. There was hunger in it, yes, but gratitude too. Enthusiasm. A kind of earnestness that made Iris feel molten.

When she finally pulled back, her lipstick was probably ruined.

Didn't care.

"Can we just go park somewhere?" The words tumbled out in a rush. "Like teenagers. Or adulterers. Or adulterous teenagers." A quick laugh escaped her. "Jesus Christ, listen to me."

Roy stared at her for a second, visibly flushed now himself.

"Yes," he said quickly. Almost urgently. "Let's do that. Do you know any spots?"

Excitement sparked through her immediately.

"I know exactly the spot."

Every suburban mother eventually learned where teenagers hid to smoke weed and make out. Years of driving kids to soccer practice and dance lessons had accidentally provided a comprehensive mental map of secluded parking lots across half the city.

The van pulled out onto the road. Traffic was light. Good. That bought them minutes. Precious minutes.

Time.

There was the ugly little pressure sitting beneath everything again. Iris tightened her hands on the steering wheel as they stopped at a red light. George would be home eventually. The kids too.

Alexander probably had hockey equipment scattered across the back seat of George's SUV right now. Sophia would want help with homework later. Zoe would ask for pancakes tomorrow morning with that dramatic little pout she did whenever she wanted something. A whole life waited for Iris at home.

And still...

Still all she could think about was Roy sitting beside her in wrinkled work clothes from the day before, looking slightly overwhelmed and deeply kissable.

It wasn't fair.

Zara got freedom to be with him whenever she wanted. Elaine and Michelle probably did too. None of them had to watch the clock every second while trying to steal moments with the man they loved.

Meanwhile Iris had to carve tiny pieces out of her life like a criminal hiding evidence.

"I hate this," she muttered suddenly.

Roy glanced toward her. "What?"

"This." One hand lifted briefly from the wheel in frustration. "The timing. The sneaking around. Having to schedule my own boyfriend like I'm booking a dentist appointment."

That earned a surprised laugh out of him.

"I'm serious," Iris continued. "I finally meet the most perfect man in existence and apparently the universe decides I only get him in heavily supervised intervals."

Perfect.

Ridiculous word. She knew that. And yet it felt true.

Around Roy, all the exhausting maintenance of being Iris Holloway seemed to fade into the background. No careful posture. No strategic makeup. No trying to stay younger than the approaching number looming over her next birthday.

Forty.

God.

Even thinking it made her stomach twist.

Forty sounded old. It sounded finished. Like the interesting parts of life were supposed to already be over.

But then Roy had looked at her today like she was the most desirable woman he'd ever seen. Not younger. Not prettier. Her.

Something inside Iris had loosened the moment that happened. Maybe she was allowed to still want things. Maybe she was allowed to still be wanted.

The van turned down a quieter road lined with trees just beginning to hint toward autumn. Sunlight flickered through the branches across the windshield in warm golden flashes. Beside her, Roy stayed quiet for a while before finally speaking.

"You really care about your family, don't you?"

The question landed gently enough to make her chest ache.

"Of course I do."

"And George?"

A pause.

Iris sighed through her nose.

"I love George." Saying it aloud felt strange while Roy sat beside her. "He's a good husband. Good father. He's been good to me."

"But?"

There it was. The impossible part.

"But he's not you."

Simple answer. Terrible answer. Honest answer. Her fingers tightened slightly around the wheel.

"Do you know what it's like," she asked quietly, "to spend years feeling like you're slowly becoming a role instead of a person?"

Roy didn't answer immediately. That was one thing she already liked about him. He listened instead of waiting for his turn to speak.

"Everybody needs something from me," Iris continued. "Kids need things. George needs things. Other moms expect things. Even yoga feels competitive now somehow." A humourless little laugh escaped her. "You hit a certain age and suddenly every woman around you is fighting a silent war against gravity and time."

Another red light. She looked over at him then.

"With you, I don't feel like I'm performing."

Roy's expression softened in a way that made her want to kiss him all over again.

"You don't have to perform for me."

Dangerous sentence. Dangerous man. Iris swallowed hard, then pointed ahead through the windshield.

"There."

The parking lot sat behind an old community centre near a stretch of walking trails. Mostly empty this time of day except for a rusted pickup truck near the far end.

Perfect.

The moment she parked, Iris turned toward him fully. No hesitation. Her mouth crashed against his again with enough **** to make the centre console dig awkwardly into her hip. Didn't matter. One leg slid halfway across the seat toward him while her fingers tangled into the front of his shirt.

Roy made a startled sound into the kiss.

A very good sound.

"I've been trying to behave for ten straight minutes," she murmured against his lips. "That's honestly impressive for me right now."

A shaky laugh escaped him.

"Iris..."

"Mm?"

"You're married."

The words should have hit harder than they did. Instead, all she felt was annoyance at the interruption.

"I know."

"Three kids."

"I know that too."

"And you're still..."

"Obsessed with you?" Iris kissed him again before he could finish. "Yes. Tragically. Ruinously. Completely."

Roy looked dazed by that. Cute. Really cute.

One hand slid along his jaw while she studied him up close. Slight stubble. Nervous eyes. Softness around the face that made him look approachable instead of intimidating.

Her type, apparently.

George had aged similarly. So had half the attractive dads at school pickup. Maybe Iris had simply reached a point in life where polished perfection felt exhausting.

Roy felt human. Warm. Safe. Wanted.

And the real Iris, the version buried under schedules and expectations and anti-aging serums and polite smiles, wanted desperately to crawl into his lap and stay there until the rest of the world disappeared.

Unfortunately, reality still existed.

A glance toward the dashboard clock made her groan softly.

Time.

Always time.

Not enough of it. Never enough of it.

Still...

Her smile returned slowly as she leaned in for another kiss. For what she needed today, maybe there was just enough.

"Back seat," she breathed, her lips brushing his, "Come keep me from acting my age."