She smiled. Maybe Oliver would give her one of his famous massages tonight when she saw him.
* * *
Oliver sat in his office and read over his next client’s information page. Pretty standard stuff. Oh, wait. She liked the idea of massage therapy because it combined stretching and deep tissue massage. Huh. So she knew something about massage therapy.
He got up and walked into the treatment area. The client was on the table, facing down and obviously naked. “I’m back. Is the bed warm enough?”
“Yes, it’s heated.”
“By a coil blanket.”
She sniffed. “And the room smells great. Lavender?”
“Right. Now, you indicated that you prefer equal amounts of massage and stretching.”
“Yes. That’s why I picked you as opposed to a routine massage place.”
Oliver started the Asian music background and stood by the table on one side. First he pressed his open palms on the scapula and rubbed back and forth increasing pressure somewhat, then down to the shoulder and waist, then to the butt and finally to the feet. With both fists, he kneaded the soles of each one.
Then he bent one arm at a right angle. He stretched it up and braced it with one of his arms underneath and held the position. He moved down to one knee and stretched it back to the butt,held that and repeated the move on the right side. Finally, he bent both legs up and pressed gently. Finally, he settled the legs onto the table, stretching them out.
He crossed the client’s feet and pressed them down one way then crossed them the other way and did the same.
Through all the movements, he could feel the tension flow from her body.
At the end of the massage/stretch session, he put the lights up halfway. “Stay where you are for as long as you like. When you’re ready, gently move to your side then sit up.”
Some masseuses left the room for this, but he waited till she completed the movements to make sure she was steady when she stood.
“I’ll leave now and you can get dressed. When you’re done, open the door and I’ll come back in.”
He left the room. Some sessions tired him out, like this one. So he leaned against the wall and relaxed there until the door opened.
* * *
Oliver drove to Anabelle’s house, looking forward to seeing her. Thinking of the night ahead, he grinned and pulled into her driveway. His cell rang before he could get out of his car. “Oliver Ricardi.”
“Oliver, this is Helen Sorge, your mother’s friend. I stopped over to see her today and found her laying on her garden path. She said someone tripped her. I got her inside but she won’t let me call 911.”
“Is she hurt?”
“Yeah. Her wrist is painful and she’s got a cut on her forehead.”
“I’ll be right there.” He clicked off.
A knock on the window startled him. He buzzed it down. “Anabelle.”
“Hello, love.” She frowned. “What happened?
He held up the phone. “My mother fell. She won’t go to the hospital. Her neighbor called me.”
“Let me get my bag.”
He noticed as she walked away that her hair had been curled and she wore a pretty white dress. For him. She was back in minutes and slid in the other side.
He scowled. “Not exactly what I was hoping for tonight.”
“Me, either.” She cocked her head. “You look nice.”