chapter 8

*Grace*

“Gracie!” Ella squeals, her arms open wide for a hug, a bottle of wine clutched in tight fists at each end. “It’s been months! You have to quit holing up like a hermit and get out more.”

Smiling, I hug my stepsister on the veranda, then step back, gesturing her inside. “How was your vacation?”

Ella rolls her eyes. “Three weeks is too long to take a cruise with your kids and husband. Even if you are in a paradise of sun-bronzed young gods.” Laughing, she cuts a swift path to the fireplace to warm her hands.

“Something smells really good,” Ella groans, inhaling deeply as I hang her coat in the entry closet.

Cocking a brow, I give Ella a crooked smile. “Juliet’s marinara. I put it on this morning. It’s been simmering all day.”

Following me through the dining room in nearly a skip, Ella giggles. “That recipe is the best in the whole world, I swear.” She stops abruptly in the center of the kitchen. “Look at your kitchen!” she gasps, turning in place once. Her eyes are wide as she ducks into the mudroom, opens the new pantry door.

“Oh, wow! A full pantry!” She raises her brows. “It’s looking a little sparse.”

“I haven’t hauled anything from the cellar,” I laugh. “I just dread that job. What’s in there is only what I’ve had to buy because I’ve run out.”

Closing the door, Ella spies the folding doors over the laundry across my generous kitchen. She rushes over, opening these doors as I watch with a smug smile on my face. “You moved the laundry upstairs too!” she exclaims, staring into the space, still holding the folding doors by the handles. “You didn’t tell me you were doing all this.”

Giggling, I turn to the stove. I set a large pot of salted water on the burner in front of the one where the marinara simmers and turn the heat on high. “I didn’t plan to. This is Rob’s handiwork. Stubborn man even hauled the washer and drier up from the basement by himself while I was out.”

“Really? He must be a brute. Girl, where’s the corkscrew? This calls for celebration.” Rooting through a drawer, Ella locates a corkscrew and opens one bottle of wine as I set two glasses beside her. She pours, then hands a glass to me. “To Rob and his handyman genius.”

I tap the lip of her glass against Ella’s and feel it vibrate as it rings softly, then take a sip.

“I see you replaced the faucets and the fixtures. And it looks like the trim in here is new. What else do you have him working on?”

“The trim isn’t new. Rob just stripped the old layers of paint off it and repainted. I never realized how beautiful the original pattern was under all those years of paint.” I point to the trim, admiring it again and see Ella does the same.

“He’s putting new tile in the powder room. He found it on clearance at a hardware store near where you live while he was picking up some particular tool he wanted.” I wait as Ella checks out Rob’s work in the powder room. “So he’ll finish downstairs and then do the upstairs bathrooms to match. That’s all for now. I hadn’t planned on him doing much of anything inside but the faucets and fixtures, but I also hadn’t anticipated paying only for materials—and even those he often finds or recommends at a better price.”

“This is beautiful, Grace.” Ella leans against the counter near me as I throw angel hair pasta into the boiling water, then pull a bowl covered in plastic wrap from the refrigerator.

“Salad,” I explain. “Do you want to eat here or in the dining room?”

“Oh, the dining room, of course. Let’s go all out for girls’ night,” Ella laughs, taking the bowl from me and setting it on the dining room table. “What made you decide to update the kitchen if you didn’t plan to?”

“Rob suggested it based on something I asked him to fix in the cellar.” I stir the boiling pasta to make certain it doesn’t stick together. “He gets things done so much faster than I expect. It’s still mostly too cold to do the work I need done outside, though he did start working in the barn, I’m not certain on what. When he gets bored, he starts looking for stuff to fix and we’re off to the hardware store.”

“I’ve heard that. The whole town is buzzing about you and the foreign guy picking out paint.” Ella takes another sip from her glass. “Paul and I heard an earful at the pub a few weeks ago about how he treats you like a queen—opens doors for you, lifts and carries all your stuff.”

Turning, I slump against the counter, the corner of one lip pulled up in disgust. “Really? Who said that?”

Ella tips the remaining contents of her glass into her mouth, then pours another, topping my glass too. “Mueller, of course. You live in a fishbowl, Gracie. These people are dying for some excitement.” She raises her brows teasingly. “And I hear Rob stirs up female excitement.”

“Whatever,” I groan, retrieving a colander from a cupboard and setting it in the sink. While the noodles drain, I spoon marinara from the pot into a bowl and take it into the dining room.

“Are you saying he doesn’t treat you nicely?”

“Not at all. He’s very chivalrous. Very well-mannered.” I shrug, dumping the noodles into a serving bowl. I hand it to Ella.

“And? I know that pause, Gracie.”

I giggle. “‘And’ nothing. He’s just a great guy. It’s working out really well—” I stumble a bit over the lie, “—having him as a renter. His work is fantastic. He’s pleasant and polite. Never complains, not even about my cooking. He listens and is helpful.” In the kitchen, I pile the dishes for two place settings together, then distribute them on the dining room table. “It’s nice to have someone around. It’s really all there is, Ella.”

Sadly.

I’m not going to mention sleeping together on the sofa over the holiday break. Obviously. Nice as it was, and the days that followed, now that Rob’s back in school, we seem to have settled into a roommate-y routine again. He’s focused on his studies, which he should be. And frankly, the hit my bank balance took probating Juliet’s estate was worse than I thought. I’m up late most nights trying to shuffle pennies from one expense to another, none of which is something Rob needs.

“What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing. Since last summer, Paul’s been gone all the time, so there’s not much I can do. I’m just sick of it.” Ella takes a seat at the table opposite me, then dishes her plate. “I didn’t get married so I could be a single mom, you know?”

“Is that because of the restructure?”

“Mmmm. This is so good.” Chewing quickly then swallowing her bite, Ella nods. “Yes. After they cut Paul’s department back, his territory is bigger and he’s traveling more, both to see clients and to support at conventions. Even when he’s home, he’s up until all hours working on projects and locked away in his office. If it weren’t for his parents taking the kids off my hands sometimes, I’d be institutionalized by now.”

Ella’s comments make me seethe inside. I know firsthand what Paul is doing up at all hours, but I’d hoped that would stop after he’d propositioned me and gotten himself thrown out. Fishing a little more, I reply, “That’s been months. How often is he gone? I’d hoped things were settled down when you were both here for Juliet’s funeral and repast.”

Ella snorts, wolfing down another bite, then washing it down with half her wine glass. “Hardly and it’s only gotten worse. He was here because I told him he’d be here to support his family or there’d be problems.” She leans back in her seat, one arm wrapping her waist, the other perched at the elbow against it. She swirls the contents of her glass in her free hand. “Last month, he was home less than two weeks. He missed Valentine’s. And wasn’t home for his birthday. He already knows he’ll be gone over spring break. The kids are pretty disappointed.” She takes a few swallows, emptying her glass.

Sighing, I glance away. Removing myself as a distraction hadn’t set Paul’s head straight. Instead, it appeared he’d found another target for his attentions. Maybe more than one. “I can tell it’s hard on you.”

“It’s his own loss. He’s missed dance and violin recitals; baseball games and swim meets.” From her position at the table, Ella can see into the great room. She watches the flames dance in the fireplace for a few seconds. “I keep telling him: ‘they’re only little once’. It won’t be long before they don’t want us around.”

“What about you, Ella? You need him around too.”

“Yeah, I hate that I’ve become one of those wives that complains about how much her husband works. He’s a good provider, and he loves his job.” Ella refills her glass. “And at least he’s not at the track gambling it all away or getting trashed at the bar.”

No. More likely buying things for his mistress, I think bitterly, guilt and confusion over my silence warring with concern and consequences of speaking up. I hurt for Ella and I’m embarrassed for being another kind of ‘other’ woman, even if nothing more than talking had taken place between Paul and me.

“I’ve had more meals with my co-workers than my husband in the last several months,” Ella continues, tears welling in her eyes. “But work is more important to Paul than me.”

“I don’t think that’s true—he’s,” I hesitate, searching for the right word, “distracted— but I’m sorry you and the kids are caught in the middle, Ella. I’m sure he’ll come to his senses.” Please, let him come to his senses.

Forcing a smile to her face, Ella waves it away. “Enough of my belly-aching. Did you get the farm through probate?”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Finally. It cost a big chunk of the farm budget. I might not have enough to plant the west acreage this year because of it.”

“Plant? If it’s through probate, sell, Gracie.” Ella says, incredulous. “Get far away from here.”

“I have to plant. The farmhouse and barn still need repairs before I can consider selling. Those will run into the growing season. If I don’t turn a little profit, my value drops.”

“Aren’t we a pair? Both wedged between rocks and hard places.” Ella reaches across the table, setting her hand on mine. “It’s going to be okay, Gracie. I just know it is.”

We talk more over dinner, polishing off the first bottle of wine as we clear the dining room table.

“Are you going to put this stuff away?” Ella asks, when I leave the food out but covered in the kitchen.

“The food?” I shake my head, searching the entry closet shelf. “No. Rob will be home later. He’ll fix himself something and put it away after.”

“You know an awful lot about his habits for a renter.” Ella eyes me speculatively as I return to the dining room, a deck of playing cards in hand.

I take a seat, shuffling the cards. “He’s been here the better part of four months, Ella. Nearly five. He eats most meals with me, studies downstairs. We talk. Friday or Saturday evenings, he usually meets his friends at some dive bar near St. Mary’s and they play pool or darts. When he gets home, he eats.” I shrug. “We’re in the same house. It’s not like I can avoid him. Rummy?” I hold up the shuffled deck, wiggling it enticingly.

Disappearing into the kitchen, Ella emerges a moment later with the second bottle of wine, pouring us both a glass and setting the bottle aside on the table. “Okay. But you’re going down this time.”

*Rob*

It’s just after midnight when I return home, and I’m surprised to see a car in the driveway behind Grace’s pickup. I knew her sister was coming by but hadn’t expected the two would be so late. Not that I begrudge her. In the few months I’ve lived here with her, Grace has only gone out for an evening once. And only into town to meet her sister.

I debate a moment in the car before the remembered smell of the dinner Grace was working on hits and my empty stomach makes the decision for me. I’ll go in through the mudroom, I think, hurrying around the side of the house, my breath frosting in the cold night air. Hopefully, I won’t disturb them.

The smell of hot food hits me as I enter the mudroom. My stomach gives an insistent rumble as I inhale deeply, grateful I declined the greasy bar food my friends consumed as if it was mana from heaven. Then again, none of them is coming home to a gorgeous woman who’s also an amazing cook.

I freeze as I step into the kitchen. There’s a woman there, but not the one I’m expecting. “Hi,” I say soothingly, studying her.

Where Grace is tallish and lithe, dark haired with fine, fair skin, this woman is short, a bit fleshy but cute, with a freckled complexion and hair the color of the dried grass I’d grown up with along the Nantucket shores. She stares at me as if I’ve sprouted a second head.

“I’m Rob.” I extend my hand, smiling. “You must be Grace’s sister.”

I can see her mind working as she stares, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Doubtless, she’s reviewing the expectations she had of me, from whatever sources she’s acquired them. Befuddled, she reaches for my hand, blurting, “You’re Asian.”

I’m well-schooled to maintain my polite expression, even as I feel myself start to vibrate with tension. Given Grace’s behavior around people, I hadn’t expected a comment about my race immediately from her sister. “Korean-American.”

The woman seems flustered, continuing to shake my hand a bit too long as she stares at me. As if suddenly snapping out of a trance, she releases me, closing her eyes with an agonized expression that reminds me of Grace. “I’m so embarrassed. I’m so sorry. I’m—I’m Ella. Grace’s sister. Not that it’s an excuse, but you surprised me. I didn’t know you were so gorgeous.”

Ella claps her hand over her mouth immediately, the agonized expression returning to her face.

I meet her mousy brown eyes, comically wide and round. My smile widens with amusement at her discomfiture and the tension releases as I realize she wasn’t as surprised by my race as she was by my looks. “Uh, thanks,” I chuckle. “That’s a nice thing to say.” I glance around but don’t see Grace.

Guessing the object of my search, Ella’s hand drops from her mouth. “Grace is upstairs.”

My brows draw together in concern. “Is she okay?”

“Oh. Yeah. I was hogging the little girls’ room, so she went upstairs.”

“Ah.” Nodding, I gesture towards the cabinets. “Is there something I can get for you? I’m going to fix myself a plate.”

Following in my wake, Ella chatters nervously. “Grace said you would. She knows a lot about you,” she comments as I dish myself some noodles, topping them with the warm marinara sauce Grace prepared.

Hearing her comment, I glance over my shoulder at Ella. I expect Grace knows many things about me, except the single guarded secret I hold about my parents’ immigration. I can see she’s only talking because she’s nervous though I have no idea what I’m doing that contributes to that, and it’s a sharp contrast to Grace’s calm demeanor. “I’m not surprised. I’m pretty simple and we talk when I’m not at school.”

“She said that too. Not that you’re simple, the talking part,” Ella adds quickly. “What are you studying?”

Grabbing a fork from the drawer, I set it beside my plate on the kitchen bar where I usually eat with Grace and return to the cupboards for a glass. “Business management. I’d like to have my own construction company.”

Ella nods as though it was obvious. “If your work here is an indicator, you’ll do well for yourself. It’s fantastic. Grace is just thrilled. She loves your initiative.”

I process Ella’s comments in silence as I fill my glass from the pitcher in the refrigerator. While Grace is always appreciative and tells me ‘thank you’ for my work, she seldom provides much in the way of feedback. To hear she’s thrilled with my work makes me happy, though I wonder why she’d be surprised by my initiative. “What do you mean?” As I come around the counter to my plate, I pull out a chair for Ella and she plops into it gratefully.

“Just that you’re so helpful. She’s never really had a man around who was any help. Her ex was just terrible.”

“Grace was married?” That’s new information. I guess I’m not the only one guarding some secrets, I think.

Ella nods, watching me eat. “To a school administrator. He blocked her promotion to department head so Grace would take care of his mom while she was undergoing chemotherapy. Then he left when Juliet got sick.”

That makes me choke on my food. Coughing, I let slip, “That’s terrible.” My brows draw together. “Grace was a teacher?”

At Grace’s footsteps on the stairs, Ella pops up out of her seat like she’s spring loaded. Though she says nothing else, she nods in response to my question.

I glance at the small woman, then over my shoulder, a broad smile spreading over my face as Grace enters the kitchen. Her deep blue eyes go wide at the sight of me.

“You’re home.” Grace glances at Ella, then back at me. “Is it that late?”

I shake my head. “Tim and Cameron,” he glances at Ella to elaborate, “they were deployed with me, they both got—,” I pause, uncomfortable, then add apologetically, “–lucky. Dan was pouting,” I continue quickly, “so we left and I came home. It’s just past midnight.”

“Midnight?” Ella squeals, rushing around her chair to the entry closet. “Paul is going to blow a fuse.” Stopping abruptly, she crushes Grace in a fierce hug. “Thank you so much for dinner, Gracie. I’m sorry to rush off. It was nice to meet you, Rob.” Pulling on her coat, she leans back so she can see me. “Again, I’m really sorry I was so rude.”

Grace follows her to the door. “Thanks for coming, Ella. Be careful getting home. Don’t rush.”

*Ella*

“I’ll be fine. You and Rob finish that bottle of wine. I’ll text you when I’m home.” With that, I hurry down the steps and across the yard to my car.

Shivering with the cold, Grace stands on the veranda, her arms over her chest and hands tucked under to keep them warm. She watches as I buckle myself in, digging around for a moment in my purse before finding my keys.

As I start my car, I wave at Grace, then gape open-mouthed as Rob emerges from the house to drape a jacket over Grace’s shoulders. His hands linger there, a second too long, as she thanks him. They share a warm smile and some pretty intense eye contact before he goes back inside.

Not that I’m surprised. From the gossip around town, I expected Rob is a young man. Someone fit from time in the military, good-looking and foreign. I didn’t expect this polite Adonis who speaks Grace’s name with a soft reverence.

Watching him, I understand the confusion and misunderstanding about Rob. His scrutiny, while not at all malevolent, is nevertheless intense and the emotions behind it difficult to discern.

Except for the one he’s displaying now. Rob’s obviously enamored with Grace. While I’m usually pretty good at reading her, right now, I can’t. Under normal circumstances, I would say it’s just that she has no opinion, but my heart tells me Grace is nursing her own attraction in return and is concealing it as she does, to protect herself.

Grace waves to me as I turn the car’s headlights on, then tucks her hands under the jacket after. As I back out of the drive and head towards town, she follows Rob into the house.

*Grace*

Draping my jacket over a dining room chair, I pick up the remaining bottle of wine off the kitchen table.

Rob’s putting dinner away as I enter the kitchen. “This won’t store. Help me finish it?” There’s nothing suggestive about the invitation, but the way Rob pauses makes me wonder what he’s thinking as he looks at me. Uncharacteristically, he isn’t smiling. His eyes study my mouth until I wipe the corners of my lips with my fingertips self-consciously.

Rob looks away briefly, then back, his smile reemerging as he nods. “I usually drink beer, but sure.” Covering the pasta bowl with clear plastic, he sets it aside and measures another length of wrap for the bowl of pasta sauce. “Did you have a nice time with your sister?”

“Yes. It’s been awhile.” I pull a clean wine glass from the cupboard for him, set the wine next to it. “I miss seeing her.”

Rob puts the leftovers in the refrigerator, then stacks the pans I used to cook together in the sink. “I’ll wash these tomorrow, if that’s okay.” When I nod, he nears me, wrapping one hand around the stem of the glass and lifting the wine with the other. My heart speeds up at how near he is. “Go grab your glass. Let’s sit by the fire.”

*Rob*

Carrying my small burdens, I enter the great room. Though it’s still warm, the fire has burned low, so I set the glass and wine on the coffee table and add another log, shuffling the coals to generate more heat, then take a seat on the sofa, across from the chair where Grace usually sits.

I’m still shaken by the way Grace looked when she came into the kitchen after Ella left, the wine dangling at her side, clutched by the neck. The light in the farmhouse kitchen turns her skin a pale gold and shimmers in her black hair. It makes her eyes a deep blue, like the midnight sky, and makes those rosy lips of hers a deeper wine color. The way her arm hung, weighted by the bottle, it accented the hourglass curves of her figure, and distracted, I’d been unable to do anything but watch her approach. Still can’t get the sight of her out of my head.

I can hear her in the kitchen now, putting something in the dishwasher, but she appears shortly after with her glass. To my surprise, she sits next to me on the sofa in the seat nearer the fireplace.

Setting her glass beside mine, she leans back, watching the flames dance. “Thanks for building up the fire. It gets so cold after dark.”

Reaching for the wine, I hover over her glass without pouring, waiting for Grace’s answer to my unspoken question. She nods and I ask, “How come you and your sister don’t get together more often?” I fill her glass, handing it to her with a generous fill. “Does she not live nearby?”

Taking a sip, Grace meets my eyes. “She’s not far. She lives across the river from St. Mary’s. But she has a family and a busy schedule. It’s hard to make time.”

The fire accents her profile, turns her skin a pale honey color. I watch her lips on her glass, unconsciously drawn to them, as I consider what she’s said. I take a sip from my glass. Not surprisingly, the wine is excellent.

Unlike the impoverished neighborhoods around St. Mary’s—the student ghetto— the one across the river where Grace’s sister lives is an exclusive gated community. Some of the city’s wealthiest elite live there, and scarcely a weekend goes by that the faint music of some lavish event isn’t heard drifting across the water.

Even with a family, I wonder how Ella could have difficulty making time for her sister, or Grace for her. Though my parents are thousands of miles away, I still call every day. That’s when it occurs to me: there’s more to this story. But watching Grace tip a larger swallow into her mouth, I’m reluctant to push. “What was different today?

“Her husband, Paul, is out of town and their kids are staying the weekend with his parents.”

We sit in silence for a moment, Grace watching the flames flicker and dance in the fireplace. Since she’s distracted, I watch the light dancing over her, high and low lighting the perfect lines of her face, the gorgeous curves of her body, and sparkling silvery-blue in her hair.

Though I haven’t lived here long, I do recognize in the budding relationship between us, these conversations most evenings and nearly all of each weekend give her the largest portion of my invested time, second only to sleep, or perhaps school.

The result’s a sustained, escalating disclosure that fosters a reciprocal closeness we can both feel in certain powerful circumstances. It’s by-passing politeness or even friendship, evolving itself into an intimacy that surpasses the relationships I have with both my friends and family. Not necessarily in depth, but definitely in a mental and emotional arousal that’s at once terrifying and irresistible.

I’m dying to pursue it.

“I get the impression you have deeper feelings about your sister’s situation.” I watch as my voice brings her back from wherever her thoughts had wandered.

Grace seems surprised when she looks at me. Shifting, she moves down the sofa towards me. “Can I tell you something in confidence?”

“Of course.” I smile. “Your secrets are completely safe with me.”

*Grace*

Aside from the fact that he just has a great smile, I love that it’s the kind of smile that touches his eyes. Makes me feel seen. Makes me feel heard. Makes me feel safe. I wasn’t certain what Rob intended, but I’m convinced suddenly that I can talk to him. Really talk and have my thoughts remain private.

He’s turned his body towards me, resting his arm along the back of the sofa in a way that reminds me of an open invitation to a hug. And he’s waiting for me to speak.

“I think Paul is— restless. I know he’s looking for a way to cheat on Ella. If he hasn’t found one already.”

Unconsciously, he moves towards me and I can see in his eyes what I’ve said concerns him. “How do you know he’s looking?”

Embarrassed, I look away, turn to sit straight. Rob’s arm is resting behind my shoulders now. His closeness is comforting, even though I’m afraid of his response when I explain. “Because I—because he propositioned me.”

“When?” Rob sounds angry even though I can see he didn’t intend to.

I sigh, shrug. “Before my grandmother died. I told him to get out. That made him mad. After that, he essentially quit talking to me.” Worrying about Rob’s reaction, I force myself to meet his eyes, relieved to see only concern there. “I think he’s also discouraging Ella from interacting with me.”

I watch his expression as Rob settles his back against the sofa, his arm still behind my shoulders. We’re so close now we’re almost touching, our weight together on the cushion creating a dip that inclines us towards each other. Realizing it, I’m at once self-conscious and happy. I empty my glass.

*Rob*

Her words tug at me. Grace carries a lot on her shoulders, and I know how lonely it makes her. Those are the moments when it seems like she’s receding, vanishing and taking her feelings into the background with her.

But to bear such a burden for her sister too—I can’t fathom how isolating that must feel. Suddenly, I’m grateful she reached towards me. I don’t want to shut her down. Especially not now.

“Wow. That’s screwed up.” I look towards her and a jolt shoots through me realizing how close she is. “At the risk of sounding like a jerk, I get why he did it. Why he’s keeping you and your sister isolated from each other now.”

“Do tell. Because I don’t understand.”

She waits as I lean forward, exchanging my half-empty glass on the coffee table for the bottle of wine. When I’ve refilled her glass, I set the bottle down then settle in next to her again. There’s a different and distinct change in the timbre of my voice when I speak again, the words rolling cautiously off my tongue.

“It was a risky gamble.” I meet her sapphire eyes, then let my gaze wander, studying her face. Before I know I’m doing it, I brush the hair back from her forehead. My nerve endings tickle with the delicate touch, the velvet of her skin, the silk of her hair. “With the potential for tremendous reward if you’d agreed. And the potential for tremendous loss since you didn’t. Keeping you two apart is the obvious way to mitigate his failure and save face.”

Grace takes a swallow from her glass. “Save face?”

I’m embarrassed when Grace challenges my response. I don’t mean to endorse the behavior, but it’s difficult to explain without it what rejection by a woman does to a man. I shrug and nod awkwardly. “I’d take it pretty hard if I made a play for your affections and you rejected me.”

The alluring space between her lips appears as Grace parts them in surprise. It’s barely possible not to stare at her mouth and when she does that, it’s entirely impossible. My body aches from the force of keeping still, my skin prickling as my response to her mouth explodes along my nerves.

Grace takes a sip from her glass, her eyes locked with mine over it. “You’re not married. Why would I reject you?”

I couldn’t have kept the smile off my face if I’d tried, and I had no intention of trying. This conversation had taken a decidedly unexpected and pleasant turn. “I really have no idea,” I laugh.

“Then don’t assume.” Grace stays in the shelter of my body on the sofa, sipping her wine and watching the fire. Periodically, she looks up at me, her blue eyes dark like the sky just before nightfall. She’s close enough for me to smell the lingering fragrance of shampoo on her dark hair and feel the body heat radiating between us where we’re close but not touching.

I’m longing for – no dying for— an incidental touch but stay carefully still. The decision to initiate anything physical is Grace’s, and I’ve already overstepped when I brushed the hair from her forehead. Ashamed, I glance her way, surprised again by how close she is, and thrilled that despite my blunder, she’s remained. I love looking at her.

The pleasant tension between us doesn’t dwindle, even though we don’t speak anymore. I know I’m lost in my own thoughts, awash in the private sensations I’m taking from our proximity, basking in it in the way I was when I woke up on Christmas morning and found her still sleeping, limp and warm, on my chest.

For a minute, I entertain thoughts about what would happen now, if Grace was as aggressive as the waitress at Three Fools, the one who’s always suggesting I meet her behind the bar for some quickie sex. I push the notion out of my head.

What I love about Grace is her tender thoughtfulness. As much as I’d like something physical to happen—to give what I feel about her a form—I’m repulsed considering it. I don’t know who I’d want to die first if Grace was that aggressive waitress. Her, for descending into something so beneath her? Or myself, for wishing something so base about her?

Grace rises when she finishes her wine, setting her glass on the table. “Thank you, Rob.”

I study her face, but her expression’s unreadable. “For what?”

“For helping carry my secret.”

“I’m happy to help you. Anyway I can.”

Smiling tentatively, Grace nods. “Good night.”

“You too.” I watch as she climbs the stairs, listen to the sounds the old farmhouse makes as she moves about in her bedroom above me.

I imagine her, going about her bedtime ritual—climbing into bed, turning out the light—and immediately regret it. The thought of her lying there, alone in her bed in the dark—even if she’s wearing the shapeless pajamas I occasionally see her in. I ache to follow her. 

*Grace*

My body temperature rose when Rob mentioned pursuing my affections. My heartbeat and each breath came a little faster when he said he’d be disappointed if I’d rejected him too like I did Paul. I’m certain Rob wasn’t drunk from the few sips he’d taken from his forgotten wine but there was no mistaking the flirtatious inflection to his voice. In the small space between us, the expanding tension fills in, like dendrites on nerves, reaching towards each other, zapping non-verbal messages back and forth between sensitive fingers.

Like on the car door handle. Or—a hot, hard ache starts to build low in my body—when Rob pressed against me to get the bowl I wanted in the kitchen. I have no more idea what to do with it now than I had then.

It must be the wine. I tell myself the lie, as if forcing the thought will convince me, but I know that’s not it.

I’m completely smitten with Rob and have no right to be.

I linger in his company as long as I can. I’m certain he must be tired and I might feel guilty for keeping him awake, but the wine I’ve had is overruling every modicum of propriety I have, remembering how nice it was to sleep with him on the sofa Christmas eve.

And wondering what it would be like if we hadn’t been sleeping.

On that thought, I think I’d best put some space between us, before I say—or worse, do—something foolish.