Strong she might be, but made of kryptonite, no. Sometimes, a girl just needs her bestie and a huge glass of wine.
The white Tudor looks as relaxed and friendly as she could have made it and still stick to Lindsey’s modern aesthetic. Olivia loves this place; knows she did a good job on it. It’s elegant and functional, and Lindsey always keeps it show house ready. Olivia uses it in all her portfolios.
She pulls into the driveway, mounts the stairs, rings the bell. Nothing.
Pulls out her phone. I’m on your doorstep. Where are you?
The answer comes immediately. At your place. You should come home, now. Park says his office is trashed. Not from the break-in, something today.
Three dots.
Honey, are you okay?
Home. Olivia has exactly zero desire to be home. To help Park find his way out of this mess. Serves him right.
She ignores the text, ignores the vibration and ring that come moments later, too. She puts the phone into her back pocket, swipes the notification off her watch face, and is down two steps when the door opens behind her, and a deep voice says, “Liv?”
She freezes on the stairs, grabbing onto the handrail.
His voice. Vertigo. Her world spins, a kaleidoscope of possibilities. The offers, the joys, the regrets, smash cutting into this moment. His voice again, softer, aching.
“God, it is you. Aren’t you going to say hello?”
She turns into the face of the sun and is blinded.
Perry has grown since she’s last seen him. He’s two inches taller and fifty pounds heavier, but it is all muscle, easy to tell because he is shirtless, skin gleaming, and his hair, longer than she’s ever seen it, even in photos, runs in wet rivulets over his shoulders. He’s bigger than Park, fitter, too. Park’s physique, while still trim, has begun to blur around the edges lately—too much stress, too many bottles of wine, a sedentary office job. Perry is an outdoorsman, and it shows, long, ropy, all the way down to the grooves of muscle that disappear beneath the folds of the white towel hitched low around his hips, being held with a single hand. Not that she’s looking.
“Perry,” she says, the word a slow, deep breath. “You’re home.”
He grins. “And I’m soaking. Come in while I get dressed?”
“I shouldn’t. I…” She falters and shakes her head. “Sure. Of course.”
He disappears into the guest room; she makes a cup of tea. Grabs a second cup, just in case. He’s back before she’s had a chance to decide what to say, smiling again—why is he smiling, like he’s happy to see her?—and saves her.
“Oh good, tea. Thank you.”
“You still don’t drink coffee?”
“No. Nasty stuff. Give me a good old-fashioned cup of English Breakfast any day. How are you, Liv?”
From anyone else, this would be a simple interrogative. From him, it feels like being shriven. They’d been close friends long before they were lovers, and she realizes with a start how much she’s missed him.
“You’re doing really well for yourself.” He waves a hand. “The business suits you.”
“I assume Lindsey has filled you in?”
He gives her a look, one she recognizes from high school, the familiarity of it juddering through her spine. When they were young, he would have said, “Duh, dummy,” and she would have punched him on the arm, both of them hooting with laughter. Now he only smiles, the adult version of their old game.
“You are rather popular. And you have a website, social media. I check in.”
The juddering turns into a flutter, mid-abdomen, and she smiles despite herself. “You do?”
“I mean, not all the time. Only when I have Wi-Fi.”
“I’ve seen your work, too. You’re a bit more famous than me.”
“I am hardly famous. Let’s go with well-known in certain esoteric circles.”
“But the photographs—they’re beautiful.”
“I still have the camera. I use it all the time.”
A spike of pleasure. “The one my dad was going to sell on eBay? My grandfather’s Olympus?”
“Penny the Pentax. The very one. She’s in my bag right now. Fantastic camera. Still my go-to when I want to shoot on film.”
Olivia is deeply touched by this. She tries to cover her discomfiture by staring over his shoulder at the kitchen, then at her lap. Anywhere but at him. She takes a sip of the tea. It’s already cooling. “I should find Lindsey some new cups. These don’t keep their heat.”
“So Linds may have mentioned you and Park were having some difficulties.”
“You needn’t be oblique.”
His brows arch. “Okay. Yes. She told me what’s happening. The miscarriages. I’m sorry, Liv. If I’d known…”
“It’s not exactly something I’d post online.”
A flicker in those gray eyes. She’s hurt him. She is so good at that.
“It sounds like you’ve been going through hell.”
“Thank you,” she musters, with as much dignity as she has left.
“I hate that you’ve been suffering. I really am sorry. I didn’t know. I’ve been…absent, for a while.”
She can’t take this. Even being in the same room with him feels like cheating, though they are appropriately distanced and both on their best behavior. He smells the same. Good. Of the outdoors. Of man and cedar and lime and tea. Of a simpler time. Aphrodisiacs. But the olfactory delights are overwhelmed by the memories flooding back. Him walking away. Their fight at the airport. The clinic. His rough palms on her thighs. All of it.
The secrets she’s kept her entire adult life.
She cannot separate Perry from her past, and she absolutely can’t allow him in now. She is a strong woman, but everyone has their breaking point. She needs to get away from the Bender boys.
He is watching her. Of the two boys, Perry is still the quieter one. Park always jumps in, runs the conversation, fills the room with hearty jokes and love and laughs. Perry simply is.
She sets down the tea. “Why have you come? Why are you here now, of all times?”
He leans back in the chair, the two front feet coming off the ground. His legs are long enough to balance him perfectly. “Instinct, maybe? I had a chance at an earlier flight. I’ve wanted to see y’all for a while, and I had some time between shoots. Lo and behold, I come home to find my family is in trouble. Who knows? Maybe the universe thought now was the right time to set things straight. At the very least, I’m here if you need me.”
She picks at the side of the cup, her nail making a soft ticking noise. “That’s very…nice of you.”
He stares at her. “When did you get so cold?”
That rage, that incandescent rage, courses through her. “What?”
“You didn’t used to be so contained. So remote. The girl I knew—”
“I’ve grown up,” she snaps. “Some of us didn’t run away. Some of us stayed and gutted it out. You have no idea what you did to me, leaving like that. You have no idea what it did to Park. You drove us together, and we’ve been doing just fine. Suddenly you’re back in town and our world is exploding. Coincidence? I think not. I… I have to go.”