“I already said no, but hey, hit me up if you guys decide to do the tree houses again. I’ll see you guys next week.” She tucked her hair behind her ears, avoiding Tara’s eyes and winking at Viola, who gave her a thumbs-up.
She was moving toward the door; a few more steps and her hand would close over—
“Rainy.” It was Braithe, walking toward her, an apologetic look on her face. Her shoes made pitter-patters on the hardwood as Rainy turned to face her.
“She comes on strong, but she means well.” Braithe’s mouth was pulled into a tight little bud; she only made that face when she was worried. Little tendrils of hair had come loose around her face. She looked like a painting.
“How did I know you were going to say that?”
Braithe sighed and opened the door. “Have you considered that we actually like you?” Rainy hadn’t; she’d been too busy trying to like them. It felt more like they were tolerating her, but she smiled at Braithe and nodded.
“I’m behind on work. I can’t really take the time off right now. Maybe next time. You guys will have to let me know how it all goes.”
Braithe laughed, reaching out to squeeze Rainy’s shoulder. “That sounded rehearsed.”
Rainy grinned, guilty. “I’ll see you, Braithe.”
She’d already bounded down the stairs when Braithe called after her again. “We’re at Viola’s tomorrow, remember? Throwing her a little sprinkle before the baby comes. You signed up to bring sparkling apple juice and the couscous.”
“I remember,” Rainy called over her shoulder. She hadn’t, and was glad Braithe couldn’t see the lie on her face. The mist soaked into her clothes as she walked. She could feel Braithe watching her from the doorway, wanting to say one last thing before sending her off. She’d only known the tiny, articulate former ballet dancer for a year, but she was the unofficial group mother. And there it was: “Don’t be a stranger this week. Come down for coffee.”
Without turning around, Rainy lifted a hand to acknowledge that she had heard, and walked quickly to her truck.
2
Now
When Rainy pulled past the end-of-road sign and up their long, looping driveway, the lights on the basketball court were on and flickering gingerly under the mist. Grant was shooting hoops; he had his shirt off, and she could see the top of his boxers above the line of his shorts. The floor of her stomach dropped out whenever she looked at him; sometimes she had to look away very quickly so he wouldn’t see how much he affected her. It wasn’t a bad problem to have, she supposed.
He stopped playing when he saw her and jogged over, the ball tucked under his arm. Rainy’s fingers hooked through the fence until they touched Grant’s chest, and she looked into his sincere brown eyes. The corners crinkled when he smiled at her, and for a moment, she was so captivated by him she forgot everything else.
“You look like you need to be kissed.” He pressed himself right against her, bending the fence outward and tangling his fingers with hers.
“Oh, yeah?”
He kissed her through a chain-link diamond, and she relished the salt and sweat of him.
“There’s a bottle of wine waiting for you inside, Miss Ives.”
“Great.” She looked over her shoulder at the house, the sharp angles of it black against an even blacker sky. “I better go let him out.”
Grant leaned in for one more kiss. “I’ll be in in a minute. Dinner is in the oven.”
Had she been hungry a short while ago? She remembered the cheese, and her stomach rolled.
“I’ll wash up, too. See you.”
At the center of the round driveway was a very large western hemlock, its roots beginning to split the asphalt in places. Rainy knew where to step so she wouldn’t trip. Grant threatened to have it cut down, lest the roots reach the house, but Rainy loved the tree, and she wouldn’t have minded if the roots popped up in her living room.
Grant had made a fire before he’d gone outside. Rainy could smell it as soon as she walked in the door, along with whatever he was making for dinner. To her left was a staircase, curving up toward the master bedroom; to her right was another that led to Grant’s office and the rooftop deck. Instead of taking either, she walked down three steps into the dropped living room where, during the daytime, the windows looked out over the mountain. It was for this view, this house, this solitude, that she’d agreed to leave her apartment in New York; Grant had offered to move there to be with her, but when she’d seen this place… She’d called it Goth House the first time she’d seen it.