He stood up next and carried me toward the bed, my legs wrapped around his waist, our mouths never parting, and he laid me back against the blanket, pressing himself down over me as we sank further and further into the moment, and the feeling of being tangled together, and lost with each other.
As if staying this way could make everybody else on earth disappear.
Until … almost like the universe just wanted to prove us wrong—in a moment of bad timing worthy of the Guinness book—there was a knock at my door.
Twenty-Two
SPOILER: IT WAS Lucinda.
A human cold shower if ever there was one.
We froze at the sound. I squeezed my eyes shut, but Joe craned around to peek at the door.
“It’s a middle-aged lady,” he whispered. “I can see through the glass.”
“Does she look like Martha Stewart?” I whispered back.
“Yes,” Joe whispered.
“With kind of a sourpuss face?”
“Yes,” Joe confirmed.
“And a vibe like she maybe sucks the fun out of everything?”
“Not sure, but maybe?”
“It’s my stepmother,” I confirmed. “Just ignore her.”
I pulled his mouth back down to mine. But at that, Lucinda started knocking again.
“That’s going to be challenging,” Joe said.
Lucinda talked through the glass pane in the door, her voice muffling its way into the room. “I need to talk to you,” she said. “Stop ignoring me. I can tell you’re in there.”
She could certainly kill a mood, I’d give her that.
I sighed. Was I really about to shut down the best kissing of my life for Lucinda?
The knocking continued. And continued.
I guess I was.
“Promise me,” I said then, looking deep into Joe’s eyes, “that we are not done here.”
“We are not even close to done here,” Joe said. “I promise.”
And so we shut it down.
Joe found his shirt and his jacket. I straightened the apron we hadn’t even had time to remove. We steadied our breath. Shifted gears.
And then, with dread, I opened the door.
“How did you even get up here?” I said as Lucinda walked in.
“Mr. Kim gave me your new passcode. Because it was an emergency.”
Kindhearted Mr. Kim. We’d have to have a talk about Lucinda.
“What emergency could possibly exist between me and you?” I asked.
But Lucinda was sizing up Joe. “Is this the man you stole from Parker?” she asked then.
Stole? From Parker? “I have never stolen anything from Parker,” I said.
“That’s not the way I heard it,” Lucinda said.
“That’s never the way you hear it,” I said.
Joe cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but Sadie’s right. I was not stolen.”
“Look,” I said to Lucinda. “We’re kind of in the middle of something.”
“I can see that,” Lucinda said.
“Please don’t come over here and peep through my windows, Lucinda,” I said in a tone like we’d been over this a million times.
“I wasn’t peeping. I was knocking. I couldn’t see anything but feet, anyway.”
“Lucinda,” I said, “I’m busy.”
But Lucinda remained righteous about her choices. “You left me no other options! You wouldn’t answer my calls. You wouldn’t respond to my texts. Do you think I wanted to trudge over to your hovel in the middle of the night? I did not. But I need to speak to you!”
“So speak,” I said.
Lucinda looked Joe up and down. “Privately.”
“Let’s get this clear,” I said, gesturing at Joe. “He is my guest. You are an interloper.”
“You can’t ignore me forever.”
“Yes, I can. I absolutely can. Why would I do anything else?”
But now Lucinda had decided to start looking pitiful. I didn’t even have to see it to know the choreography: the trembling bottom lip, the moistening of the eyes, the drooping of the brows. A signature technique for getting her way. Which worked on a surprising number of people. But not me.
Unfortunately, Joe hadn’t built up an immunity to it.
He could watch for only so long before he caved. “You know what?” Joe said. “I’ve actually got some stuff to do.”
Ugh! Damn human compassion!
“No, you don’t,” I said.
“Yes,” he nodded at me, like, This has to happen. “I do.”