Page 5 of When You're Home
Rhett let out an extended breath to steady his heartbeat. Anticipation washed over him when he finally let himself inhale.
He hadn’t seen Tori in more than three weeks. Just the promise of being with her tomorrow made him feel lighter. Eagerness mingled with relief as he smashed down his pillow with his fist before sending his reply.
Ev: Yes please. Can’t wait. Goodnight, V.
Chapter 2
Tori
Toristareddownatherphoneandrereadhistext.Thepartofherbrainthatwasn’tconsumedwithangerfeltabitofsmugness.IfRhettwashometonight,thatmeantsomethinghadhappenedwithChandler.Hewouldn’tupandleaveEastonforanyotherreason,notwithoutlettingherknow.Shefeltlikeshehadwonsomesortofcontestshedidn’tevenknowshewascompetingin.
She knew he was home almost as soon as she got back from work. She noticed the lights from the hot tub when she went to her room to change her clothes. It could only be him. She could just barely make out his body slouched deep in the water, the blue and purple lights dancing across the surface. The Wheelers had gone to their lake house in Michigan for the weekend. Rhett’s mother, Anne, had texted her that morning to give her the heads-up, just like she always did.
The hum in Tori’s body confirmed her suspicions. She hated that she was so physically attuned to him. That was definitely Rhett in the hot tub.
She considered putting on a bathing suit instead of her painting clothes when she stripped down to her underwear and piled her hair on top of her head. Her shoulders ached from serving a huge party at Clinton's earlier that night. Every single person in the party of twelve ordered double beverages: a Coke and a water, a Coors Light and a water, and so on and so on. Dipping into the Wheelers’ hot tub would immediately dissolve the tightness in her upper back.
That’s not the only thing that would dissolve. She knew her resolve didn’t stand a chance in close proximity to that man. It would be a matter of minutes before she was eagerly closing the space between them and straddling Rhett’s lap if she let herself go over there tonight.
She banished the idea on principle. She wasn’t going to go skipping across the backyard and through the broken fence to join her friend-with-benefits without even so much as a courtesy call. Rhett came home to Hampton without telling her. He had some explaining to do.
“You just needed a break,” she muttered to herself, walking back to the folding table she had set up to spread out her paint supplies. She had spent the first few hours in the garage prepping canvases for the art therapy class she was teaching next weekend. There were already thirteen kids registered for her workshop through the New Hope program. Maggie, the volunteer coordinator, said it had the highest registration rate out of all the offerings that month. Tori recognized at least half the names on the sign-up list. She was looking forward to seeing some of the kids she had grown close with at last summer’s sleepaway camp, but her heart ached prematurely for the new faces who would show up to the workshop. Project New Hope offered monthly grief therapy programs and a summer sleepaway camp for bereaved kids who had lost one or both parents. Tori had been a participant for years before aging out and starting her role as a volunteer.
Once all the canvases were prepped, she moved on to work on her own art for the night. She was just about to thin out a gorgeous patina teal paint when Rhett’s first text had come through, but she was determined not to let his late-night interruption stop her from finishing her new piece.
“Shit!” she muttered as she accidently poured too much floetrol into a mixing cup. She was furious with herself as she inspected the almost-overflowing container. Could she somehow salvage it? Paint thinner was expensive, and she would be missing out on a lot of tips tomorrow by giving up a weekend shift. Lia had already texted her back and committed to working for her. Her best friend had even refrained from making judgmental comments when Tori admitted she was giving up the shift to spend time with Rhett.
What did that man think he needed a break from, anyways? His expensive off-campus apartment and his fancy business MBA program? His gorgeous girlfriend with her impossibly long legs and perfectly curated social feed? The full-time job with benefits at his granddad’s company that he’d walk into after graduation?
Tori bit down on her lower lip, working it back and forth as she tried to conjure up a frustration that just wouldn’t stick. She was surprised by his unexpected visit to Hampton, but that surprise dissolved into anticipation when she thought about seeing him tomorrow. Her eagerness to see him ratcheted tenfold as soon as his text came through and confirmed he was home. The yearning she usually pushed deep into the back of her mind was threatening to spill over like the overflowing cup of paint in front of her. There was a visceral longing for Rhett that lived right under the surface of her skin.
Home.
Rhett was home for the weekend, unexpectedly, and he wouldn’t tell her why. Or at least he wouldn’t tell her over text.
She turned back to her mixing table, defeated. She knew she wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else tonight. She gathered up her paints and pour cups, carefully screwed on the caps, and folded up the disposable tablecloths. She stashed away her supplies on the one garage shelf she claimed as her own before heading inside the house.
“Goodnight, room,” she muttered under her breath as she flicked off the lights in the garage, reciting a line from one of the books her mother used to read to her when she was a little girl.
“And goodnight, Ev,” she added toward the direction of Rhett’s parents’ house.
Chapter 3
Tori
Sheadjustedhersherpapulloverandtightenedherponytailasshepracticallyskippeddownthestairsthenextmorning.Itwasearly—reallytooearlytobeupforsomeonewhohadstayedupuntilalmostfoura.m.lastnight—butherbodywasbuzzingwithsomuchanticipationshecouldn’tsleepanylonger.Shepivotedrightatthelandingandheadedforthekitchen.
“Morning!” she called in her dad’s general direction as she ducked her head into the fridge in search of coffee creamer. Paul Thompson was seated at his favorite spot at the kitchen table, the crossword puzzle from that day’s paper spread out in front of him.
“Good morning, sweetheart.” The words came out barely louder than a whisper. He was deep in concentration, his brow furrowed. The frown deepened the prominent wrinkles in his forehead.
“What’s the clue?” she asked, assuming he was stumped.
“Idle!” he exclaimed a moment later, grinning to himself triumphantly as he penciled in the letters.
Tori poured coffee into one of her mom’s favorite Christmas mugs, her back turned away from her father. She hadn’t had the heart to put the mugs away with the rest of the Christmas decorations last month.
“Rhett’s home,” her dad announced. It was more of a statement than a question.
