Page 61 of Anywhere with You
“Deal with it later?” I suggested.
Cara nodded.
It was early afternoon, but we hadn’t eaten since diner leftovers early that morning. The kitchen was fully stocked, a nice touch in a place where, as far as I could tell, they had to have groceries air-dropped in.
Cara made fettuccine Alfredo with canned peas, and it was perfect. We sat at the breakfast nook in the kitchen, not wanting to disturb the place settings in the formal dining room.
“If you will do the cooking,” I said around a mouthful, “I will do all the cleaning while we’re here. Like, all of it. You’re much better at this than me.”
“I poured a jar of sauce on some noodles. Not rocket science.”
“I’ve had badly cooked noodles. Trust me. There is a science to it, rocket or not.”
“Oh no,” Cara said. I looked up, and she shook her head, smiling. “I could’ve made a video for your grandmother while I cooked. This wouldn’t have been good enough anyway. I’ll check the pantry later and see if I can come up with something worthy.”
I impulsively wiped sauce from her chin with my fingers. “That sounds wonderful,” I said. “Double points if it’s chocolate.”
We ate, happy and relaxed, but at one point, I realized we were sitting at a table for four, two empty chairs beside us. I didn’t want to remember all those dinners with Bridget and me, Cara and Lorenzo, but the shadow of those times rose up, just for a moment.
Were they happy? According to Mesmio, they were, but it was easy enough to pretend, in a few minutes of video. I imagined Bridget’s smile failing as soon as the camera was off, and it saddened me, unexpectedly.
But I had no reason to think that Lorenzo wasn’t making her happy, just because I couldn’t.
Still, I didn’t want them here at our table. I wanted Cara and this moment all to myself.
I was absolutely stuffed by the time the food was gone. I groaned in happy misery as I cleared the table, discovered a full wine rack in the kitchen, poured Cara and myself full glasses, and started the dishes.
Once the dishwasher was running, I wiped down the countertops and table while Cara watched. She gave the tiniest gasp when I buffed water drops off the faucet.
I looked at her, but she had turned away, cheeks reddening. I suddenly felt motivated to deep clean every room in this house and see if I could get her to moan.
You never can guess a person’s kink.
Chapter Twenty-three
There were large spotlight-style flashlights, insect repellant, and a stack of towels by the back door. We helped ourselves, emptying Cara’s tote bag of paperback books to carry our supplies, along with some water bottles, her awful granola bar bricks, and the rest of the wine.
Cara and I wore our swimsuits with shorts and shirts on top, both aware of how strong the sun seemed here and how rare the shade in comparison to home.
We walked out the back door and immediately stopped.
Lane’s mom had a terraced cactus garden, now in full bloom after the recent rains, with white and yellow and pink blossoms. Some of them lived in beautiful glazed pottery. Some of the flowers were prickly looking themselves, but others just the same as any other spring flower, sprouting soft-looking petals. The cacti themselves were in every shape and size, in dozens of hues of green. I had no idea how many species they represented.
There were rocks, too, boulders really. Granite and what looked like volcanic rock, all arranged amongst the plants, and behind it all, huge yucca and a few palm trees, their wide accordion leaves making a slight rustling sound in the breeze.
In one corner, Lane’s mom had a brick firepit and wooden chairs. I’d be willing to bet there were s’mores ingredients in that wonderfully stocked kitchen. That would be a worthy Mesmio reel for Grandma Singh: American-style s’mores.
Lizards darted away from us over the rocky soil as we started down the path between the shrubs and spindly bushes and wild cacti and short, gnarled trees.
The sky was a crystalline blue, the wind warm on my face.
“I thought the desert was just sand,” I confessed as I stopped to let a dozen white butterflies cross our path.
“Like the Grand Canyon is a big hole?”
“Yes. I feel like my education has some, well, some really big holes. Are lakes not just water? Is the Arctic not just ice?”
“Really, really not.”
