Page 58 of Your Two Lips
“Well, human husbandry is all I am interested in hearing about. You and Finn would make adorable mountain biking babies. That skill is in the blood for both of you,” Carrie nodded at me for emphasis.
My heart stuttered, but I kept my smile in place. My guard had been down, and her comment landed a direct hit. No, we wouldn’t. Someone else would fall in love with him and carry his child. Someone else would hold a chubby baby with his daddy’s dimples and bright blue eyes. That couldn’t be me, and the scab that had covered my wound opened again.
I stayed conscious of my breathing. In and out. I needed to keep it light. “It’s just dating. He has the resort. I’m still getting settled. We’re having fun, on and off the bike.” I winked. Sexy talk was safer.
“Girl, the blush on your face …” ReeAnn said.
“A lady never tells.” I put on my best demure 1950s Hollywood starlet.
“Your face says more than you think it does,” Angela said.
“Fine. Yes. Finn is rocking my world. His sex game is wonderful in every way. Eat your hearts out.” Laughter erupted.
Sex. Sex was the goal. Not babies or forever. I wouldn’t tie Finn down like that, asking him to give up so much for me, even if I selfishly wanted to.
Sex was all I could give him, and it was enough for now. I was a different person with him. I was touching lightning, and I wasn’t ready for it to go away.
“Is Rhys in the band?” I asked, anxious for a new topic as he settled onto a stool on the tiny stage.
“Yeah. They’re good,” Angela said. “I don’t think they have a name or even call themselves a band. They get together and play some songs, mostly acoustic guitar.”
Rhys spoke into the mic. “Hello, everyone.” I heard a few catcalls. “I’m Rhys. This is Slade on bass guitar and Doug on the drums. We need the practice, so thanks for coming out.”
38
FINN
I knockedon the heavy wood door. Before Emily, I didn’t come to the northwest part of the island much with its historic single-family homes and bungalows surrounded by old-growth trees. Most of the cookie-cutter rentals and summer houses of the wealthy set were farther south, built on the edges of rocky cliffs or clustered on cul-de-sacs at water level. These homes, including Emily’s, were more interesting with their old charm and varied styles.
She greeted me wearing a long, flowing tie-dyed dress that looked like the last person who wore it lived in a 1970s VW bus. Her feet were bare, and her hair was loose around her shoulders.
“Come in.”
“I brought curry,” I said as I slipped off my leather flip-flops by the door.
“It smells wonderful.” She took a bag, and I followed her hips and billowing dress past the original wide staircase into the house.
The back wall was made of a river-rock fireplace surrounded by tall windows that highlighted sweeping views of the channel below and the coasts of other islands close by. It looked like the original kitchen, dining room, and living room spaces had been remodeled into this open L-shaped room. It was modern and straightforward, but the tall ceilings and large wood-paneled staircase behind me whispered old wealth had lived here once.
“I like your house.” I helped her set out the food and plates.
“Thank you. I fell in love with the view. The previous owners had done so much work removing walls and updating the kitchen and baths. All I did was give it a good cleaning and a little paint.”
“This is your first house?”
“Does it show?” She blushed. Definitely not. A house like this, in this location? This was not a starter home in 99.9 percent of the world. And I still lived with my parents. Well, not really, but I lived rent-free on my family’s farm.
“It’s nice to have a place of my own. If I want to paint my bathroom red, I can.” She motioned to the patio. “We can eat outside.”
The evening air was warm and mixed with our curry’s spicy scent. We watched the ships and tugs travel the channel while the summer sky turned pink.
“Hellooo, my dear.” Miss Nell walked our way across an expanse of lawn. Everyone in town knew Miss Natalie and Miss Nell, two widows from down south who moved to town a couple of years ago. We called them Miss Natalie and Miss Nell because that’s how they introduced themselves. As if Miss was part of their hyphenated first names. Maybe it was.
I wouldn’t say they were eccentric. They didn’t make moonshine or wear feather boas … that I knew of. They marched to their own drum, though. Some people speculated about their sexual orientation. I didn’t care either way. They were too old for me, and they certainly seemed happy with whatever arrangement they had going. Beyond that was none of my business.
“Oh.” The taller of the two with salt-and-pepper hair cut close to her scalp, Miss Nell stopped suddenly when she saw me. “Oh, my. Excuse me, I didn’t know you were entertainin’ this evening.” I chuckled at the look in her eye like she caught us actually doing the things I only imagined five minutes ago.
Miss Natalie rushed up behind her. Her straight, silver hair swished across her shoulders as she attempted to run on her tip-toes across the grass in a pair of beige heels for the over sixty set.
