That self-consciousness comes over him like it does every time he’s thoughtful, like he’s not used to how well sweetness fits him.
“I didn’t know . . . still don’t know . . . what it is,” he continues. “But I figured something this broken worth holding on to had to be special to you.”
It’s so broken and so special my fingers tremble as I take it from him.
“I’ve been looking for it.”
“I’m sorry, Pep.” He frowns, palming the side of my neck. “I didn’t even think about that.”
“No, it’s fine. It’s a ballerina. Mama . . .”
My words evaporate as I remember the day my ballerina broke. The day Mama broke in our living room. I couldn’t ever really put either of them back together after that. I slip the bag in my jeans pocket.
“I’m glad you had it with you,” I say, leaning into him and turning to kiss his palm.
“Well, I’m returning it now that I have you back.” He takes my chin between two fingers. “And not planning to let you go anytime soon.”
He draws me up for a kiss that turns me liquid, his mouth searching out even any lingering sadness until I taste nothing but him, see and feel nothing but him. His kisses take me hostage. We cling to each other on the porch, slowing the kiss until we just share breath, his head pressed to mine.
“I don’t want to leave you.” He kisses my forehead. “But that plane won’t wait forever, and Gep’s getting this show for free.”
I had forgotten the somber security guard still leaning against the Cadillac SUV, ostensibly checking his phone.
Rhyson moves to pull away, but I grip his neck, reaching up to whisper in his ear.
“I live you.”
He pulls back enough to look at my face, and every promise and dream of our future from last night in the shed rushes back, filling up this moment that’s just ours, even with Gep looking on. He nods.
“I live you, too, Pep.”
Reluctance marks every motion as he grabs the duffle bag and starts down the steps. He walks backwards and keeps talking.
“What’s the rest of your day look like?”
“I’m gonna try to make Mama’s soap.” My smile is a recipe, equal parts content and sad. “I’m down to my last bar.”
“We can’t have that. I need cinnamon pear in my life.” His eyes grow more serious with every step carrying him away from me. “Take care of yourself ‘til I get back, okay?”
I lean against the porch rail and nod, emotion crowding the words out of my throat. It’s only two days, but after being apart, after last night in the shed, after these last few moments, two days feels like forever. He gives me one last smile and then turns to go.
ONE OF MAMA’S OLD APRONS COVERS my jeans and t-shirt. My face mask protects me from the fumes as I stir lye into the water, gloves on up to my elbows. Heated essential oils wait in bowls. I’m starting to feel confident that I can actually do this when my phone buzzes.
Seeing San’s name and picture on the screen makes me feel sick. I lied to Rhyson last night. Out and out lied to him when he asked about that unknown number. And I involved San in my lie. I didn’t mean to, but the truth wasn’t even an option, and before I knew it, the lie took over. Or rather I gave into it.
I lift my face mask and slip off my gloves to answer the phone.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“You don’t call. You don’t write.” My mind’s eye can perfectly picture San’s handsome smiling face. “You go off with your famous boyfriend on your chartered plane with your caviar, and forget all about the little people.”
“Shut it. There wasn’t caviar.” I grin, tilting a bowl of oil to watch the light dancing over its surface. “And I am the little people.”
“If you say so. How are you feeling, pipsqueak?” He keeps his voice light, but it’s too deliberate. I know he’s concerned. If Rhyson hadn’t come home with me, he would have.
“I’m good. Really, San. Don’t worry.”
“Oh, I’ll leave that to Rhyson. He worried enough for us all at the hospital. Have I mentioned what a pain in my ass he is sometimes?
“You have once or twice, yes.” I give into a grin because they’re such boys.
“Did he see the Spotted piece?” His voice loses some of the humor.
“Yeah, Bristol sent it.” I draw a deep breath, holding the phone between my ear and shoulder while I slap a glove into my palm. “I hope you’re calling with some news on Drex.”
“Actually, yeah, I am.”
I freeze, death-gripping the phone with one hand and the glove with the other.
“What? Where? San, I have to talk to him. We have to figure this out.” My words pop like pellets. “He . . . or someone sent me another text last night. It was a link to the Spotted piece and a message threatening to send Rhyson the tape if we get back together.”
“Why that? I mean, I know Drex and Rhyson hate each other, but he’d have to know we’d suspect him first.”
“Well, yeah, which may be why he’s been in hiding and we can’t find him.”
“Couldn’t find him.” San pauses. “One of my sources saw him at a music festival in Topanga. Not playing there. Just walking around.”
I drop my elbows to the work table surface, forehead resting in my hand.