“Husband,” said Scarlet. “Husband. Flesh and blood. Not just the characters on your HBO shows. Now, listen up. ‘Number three, the first time you look like hell and he couldn’t care less.’”
“What man on the face of the earth doesn’t care when you look like hell?” Certainly not the couple of guys Savannah had dated in New York. She winced as Patrick’s face flitted through her mind. Damn Patrick Monroe anyway. He had sure done a number on her.
“One who’s head over heels in love with you. ‘Number four’ . . . oh,” murmured Scarlet with a sigh. “‘The first time you talk until dawn.’ That’s a good one.”
Yeah, thought Savannah. That’s a good one unless everything he’s telling you until dawn is lies and you don’t realize it because you’re blinded by lust—she refused to admit to the other “l” word—and you believe everything he says because how could he be lying and still worship your body like he’s been schooled in the erotic arts?
“‘Number five, the first time you bring him home to meet the family.’”
Savannah looked at the fresh white paint of the porch clapboard siding and the cheerful sky-blue paint of the ceiling. The bright red geraniums that her mother had placed at intervals swung lightly in the late afternoon May breeze. At the bottom of the porch steps a brick walkway divided a well-kept patch of grass and ended at an azalea-flanked white picket gate that opened onto the sidewalk of a tree-lined street. It was the quintessential all-American home, and yet she’d never had the guts to bring Patrick home to meet her parents. He’d grown up on the Upper West Side, attending private schools and summering in Nantucket. Danvers, Virginia, wouldn’t have been sophisticated enough for his tastes, and she couldn’t have borne the amusement in his eyes when he surveyed the home she loved. She’d decided not to risk it.
“‘Number six . . . ’” Savannah looked up at her sister and watched her fan herself as her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. “Oh my. ‘The first time you’re naked together and you don’t feel a shred of insecurity.’ Well, my stars . . . ”
Savannah grinned. “Please tell me that you and Trent have done the deed in broad daylight.”
“That’s my private business.” Scarlet’s flush increased. “H-have you? Done that?”
“Had sex in broad daylight? Of course.”
“With that Patrick?”
Scarlet had not been a fan of Patrick’s when they’d had dinner together during her disastrous visit to New York. She told Savannah she felt he was politely laughing at her, and honestly, Scarlet was right. Later, when he and Savannah were alone, he’d called her sister’s accent “powerful” and added that it was “lucky she’s cute so she can get away with it.” When he asked why Savannah didn’t speak with the same accent, she explained she’d worked hard to lose it during her four years at NYU. By the time she’d taken the job at the Sentinel, it was all but gone except for when she drank too much.
“I didn’t like him, Vanna. I know you did, so I’m sorry it didn’t work out, but I just know there’s someone better out there for you. Someone right.”
“It’s okay. He turned out to be a rat.”
Scarlet nodded. “You can say that again.”
“It was my own fault for not seeing what you saw over one dinner. What’s number seven?”
“Oh!”
Scarlet turned her attention back to the magazine while Savannah leaned forward to pick up her glass of iced tea. The glass was sweaty with cool droplets that dripped into the space between her breasts as she sipped.
“‘Number seven, the first time you realize that you don’t want anyone else but him.’”
Well, Savannah had certainly reached that point with Patrick, unable to see anyone but him, all other men paling in comparison to his tony pedigree, patrician looks, and far-reaching contacts. Too bad Patrick had never subscribed to the same devotion. Finding out he’d been dating someone else while they were sleeping together had just been salt in the wound after she discovered that he’d single-handedly destroyed her professional credibility, reputation, and career.
“Next,” demanded Savannah.
“I love this one. ‘The first time you see a future with him.’” Scarlet sighed. “First grade. Playground. Trent pushed me on the swings even though the other little boys were makin’ fun of him.”
Savannah loved her sister, but she couldn’t imagine plotting out her future with someone who’d pushed her on the swings in first grade. She’d never understood how Scarlet could be so content to be born, grow up, get married, and die in one small town when there was a whole wide world out there just waiting.
“How about number nine?”
Scarlet’s dreamy expression turned to a grin. “‘The first time you take a trip together.’”
“That’s a mixed bag.”
“How do you mean?”
“Hard to look perfect when you first wake up in the morning. Not to mention, travel breeds stress.”
“I though you loved travel!” exclaimed Scarlet. “My globe-trotting sister.”
“Oh, I do. Alone. To chase a story. Why in the world would I want to go away with someone else?”