“Then it’s a date. In fact, why don’t we go out, get a burger and finish it off with ice cream?”
“Even better.”
STEAMY JULY MELTED into sweltering August, days of white skies and breathless nights. It seemed almost normal, almost peaceful as day blended into day.
“I’m starting to wonder if just finding out her name was enough.” Hayley potted up pink and yellow pentas. “Maybe the fact we worked to find it, and how she’s Roz’s great-grandmother’s, satisfied her, calmed her down.”
“You think she’s done?” Stella asked her.
“I still hear her singing in Lily’s room, almost every night. But she hasn’t done anything mean. Every once in a while I feel something, or sense something, but it fades away. I haven’t done anything weird lately, have I?”
“You were listening to Pink the other day, and talking about getting a tattoo.”
“That’s not weird. I think we should both get tattoos—a flower theme. I’d get a red lily, and you could get a blue dahlia. I bet Logan would think it was wicked sexy.”
“Then let him get the tattoo.”
“Just a little one. A girly one.”
“I think girly tattoo is an oxymoron.”
“Absolutely not,” Hayley protested. “Flowers, butterflies, unicorns, that kind of thing. I bet I could talk Roz into getting one.”
The idea had Stella tossing back her red curls and laughing. “Tell you what, you talk Roz into getting a tattoo and . . . Nope, I still won’t join the party.”
“Historically, tattoos are ancient art forms, back to the Egyptians. And they were often used to control the supernatural. Since we’ve got some heavy supernatural going on, it would be like a talisman, and a personal statement.”
“My personal statement will be refusing to let some guy named Tank carve a symbol—girly or otherwise—into my flesh. Just call me fussy. Those look good, Hayley. Very sweet.”
“Customer wanted sweet, and the yellow and pink are her daughter’s wedding colors. These’ll make nice centerpieces for the wedding shower. I think I’d shoot for something a little bolder, a little punchier myself. Maybe jewel tones.”
“Something you’re not telling me?”
“Hmm?”
“Bride colors on your mind?”
“Oh, no.” She laughed and set a completed pot aside. “No, nothing like that. We’re just, Harper and me, we’re just taking it slow. Really, really slow,” she added with a huff of breath.
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Yeah, I did. I do. I don’t know.” She blew out another breath, fluttering her bangs. “It’s smarter. It’s more sensible to take things really easy. There’s a lot at stake most people don’t have to consider. Like our friendship, and the work, and our connection to Roz. We can’t just jump into the sack because I’ve—we’ve got an itch.”
“But you want to jump into the sack.”
Hayley slid her eyes over to Stella’s. “I was thinking more dive in, headfirst.”
“Why don’t you just tell him, Hayley?”
“I made the first move. He’s got to make this one. I sure as hell hope he picks up speed pretty soon.”
“I’M TRYING NOT to rush her.” In the kitchen, Harper drained the better part of a can of Coke. He rarely broke for lunch, but early afternoon meant there would be no one in the house but David.
“You’ve known her going on two years, Harp. That’s not just not rushing, that’s standing still.”
“It was different before. We’ve only just started seeing each other this way. She said she wanted slow. I think it’s killing me.”
“I don’t think people actually die from sexual frustration.”
“Good. I’ll be the first. I’ll be written up in medical journals posthumously.”
“And I’ll be able to say I knew him when. Here, eat.”
Dubiously, Harper poked at the sandwich David set in front of him. “What is this?”
“Delicious.”
Without much interest, Harper picked up the sandwich. “What is this?” he asked again after a sampling bite. “Lamb? Cold lamb?”
“With a touch of nectarine chutney.”
“That’s . . . pretty damn good. Where do you come up with—no, no, stay on target.” He took another bite. “I’m good at reading women, but I can’t get a handle on her, on this. It’s never been important before—not this way—so I keep clutching.”
With his own sandwich, David slid across from him. “It is good you came to me, young student, for I am the master.”
“I know. I thought about just walking over one night, maybe with a bottle of wine, knock on her terrace door. The direct approach.”
“It’s a classic for a reason.”
“But she’s nervous about Amelia, about having any sort of, you know, encounter, in the house. At least that’s my take.”
“Is encounter code for hot sex?”
“Damn you, you’re too clever for my pitiful ruses. Anyway, I could have her and Lily over for dinner, and after the baby was asleep—a little wine, a little music.” He shrugged and felt he was riding around the same circle again.
“There’s also a reason why fine hotels have room service and Do Not Disturb signs.”
“Room service?”
“Work with me, Harp. You take her out to dinner—fancy dinner. Let’s try the Peabody. They have lovely rooms, lovely service, fine food—in-room dining.”
Chewing thoughtfully, Harper played it out in his head. “I take her out to dinner—in a hotel room? Don’t you think that’s a little . . . brilliant,” he decided after a moment.
“Yes, I do. Wine, candles, music, the works, all in the elegant privacy of a hotel suite. You’ll be bringing her breakfast in bed the next morning.”
Harper licked chutney off his thumb. “I’d need a two-bedroom suite for that. Lily.”