Page 73 of One Last Rainy Day
As she settles in, her addictive scent greets me along with her soft, “Hey.”
“Hey,” I echo, as she corners me with her usual “missed you” while securing herself into the ancient seatbelt.
“I won’t scare you today,” I lie.
“Liar,” she spurts with a sarcastic laugh as I start rolling out of the driveway.
Glancing in my rearview, Roman’s estate starts to shrink behind us—which is fitting, seeing how our progress with him is still at a standstill. As I eye the mansion in the rearview, Cecelia follows my gaze, and I tense when she speaks up.
“What’s this?” she asks, curiously eyeing the offering hanging from the rearview. “Oh, my God, Dom...is this what I think it is?”
“It’s no big deal,” I interject, “just—”
“—a crown made of honeysuckle vines,” she admonishesas though I’ve just given her the Heart of the Ocean fromTitanic. I inwardly groan as she starts to gush.
“It’s so beautiful,” she murmurs.
“It’s edible weeds,” I counter.
“It’s incredible,” she dons herself in my peripheral. “Dom, you really made this?”
“Well, seeing as they don’t exactly sell them at the Texaco, yeah. Stop acting so surprised. I’m not the anti-Christ,” I snap.
“Since when?” She chuckles, and I turn to see the vines I fastened into a makeshift crown, flower buds out, perched and fitting perfectly atop her head.
“You look ridiculous,” I jest, downshifting for speed before glancing to see her eyes lit with that same damned look.
“You made me a crown. I can’t believe you made me a crown,” her voice wobbles.
I palm the air in front of her. “Don’t make a big deal of it. I was waiting outside Peter’s house this morning and got bored.”
“You were totally thinking about me,” she sighs.
“Jesus,” I mutter, “no good deed goes unpunished. Seriously it’s not a big deal.”
“Well, it is tome,” she whispers, “but you know that. Thank you.”
Knowing she’s itching to touch me, I turn up the radio and downshift, feeling her eyes on me the entire way to the spot. I don’t even have the car parked before I’m attacked, and she makes avery big dealof it.
This. Damned. Girl.
*
Typing out my command, I feel her ever-present heavy stare on my profile, summoning me from where I sit in my camping chair. Wearing nothing but board shorts, I’ve been soaking in some much-needed sun between the blanketed clouds after days behind my monitor. “You’re never getting another present,” I state, as she continually peruses me. “Facts.”
“Oh, shut up. The novelty has completely worn off.”
“Good to know,” I say, typing out another command.
“That’s a lie,” she admits, gently securing her crown.
“Well then, keep ’em coming,” I snark as a silent beat passes. Then two.
“What?” I ask, unable to ignore her outright—a feat that’s become next to impossible.
“It’s Sunday, Dom. Take some time off.”
“To do what?”
