Page 330 of Wild Card 13
“I meant from the rain.”
“You are truly gifted with words.”
“I’m better with pasta.”
“That remains to be seen.”
I kissed her again because she was smiling, because she was here, because I could. Because for once in my life, wanting her did not feel like standing outside a locked door.
It felt like coming home with the key already in my hand.
We made dinner together.
Madewas generous. I boiled water. Lucy opened cabinets and judged the organizational system I had not realized I possessed until she started asking why the bowls were in three different places.
“Because they fit there,” I said.
“That is not a system.”
“It is if you understand the logic.”
“The logic is chaos.”
“You love my chaos.”
Lucy glanced at me over her shoulder while she pulled a pan from the lower cabinet. “I tolerate your chaos because you have redeeming qualities.”
“Name three.”
Her lips curved. “You’re tall. You dry Dottie’s paws. And you make fires in August because you know me too well.”
The firelight reached the kitchen from the living room, turning the edges of her hair copper. Rain blurred the windows behind her. Somewhere nearby, Dottie had found the squeaky toy shaped like a moose and was committing violence against it in the next room.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
“Sure.”
“It’s cold.”
“It is seventy-one degrees.”
“Wind chill.”
“We are inside.”
“Lake chill.”
She came close enough to bump my hip with hers. “Thank you for the fire, Ty.”
“You’re welcome.”
The last few weeks had been full of quiet seconds that openedunderneath us. Moments when something ordinary became so heavy with meaning that I had to breathe through it.
Lucy tossing one of Dottie’s toys into the living room while she answered emails from my couch.
Lucy putting her cold feet under my thigh because she claimed that was the price of dating a man who kept his house like a meat locker.
Lucy standing on the dock at sunset, hair loose, one hand shading her eyes, talking about nothing while I thought about everything.
