Page 82 of Beautiful Small Things

“What will you do about it now that she’s home?” he asks with a knowing look.

“She’s been back for about five minutes, Dirtbag. I’m not going to do anything right now.”

He holds his hands up in defense. “I’m just saying.”

The server comes by to check on us. She’s a beautiful woman with long dark hair, a tank top that’s too tight, and jeans that showcase an ass that obviously spends time at the gym.

“Can I get you anything else,” she says, biting her lip and looking back and forth between us, her cheeks pinking as she flirts.

“No, thank you,” I tell her with a smile, handing her my credit card. Momentary disappointment flashes across her face at our lack of engagement before she turns and walks away with the card.

Callan shakes his head. “Have you seen anyone since James left?” He asks.

“No way,” I answer. “She’s it for me. I’d rather be a monk.”

“You? A monk? Now that would really be something,” he laughs. “Have you been tempted?” he asks.

“Not at all, Man. It’s just not what I want. Not anymore,” I answer truthfully.

“Give her some time here, Marcus.”

“I understand. I’m not going to push her,” I promise.

Later that night, I break my promise. I tell Callan I need to stop by to pick up something Iris left there. A blanket or some shit. There’s no blanket. I suspect Callan knows it, but he indulges me anyway.

He leaves the door open, and the house is dark when I enter.

I pass the bathroom and make a left, heading down the hallway to the guest room. I can see a dim light shining under the door. There’s no answer when I knock softly. I slowly open the door and look inside, but the room is empty.

I stealthily move through the first floor and I’m stopped by the sound of music and a rumbling sound. Looking out through the large windows, I spot James in the hot tub. She’s surrounded by bubbles, listening to music, and drinking wine.

I open the door and step out onto the back deck. It’s uncharacteristically chilly for this time of year, but the stars are bright in the sky, illuminating the darkness with the help of the sliver of the moon.

James has her head laid back on the hot tub with her eyes closed as she sings quietly. I can’t quite make out the tune, but I’m sure it’s something from last century. She has always loved the bands of the 1970s and 1980s, just like her sister. They grew up listening to it with their parents, and that music is deeply rooted in both women.

I expect her to look up once she hears the sliding door, but she doesn’t move, so I stop in my tracks and watch her. She takes my breath away. James Parker is ravishing. I slowly step toward the hot tub. When I get within a yard of her, she cracks an eye open. She doesn’t startle or seem surprised to see me.

“Marcus,” she says with a tilt of her head. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, needed to grab something for Iris.” Smooth.

She nods, grabbing her wine glass.

I sit on the deck beside her, my knees bent and arms resting silently.

“How are you doing?” I ask.

“I’m,” she pauses, “better.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” I inquire.

She takes a long sip of wine and hands me the glass. “It is. It’s just…I mean, shouldn’t I be crushed?”

I take a sip of wine and let the cold sweetness travel down my throat.

“I don’t know,” I answer. “You said you knew this wasn’t right for you. There has to be some gratification in the closure.”

She nods in agreement. “Maybe you’re right.”