In a daze, I took my own shower and got dressed, enticing August away from cartoons and into regular clothes with a promise of breakfast and Nicky. Savannah must have noticed something off when I brought Nicky down to their rooms behind the kitchen.
"Hey, you okay?" Her grey eyes were concerned. Kind. I wished I could trust her.
"Fine, just tired. And I had an argument with Tenn," I found myself admitting.
She rolled her eyes. "Not a surprise. He's got a hard head, and he's bossy."
I opened my mouth to stick up for him and remembered that I was furious with him. Savannah was right, he was bossy. And hardheaded. And dictatorial. And— I stopped that train of thought before I opened my mouth and it turned into a full-blown rant.
Savannah flashed me a smile. "Don't worry, he'll get over himself."
"Maybe," I offered, not at all sure that he would. Or that he should. Yes, he should give me my phone. But I also kind of understood why he refused. He had a right to know what I was doing in his house. It wasn't his fault I couldn't tell him.
He should just trust me.
Why, when I refused to trust him?
We were at a stalemate, and I was not at all confident either of us would be able to get over it. I dodged Savannah's comment and changed the subject. "Are you sure you're fine with watching August? I know you have a lot to do and—"
"Not a problem," Savannah reassured me. "My mother will be here in an hour, and August is wonderful with Nicky. Really, it's fine."
"Okay," I agreed weakly, and without another excuse, took my tablet and made my way to the library to begin another day of searching for the little bust of Vitellius.
The day crawled by. I second-guessed every choice I'd made since Thatcher took off. I should have called the police. I shouldn't have driven to Sawyers Bend or tried to meet a Sawyer so I could search their house. I should have—
I didn't know. The more I ran over it in my head, I didn't have any idea how to move forward except to keep searching for the bust of Vitellius while I waited to hear from Thatcher. Also, I should never have sex with Tenn Sawyer again. Definitely not.
My resolve lasted until shortly after lunch, a meal I skipped in case Tenn was there. Or Bryce. Or anyone. I didn't want people. I wanted to be alone to stress and sulk and generally vacillate between misery and worry.
Tenn scared the hell out of me when he came into the mostly empty gallery by the library, standing in the doorway, watching me much as Bryce had earlier in the day. I tried to ignore him as I had Bryce. It didn't work. After a moment's contemplation, Tenn strode into the room, taking my elbow in his hand, and half-led, half-dragged me to a tiny room off the hall.
Shutting us in the tiny room, he flicked a switch, illuminating the wood-paneled walls and built-in counter with an upholstered chair in front of it. On the counter was an ancient rotary dial phone, the cord frayed and dangling off the side of the table.
"What is this?" I asked, avoiding Tenn's eyes.
"A telephone room. From back in the days when the house only had one phone. You could come in here to talk privately. No one uses it anymore."
"Oh." I risked a glance at Tenn's face. His expression remained hard, his jaw set, just as it had been that morning.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
I shook my head, not getting it. Ready for what? Not— Hadn't I decided I wasn't— "Ready?" I parroted, stalling.
"To talk to me. Are you ready?"
I had to shake my head, a sorry, stubborn no.
I didn't know enough to tell Tenn the truth. What if he was the one who had the Vitellius? I'd searched his rooms, but this was a massive house, filled with cabinets and closets and a million places to hide something that small. A sinking feeling weighted my chest at that thought. The thief could be anyone, and the Vitellius could be anywhere. I was on my own.
"I can't," I forced out. Tenn's jaw flexed, but he gave nothing else away.
He lifted one hand and the light flicked off, blanketing us in darkness. Tenn's hands closed over my shoulders. "That’s okay.” He dipped his head to rub his cheek against mine, the light scratch of his stubble, the heat of his scent, clouding my head. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I can think of other things to do with your mouth.”
So could I. I could think of a lot of things I wanted to do with my mouth while closed up in a dark room with Tenn.