Chapter Fifty
Griffin
By the time we return to Lovedale, it’s a little past nine. We park our cars and walk along the path that cuts through the front yard. Sierra unlocks the door, and we enter the house together. An entirely ordinary ritual, but oddly right.
“This makes us feel like a real couple, coming home after a long day at work,” Sierra says, a smile in her voice.
“It does,” I agree, then wonder if it’s the couple-ness of the moment that’s making me feel like I can lower my guard and relax.
Our suitcases lie in the living room. We left them there this morning, not bothering to drag them upstairs in our rush to get to work on time.
“We should take them up to the master bedroom,” she says.
It’s a casual way to bring up the topic of my sharing her bed. “I’ll do it,” I say just as casually. There’s no way I can stay away from her after what happened in Tokyo. She’s got me addicted, and the apple scent from her skin has been driving me crazy all evening. “I know your suitcase is heavy.”
“Not anymore. Half of it was the souvenirs, which I took to work.”
She goes to the kitchen and pours a glass of cold water.
“How’s your headache?” I ask.
“Much better.”
“Need an Advil or anything?”
“No thanks. It isn’t that bad,” she says hurriedly as she opens the fridge to put away the pitcher of water. “Want something to drink?”
“I’m fine.”
She downs the water in a few big gulps. Perhaps she’s been dehydrated. Flying can do that to you, and if you aren’t careful, you can get a mild, hangover-like headache afterward. That’s why I always make sure to drink a glass of water per hour of flying. I should’ve advised her to do the same. But she seemed fine after our flight to Tokyo.
She puts the glass in the sink, washes her hands and then dries them thoroughly with a paper towel. Her fingers are restless, and she continues to shift and move around without purpose.
“Are you okay?” I ask, watching her from the kitchen counter.
“Yeah.” She flashes a smile, but it can’t hide the nerves.
I pat the stool next to me. She stays standing by the sink.
“Everything fine at work?” I ask.
“Oh yeah. Silicone Dream is doing great.”
I narrow my eyes. “Did Todd stop by?” Per Lori’s endless gossip, which I’ve been forced to endure, he’s probably going to be dropped by Wollstonecraft. Deservedly so, but he might try to beg Sierra to exert her influence at the college to renew his contract.
She starts. “Todd? Ugh, no. No. Not at all.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Oh.” She goes unnaturally still. After a long moment she clears her throat, then gestures at the dining table. “I have to tell you something. We should sit down.”
The dinner I had churns uncomfortably in my belly. When a woman says, “I have to tell you something,” it’s never anything good. It’s either a true Class One catastrophe, or it’s something really stupid she’s going to have a major drama over.
Since Sierra isn’t a drama queen, it’s gotta be the former—a consequential disaster.
But if it’s not about Silicone Dream or Todd, what could it be?
I sit down, folding my hands on the table to calm myself. Sierra takes her seat and runs her hands down her thighs.