Years ago, Dad had the upstairs of our house remodeled to be a giant master suite. There’s an office and bathroom off the master bedroom for my father, and an alcove office and bathroom down a short hallway that’s now Estella’s. Her little alcove, my new room, has a tiny closet, a low sloped ceiling, a sliver of window, half a wall and, as I’d pointed out to her in the coffee shop, no door. Before he remarried, Dad used to use this useless little space to keep leftover chairs and boxes of paperwork. It’s way too small to hold all my stuff, so my things will be kept partly in my old room, particularly in half of the closet and most of the bathroom cabinets.
Once we’ve finalized the details of moving me out, Estella’s next fixation is how to redo the room so that her rude and recovering nephew is most comfortable. Estella used to be in banking in New York before she got married and she’s finding, I think, the housewife thing to be a bit dreary, so the idea of having her boy living at home with her seems to have given her some sense of purpose. Dad and I are always at school or work—at least Julian will be there to keep her company. As long as he doesn’t go back to biting her head off, it should be nice for her.
Guess who’s moving in once he’s well. Into my room. I text Taryn from the airport.
HOW COZY, she texts back. I THOUGHT HE WAS JUST A NEPHEW.
He’s more like a son to Estella. She raised him. Now she’s planning to give him my room b/c it’s downstairs.
WHERE DO YOU GO? THE BASEMENT?
Close. The upstairs landing.
UNREAL. BTW, I’M AT THE WORST DANCE EVER. NO ONE IS HERE!
Hey, at least it has the potential to be fun—which is more than I’ve got. We make it back to Hartford in what I would tentatively call good spirits. It’s a Tuesday night and Étoile is closed, so Dad meets us at the airport. Estella pours the whole plan out on Dad’s lap as soon as we get in the car.
“Are you sure this is all right with you, Chris?” she asks. “Having Julian live with us?”
“Of course,” Dad says. “It’s no problem.” Estella smiles—but Dad’s return smile to her seems a little fake to me. This is just a guess, but I suspect Dad secretly isn’t any more thrilled about Julian moving in than I am.
He certainly doesn’t seem to be paying very close attention to the details of what Estella’s telling him.
“Are you listening?” she asks at one point.
“Yes, of course,” he repeats.
She gazes at him and touches his arm, his knee. I’m kind of wishing she’d shut up and let the man drive. I’m carsick. I have a headache from hearing it all twice now. As soon as we come to a stop in the driveway, I jump out of the car. Home Sweet Home. Happy Happy. I’m off to what thankfully is still my room for at least a few months longer when I hear Dad call me.
“Cami?”
“Yeah?”
“Go ahead and sleep in tomorrow. I have to go to Boston and the restaurant can live without you. Take a day off.”
“But it’s my soup night.”
“I’ll give you Thursday. This once.”
I thank him, say good-night and head for my room just as they start for theirs. Wow...I just got bumped up to a Thursday, and Dad and Estella are going to their room already. They must really want to be alone tonight. Thank heaven for newlyweds. After petting Shelby for a little while, I call Luke and he answers on the first ring. “I’m on my way,” he says without preamble. I haven’t told Luke this yet, but I’ve been thinking about it and my plan is to stay later than six, like maybe seven or eight. I think that should probably be safe enough, and it’ll make Luke happy and still keep my absence from being discovered.
Why take the chance on the later time? Because I miss him. Because I’ve had a shitty week and want to feel loved and adored by him. Not sex yet, but more. Maybe more.
I own one black lacy thong and bombshell of a bra—if a 32B can ever be a bombshell—and I’ve never worn either of them. Until tonight. I change into the fancy underwear, put my jeans and top back on and then slip back down the hallway to check on Estella and Dad. They’re in their room with the door shut. Good. Sometimes I think maybe I should leave a little note, like on my pillow so if they do ever find me gone at least they won’t worry I’m off doing something worse. But I guess because Dad’s respected my privacy for so long, I really don’t think he’d ever come into my room. Estella’s actually the more dangerous one—who knows what she’ll do. Anyway, I offer up a silent prayer to the sneaking-out-on-your-parents gods and slip out the window.
Luke’s waiting in his truck not twenty feet from the house, headlights off. I head on over and he reaches to open the door for me. “Welcome back,” he says once I’m in. “How was your flight?”
“Fine.” I’m feeling shy all of a sudden. Like I’ve been gone for a month. And I’m also nervous about the underwear. Third base, yes. Home run, no. Will that work? I mean, I know where third begins, but where exactly does it end? Luke drives over to his place and we go to his room. “Is that guy doing any better?”
“I don’t know. I guess.” I tell him about the surgery and Estella’s big plan for Julian to move in the house with us once he’s well.
“It doesn’t sound fair that you have to give up your room.”
He seems really concerned for me. Glad someone is. “I know. It sucks. But he needs to be downstairs. So...”
Luke strokes my arm. “So...”
I kiss him, wrap my arm around his neck. “I missed you.”
He kisses me back for a long time. “I missed you, too,” he says, catching his breath. “Beauty girl.”
I wrap myself around him, and he lifts me onto the bed. Normally Luke opens the blinds just so he can see me a little. But now the room is pitch-dark. And there’s something exciting about him like this, in the blackness, about things happening to me that I can’t see, can’t anticipate. His lips never leave me, his hands fumble with my clothes. He finds my sexy bra and opens the shade to let in some light. “Oh, man.”
I smile, unbutton my jeans and lower them a little, so he can see just the top of the thong. His eyes get wide.
“Not all the way.”
He nods.
“Can we do that? Do more, but no sex?”
“Yes. Definitely. Don’t worry,” he says, and he’s all over me. My jeans hit the floor. I’m shaking and he’s kissing me, caressing me. It’s great, but then he reaches inside the thong, and I start to get nervous.
“Trust me,” he whispers.
I do trust him. Basically. We’d visited third that one night before I left, but not like this. He strokes me and presses his thumb against me and eventually all the pleasure and fear and new sensations just get too intense.
“Stop, Luke,” I whisper.
“Cami, please.” He grimaces.
“I’m sorry. I just feel scared.”
“Why? Don’t be...”
“We’re going farther,” I say, stroking his face.
“Not by much,” he grouses.
Eventually, I cuddle in against him and we fall asleep.
* * *
The next morning, I’m awake before he is. He’s only in boxers. This is new also. I mean, me being naked except for a thong is definitely new, but I was so preoccupied with what was happening to me last night, I didn’t really realize what was going on with him so much—that