I tried to clean the kitchen like it mattered, scrubbing plates and forks longer than necessary, aligning the silverware like that small order would help restore the larger one slipping out of my grasp. Once everything was spotless, I poured myself a glass of wine and retreated to my bedroom. I took a sip and stared at the tub in my en suite bathroom.
I needed something—steam, solitude, something simpler than all the feelings pressing against my chest.
The tub filled slowly, the sound of water lapping against porcelain dulling the edges of my thoughts. I lit a candle—fig and sandalwood—and sank into the heat. The wine was dark and dry and bitter in a way that felt luxurious.
I opened the book resting on the windowsill. Not a new one—an old favorite from college. Dog-eared. Annotated. The kind of book where someone else’s thoughts lived in the margins beside my own. I traced the ink with damp fingers, barely reading. The words blurred and scattered, like my focus had lost its footing.
There it was again—that sense of being watched from the inside. Not in a haunted way, but in a known way.
Outside the bathroom window, the breeze whispered through the trees. I could make out muffled crickets and a far-off car. Inside, only the faint flicker of the candle and the clink of my nail against the glass as I reached for another sip.
Then the record player started.
The sound was soft at first, the telltale crackle of needle to vinyl. A low hum that seemed to travel straight through the wall vibrated faintly in the pipes.
Then came the voice.
Dean Martin. Warm. Winking. Romantic in a way that made everything float away. I closed my eyes and let the music wrap around me, seeping into the corners of the bathroom like river water over stone.
I chuckled to myself. Of course he liked Dean Martin and not Sinatra. Somehow Austin always seemed to like the less obvious choice. I listened as one track faded into the next.
When the bath water finally cooled, I drained the tub and blew out the candle.
I wandered naked across the floor to my dresser. The music still played. Faint. Steady. I dressed, then pressed my forehead to the wall between us. The walls were just thin enough to hear him.
Tofeelhim.
I curled into bed, pulled the blanket to my chin, closed my eyes, and waited for silence. It came slowly, like the record reaching its end, and the static settled. Then, just as sleep began to take me, I heard it.
Low. Quiet. A thread pulled straight through the drywall. “Good night, Selene.”
My eyes snapped open. I didn’t move. He didn’t say anything else.
I pressed my hand to my chest, heartbeat tangled somewhere near my throat.
FOURTEEN
AUSTIN
Winnie stoodon the back step with her hands on her hips and glitter on her forehead like war paint.
“Three rounds,” she declared. “I’m the seeker. No take-backsies.”
Selene blinked at her. “Lovebug, what’s a ‘take-backsie’?”
Winnie narrowed her eyes, deeply offended that neither of us knew the rules to a game she had just made up. “It means no changing the rules once we start.”
Selene and I shared a look—equal parts amusement and exhaustion. It had been a long day. Our morning routine, school drop-off, work, and a post-school spilled bottle of blue glitter that had turned the kitchen into something out of a disco ball crime scene.
Thankfully Winnie and I had cleaned it up before Selene could stress about the blue streaks across the wood floor. When she’d emerged from the carriage house, blinking at the afternoon sun, I’d bent down to whisper into Winnie’s ear, suggesting she ask her mom to take a break for a quick round of hide-and-seek.
“I’m going to count,” Winnie announced, already turning toward the porch post like she’d done this before. “You better run and hide somewhere good.”
“I didn’t stretch for this.” Selene groaned as she arched her back. My mouth went dry at the sight of her perfectly round tits straining the fabric of her shirt.
“You’ll be fine,” I said, tugging the hem of my shirt lower and readying myself. “Just don’t pull anything.”
“I’m wearing ballet flats, Austin. This is not a regulation sport outfit.” She smiled, but once Winnie started counting, Selene bolted across the yard with surprising speed.
