She was just about to hang up, when she heard the musical lilt of Tate's voice in the background, insisting that he knew what he was talking about, attempting to speak over the person on the phone. When she asked the man who he was and why he was calling her, his response of being another rideshare driver was the last thing she had expected. Tate had evidently been deposited at the Pixie's door, and had immediately ordered himself up another car. Silva pressed her sleeve to her mouth to stanch her laughter, deciding Ainsley didn't need to know this particular detail.
"Corduroy Falls," she repeated, not understanding the words the driver kept repeating.
"Yes!" the harried driver barked, and Silva winced, pulling the phone back a fraction. The man’s lightly accented voice was laced with irritation, and she wondered how long he’d been arguing with his insistent, inebriated fare.Like herding cats, that’s what Ainsley had said. Silva swallowed guiltily. "He said he’s trying to get to Corduroy Falls . . . can you just give me some direction? My GPS is coming back empty, and if you’re in one of those new developments, it’s not going to—"
"Cambric Creek," she interrupted, feeling her cheeks heat, hoping this poor driver hadn’t been attempting to herdthisparticular cat for too long. "I live in Cambric Creek, not in—"
It was her turn to be interrupted as the driver let out a stream of what she could only imagine were profanities in what sounded like gnomish. "This is what I asked him 30 minutes ago!"
"I’m so sorry," she implored. "You have the address now, it should be easy to find. I’ll be waiting on the sidewalk for you!"
She shivered inside the small foyer of her building, peering out the window light beside the front door, tugging her cardigan around her to scamper outside when the car pulled up. He was curled up on the back seat like a small child, a preposterous site considering the length of his legs and width of his shoulders, beaming up at her when she pulled open the door.
"I curled up and held my breath when we hit the wall," he announced proudly, unfurling himself like some giant winged beast, stepping out of the car with far more coordination than she expected him to have. "We should go dancing, dove. It's midwinter. It's a night for dancing."
"We should go in and go to bed. It's late, and it sounds like you’ve been dancing all night. I amsosorry," she directed the driver, hoping the tip she passed through his partially open window would assuage his aggravation.
"We should run away, dove," he insisted once her apartment door was relocked, and she stripped him of his clothes in her bedroom once more. "We should run away together to the land of always winter, where no one will ever find us. We'll be so happy."
"You are so,sodrunk."
"I amnot," he insisted peevishly, tangling his legs with hers beneath the sheets, cupping her bottom and tilting her against him until they were flush. "Why does everyone keep saying that. It's a merry eve. I love the winter."
"Cambric Creek, Tate. I live inCambric Creek."
"Silva," he chided, bumping her nose with his. "There's no such place. You're talking nonsense."
"I'mtalking nonsense," she mumbled with a grin, biting his lip for a moment. "The land of always winter, that's a real place, but Cambric Creek, the place where we are literally right this second,that'smade up. Gotcha."
"See, now you're being reasonable. Let's leave tonight. No need to pack, everything I need is right here."
She wondered if he would even remember the conversation come morning. He might not, she thought, but she would. "I've missed you. You're right, weshouldjust run away. Then I wouldn't have to go weeks without seeing you. Why did you come here tonight? I've barely talked to you a handful of times in the past month. Didn't Ainsley bring you home?"
"Home," he agreed. "I wanted to go home. It doesn't matter how long you stay away, dove. You know that."
"But youwerehome," she giggled, pressing her lips to his forehead as he tucked himself against her neck. "Ainsley is going to kill you if he finds out you left again."
"I'm home now."
Her voice stuck, breath hitching, the sudden slackness against her and the steadiness of his breath on her neck an indication that they wouldn’t be having any more conversation that night. Instead, she watched him sleep. His brow had smoothed out, the furrow that lived between them gone, for the moment. His features were softer in sleep, not quite as angular, not quite as puckish, and she tried to imagine what he'd been like as a child, as an adolescent, as a young man. When his eyes fluttered open, dim light coming in through the window, she had no idea if it had been hours or minutes that passed.
"Do you know how to play croquet?" Shifting as she asked the question, she turned her body until they were nose-to-nose on the pillow once more. She'd opened her window before putting him into bed and the room was freezing, just the way he liked it. Tate insisted he was unable to sleep in a warm room, and she had grown used to the arctic chill from the central air he’d kept on well into the autumn months; had reconciled herself to sleeping with the windows open in the dead of winter when she shared his bed, and in truth, it wasn’t so bad. He was always warm, always held her tightly against him, and unlike her previous partners, Tate never, ever pushed her away. That moment was no exception, and she pressed into his side, sliding her cold toes up his bare leg beneath the duvet until they were sandwiched between his shins, his skin molten as always.
His eyes narrowed to golden slits as he eyed her on the pillow, and Silva was unable to hold in her giggle at his disdainful look. "What kind of question is that? Do you think I was raised by rabbits? Next you’ll be asking me if I ever had plum pudding on Fallrite."
She shook against him as she laughed, imagining a family of angry, feral rabbits raising him, giving a bit of credence to Ris's assertion. Silva lifted herself slightly, shifting her hips so that she was able to mold her body to his, tucking the duvet around her to hold herself in place, like a great cotton cocoon. "They're putting in a new field in the community park, they've already broken ground since the weather has been so mild, you should come visit me when it opens and we can play."
She was almost embarrassed by how often she’d daydreamed about that exact scenario, from the moment the banner had gone up announcing the new croquet court. The crew had taken advantage of the relatively mild winter, and she’d watched as the early work was completed: a section of the lawn ripped up for the new sod and turf, where manicured hedges and tournament quality hoops would be installed come spring. The community park was a wide expanse of rolling green lawn, ringed in footpaths and dotted with trees, wrapped by Main Street with its boutiques and restaurants, making it the perfect setting to spend an afternoon together — walking hand in hand up the shaded paths, lunching on the patio of a bistro not unlike Tate’s own establishment, browsing through shops and kissing before the waterfall . . .
She’d always had a vivid imagination, but for the last year she had felt as though she lived in an entirely separate world in her head, her rich fantasy life softening the edges of a harsher reality. She wanted Tate to spend quality time with her in Cambric Creek, to see the vast array of couples and blended families who called the town home. She wanted to visit the old observatory and take walks together in front of the town’s titular creek, winding through yards and farms until it widened in the center of town where it tumbled down a rocky outcropping in a non-stop deluge. She wanted him to exist in her Monday through Friday reality as more than just a weekend dalliance; wanted her parents to take a picture of her being held byhimin front of the waterfall. Tate was well-mannered and confident, as handsome and cocky as any elf at her club, and he and his quicksilver smile would easily fit into her world, if only they would let him.
She had chewed over his desire to run away with her as he slept, letting the words tangle through her daydreams and create new visions in her head, the notion leaving her feeling oddly hollow. She didn'twantto run away. Her parents had always doted on her, setting her up for an easy life of privilege, and her mother and grandmother had penciled in the details . . . and she liked the roadmap they’d laid out, she was forced to admit. There was no reason for them to run away, no reason for her to break with her family as Lurielle had. She could make him fit into the blueprint, she thought stubbornly, certain her fantasy could meld with reality. He could open a bistro in Cambric Creek and fill a stately Oldetowne Victorian with all of his beautiful antiques; could discuss business with her father and the proper care of fine china with her grandmother. They would be just another mixed species couple within the community and her parents would have to learn to live with it. By the time he'd woken that morning, she had worked herself into a state, clenching the sheets and aggravation and mumbling to herself. She wanted a spring wedding with flowers in her hair and a house in Oldetowne, wanted to taketheirchild to the community park on Sundays, wanted the exact life her parents had planned for her, albeit with a very different partner at her side than they had in mind . . . but she was willing to start with croquet.
"I’ll warn you though," she waggled her eyebrows as he grinned, "I’m very good. I played on our school team and we were undefeated for two years. If you think you’re just going to waltz in and teach me a thing or two, you’ve got another thing coming, Mister."
"Very confident, aren’t we, dove."
"Oh,very. Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you for the first game." In the moonlight that seeped through the sheers on the room’s windows, the needle-like points of his teeth looked particularly dramatic as he grinned hugely, and Silva mirrored his wide smile. "Did you play when you were young?"
