Something isn’t right here. Boen hasn’t said one word to me, nor has he looked me in the eye. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I imagined last night.
I really hope I didn’t imagine it.
“I respect the heck out of her,” I say slowly, willing Boen to look at me. “It is my business when I hear the sound of a body falling out of bed and my neighbour is ninety-seven years old.”
“That’s how old she is?” Dawson asks with bewilderment.
“You didn’t know how old she is? And obviously didn’t know about her boyfriend.” My grin widens. “She’s so cool.”
“Cool,” Dawson echoes. “And sexually active.”
“Time for the talk!” My giggles turn into a full-out laugh, and still, Boen doesn’t look at me.
“We’re old, not deaf,” Mrs. Gretchen calls. “What’s this saying about your own sex life that you can’t stop giggling about mine?”
That stops my laughter.
Boen
The last thing I want to do is talk about Mrs. Gretchen’s sex life when Rachel’s scent is all over me.
I can’t even look at her.
After Mr. Cullen is dressed, Dawson and I help him down the stairs, where Rachel has his walker ready at the bottom. “I’m fine,” Mr. Cullen growls, waving off any further attempts to help as he slowly heads into the kitchen.
“I promised him a proper English breakfast.” Mrs. Gretchen wears a robe, and I avert my eyes to be polite. “You’re welcome to stay if you’re hungry.”
“As long as the gentleman is feeling better, I’ll be off,” I say, eager to be away from Rachel. She’s acting like nothing is wrong, like nothing happened.
Having sex with me meant nothing to her, so why should she pretend otherwise?
Mrs. Gretchen’s grandson steps in my path. “Thanks for your help. I’m Dawson Jacinto.” He holds out his hand.
“I know,” I say, giving him a firm shake, and wondering how is it that Rachel seems to know this Dawson so well. “She speaks of you often. Mrs. Gretchen, don’t hesitate to call if you have any further problem.”
“Thank you, Boen.” Mrs. Gretchen smiles, but her eyes are worried as she tracks the silence between me and Rachel.
“Rachel.” I nod and let myself out of the house.
I lean against the door, parts of me aching as much as Mr. Cullen must be, embarrassed by Rachel’s indifference.
I should have known better. What was I thinking?
But even with the frustration and disappointment coursing through me, I can’t leave, not without talking to her. I wait in Mrs. Gretchen’s front yard, hidden in the shade of the Japanese maple, until Rachel opens the door a few minutes later.
“Oh. Hey,” Rachel says coolly. “I thought you left.”
My gaze drops to her mouth and lower before I can wrench it up. “No,” I say, focusing on the tired green eyes. “That would be rude to leave without saying goodbye. Don’t you agree?”
She heaves a sigh. “You’re mad. I was coming back—you were asleep.”
“You could have easily woken me up.”
“You looked too cute.” She takes a step towards me with a hesitant smile. I step back to the hedge that separates the lawns. The smile fades. “You’re really mad.”
“What on earth is there for me to be angry at?” I don’t always use sarcasm, but I don’t know any other way to play this. I can’t say that she hurt me, that I’m disappointed in myself by being played for the fool. Letting her think that I’m annoyed by something so petty and childish is easier than being vulnerable again.
“That’s what I don’t know.” Rachel narrows her eyes, looking honestly confused, like she did nothing wrong. “I had to let Rusty out.” My jaw clenches at the mention of her dog, my arms tightly crossed. “You really don’t like my dog,” she says with a scornful laugh.
