I’m incredibly flattered by that statement. For a start, Jude’s not dumb and he’s her boyfriend. She also works with a bunch of incredibly intelligent people.
She’s just being nice, I tell myself. No need to freak out about it.
“Wow,” I say, “that’s very kind. But I know my limits, and they’re nowhere near my father’s. He was a bigger man than I am in every way.”
She looks at me then, her brown eyes curious. “You know how you’re viewed in this community, right? You’re incredibly well thought of. Well-respected. And very important to lots of people, including me.”
“That’s good to know.”
She frowns. “You say the words, but I don’t think you mean them.”
I slide my hand into my pocket and extract my keys as we turn onto the drive. “Sure I do.”
“But—”
“Wow, the moon is bright tonight.” I walk up to the front door, slide my key in, and step back to let her pass.
She flicks me an exasperated glare, but slips past me, leaving the scent of her perfume lingering in the night air, something lightly floral with a touch of jasmine, making me think of lying in bed with her on late summer nights. I try not to sigh as I follow her in and close the door behind me.
“I just love this living room,” she says, walking past the cream sofa and chairs to the windows on the far side. “What a wonderful view.” The house sits at an angle, north facing to take advantage of the sunlight all day, and looks out across the twinkling lights of Sunrise Bay and the lagoon beyond.
“Yeah, it’s one reason I stayed.” I toss my keys on the table by the door and flick a switch that turns on a couple of small lamps, leaving the harsh main light off. I look around the open-plan kitchen, dining, and living areas. When Dad died, I got rid of a lot of my parents’ dark furniture that cluttered the place up, including two separate sofas, several sets of nested tables, a big oak dining table and chairs, a couple of large dressers, and some huge, old oil paintings. I replaced them with a single sofa and two armchairs, a glass coffee table, and a much smaller glass dining table, and repainted the forest-green walls a light cream. I also replaced the dark-brown carpet with a light-gray flecked one. The place feels lighter for it. Now I have room to breathe.
I walk across to the kitchen. “What do you want to drink? Coffee?”
“Do you have wine?”
“Yeah. You sure you want any more?”
“Don’t be an old woman. If I’ve ever needed to get drunk, this is the time.”
I chuckle, opening the fridge and retrieving a bottle of Sauvignon. “Fair enough.” I didn’t like the thought of her getting inebriated in the bar, even though I know Tyr wouldn’t have allowed anything to happen to her. Here she’s safe, and I can keep an eye on her.
She lowers onto the left-hand cushion of the sofa. “This is so comfy. I’ll probably doze off halfway through the next glass. If I fall asleep here, just chuck a blanket over me.”
I get a glass and pour a generous amount in, then retrieve the JD bottle for myself. “Will do. Although I do have a couple of spare bedrooms.”
“I like the idea of sleeping here and waking up to the sunrise. It must be amazing.”
“It is. This whole room glows orange.” I toss some ice into a glass and pour the JD over it. Then I bring the glasses through to the living room. I put them on the coffee table, go back into the kitchen, and find a big packet of salt and vinegar kettle chips in the cupboard, because I know she likes them. I tip them into a big bowl, take it backinto the living room, and place it next to her before going over to one of the armchairs.
“You won’t be able to reach them from over there,” she scolds as I’m about to sit, and she pats the sofa.
In the background, along with the sound of the sea and the singing of the cicadas, I can hear bells chime softly. It’s the inner warning system I set up years ago, when Jude first introduced me to his new girlfriend.
Mentally, I switch it off and sit on the right-hand sofa cushion, moving the bowl of chips between us. She turns toward me, bringing up her feet and sitting cross-legged. Lifting a hand, she takes the elastic band holding back her ponytail, draws it down her hair, and tosses it onto the coffee table, then runs a hand through her brown locks, loosening them so they fall past her shoulders. I try not to stare. She rarely wears her hair down, and it looks thick, soft, and glorious.
“Has Jude texted you?” I ask, trying to bring him back between us.
She takes out her phone and checks it, then tosses it onto the coffee table with a clang. “Nope.”
I frown. “What an idiot. He’s going to regret this tomorrow.”
She sips her wine, then looks out at the view of the moon above the sea. “Maybe. Maybe not. This hasn’t come from nowhere. It’s been a long, slow decline. I’m sure it was inevitable, eventually.”
I think about the fact that she admitted she and Jude haven’t slept together for a month. That shocked me. I know they bicker. And I understand that Kim’s problems and the issue of Beth worrying about her fertility has caused stress between them. But I thought Jude loved her. She’s his girlfriend, and she’s so gentle and easy to love. Why on earth wouldn’t he want her in his bed twenty-four-seven?
I shouldn’t ask more about this, but I’m curious as to which of them is responsible for not wanting sex. I can’t imagine it’s Jude. Although I’ve come across some frustrated and neglected women in my job, their husbands are usually much older, and my experience is that most young guys want sex as often as they can get it. It must be Beth.
