She hums out another laugh, tired. And for once, she’s in a pleasant mood. Maybe it was all that smiling. Kicking off her shoes, Stella props one foot on the dashboard of my car. Her pink toes bounce to the rhythm of the pop song playing over the radio, thoroughly distracting me. My eyes drift from the road to her toes and back again.
“The Baxters are nice,” she says.
“Yeah. They are. Until today, I had never really talked to them.”
“Shocker,” Stella says, her toe bouncing pausing with her declaration and then starting up again. “I never expected billionaires to be so relatable. And young. I swear, Alice can’t be much older than you, Roman.”
I shrug and keep my eyes on the road—not on Stella’s toes. Because the flowy skirt she’s wearing hikes up a little with every toe bounce, revealing more and more of her tan leg. At least, I think it does—I’m only looking at her toes.
Back at the cabin, the trees and brush conceal the outsideworld, leaving the city behind. A chirping bird cuts through the quiet the minute I kill the engine, telling me I’m home.
“I never imagined you living in a place like this,” Stella says in the quiet of the car. Tucking in her leg, she removes it from the dashboard. But that skirt is bunched just above her knee, daring me to look.
“Yeah?” I mutter. I’m distracted, but I’m also listening. I can do both. “Where did you see me?”
“Some place big and busy with a whole lot of nightlife.”
“The nightlife out here is pretty busy.” I peer around the great outdoors, avoiding the great indoors and Stella’s bare skin.
She grunts, but it’s playful. We’ve had a good day. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.” I swallow. Maybe the timing is right. Maybe her mood is just where I need it. I want to help her—I want to help myself—but she has to let me. “We’ll have to register our marriage soon with the immigration office. Maybe we should go over some green card questions tonight.”
But Stella doesn’t have a playful retort. No. She groans. “Gah!” Even the birds on our porch flutter away with the noise. “You’re like a broken record, Roman.”
“I just want to be prepared,” I say, but Stella’s already opening her door. “We need to play it safe. We need—” But she slams her door shut before I can finish that sentence.
She crosses the dirt floor and heads up to the cabin entrance, opening the unlocked door without a second thought. I’m right on her heels, but it doesn’t matter.
“I’m taking a nap,” she calls, storming down the hall and into her bedroom.
I stare at the closed door. I’d like to walk right in anddemand she talk to me. But I just stare. It’s the one place Stella has privacy. I can’t violate that.
I fall onto my couch and stare at the blank TV. My house may be remote, but a lot of places in Tesoro are. The area still has cell, internet, and satellite service. It’s like the best of both worlds. And yet, I don’t turn my TV on. I sit there, wondering if Stella is asleep. Wondering why whenever I attempt to save us with immigration questions, she avoids me like the plague.
My phone pings, and I grapple for it as if my “wife” may be texting me from twenty feet away.
Callum: Hey, can Fran get Stella’s number?
Me: Why?
Zevulun: Because, Jackalope, the girls want to reach out.
Me: You’re in on this too, Hayes?
Zevulun: We aren’t in on anything.
Callum: They like her. Fran wants to ask Stella about making something for my mom.
Zevulun: And Rosalie is wondering if Stella gives pottery lessons.
Callum: We’re just asking. You don’t have to share.
I’m not sure why their semblance of approval leaves me gratified. I don’t need anyone’s approval. Besides, Stella isn’t really mine.
Me: I’ll ask her if she cares.
Maybe if she had a purpose, she’d get back to her wheel. Maybe she’d smile more often. Maybe we could talk, and I could finally understand her hesitancy to get prepared.
