I don’t have much excitement to report, but she rattles on and on about the fun they’re having, not missing me anywhere near as much as I’m missing her.
She’s elated her cousins are there and reports Gypsy’s only had a couple of headaches—I secretly wish her head would explode. In a whisper, she adds, “Aunt Remy’s been calling Uncle Darren and asking him to change his mind about something.” She shouldn’t be listening, but I’m too distracted with the implication to tell her that. Something must be going on with them. Maybe a new house, he’s in real estate.
When I hear the sliding glass door open and close, I say, “Bee, I have to go. I’ll call tomorrow.”
“Aunt Reese says we’re coming to visit you and going to the beach. And I’ll meet Grandpa and everyone else.”
“Everyone else?”
“There’s always other people in the treasure hunt movies,” she says with aduhtone of voice. “Someone who knows one thing the other person doesn’t.”
“Right.” I smile into the phone at the irony but feel a wave of nausea. I have to tell Nash about Bennie before they get here. “The beach sounds fun.” And slightly terrifying. “Love you, Bee.”
“Love you back.”
I end the call, change into a sleepshirt, and pad to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Mid-scrub, my phone rings, Nash’s name on the screen. I pull the toothbrush out of my mouth and answer, pinching the phone between my ear and shoulder.
“You fall in the pool?”
I hear his chuckle through the phone and floating down the hall. “Just wanted to see how you feel about today.”
“How the lies of my family never stop, and you found me homeless in your shed?” I ask around my toothbrush.
He fills the doorway, eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “I found you naked in my shower, actually.”
I roll my eyes and finish brushing. “You have something to say?”
“Lots.”
One word, a million meanings.
I rinse my mouth and look at him, phones at both of our ears, stupid smiles on our faces. I want to lean into him and feel his warmth. I want to inhale his scent while his voice vibrates my cheek.
“Talk fast,” I say. “Because I’m dying to sleep on a bed that doesn’t include the word futon.”
He steps aside, letting me pass then following me as I make the short walk to the guest room, phone not budging from his ear.
“I’m dying for you to do that too,” he says.
I laugh at the absurdity of hearing his voice in two places.
At the doorway of the bedroom, I face him. “Good night, Nash.”
He grins. “Night.”
When I close the door, it’s quiet on the phone, but I don’t hang up as I crawl into bed.
“You there?”
“Maybe.”
I smile into my pillow. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
He’s smiling too.
There’s a silence, but it’s comfortable.
