I pulled up to the first light off the lake. “Which way?” I asked her.
She sat there a second, now fiddling with the nav system. We were a little blue dot as she cycled through various settings: up close, far away, street view. I glanced in my mirror, concernedabout someone getting impatient behind us. But there was just Ben. This time he was looking directly at me.
“Go right,” Lana said finally, jerking me back to the present. She sat back, taking a breath. I put on my blinker and turned.
Maybe it was the way she settled in, getting quiet. But I was expecting a bit of a drive. Instead, we’d not even gone half a mile—Clark hadn’t been kidding—before she said, “Turn here. By the firewood sign.”
It was a simple placard, with just this word and a phone number. Beside it was a narrow dirt road. As we started down it, dust rose. We passed a field, then an old barn.
Lana pointed. “It’s this one.”
The house she indicated was painted blue, with a cute front porch. A tabby cat, skinny and narrow eyed, crawled under it upon spotting us.
Lana reached down, gathering up her bag. “Be right back. This should only take a sec.”
She started up the stairs. At the top she stopped, pulling a key from under an empty flowerpot before going inside.
For a moment, Ben and I just sat there. Then he said, “So. Would we call this awkward or intriguing?”
I turned around in my seat, realizing again the reassurance in just saying what you were thinking. Even if I didn’t do it myself. “Awkwardly intriguing?”
“Seriously, though.” He scratched his chin. “Should I be pretending we weren’t hanging out last night? I mean, what’s the protocol here?”
“You thinkIknow?”
He thought for a moment. “Well, we could ask someone. But then, of course, they’d know, which would defeat the purpose.”
“True.”
“That’s one argument for keeping it quiet. No threat of gossip.”
“Are we making a list?”
He shrugged. “We could. We’ll need more than one item, though.”
I thought for a second. “The subterfuge is kind of fun.”
“You’re referring to the window crawling and roommate dodging?” I nodded. “Item three: It might make things weird at work.”
“Itisa very sensitive dynamic,” I agreed.
“Then it’s decided. Should we shake on it?”
I stuck out my hand. He did the same. As his fingers closed over mine, I expected the contact to feel much like this discussion: practical, void of emotion. But when our palms touched, there was definitely a charge. Maybe why I held on for a little longer than I would have otherwise.
Just then a car turned in beside us. It was a small red sedan with a dent in one door. A woman with streaky blond hair was behind the wheel, a pair of large sunglasses parked on top of her head. She swiveled toward us, eyes narrowing.
“Shit,” Ben said under his breath.
Bang!went the car’s door as the woman got out. She had on low-slung jeans, a ribbed tank top barely covering her stomach. It inched up as she bent to my window. “Hello?” she said. “Who are you?”
“Shannon, hey,” Ben said. She flicked her gaze at him. “Ben. I work with Lana at the Egg.”
She looked back at me. Then I heard the front door creak open.
“Mom.” Lana was on the porch. A few T-shirts were draped over her arm. “Do you know where my black jacket is?”
“Hey, you.” Shannon’s body language eased as she turned, her voice growing noticeably warmer. “I didn’t know you were coming by.”
