Page 28 of Audiophile

I do a thousand things to keep from spiraling—wondering what the hell I’m still doing in Swift River. I wish I had Petra’s number to cancel our plans. She spent years in a horrible relationship. If I bailed on her tonight, would she recover? Would I? I pop in my headphones and play a recording I took in Yellowstone to block my thoughts.

Between the nature sounds and deep diving into reviews on local restaurants, I’m able to pull myself together. As the evening draws closer, I force myself to dress well in a button-down and some cologne.

Picking Petra up from work highlights how little I know about her—not even where she lives. I know her first and last name, and that her parents own Belvita. I can’t trust her. I shouldn’t trust her. I’d leave and never look back, except for the words in a notebook I wasn’t meant to see.

I smooth my hands over the sheets, tidying the bed. The soft impression from Petra’s head is still visible on her pillow. She asked to hold me last night. She made me laugh. She sawme, not Knight. The deafening buzzing of bees crawling up my chest settles down to a whisper. This small dose of peace is what drives me to pick up my order from the flower shop before they close.

It’s five minutes till eight when I arrive at Mulberry’s, but Petra is already outside, scowling at a woman who fluffs Petra’s curls. Petra doesn’t see me as I walk up, too intent on the woman in front of her. “Will youstop,Livi?” she grumbles.

“Only if you admit that it’s a date!” the woman says.

This is why I didn’t bail. She’s not my past, she’sPetra.Firmly rooted in knowing this isn’t going anywhere, but enjoying the moment anyway, because who knows when we’ll get another? She’s a kindred spirit. We both need to see that possibilities still exist for us. Maybe if I chase her shadows away, I can chase away my own.

My skin settles over my bones—calm, quiet, and warm—as I take her in.

“Isn’t it?” I interrupt. It’s hard to keep up my wounded facade when she looks up, stricken. I offer her the bundle of anemones and ranunculus that Chelsea hooked me up with, but Petra blinks at me, leaving me out to dry.

“It’s…not.” She doesn’t sound sure, and I let her off the hook.

“It’s not,” I affirm. Except nowI’mnot sure. She’s got makeup on that has her eyes sparkling under thick lashes, and the blush across her cheeks is reminiscent of when I embarrass her. But there’s something in her face—like she’s not far from tears—that’s unsettling. “But the rules are that you have to pretend. From this moment until we say goodnight, it’s a real date. Otherwise we lose the purpose.”

“Which is?” The other woman cuts in. She resembles Petra, from the high bridge of her nose to the slope of her eyes.

I smile at her, but my words are for Petra. I reach over to pluck a stray hair from her jacket and pin her eyes with mine. “To remember there’s more in front of you than behind you. You’re beautiful, Petra. This isn’t your uniform.”

Petra rolls her eyes, but at least her sadness is retreating. She takes the bouquet, tracing the petals of one of the flowers before she speaks. “Everyone knows about last night, and half the town got involved to make me pretty. Roses are too cliche?”

“You’re just as pretty at two in the morning,” I say, and Petra flushes. “Roses are elegant, but I’m not a fan of the scent. Are they your favorite?”

She shrugs. “I like variety.” Her sister mouths something that I don’t catch, and Petra glares. Livi is a key into her past, her personality, her foil, and I want the chance to learn more. “This is my sister, Livi.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Livi dispenses with the niceties. “Hi Reed. Rule one: don’t break her heart or I’ll key your car. My husband is a Deputy Sheriff, so good luck getting him to arrest me. Rule two: what Petra says goes.No getting handsy without permission or I’ll domorethan key your car. Rule three: If she kisses you,pleaserock her world, because she hasn’t been kissed in—”

Petra plants her free hand right in Livi’s face. “That’s enough talking,” she says as she grabs me by the elbow and pulls me across the pavement. “Night, Livi!”

“I’ll tell Papa not to wait up!” Livi shouts. Petra lets go to wave her middle finger high in the air without turning back.

“Don’t stop walking,” Petra commands, “or I’ll end up kicking Livi’s ass halfway to Boston and have to go on the run from Darin.”

The mental image is fantastic and pulls me out of any lingering indecision. Thirty seconds alone with her and I’m settling into myself. “What, are you secretly CIA?”

“Unofficial black belt,” she says. I can’t pin down if she’s lying.

“Unofficial? Can’t wait to hear that story.” I stop Petra next to my silver SUV, stepping in close to reach around her for the door handle. My body lights up when her ample curves press against me. My imagination didn’t do her justice. I stroke her hot cheek with my knuckle. “I like my paint intact, so I won’t initiate anything. But if you decide to kiss me, I have no problem with following Livi’s third rule.”

Petra’s lips part on an inhale that echoes in my bones. Her mouth is glossy, and it’s only as I’m wondering how she’d taste that I realize I’m staring. She’s almost feverish compared to the cold night air at my back, and every warm inch of her heats up my blood.

She pushes weakly against me. “Noted. Dinner?”

If she thinks she can dissolve what’s happening between us with two words, she’s wrong. I wrap a curl around my finger, and her hands tighten on my jacket. “How come you didn’t wear your hair this way yesterday?”

She gives me a wry smile. “Mia Thermopolis? Miss Frizzle? Toula Portokalos? Any of those ring a bell? Curls—real, frizzy, unorganized curls—have never been Vogue. But I didn’t have time to straighten my hair this morning.”

Because you were in my bed.The thought is heady, possessive, and I’m running hot as I release her hair to brush my fingers down her neck. “Your curls are stunning.”

“Thank you.” Her chest brushes against mine with every heavy breath. My finger catches on something gold around her neck.

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