Page 49 of Audiophile

Petra rolls her eyes. “Pretty sure you were asking about it in a sexy way. Can you drop me off at my car? I need to shower and change.”

“You could shower with me.” I sweeten the offer with a squeeze of her thigh.

“You already got me in your tub once. Not happening again.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” I tease, but head for the grocery store, anyway. “Gonna pick me up or text me your address?”

“I’ll text you. Let me see your phone?” she asks. I turn it on and unlock it for her. Her eyebrows lift at the notification for fifteen new voicemails, but she doesn’t ask about them. She calls herselfto save my number and hands it back. It pings shortly thereafter, lighting up the screen with her name and address.

Petra Diamante.Her name echoes through me, lighting up parts of me that had long been dormant. It’s only after the screen darkens that I realize what happened.

I handed her my unlocked phone without hesitation. Kinley would’ve snooped, would’ve dug surreptitiously through my text messages or my photos. Petra didn’t bother. She didn’t spend time dissecting my home screen or scrolling my apps, which would’ve been doubly awkward since I downloaded all those dating apps trying to find her. I pull into the bustling parking lot, and reach for her hand.

“Petra, I—” But the words die on my tongue. How do you thank someone for not being another person? For not repeating the past? For pure decency? “Thanks for inviting me to dinner. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Petra rolls her eyes. “No you won’t. But leave me out of it, please. I can’t bear to smash my dad’s hopes of becoming a nunandtell him I belong in Gomorrah on the same day.”

I haven’t heard a Bible reference in ages, and the surprise of it makes me laugh. I squeeze her thigh as reassurance. “That’s pretty far-reaching for listening to sexy audio. I mean, God and I are cool, and I’m the one recording it. What time should I come over?”

She rolls her eyes at me, but she’s radiantly happy. “Six-thirty? Dinner at seven-ish.”

“Done,” I declare. I can’t wait.

“That’s actually Diamante time for possibly seven-thirty or eight,” Petra admits. She smiles, and it’s so sweet that I don’t want to let her go. “See you then.”

“See you soon, Pet.” I tilt her head up to kiss her cheek. Her hips sway as she walks away, and I bite my lip to hold in my grin. How the hell did this woman squirm her way under my skin in mere days? I’m in deep trouble. Petra unlocks her car and drives away before I absently dial Amanda’s number.

“Hi Reed,” Amanda answers right away. “I can’t believe you sent me money. It was way too much, and when you get back, I’m using it to take us all out to dinner. Where are you now?”

Oh damn. What am I doing, calling Amanda? I can’t tell her about Petra. I wish I could call Holly; she’d know exactly what to say. “I’m still in Swift River.”

“Reed,” she sighs. “You have to come home sometime. Or at least be around people. My friend Jenny lives in San Francisco, I’ll check if you can crash on her couch—”

“I need flower information,” I blurt out. Amanda’s pause is filled with all sorts of things on my end. Dread, humiliation, and a sinking in my gut while I anticipate her reaction.

It’s not a warm one. “What? Did you meet someone in the middle of nowhere? You can’t honestly—what are you—”

I close my eyes, wishing I could restart this whole conversation and talk about something menial instead. “It’s nothing serious, okay? I’ve only known her for a few days.”

“Then what are youdoing?”

I don’t know. I can’t bring myself to say the words. “Having fun. Don’t I deserve some fun?”

“You swore off dating forever and now you’re buying flowers for someone in a tiny town a bajillion miles away. How is that not a big deal?” I don’t answer, and Amanda sighs. “I want you to be happy. If you came back and fell in love with Coralville again, it would be healing.”

She means it. Amanda only wants the best for me. Our unwavering support for each other is what makes our relationship strong. But I need her to move past her wants and hear me. “Amanda, the woman I’m buying flowers for is healing me in ways that town never could.”

“That sounds pretty serious.” Amanda makes a noise, half-laugh, half-sob. “I guess we better pick out some great flowers while I resign myself to booking flights to Swift River twice a year.”

There’s the support I wanted. “You can fly on my dime, if that helps.”

“It does,” she lets out a shaky, watery laugh. “I see first class in my future. For the girls, too.”

This is a welcome reprieve from her persistent Team Iowa, and I appreciate it. “Absolutely. First class in a forty passenger plane ought to be interesting. Alright, what do you know about Italian culture?”

“Me, or the internet?” she asks, but at least it holds her tears at bay. “How Italian is she? Does she speak it? Is she Catholic?”

“Very. Her father wishes she’d become a nun.”

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