Page 13 of Rivals to Lovers
“It’s not like that,” Wes said.
“Of course not. I’m sure it means nothing that you’re probably neighbors. Am I right about that?”
Silence settled between them, him a step behind for a moment. She shook her head as if to free something. “Well, might as well enjoy the weekend away while I have it.”
The peony beds came into sight now, wavy lanes of buds. They still weren’t in bloom, and he suddenly felt foolish for leading her this way, as well as for leading her into the conversation they were having. He had wanted to see if her demeanor changed when Ulla’s name dropped. Typically it did. He saw friends’ intentions change and dates’ eyes fill with calculations. Even worse, if they had known before he brought it up, it was always obvious in their poorly feigned surprise. From that point, there were soft asks for contact info, for ins, for a nudge to this department or that or for her to try this new product.
Instead, Mo was obviously angry. Frustrated? Both? It didn’t matter, because he wouldn’t see Maureen after this weekend. This was the big match. This was the chance to duke it out, and one author would bow out and go home. Nevertheless, he wanted to win because he was good, not because of some impression that Ulla pulled strings.
In the still night air, he enjoyed the smell of freshly mowed grass and the peace of the scattered exterior lights. Maureen’s face was shadowed, but he wanted her to catch his eye. He wanted, he realized, for her not to hate him. “Peonies are traveling plants,” he said, breaking the silence.
“Like Ents?”
Her reply was so immediate that he had to laugh. “Is Tolkien haunting you? Seriously. No, another client wrote about it, about how species of plants are sent all over the world. It was part a treatise on colonialism but part anexploration of the adaptations of nature and beauty. Peonies from China and Japan are more treelike—shrubby. Is shrubby a word?”
“It should be.” Her tone was now softer, almost sweet, and she almost had a smile on her face. “But maybe some of the Ents were peony trees. I bet they would still kick Orc ass.”
Was she messing with him? He hadn’t been thrown this far off his balance since, well, probably dinner tonight, but before that, it had been years. She lazily touched a bud with a finger, the stem moving under her hand. He did his best not to notice her arms, the gentle curve of her body. He absolutely did not think about the botanical drawings upstairs. When Mo pulled her hand back, she brought her wrist to her nose and sniffed delicately. “Natural perfume,” she said, and extended that wrist to Wes.
Yes, she was messing with him. Wes found that he couldn’t help but be messed with. He placed his nose near the base of her hand and took in that echo of a scent. He also took in the scent of her skin. He realized what a forward gesture this was for a stranger and took a step back. When she smiled crookedly in return, he had flashbacks of Penn and smoky frat houses. Suddenly everything fell into place. “You took those weed gummies, didn’t you?”
She pulled her hand back as if burned. “What?” But her voice held guilt in it, and so did her open expression. A thin smile, lazy and unaggrieved, caught in the partial light that bathed the garden through the wide glass windows behind them.
He laughed. “You thought you could sneak your high? Come on. You are less mad at me. And you’re talking about Ents.”
“Why don’t we talk about Ents more is the question.” Maureen’s voice was wry enough that Wes thought she wasn’t too far gone. Her next step faltered, though, and she touched his arm lightly for balance. When he looked down at her hand on his arm, she said, “Nice coat. It’s a nice texture, like your sweater. Sweaters and coats are so good when it’s chilly.”
It was chilly. “Still want to walk? You look a little wobbly.”
She nodded and removed her arm from his coat. She took a few steps forward, then glanced back at him. “I feel—uh. Yes. Walk. So, I haven’t had weed gummies before. I needed some air in my lungs. Not an exact measurement of air, just some.”
And then she fell face first onto the dirt path.
Once he got her sitting up, Wes ran back through the kitchen door and retrieved a glass of water. In the meantime, she had managed to crawl toward the patio. He intercepted her halfway to the door. “It’s like my legs are asleep,” she said in what she must have thought was a low voice. It was not. “Do you want some gummies? I have them in my pocket.”
With her safely drinking water and back within view of the house, Wes considered his options. He should find out what exactly he was dealing with here. “Sure. Let me see them.”
She handed over the bag, which had no markings on it. Inside were six gummy bears. He’d had edibles before and knew how little you needed to get the effect. “How many were in here before?”
“A clan. Is that how you measure bear amounts? A clan of gummy bears?”
He sat next to her. “Do you remember how many bears were in this clan?”
“Eight. LikeThe Brady Bunch. Oh my God, what if I ate the Greg and Marcia ones. Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!” she cried.
“That is a really old TV show.”
“I’m a really old soul.”
He looked at the remaining bears and did some mental calculation. One gummy usually had about 10 mg of THC, enough for any beginner—and she had to be a beginner, right?—to feel something. But with two?
“How you doing, champ?” he asked.
“My legs no longer work.”
“I noticed that.” Suddenly, the kitchen light, by whose glare they had been talking, shut down. It must be nine o’clock.
“Do you think Ulla would hate me?” she asked. “And it’s dark. It’s dark now.”
