Page 7 of Our Long Days
“Jerk. Will you ever let me live that down?” Her scowl lacks malice.
“Nope.”
“Actually, I went snorkeling. We saw parrotfish, butterflyfish, and turtles. It was a lot of fun until my bikini top snagged on a rock and my boob escaped.” Her head drops back, delicate neck on display as she laughs at her own expense. The sound is enchanting, light and airy.
I smirk around the rim of my glass, enjoying the smoky burn as the golden liquid trickles down my throat. “You’ve got a habit of losing your clothes near bodies of water, huh?”
“What can I say? Clothes are overrated.” Neither of us flinches at the insinuation in her words.
She raises the bottle toward me. My warm cheeks, loose lips, and relaxed muscles should prompt me to say no.
“Hmm,” I mumble while accepting the bottle. “How’s it being home?”
“Tedious.” She groans, downing the rest of her drink. “Thirty days of bickering with my mom over dumb things and trying to find a job is taking its toll.” Her gaze lowers, and she toys with the hem of her shirt—my shirt—drawing my attention to her smooth, bare legs. “I love being home, and maybe it was naïve of me, but I kinda thought everything would fall into place, you know?”
“That’s not naivety. It’s optimism.”
A long breath blows past her lips. “You’re old and wise. Any suggestions on how to get my life in order?”
“Smart-ass.” I nudge her ankle with my foot. “It’s sweet of you to think my life’s in order.”
There’s a hint of amusement in her voice, but something flickers in her eyes. “It doesn’t get better?”
Scoffing, I shrug, gaze drifting to the dancing amber flames. “Yes and no. Life has a way of reshuffling your cards without warning. Some days you’re dealt a winning hand, while others you want to fold.” She doesn’t ask me to elaborate, and it’s clear it wasn’t the response she was hoping for. “Don’t listen to me. Time’s made me bitter.”
The mood in the room shifts thanks to my dreary words of advice.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks tentatively.
Do I want to talk about it?
The short answer: no. Communicating isn’t hard; I’d just rather not burden people with my problems. They’re mine to stew with, and if I’m being honest, the worries worming their way through my brain recently aren’t ones I’m comfortable sharing with anyone.
Until now, they were forgotten, Florence’s company a welcome distraction.
Shaking my head, I take another swig of whiskey and reach for a log to feed the fire. “If it’s okay, I’d rather not.” I twist to face her. “Do you want to? Talk, that is.”
“I don’t think I do either.” Florence swivels the silver ring decorating her middle finger. “It’s funny—I thought tonight would be a drag, but it turns out, it was exactly what I needed. Not the party.” She gestures around the room. “This. It’s been a good distraction, so if it’s okay and you’re not ready to kick me out, I’d like to be distracted a little while longer.”
It’s as if she read my mind.
The wood spits and crackles, but something else sparks in the small space between us. It mixes with the whiskey cloud and dulls all logic. I’m not asking her to leave, but I should end the evening and put her up in one of my guest rooms.
“A distraction sounds good,” I say with a smile, ignoring my voice of reason.
An idea takes flight when a worn box on the shelf catches my attention. Rising to my feet, I make my way over and grab it before returning to my spot on the rug. The box drops to the floor with a rattle.
“Scrabble! Oh my days, it’s been forever since I’ve played this.” She peers up at me, excitement pulsating off her. “You’re sure I’m not overstaying my welcome?”
I tip the contents out and start overturning the tiles. “You scared of losing?”
“Pfft,” she scoffs and taps her temple. “I’ve got words up here longer than your dick.”
The air gets stuck in my throat, turning me into a spluttering fool. “Jesus, Florence. Warn a guy next time.”
Her angelic expression does nothing to hide the devilish glint in her eyes.
For the next hour, we tipsily arrange our tiles on the board. At some point, the game evolves into who can spell out the most outrageous words. To no surprise, Florence is winning.
