Page 82 of Drawing Home
“Bad news?” Kyle said.
Was her expression that easy to read? “It’s just my ex calling. Speaking of weekend warriors.”
Kyle sat on the edge of a chaise. He pulled it closer to hers.
“Let me ask you something. When you’re not working or taking care of your daughter or dealing with your ex-husband or fighting a Park Avenue socialite over an estate…what do you do for fun, Emma Mapson?”
What did she do for fun? Emma thought about it, unnerved for a minute that she didn’t have an answer. But then it came to her.
“I grow roses,” she said, as pleased as if she’d just answered a game-show trivia question.
“That’s cool. But it sounds kind of solitary. What do you do to get out, let off steam?”
His focus on her was starting to get embarrassing. It struck her, as he sat in the moonlight, his big blue eyes on her, that he was very attractive. She recalled that that had been her initial impression but somehow, it had gotten lost in all the Bea conflict.
“Kyle, I don’t know. I’m fine, okay?”
He leaned back, running his hand through his hair and smiling.
“When I was a teenager, sometimes we’d run around at night in the summer and go pool-hopping,” he said.
She smiled. “We did that too. My friends got busted once. It wasn’t pretty.”
“I always wished my parents had a pool.”
“Me too. And look—now I have one.”
“But you’re not using it.” He stood up. “Come on. We’re going swimming.”
“What? No. I’m tired. It’s late.”
Kyle ignored her and headed to the pool. He pulled off his T-shirt and jumped in.
“Isn’t it freezing?”
“No! It’s perfect. Bea turned the heat on.”
Maybe as long as Bea was claiming the house, she could also claim the utility bills.
“What are you waiting for?” he called from the shallow end.
“I told you, it’s late.”
“Do I have to come out there and throw you in?”
“I strongly advise you not to do that,” she said.
“That sounds like a dare.”
He pulled himself out of the water and headed for her.
“Kyle, seriously,” she said, laughing nervously when he reached her chair.
“Last chance to do this the easy way,” he said, holding out his hand.
“I’m not going in.”
“Oh, you’re going in.” He leaned over and scooped her up. Water dripped onto her sweatshirt.
