“Daddy used to say the best spirit is the one you enjoy with family and friends.” She took a drink, holding the glass loosely. Her other arm was folded over her belly, and she had her bare feet kicked up on the chair next to her. Long strands of brownish and blue hair hung from the knot she’d tied it in. “So old vodka is the best vodka.”
“That’s not a saying.” How easy would it be to scoot to the chair next to her, lift her feet and put them in my lap? I could rest my hand on her shins and we’d just talk, like we used to.
“We’ll make it one.”
We. The vodka warmed the cool path the juice had left. The heat went straight to my groin. Waking up to her had been like falling further into a dream that felt so real. I’d woken up to the woman I had thought would be my forever. The last fifteen years had fallen away. For a moment, I was submersed in the fantasy that we’d gotten married. This was our house. She’d tucked our girls in bed.
Somewhere in Costa Rica, Kirstin’s eye must be twitching.
I loved my daughters, and I wasn’t wishing away my marriage. I just wanted... something different. Awoman who was mine and who loved those girls more than anything.
She swirled her glass, relaxed in her chair. “So. Tell me about your life.”
“You’ve been seeing it.”
“What’d you do . . . after?”
“Worked.”
She stared at me, expectant, continuing to rotate her glass.
“Dad’s health was a roller coaster until it wasn’t. I thought the ranch was doing fine despite a few dry years and shitty market prices, but Wren was worried. The girls came along and I got busier. Then Kirstin left and it got even harder. Wren and I sold the ranch.” My life since I was eighteen boiled down to a few dismal sentences.
“And you struck out on your own?”
“The stress was getting to Wren.”
“Rhys.” She studied the contents of her glass. “You haven’t said whether you wanted to sell or not.”
“It didn’t matter. We had to.”
“For Wren?”
“For the girls.” I kept my gaze steady, but the urge to fidget like a little boy was strong.
“Mm.”
“What’s that mean?”
She took a sip and licked a drop off her lips. The sight stabilized my emotions. Being turned on was easier to handle than her questions.
“What was your mom like?”
I jerked like she’d tossed the vodka OJ in my face. “Why?”
“I’m wondering if she started the pattern of you ignoring what you want for the women in your life.”
“Jesus, June,” I said roughly and set my glass aside. There wasn’t enough alcohol in Bourbon Canyon for this conversation. June had asked more about my mom in the last month than she had the entire time we were together. “No, she’s not the start. She’s the reason I refuse to let down another woman in my life.”
“You were a kid, Rhys. You were, like, twelve when you moved to Bourbon Canyon.”
“That’s when she died.” My heart thumped once, initiating a steady, heavy beat.
She put her feet on the floor and leaned forward. “After you moved, right?”
I nodded. “I was actually living with Dad a few weeks before I started school, but Mom got hit by a car when she was on her way to theater rehearsal in New York. She died instantly.”
“Oh god, Rhys.” She put her fingers to her lips, sympathy spilling into her amber eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
