“Do you want to go for a swim?”
She tried to say no and not a word more. “No, the water looks kind of cold.”
Nico hummed. “C’mon, the water looks nice.”
“I don’t have a bathing suit.” God, she didn’t even get thenoin that time.
“We’ll only go in for a second.”
“I don’t really want to.” Why couldn’t she do it? She knew he didn’t mean it. He wouldn’t be upset with her.
“Are you afraid? Let’s go.”
“No.”
There it was. Finally. Nico laughed and pulled her in tight. “I knewyou’d get there.”
She took a long breath. “That was hard.”
“It will get better with practice,” he said.
“Try another one.” She tilted her face up to see him.
“I have a real question. You can say yes or no.”
“Sure.”
“Can I kiss you?”
She caught her breath. “I can’t practice if the answer is unequivocally yes.”
Valerie had never been kissed the way Nico kissed her. He took his time, never rushing, so she could melt into his touch. He kissed her like there was nothing in the world he’d rather be doing and Valerie’s mind, usually zapping from thought to thought, was able to relax into every sensation, from the faint rub of his stubble to the rough pressure of his hands on her skin. Kissing Nico felt like time both stopped and was endless.
“Want to go in?” he whispered against her mouth.
“Absolutely.”
He lifted her to her feet. “We might have to find another way to practice your no.”
“I mean, I can do that now.”
“Only if you want to.” He stepped back and held his hands behind his back. “Do you?”
“Hell, no.” She threw up her arms in triumph. “Hey! I did it!”
They laughed all the way back to her bunkie, and soon they were practicing far more yeses than noes.
Twenty-Nine
By midmorning, the Lakeview was almost set for Helena Reeves’s celebration of life. Valerie was in the dining room, aligning the tablecloth corners to hang at the same length, when Mickey came out from the kitchen where he’d been hard at work preparing Helena’s favorite chicken tenders and honey Dijon dip. He ran a cloth over his bald head. “T minus ninety minutes,” he said. “How’s it looking?”
“T minus sixty.” Valerie lifted the plate holding Helena’s (in)famous candied pecan and pimento cheese log. “The first guest always arrives early.”
“Surely not for a funeral.”
“Celebration of life,” she corrected.
“What’s the difference?” he asked curiously.
