“Cara! You’re not staying in the broken one, are you?”
“I’m in the—”
“Seriously, the mice will get in—”
“I’m not in the broken—”
“And then the snakes will slither in there to catch them, and—”
“I’m staying at Griffin’s!” Cara shouts.
“Oh. Wow. Changed your mind about getting serious, huh?”
“I will acceptzeroI-told-you-so energy from you, Rip. None.”
“And you two are…”
“We’re good,” Cara says, her voice all soft, like she’s thinking about flowers and bunnies and keeping a large, burly man awake all night.
The map app chimes, and Ripley parks the Charger in front of a modest bungalow. “I should go. But I’m glad for you two. And, Cara? Please be gentle with our best excavator.”
Cara laughs and ends the call without promising a damn thing.
Ripley shakes James awake. “We’re here.”
He blinks a few times, confused. “I fell asleep? In thecar?”
“You did,” she says briskly. “And with any luck, we’ll both be asleep again soon.”
The place is airy and whimsical, with Scandinavian-style white walls and lots of natural wood. White-painted branches serve as the legs for all the furniture. They can’t find the sheets to make up the sofa bed.
“Let it go, Ripley,” James says, tugging her out of the closet. “The bed’s big enough.”
They slide between the smooth white sheets, then lie on their separate pillows, facing each other, not sleeping.
James reaches out to tuck a stray curl into Ripley’s braid. “Your hair,” he says in a way that clearly meansI have been wanting to touch this.
“Your lip,” she answers, fitting her thumb to the divot.
“Your chin.” He tilts it up and forward as if she’s stubbornly raised it at him.
“Your neck. Righthere,at the back.” She loves how he shivers at the light scrape of her thumbnail.
“Your collarbones,” he says. “If you were a bird, these would help lift your wings.” He traces the double curve, left to right and back again, eyes closed like he’s making a wish.
“I’m not a bird, James,” she says, her heart not quite steady.
“You are, though. You’re a phoenix, Ripley.” He pulls her close, buries his nose in her hair, and falls asleep.
Sometime later, so does she.
Ripley wakes up sprawled halfway across James’s body. The room is cool and shade-dappled, the breeze from the open window carrying a dry, dusty scent she associates with dinosaurs.
A change in his breathing tells her he’s awake too, and she’s delighted by a rising firmness against her thigh.
“Hey there.” She wiggles closer. They could steal one more hour.
“Ignore it,” he says, the words tight with desire and chagrin. After a brief, regretful press, he rolls out of bed to rummage in his overnight bag.
