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“You didn’t want me to follow you inside?”
“No, I didn’t. But not because I didn’t want you to be here.”
She looked at him with frustration. “Another riddle. What does that even mean, Ledge?”
“Hard to explain.”
“Try.”
“A drink first.” He turned toward the kitchen, but she stopped him by grabbing his sleeve.
“Let’s wait on the drink and have this out right now. Is Crystal the hang-up, or not?”
“Not.”
“You love her.”
“Yes. But sex isn’t part of it. Never has been.”
“So is this some kind of unrequited love thing with you, like Lancelot and Guenevere? Crystal is off limits, so you make do?”
“As I recall, a kingdom fell because Lancelot and Guenevere screwed each other blind.”
“You know what I mean. Are you pining after the unattainable love of your life?”
“Yes, I know what you mean. And, no, I’m not pining after Crystal.”
She regarded him, her brow furrowed. “There’s a story, isn’t there? Something in her past?”
“It’s Crystal’s story to tell, not mine.” No one would ever hear about Morg’s abuse from him. Even with his uncle, he had hinted at it just enough to enlighten him so something could be done to stop it. She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “You’re very good at keeping secrets.”
He damn sure was. He was especially good at keeping his own.
“You’ve been rained on.” He motioned behind her. “The bathroom is down that hall, second door on your left. Grab a towel; grab two, one for me. I’ll pour you a whiskey.”
He turned and beat it into the kitchen before she could detain him again. He got the bottle of bourbon from the pantry, took two glasses from the cabinet, thought about cheating and taking a hit straight from the bottle for an added measure of courage, but resisted.
He poured an inch into each glass and added a couple of ice cubes. Leaving the bottle, he returned to the living room with a glass in each hand. Arden hadn’t come back from the bathroom yet. He went over to the opening into the hall. “Did you get lost?”
The bathroom door was standing open, and the light was on. “Arden?”
Getting no answer, he walked down the hall. When he got even with his open bedroom door on his right, she said, “In here.”
She was standing at the window, looking out at the rain. “You have a view of the lake from this room.”
Seeing her there in his shadowy room, his heart began to thud with a mix of dread and anticipation. But he ignored the dread. Officially they hadn’t had a drink yet. He’d made a vow to himself to tell her “after a drink.”
He walked into the room and joined her at the window. “This view sold me on the house. When the mist rises over the water, it looks otherworldly.”
“Hmm. A lot different from the landscapes of Iraq and Afghanistan.”
“Like different planets.”
“When you were over there, did you miss this?”
“Something terrible.” He passed her one of the glasses, but neither of them drank.
“Did you buy this house as is?”
