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Still, I couldn’t sleep last night, thinking about it. So I studied his wife’s latest Instalook posts. They’ve been a little vague lately.
But now, being here with him, I realize I’m probably making something out of nothing. It’s like when you think about a red car and then before long red cars are all you see. I’m sure it’s like that with the flowers.
“How about this—I’ll pick you up Friday evening. Bring a packed bag to work with you.”
“Sounds like you have it all figured out,” I tell him, and there’s a whisper—an inkling. It’s nagging, eating at me. I realize I’ll have to cancel my dance lesson with his daughter. This is better.
He winks. I can’t help but wonder if he’s done this before.
I slip my foot into my shoe. “What will you tell your wife?” I blurt out. I need to know. Instantly, I regret asking. His expression shifts, and I see something there I haven’t seen before. There’s a sense of protection in his eyes. She’s off limits. That’s what it says.
“As I said—you leave everything up to me,” he tells me, and so I do.
He’s waiting for me out front Friday night as I lock up.
“Ready?” he asks when I climb in the car. His expression is impassable.
I nod. A wide grin spreads across my face. I can’t help it. My cheeks flush red. It’s been forever since I’ve taken a weekend off. Sure, it will mean going several days without groceries, and probably only paying half the light bill this month, but it will be worth it. Once we’re on the highway, I shift and lean over. I run my hand up Grant’s thigh. He turns to look at me. “Someone’s eager,” he says.
“I haven’t seen you since Wednesday.”
“I know,” he tells me, pursing his lips. “It’s been a busy week.”
“We could pull over.”
“No.” He looks over at me. “You’ll learn to wait,” he says, somewhat sternly. Then he smiles. “Trust me, it’s better that way.”
I think he’s joking, although I’m not entirely sure. I decide to trust him.
“If you say so,” I say finally. I’m a bit wounded. Sometimes you have to say what you mean and mean what you say. He’s never rejected me before. I’m overreacting, I know. I’m showing my naiveté, my immaturity, by being upset over a little brush-off when he’s carved out an entire weekend to be with me.
“This weekend is very important,” he offers, as though he knows what I’m thinking. “There’s a lot riding on it.”
I tilt my head. He’s right. “Like what?”
“Like whether or not we keep seeing each other.”
“Oh,” I say. Jesus. I hadn’t expected that. My vision blurs.
“I realize you think I’m blunt. And you’re right. But there’s something you should know about me, Isobel. I have very peculiar tastes.” His brow creeps toward his hairline. “I need someone I can trust.”
“You don’t think you can trust me?”
“I don’t give my trust away blindly.”
“Oh,” I say. Grant Dunn seems to be incapable of lying. He doesn’t soften the blow, that’s for sure.
“I’m a very particular man, Izzy. It's like jumping from a building without a net, flying trapeze absent the harness, and if I can’t trust you to take my life in your hands, then we can’t be lovers.”
My curiosity is piqued. “What sort of peculiarities?”
He smiles. “Oh, nothing too out there.” He reaches over and pats my knee. “You’ll see.”
I chew at my bottom lip.
He moves his hand to mine, places it on top and gives it a tight squeeze. “I wouldn’t want to spoil the fun.”
We arrive at the cabin close to midnight. It’s remote, but he doesn’t have trouble finding it so I presume he knows the place well. “Are we expecting others?” I ask, standing in the doorway. When we enter, I’m surprised to see the lights are on. A fire is already going.
