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“My mom died of cancer.”
Sara stops mid-chew and stares at me. Her hand covers her mouth while she swallows enough to talk. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks. It was breast cancer. She didn’t tell me about it until after her first round of chemo because I was out of the country.” My band was doing its first tour, and it devastated me to not be there when she needed help.
Sara’s eyes sadden. “She was alone?”
“No, thank god,” I say, scooping more rice into the chicken. “Her live-in girlfriend helped her a lot. It was messy, though. Opened my eyes to caretaker burnout when Elise left my mom before the second round of chemo. I was there for that one, but it didn’t do any good.”
Sara reaches over and squeezes my forearm. “I’m sorry. People often told me we were lucky the cancer was so fast, but there’s really no good amount of time for that kind of thing. Yes, we had a few weeks with him, but he suffered. I’m sure it was hard to see your mom go through chemo.”
She removes her hand, and we continue eating. It bothers me that Sara’s so upset over her daughter not coming to visit—maybe leftover guilt over not spending enough time with my mom.
“What if you and I did all the things you had planned with your daughter?”
Sara pushes her half-eaten container of food away. “You want to picnic and hike with me?”
“It could be fun.”
She squints. “Your mouth is saying yes, but this—” She gestures to my face. “—is saying hell no.”
I bark out a laugh, and Sara’s eyes widen.
“Jesus Christ, I made you laugh.” She’s staring at me like I’m an alien.
“What?” I ask.
“I didn’t know you laughed, honestly. You’ve got the—” She waves at me again. “—brooding recluse in the Black Forest thing.”
“You’ve made me laugh before.”
An eyebrow raises. “I did? When?”
“The notes we exchanged on the fridge.”
It’s the first time we’ve talked about it, and Sara blushes. It’s charming and sweet, her eyes flicking to the fridge and back to me.
Our smiles fade until we’re watching each other. Maybe I didn’t misread the flirtiness in the note.
Sara’s eyes dance around my face. We’re both trying to get a read on the other.
After a flick down to my mouth, Sara swallows and turns forward again. With a little shake of her head, Sara claps her hands.
“Okay, so tomorrow, the plan was to shop in town, hike, go to the baths, and cook dinner together.”
It’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. “You want to go to the baths with me?” My gaze involuntarily drops to her chest, and I get a vision of Sara naked in the slick water of the baths, relaxed and warm, and I really don’t need the scandal of getting kicked out for inappropriate behavior. Or to make Sara uncomfortable. Can I trust myself to go to the baths with Sara and behave?
“Sure,” she says breezily. “I’m thinking that I don’t want to take up too much of your time, and I could get more work done, but I’ve already got the tickets for the baths and the food to cook. So why don’t we just do those two?”
“Umm . . .” I had no idea Sara would be so casual about nudity. Americans are usually so uptight about this stuff.
Sara misreads my hesitation. “I promise, you’ll like the food, even though it’s vegan,” she says with a smirk.
I very much doubt that I’m going to dislike anything about our day tomorrow.
7
Sara
