Second Chance for Romance полностью

I looked at Christy. “Do you really want me to come?”

“I do.” She blushed when she realized what she’d said, but she didn’t take it back.

“I’d… like that.”

I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about Christy during my run on Monday.

She’d gone from housemate to something close to a girlfriend in the span of a few days, but that didn’t really bother me. I wasn’t even nervous about spending Thanksgiving with her family. If anything, I was looking forward to

it.

Instead, my problems involved Gina, and I could name the cause in one word: guilt. I hadn’t replied to her letter, hadn’t thought about her much since it arrived, and felt like I was stringing her along. Altogether, that was a recipe for an extra-long run and no easy answers.

Did I really want a long-distance relationship for a couple of years, maybe more? Could I make it work even if I did? Could Gina? Part of me still thought it would be easier than persuading a sometimes-naïve Catholic girl to become a swinger.

But I was convinced that Christy had a wild side. I’d seen flashes already and heard more from Wren. I thought I could coax it out of her. Even so, did I want to give up Gina for the long-shot possibility of a relationship with Christy?

Yes? No? Maybe?

I don’t know.

I made time later that evening to write Gina a letter. I spent most of it telling her about Trip’s project, my own, and the house remodel across the street. I carefully avoided anything about my parents’ trip to Hawaii or my Thanksgiving plans. I didn’t mention Christy at all, which made me feel even more guilty. A lie by omission is still a lie, after all.

I was still thinking about it when Christy came home from working late on her exhibition piece. I heard the front door close and voices downstairs as she talked to Wren and Trip. Then she came upstairs with a foil-covered plate cradled on a folded dishtowel. She smiled tiredly when she saw me. Then she walked straight into my studio and sank to the floor beside my chair.

“You would not believe how much work I still have to do,” she said.

“Siobhan wants me to make a half-scale marble dust version of The Dying Replicant. The small one doesn’t convey enough emotion, she says.”

“She’s probably right. Anything I can do to help?”

“Maybe pose for me? I can scale up from the small one, but it’d be easier and quicker with you there. Not to mention the moral support.”

“Can do,” I said.

She removed the foil from her dinner and started eating.

“You want anything now? A drink? Dessert?”

“Oh, that’d be awesome. I didn’t have enough hands. Do you mind?”

“Not at all. What do you want? Coke? Juice? Water?”

“Maybe just some water. And… do we have any whiskey from the party?”

“I can check.”

“My nerves are shot, and I could really use something to settle them.”

“One water and one whiskey, coming up. And I’ll see what we have for dessert.”

“Thanks. You’re amazing.”

I headed downstairs.

Wren and Trip were working together at the dining room table, their usual hangout on school nights.

“Do we have any more Jameson?” I asked her.

“Uh-oh. I thought she was okay.”

“Just frazzled.”

“Yeah. She said she’ll be working every night this week and probably through the weekend if she wants to get everything done.”

“Anything we can do to help?” Trip asked.

“I’ll let you know.”

Wren stood and gestured for me to follow her into the kitchen.

“Aren’t you going to gloat?” I said.

“About what?”

“I’m taking care of Christy like she’s my girlfriend.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wren said. “I only gloat when you’re being stubborn.”

“Mmm. But now that I’m doing what you wanted all along, you’re a gracious winner?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she said. “I’m jumping for joy on the inside. But I’m also worried about my best friend. You’re taking good care of her, so I’m giving you a break.”

“Seems fair.”

She opened the cupboard where we kept our liquor and took down the bottle of whiskey. “Hey, babe,” she called to Trip in the dining room. “Would you put Jameson on the liquor store list?”

“Got it,” he called back.

She swirled the liquid in the green bottle. “Enough for two. You want

one?”

“Sure. Why not.”

She took a tray from a bottom cupboard and set it on the counter.

“We have any dessert?” I asked while she filled glass tumblers with ice.

“Cookies okay? They’re store-bought. In the pantry.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

A few minutes later I headed upstairs carrying the tray laden with late-night goodies. Christy was sitting where I’d left her, eating tiredly. I set the tray on my desk, filled the two whiskey tumblers, and handed one to her, followed by a glass of ice water. I took my own tumbler and sank into the chair.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“You’re welcome. Cookies are on the tray.”

She finished eating in silence and then took a long drink of Jameson. She sighed.

“Better?”

She nodded and took another sip.

I could almost see the liquor work its way through her.

“Would you rub my neck like you did the other day?”

“Sure. Slide over.”