by Jae
“Yes,” Rae said. “I couldn’t put my finger on it, but that sounds exactly like what’s been going on. It feels like it doesn’t fit me anymore.”
“Exactly. That’s why we tell our clients they need to have their artificial eye replaced every five years—to ensure a comfortable fit.”
“Five years? But I’ve only had it for about seven months.”
Mr. Kamali nodded. “I know. But the first year, the socket changes the most. When we first fitted you for the prosthesis, there might have also been some residual swelling from your injury. It can take up to a year for the edema to disappear completely, and that changes the shape of the socket too. So I’m really glad you came in before you ended up with inflammation or a drooping eyelid because the prosthesis started to sit too deep in your socket.”
Rae raised her free hand and covered her left eye for a moment as if by pure instinct.
Steph trailed her thumb along Rae’s index finger. She didn’t know if Rae actually found it soothing, but after a moment, Rae dropped her hand to her lap.
Her grip on Steph’s fingers tightened. “That means I need a new prosthesis, doesn’t it? And, of course, it won’t be done in time for Christmas,” she added, as if to herself. “Can I keep wearing this one until the new one is done?”
Steph’s breath caught. Christmas? That was what her strong, stoic friend was worried about? She tugged on Rae’s hand to get her attention. “You’re not worried about what my family will think, are you?”
Rae huffed. “No, of course not. It’s not like I’m trying to impress them.”
“Liar,” Steph said affectionately. “I promise no one will stare or say anything if you show up with an eye patch.” She would call each member of her family—and the neighbors or anyone else who might drop by too, if need be—and make sure of that. “Well, I might stare a little, but only because I have a feeling you’ll look pretty dashing.”
Rae’s bunching jaw muscles relaxed a little. “Is that a fetish of yours?”
Steph shrugged and grinned. “It could easily become one.”
“Oh yeah?”
Rae’s low drawl sent a shiver through Steph. “Mm-hmm.” Christ, would you stop flirting?
“Um, far be it from me to get in the way of a pirate romance,” Mr. Kamali said, “but before you buy an eye patch, maybe let the expert get a word in?”
“Oops. Sorry.” Steph gave him a sheepish smile.
Mr. Kamali chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. It’s great to see that Rae has someone to support her.”
“Hello?” Rae waved her hand. “I’m sitting right here. So you are saying I don’t need an eye patch? I can keep wearing the old prosthesis for a while?”
“Even better,” Mr. Kamali said. “The change of your socket isn’t so drastic that we need to start over with a new eye. At least not yet. It will probably become necessary at some point, but for now, we just need to enlarge the prosthesis a little by adding some material to the back.”
Rae beamed as if he had said her eye would be growing back.
Steph couldn’t help staring. Even during the first week of living together, when Rae had scowled at her most of the time, she had thought Rae was attractive in a brooding sort of way. But a beaming Rae, radiating happiness, made her chest expand as if her heart had suddenly doubled in size.
Rae picked up the prosthesis from the desk and held it out to the ocularist. “Well, what are we waiting for, then? Get to work.”
Laughing, Mr. Kamali took it. “Is she always this bossy?”
“Pretty much.”
“Then let’s get started. I’ll have you out of here in an hour, tops.”
They actually made it out in forty minutes, and as they walked out of the ocularist’s office, Steph realized that Rae hadn’t let go of her hand the entire time.
“Um, you’re going in the wrong direction.” Rae had been deep in thought, checking out the license plates of oncoming cars—a habit that always soothed her—so it had taken her a while to realize Steph was heading west on Ventura Boulevard instead of turning east, toward Hollywood. That in itself was startling. Normally, she paid close attention to everything the driver did if she was in the passenger seat.
“No, I’m not.” Steph pulled into the parking lot of a strip mall. “I thought after a day like this, you deserve some—”
“Alcohol?”
Steph chuckled. “That too. But no. I mostly mean this.” She pointed to one of the stores, with tiny, colorful tables out front.
Rae could make out the words Italian ice on the glass door. “Ice cream?”
“Yes! Or would you rather go straight home?” Steph looked over. “Damn, I should have asked. I bet your eye hurts.”
“Nah, not really. Just a little sore.” Mr. Kamali must have taken out and replaced her prosthesis more than a dozen times as he added layers of wax and then clear acrylic until it fit. “I’m not used to so much in and out.”
Steph burst out laughing and pressed her hand to her mouth. “Sorry, sorry. I’m not laughing at your eye. Replay what you just said.”
Rae craned her neck so she could shoot Steph a pretend disapproving look. “I’m probably not the first to tell you that you’ve got a one-track mind.”
“It’s been mentioned a time or two.” Steph stopped laughing. “But seriously, how do you feel?”
“I’m fine. The fit feels a bit tight right now, but Mr. Kamali said that will stop on its own in a day or two.”
“I know,” Steph said. “I was there.”
“Yes, you were.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. They looked at each other, and an unfamiliar warmth rose up Rae’s chest.
This time, Steph was the first to look away. “So ice cream?”
“Ice cream.” Rae could definitely use something to cool down.
“Then come on!” Steph jumped out of the car.
Rae followed at a slower pace and entered the ice cream parlor after her.
Blackboards on the yellow walls listed a huge selection of Italian ice and gelato flavors, while another one said, Trust the magic of ice cream.
Trust somehow seemed to be the motto of the day. Rae still couldn’t believe she had invited Steph to come into Mr. Kamali’s exam room with her. No one but her doctors and her ocularist had seen her with the eye out, not even Kim, so that decision had made her stomach cramp. But she needn’t have worried. Steph had taken the sight of her empty socket in stride. Toward the end of the appointment, Rae had been able to turn toward Steph and face her without stiffening when Mr. Kamali had left them alone to take the prosthesis to his lab next door. Steph had continued to chat as if it made no difference to her whether the eye was in or out.
Amazing. Rae’s gaze followed Steph, who had discovered a wall of retro candy in the back of the store. In the beginning, she hadn’t liked Steph’s cavalier attitude, the constant jokes, and offhand comments, but now she was starting to appreciate Steph’s approach to life. Maybe some of Steph’s ability to enjoy herself in the moment and let go of things she couldn’t change would rub off on her if she kept hanging out with her—and that was something she definitely wanted to keep doing.
“Rae! Look at this,” Steph called from the back of the store. She swung a yard-long bubble gum stick as if it were a baseball bat, then held an oversized pair of wax lips up to her mouth and made kissing sounds in Rae’s direction.
Rae pretended to cover her face in embarrassment when the man behind the counter looked at them, but secretly, she couldn’t help laughing at Steph’s antics. She joined her in front of the candy shelf. “God, I can’t take you anywhere. You’re like a kid in…um, a candy store. Literally.”
Steph gave her an unrepentant grin and pointed at a colorful candy necklace. “Oh, we had these when we were little. Did you?”
“
No. My parents didn’t allow candy, remember?”
“Right. Thank God my parents weren’t as strict back then. Come on, I’ll buy you one.” Steph reached for the necklace.
Quickly, Rae held on to her arm. “Buying me jewelry, even candy jewelry, isn’t in the roommate contract.”
Steph pretended to pout. “But we’re definitely getting one of these.” She grabbed a Peppermint Pig that came with a little hammer to break it up into pieces. “Lana loves them. Apparently, it’s an East Coast thing, and she grew up in New York. She’ll be happy if I give her one as a bonus Christmas present, and if my parents insist on feeding us kale and beets, at least she’ll have something to eat.”
Christmas presents. Oh shit. Rae had been so busy worrying about her appointment with Mr. Kamali that she hadn’t had time to think about what having Christmas with Steph’s folks would mean. She grabbed the remaining two Peppermint Pigs and marched to the counter.
Laughing, Steph followed her. “Are you discovering your sweet tooth?”
“No. They’re for Lana, and you need to tell me what to get for you and the rest of your family. If I’m crashing your Christmas dinner, I can’t show up empty-handed.”
Steph took hold of Rae’s right arm and tugged her around. “You don’t need to get us anything. You being there—that’s gonna be my Christmas present.”
Oh Christ. How sappy. Now it was Rae’s turn to wrinkle her nose.
Steph lightly bumped her with her hip. “Oh, don’t pretend. Deep down, you’re just a teddy bear.”
“Mm-hmm. More like a grizzly.”
“Yeah, right. Come on, Grizz. Ice cream first, freak-out about presents later.” Steph pulled her to the counter, where two glass cases held dozens of different flavors. Her gaze went back and forth between various Italian ice buckets and tubs of gelato, and she started nibbling on her pinky like a little kid facing the impossible task of deciding on a favorite flavor.
The look should have appeared ridiculous on an adult woman, but on Steph, it was simply cute. Instead of studying the ice cream, Rae observed her with a smile.
“Let me know if you’d like to try some of the flavors before you decide,” the man behind the counter said.
Steph’s face lit up. “Ooh, that would be great.”
That was the beginning of the longest ice-cream-decision-making process Rae had ever witnessed. The man—who was apparently the owner—kept handing over new samples. Steph tried them all willingly, even questionable choices like wasabi or root beer. After each sample, she declared it her new favorite, only to change her mind with the next one she tried.
Finally, she narrowed it down to her top five and then chose two of the most decadent gelatos, while Rae needed only seconds to decide on strawberry Italian ice.
They carried their selections to one of the tiny tables in the front, and Steph immediately steered toward the chair with its back to the door, leaving the chair in the corner for Rae.
“Thanks.” Rae settled back and stretched out her legs, only now realizing how tense she must have been all day. Her muscles hurt as if she’d completed a high-intensity workout. But she forgot her discomfort as she watched Steph dig into her gelato.
Steph swirled the little plastic spoon through the soft mass, then slid it between her lips. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back, revealing her elegant neck, and let out a moan that was much too sensual.
Rae shoveled several spoonfuls of her strawberry Italian ice into her mouth, hoping it would cool her down. It was refreshing as it slid down her throat, but it did little to lower her body temperature or to distract her from the sight of Steph enjoying her gelato.
Steph slid another spoonful into her mouth, her eyes still closed. “God, so good.”
Christ, sounding so damn sexy while eating should be a crime. Rae squirmed in her seat. “Well, it’d better be good after it took you an hour to decide.” She tried to pretend it was the cold Italian ice that was making her voice sound a little strange. “I thought you’d go through his entire inventory.”
Steph opened her eyes and shrugged. “What can I say? I like to sample a lot of different flavors.”
“Yeah, so I heard.”
“Do people at the club really say that about me?” Steph looked more curious than insulted.
Rae sobered. “No. Not when I’m around,” she said firmly. “They know I wouldn’t let them talk about you that way.”
“I don’t care what they say about me, you know?”
“I do.”
Beneath the table, Steph touched her foot to Rae’s. “Thank you.” She regarded Rae with an uncharacteristically serious look until Rae glanced away. “Here, try this vanilla apple crisp.” Steph slid her paper cup across the table. “I swear it tastes like my grandmother’s apple pie. Well, the apple pie she had her staff bake. Grandmother Katherine wouldn’t have been caught dead with her hands in pie dough. She was posh as hell. No one was allowed to ever mention how her husband—my grandfather—made his millions.”
Millions? Rae swallowed. The more she heard about Steph’s family, the more she doubted she would fit in with them. “Which is? Was he a con artist? A mafioso? A drug lord?”
Steph laughed. “You’re such a cop. Yeah, I guess you could say he was a drug lord—kind of.”
“How can anyone be kind of a drug lord?”
“His company produced a legal kind of drug: laxatives.”
That was the last thing Rae had expected her to say. Her jaw dropped open.
Laughing, Steph stretched her arm across the table and slid a spoonful of apple crisp gelato into her mouth.
CHAPTER 19
It was half past eight by the time they made it back to the apartment. Steph flopped down on the couch as soon as they walked in. Now that the sugar rush from the gelato had worn off, she felt as if all energy had been sucked out of her. She could only imagine how beat Rae must be, so she wasn’t surprised when Rae didn’t take a seat but remained standing halfway to her room.
“Thanks again.” Rae looked at her with an intense expression. “For driving. And everything else.”
“Anytime,” Steph said, meaning it.
Their gazes caught, then Rae gave her a nod and quickly disappeared into her room.
Steph stared after her. Was she imagining it, or had something between them shifted? Sure, she had been part of Team Rae before, but now it felt different.
She shook her head at herself. It was probably just that moment when Rae’s gaze had met hers in Mr. Kamali’s mirror. The naked vulnerability in her eye must have triggered some primal protective instinct, like a mother protecting her child.
Yeah, sure. She snorted. Stephanie Renshaw having maternal instincts! No one would believe that for a second.
The word maternal instinct reminded her that she still hadn’t called her mother to tell her she had invited Rae for Christmas dinner. Oh damn! She scrambled for her phone and went to her room while it rang.
“Hi, honey,” her mother said as she picked up the phone. “How are you?”
In her parents’ house, that wasn’t only a meaningless phrase used as a greeting; they actually expected an answer—and I’m fine didn’t cut it. “Hi, Mom. I’m a little tired but otherwise great. Still no exciting news on the comedy front, though.”
“That’s too bad,” her mother said. “Do you really think that will change at some point?”
Steph wasn’t in the mood for that discussion, which usually ended with a subtle nudge encouraging her to go back to college. “If I keep at it, I’m sure it will. But that’s not why I called.” She closed the door behind her and sank onto her bed. “I know this is very late notice, but would you mind if I bring someone with me for Christmas dinner?”
For several seconds, she didn’t hear anything, not even her mother’s breathing.
Steph lowered the phone
and glanced at the screen to confirm that they hadn’t accidentally been disconnected, then moved it back to her ear. “Mom? Are you still there?”
“Sorry. Yes, I’m here. I just needed to process that for a second. I’m a little surprised, to be honest.”
“Me too,” Steph muttered.
“Pardon me? I didn’t catch that.”
“It’s not what you think, okay? Rae and I… We’re…we…”
“Oh, you’re bringing your roommate?” her mother asked. “Your sister mentioned meeting her.”
Steph wondered what else Claire had told their parents about Rae. “Yes. I know it sounds like the college kid thing to do, but we…we’ve grown kind of close.”
“Is that a euphemism for sleeping with her?” her mother asked.
“No! Why does everyone keep thinking that?” Steph took several calming breaths. “Okay, don’t answer that. I know why everyone keeps thinking that. But this time, it’s really not like that, Mom.”
“All right,” her mother said in that careful therapist voice Steph hated. “Bring her. I’d certainly like to meet the woman who’s so different. And so would your father.”
“Mom…” Steph lowered her voice to a low growl, channeling Rae. “I’m warning you. No psychoanalyzing her. I’m serious.”
“Believe it or not, honey, but psychoanalyzing people, as you call it, is not what therapists do in their spare time.”
Steph snorted. “Yeah, right. The way you didn’t psychoanalyze Elyse when Claire first brought her home.”
Her mother was silent for a moment.
Damn. Steph bit her lip. Why on earth had she brought her up?
“Well,” her mother finally said, “as it turned out, I was right when I suspected she had some issues she needed to work through. I mean, who seduces her ex’s sixteen-year-old sister just to—”
“That’s not what happened, Mom. I told you that a million times. Besides, we were talking about your constant psychoanalyzing.”