“Nice,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the rain when she reached him. “That’s a hybrid that’s propping you up. If you knock it over, its owner is going to be annoyed.”
“It’s ours,” Sam said, reaching to open the door for her.
“Ours.” Shar blinked at him. “Where did you get the money to buy an SUV?”
“They gave it to me,” Sam said, his hand on the door handle.
“They did.”
“Christopher took his car into the shop to get an oil change and we looked at the showroom.” He looked at her through the rain, puzzled by her reaction, oblivious to the storm.
Well, he was a god. With an SUV.
That made no sense.
“Okay, tell me this again. You and Christopher went to get his oil changed.” That was even less believable than somebody giving Sam a car. “How do you know Christopher?”
“I met him on campus.”
“On campus.” Shar frowned. “You went to the math building?”
“I’ve been everywhere. It’s good to meet people. I was talking to his cousin, Gen, and he came up and asked for an introduction.”
“I bet he did,” Shar said. “He’s very protective of her.”
“When he found out I was living with you, he asked me to help him move her to Abby’s.”
“Quite a coincidence,” Shar said.
Sam shrugged. “It’s a very small town.”
“And you know everybody in it.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Right.” The rain beat down on them while she processed it all, Sam fitting into her hometown, not just because of natural god-charm, but because he worked at it. Well, he was born to be a leader, so that made sense. She looked up at him, the warmth and the rhythm of the storm making her skin hum, and he seemed so … real.
“What?” he said.
You look like you belong here. Maybe they could go home and make love in the rain.
In his SUV.
“Okay, so Christopher needed an oil change … ,” she said, prompting him.
“And I went with him. Do you want to get out of the rain?”
“I like the rain.” A lot. Boy, you look good wet. “And then they gave you a car. See, that’s the part I’m having trouble with.”
“The man at the showroom said that if he could take a picture of me with the car and I drove it around town, he would give it to me.”
“A whole car.” Shar went around to the front to check the plates. They were temporary tags, not showroom plates, from the only Toyota dealer in town.
Sam came to stand beside her in the rain. “People give things to the gods.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Christopher said it was all right. He showed me how to drive.”
“Christopher did.”
“I told the man it had to be blue. Because you like blue.”
“I do. Thank you. Why were you with Christopher again?”
“We were working on our game.”
“Your game.” Shar had a sudden bizarre vision of Sam and Christopher playing tennis. Very badly.
“Christopher is designing a video game. It’s a war game. Based on the Assyrians.”
“You’re kidding me.” Christopher Mackenzie was a video game nerd? Then the other shoe dropped. “The Assyrians. It’s based on Mesopotamian battles?”
“Yes,” Sam said. “That’s my part. I tell him what it was like. We’ve been working on it for a while. We’re calling it Slayer of Demons.”
“For a while,” Shar said, her breath going. “That’s where you’ve been going in the evenings?”
“Yes.” Sam looked at her, confused. “Christopher says it’ll take months, but it—”
“Every night you’ve left, you’ve gone to Christopher’s house?” Shar said, eyes on the prize.
“Yes.” Sam cast his eyes up. “This storm is getting worse.”
“For two weeks, you’ve been going to Christopher’s?” Shar said.
“Yes. What are you upset about?”
“I thought you were with other women,” Shar said.
Sam looked down at her.
“Well, you were sure with a lot of them before that,” Shar said, defensive now.
“Before you,” Sam said, patiently.
“Oh.” Shar blinked up at him through the rain. “My god. The Glittery HooHa.”
“What?” Sam said.
“You were faithful.”
“Well, you’d sacrifice me in my sleep if I touched another woman.” He looked as stunned as she felt. “You thought I was with others all this time? And you still came to me?”
“I love you,” she said, her heart in her throat. “I didn’t like it, I hated it, but I love you.…”
They stared at each other, dumbfounded while the rain beat down around them, and then Sam said, “I love you, too.”
Shar grabbed his shirt and pulled him down to her and kissed him, crying against his mouth, so obliterated by happiness and relief and the rain and the heat and him, steady and strong and he loved her—
“I need you.” She pushed him back against the hood of the car.
“Here?” he said as she stripped off her underpants and threw them over his shoulder onto the grass.
She stepped up on the bumper and pinned him to the hood, crazy with lust and relief and love.
“Now,” she said, and he said, “People are watching,“ and she really didn’t care, she was a fucking goddess, but she arched back and spread her arms out and pulled the storm to them—finish HERE—and the rain gushed down everywhere like a silvery curtain as she shoved down his jeans, and then his hands were sliding up her sopping wet skirt to pull her on top of him, and he kissed her the way he always did, but more this time.
“On the hood of our new car,” he said, and laughed as the rain obliterated everything around them, everything but them.
“Think of it as an altar,” she said against his mouth, and kissed him, sliding her tongue into him as he pushed into her, and they found their rhythm, moving together as the rain pulsed around them, and Shar threw back her head and laughed, too, exuberant in ecstasy, safe in his arms, on top of their new SUV. Sam laced his fingers in her hair and brought her mouth to his and Shar gathered every iota of emotion she’d stored up and let it go, coming against him, convulsing and crying out and taking him with her, exploding together, along with three streetlights, a car window, and a small sapling near the math building.
The rain slowed to a drizzle, and Sam stood up and dropped her to her feet, using her as a shield to zip his jeans. Then he looked up and said, “The sun’s out. Why is it still raining?”
Shar stretched her arms over her head as her wet dress clung to her, her body loose and satisfied. “My life just became perfect.”
“You’re easy,” Sam said. “Sex on the hood of an SUV and your—”
“And a lover who’s faithful,” Shar said, and kissed him again, loving him so much she was dizzy with him.
“I didn’t think I had a choice,” Sam said, coming up for air but still holding her close.
“Do you want a choice?” Shar said, clutching him.
“I made a choice.” He kissed her again, and somebody in a car going past honked at them.
“Come on,” she said. “Take me for a ride in your new wheels, and then we’ll go home and I’ll take you for a ride.”
He walked her to the passenger door with his arm around her and opened it for her, and Shar slid into the front seat and heard a bark. She turned and saw Wolfie, lying down on the backseat, sitting on top of Milton, who was taking it pretty philosophically, and ignoring Bikka, who, unbelievably, was sitting on the seat beside them.
“What are you doing?” she said, and then realized they’d been in the car the whole time.
“That could have scarred me for life,” Wolfie said. “And Milton. For god’s sake.”
“For god’s sake,” Milton whined from under him.
“Wher
e did you get Bikka?” Shar said.
“She came to the house looking for Cheetos.”
Shar looked at Bikka, who looked back at her hungrily.
“It was traumatic,” Wolfie said.
“Yeah,” Milton said.
“You were in the backseat,” Shar said to Wolfie.
“I have eyes.” Wolfie sat up so that Milton could breathe, and then put his feet on the door to look out the window. “I like this car.”
“So do I,” Shar said as Sam got in. “We’ll take many rides. But now, we’re going home.” She looked over at Sam and smiled. “All of us, together.”
The rain came down hard again, as hard now as it had been before she’d told it to finish, and she thought, So I can’t control the weather, big deal; a god loves me.
Sam put the car in gear and pulled into Temple Street, only to slow as somebody ran a stop sign.
“Hey!” he yelled over the steering wheel. “Watch where you’re going, jerk!”
No, a guy loves me, she thought, and sat back, for once in her life sure of her future.
Abby slipped out of bed, and Christopher held her for a moment, reluctant to let her go. “We’ve got to open the coffeehouse,” she whispered. “I think Gen is already down there working.”
He groaned in protest, rolling over on his back. If he’d looked delicious when she couldn’t have him, he looked absolutely irresistible rumpled in her rumpled bed. “How long will you be gone?”
“We’re open from six to midnight on Fridays. I’ll be back at one minute past midnight. If you’ll wait.” There was just a trace of uncertainty in her voice, banished at his lazy laugh.
“I’m not going anywhere. Except a shower. I think I have sugar on my knees.”
“I have sugar on my butt,” she said, pulling on her clothes with more haste than care.
“You do have a very sweet butt,” he murmured, looking at her with appreciation.
“How can you tell? You aren’t even wearing your glasses.”
“I only need them for reading. I can see you just fine. And you look absolutely … luscious. You want me to come down and help?”
She couldn’t help it; she grinned back at him. “No, I’d rather have you well-rested. Take a cold shower. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I’ll be waiting,” he said. “Bring honey.”
She was still laughing by the time she reached the kitchen. Bowser was back on his cushion, his head down, Ziggy curled up beside him, and Gen was busy filling up trays with muffins and cookies. She looked up at Abby and grinned. “So where’s Christopher?”
She considered playing innocent, but she was just feeling too joyful to hide it. “Upstairs in bed,” she said. “Or maybe in the shower by now.”
“I told you,” Gen said genially, heading toward the front room. “We’ve got a full house tonight in spite of the rain. Do you think we could talk him into running the espresso machine?”
“I’d rather have him save his energy for me.”
Gen hooted with laughter. “Very cool!” She paused, tilting her head sideways to look at her. “You like babies? Because I think you’re going to have a lot of them.”
“Oh, god, not yet!” Abby said, not sure if she was horrified or thrilled.
“Not yet,” Gen, high priestess of fertility, said. “But whenever you’re ready.”
“I don’t have time for this right now,” Abby said, trying to ignore the sudden tenderness in her breasts, the heat in her womb. “One thing at a time.”
“Just let me know.” Gen’s grin was saucy. “Make up a tray of honey-sugar cookies, will you? They’ve been clamoring.”
Abby shook her head, trying to concentrate. She took one look at the wooden countertop, the spilled sugar that had somehow gotten ground in into the wood. Glittery amber-colored sugar crystals, the kind she used to dust on the butter cookies. No wonder her butt felt like she’d been lying in sand. The health inspector wouldn’t have been too happy if he’d walked in on that, she thought, laughing softly as she pulled out a tray and began loading it. She popped one in her mouth. She was in over her head—cookies couldn’t make her any more besotted. Adoring. Fuck it. In love. Who would have thought it?
“You made a lot of noise,” Bowser growled from his cushion. “I had to go lie down in the front room.”
“Sorry, baby,” she said. She ate a second cookie, then tossed another to Bowser, who caught it expertly, bit it in half, and dropped the second half in front of Ziggy. “I’m in love. Would you believe it?”
“Could have told you that weeks ago,” Bowser grumbled. “Humans make things so complicated sometimes.”
“I should have listened to you.” She reached over the refrigerator and pulled down the dog biscuits she’d made the day before. “These are better for you.”
By that time Ziggy was sitting up, his tail wagging desperately. “Biscuit,” he barked. “Gotta have a biscuit, dude. Abby biscuit.”
She knelt down beside them, rubbing Ziggy’s head as she gave him his biscuit. “Abby’s in love, Ziggy,” she said.
“Biscuit,” Ziggy said, single-minded. “Love biscuits, fer shur. Abby biscuits.”
“Don’t humor him,” Bowser said. “He doesn’t get enough exercise.” He took his own biscuit with delicacy, then wolfed it down with one bite.
She could hear the noise from the front room. It was still pouring—if anything, it had gotten even heavier. The occasional rumble of thunder could be heard above the sound of the crowd, and someone was singing, but it wasn’t Noah, and Abby sighed. Things weren’t right with Daisy and Noah, and they hadn’t been since Vera died. For some reason the happier Abby was, the more concerned she felt for Daisy.
She sat down at the far end of the counter, trying to distract herself from exactly what she’d been doing on it a few hours ago, and she pulled the urn toward her. It was still that shimmering blue—sitting hadn’t changed it. Maybe she should try Gen’s yeast. On impulse she took the wooden honey spoon and stirred.…
The mixture began to swirl and glow. Tiny sparkles, like the amber-colored sugar, danced along the top of it, and she watched as it turned back to muddy brown, then rich amber, carnelian, and lapis once more. It bubbled, fizzed, and she half-expected fireworks. When it finally calmed down she brought the wooden spoon to her lips and took a sip.
Oh my god! It wasn’t temple tonic; it wasn’t even close. It was better. The power surged through her body, a rush of joy and well-being that seemed to touch every inch of her. She closed her eyes, savoring it, and set the wooden spoon down. It was too powerful to mess with—God knows what would happen if she drank an entire glass of it. She wasn’t going to find the love of her life, her heart’s desire, and then pop off from an overdose of temple tonic.
And she wasn’t going to let such powerful stuff sit around. She pulled out the industrial-size carafe and a funnel and proceeded to pour the tonic into it, watching in amazement as the liquid shifted colors, from blue to carnelian to amber, the sparkles dancing through it.
She screwed the lid on tight and tucked it in the corner, then carried the ancient jar to the sink. Later, when the others were there and she wasn’t thinking about Christopher lying naked in her bed or, even more tempting, naked in her shower, then they could test the tonic and their own reactions to it. Though right now she couldn’t imagine not having Christopher foremost in her mind.
The hours dragged so slowly she wanted to scream. At one point she gave in to temptation and crept upstairs, but Christopher was sound asleep in her bed, his hair still damp from the shower, and the rain outside provided a stormy curtain of sound.
By one minute of eleven she had Gen lock the door as the last customer disappeared in a blanket of rain, sending the lingerers off with extra cookies on the house. By one minute past midnight she’d finished cleaning the kitchen, said good night to Bun and Gen, and run up the stairs, taking a quick peek at the still-sleeping Christopher. By three minutes past midnight she’d finis
hed her shower and was slipping naked into bed with Christopher, who reached out for her, pulling her body against his. “You’re late,” he said sleepily.
“I know,” she whispered. “But I brought the honey.”
And he laughed, low in his throat, as she began to move her mouth down his lean, gorgeous body.
Long, busy, tasty hours later, Abby didn’t want to wake up. She was lying sideways across the bed, half on top of Christopher, half beneath him, and she was sticky, sugary, and utterly blissful. She could smell the comforting scent of wood smoke, and it made her think of Christmas and log cabins and all sorts of lovely things, and then she heard Bowser’s voice, barking as loudly as he possibly could.
“Fire!” he roared, and she heard the clamor of other dog voices, barking, “Fire, fire,” and claws scrabbled at the door leading to the stairway.
Her eyes flew open. People didn’t have wood fires in the summer, and she could hear the crackle of flames, the acrid scent of burning paint. The rain had stopped, and she scrambled out of bed, landing on her butt on the floor, and Christopher was halfway into his clothes before she managed to get to her feet.
“The dogs say there’s a fire,” she said, grabbing the old silk kimono that she wore for a bathrobe.
“We don’t need the dogs to tell us,” Christopher said. “The door’s not hot—I don’t think it’s spread upstairs yet.” He opened the door, and the smell was stronger, smoke rising in tendrils from the staircase.
Daisy was already in the hallway, fully dressed, and Gen was behind her, wearing baby doll pajamas. “The dogs!” Daisy said, panicked. “I left them all downstairs!”
“Fire!” Bailey barked, excited. “Daisy come now!” Squash chimed in, sounding equally distressed, and even managed a faint cough.
Abby tried to push past Christopher, but he blocked her, going first down the narrow flight of stairs, and she followed close behind. “Get the dogs out first,” she said. The dogs were huddled by the courtyard door, and as far as she could see, the flames were contained to the front room, the heat crackling in the night air, as life crashed down around her and her world went up in smoke.
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