by Noir, Roxie
“I think that bookshelf is probably hers now, too,” I say. “When’s the last time you slept there?”
“Ownership isn’t determined by how often you sleep in the same room as a thing,” Eli says. “You’ve never once slept in the same room as your car but it’s still yours.”
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law,” I say. “Your mom clearly possesses that bookshelf. What time are we supposed to be over there, anyway?”
Eli pulls out his phone and checks the time.
“Forty-five minutes,” he says.
“We should go soon,” I say.
“Few more minutes,” Eli says.
I walk backward and heave myself onto the kitchen island. Eli comes and stands between my legs, his elbows resting on my knees, facing away from me. I drape my arms over his shoulders, put my chin on top of his head.
It’s still nice. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over the simple pleasure of touching Eli casually like this, of small affectionate touches that are the constant reminder that we like each other.
“There’s a storm across the lake,” he says, leaning back. He puts his hands over mine, and we both watch the angry, steel-blue clouds bubble and churn, miles away.
“You know something?” I say.
“I know lots of things,” Eli says, and I ignore him.
“I think I’m glad I lost the MVP prize. Not about the picture, but I’m glad I lost it in general.”
There’s a long pause.
Then Eli just whistles.
“I know, I know,” I say.
“Someone get the New York Times on the phone,” he says.
“Yeah, funny.”
“Call CNN.”
“Hilarious.”
“Or maybe the Washington Post will want this exclusive,” he goes on.
I just sigh.
“I’m about to be nice to you, you know,” I say.
He just laughs.
“Then, by all means,” he says.
“Such a dick,” I murmur, mostly to myself.
“That wasn’t the nice thing, was it?” he teases. I can feel his voice rumble beneath my palms, low and soothing.
“If I’d won, I’d just have a house,” I say. “It would be mine, not ours.”
“I’d probably be over a lot, though,” he points out. “I’ve got more stuff in the trailer than at my mom’s, which is theoretically my home.”
“We’d still just be fuckbuddies,” I say.
“Would we?” he asks, lacing his fingers through mine.
“I wasn’t gonna end it,” I say.
“I was already in love with you,” he says, his voice suddenly soft. “Everyone already knew about us. It was a matter of time before I confessed and put myself at your mercy.”
I just hold him closer.
“Did I ever tell you why I took that picture?”
“Which?”
“That picture.”
He means the one Montgomery got, of course. I flex my fingers, then squeeze his hands.
“Because you were drunk and wanted spank bank material?” I say, lightly.
Eli pauses for a moment.
“Well, that too,” he admits, and I smile into his hair, planting a kiss on top of his head. “But mostly, I wanted to remember the moment I realized I was in love with you.”
“When we got drunk and had sex in the barn?”
“When you wouldn’t kiss me in front of people, even though they already knew,” he says. “I didn’t know that mattered to me until then, but it did. I wanted you to be mine and I wanted people to know.”
He pauses. The storm roils, flashes. My heartbeat picks up. I wonder if I’ll ever stop learning new things about Eli.
I hope I don’t.
“And that was when I realized that sooner or later, I was going to have to come to terms with that. So when we were in the barn, and I was drunk, I just… I wanted that moment. That memory. When we were in love and didn’t even know it yet.”
Another pause.
“That backfired like fuck,” he says, and I laugh.
“There was a bad few days, but I figured it out eventually,” I say. “And we got a house.”
“And we got a house,” Eli echoes. “I think this will be good, Violet.”
I kiss the top of his head again, my lips linger a little this time, like I’m pausing this moment. He squeezes my hands, and I squeeze back.
“It’s already good,” I say.
Epilogue
Eli
Five Months Later
I crouch down in front of the oven, frowning at the food inside. I think the internal thermometer of my mom’s oven is off, because this lamb roast has been in there for a good forty-five minutes already and it’s nowhere near done, not to mention the potatoes are —
“Are you coming or what?’ Violet asks from the doorway.
“Just a minute,” I say, still frowning. “I think the temperature on this oven is wrong.”
She walks over to me and bends down, peering over my shoulder.
“Looks fine,” she says.
“Thanks for your expert opinion.”
“My expert opinion is quit staring at the oven and come hang out,” she says, landing a quick peck on my cheek.
“What are you even an expert in?” I tease, standing.
Violet doesn’t answer me, but she grabs the kitchen towel off my shoulder and tosses it onto the counter, then grabs me by the arm.
“You’ve been in here all afternoon, and I’m out of things I can ask Caleb about theoretical mathematics or long-distance trail hiking,” she says. “C’mon. I need you.”
I just raise one eyebrow at her.
“If you put it that way,” I say, and wink.
Violet casts a quick glance over her shoulder, at the door to the living room, then steps in toward me.
I slide my hands down her back and grab her ass.
“Is this why you’ve been staying in here?” she asks. “So I’d come find you?”
“Sure doesn’t hurt,” I say.
We kiss. Her arm slides around my neck. I give her ass a good squeeze, move my hands under the thick sweater she’s wearing and she gasps into my mouth.
“Don’t tell me I’ve got cold hands,” I say.
“Well, they’re not warm,” she laughs.
I kiss her more. There’s a burst of laughter from the direction of the living room. After a long moment, Violet pulls back, keeping her arms around my neck.
“Stop cooking and come socialize,” she says. “Please?”
I land a light kiss on her nose.
“Okay,” I say.
* * *
“That’s not even what eminent domain is for,” Seth is saying, gesturing with his beer, his other arm behind his head. “It’s for highways, or parks, or… you know, things that actually benefit society. It’s not for Walter Eighton to use to get richer.”
“He’s threatening it as leverage,” Silas says. “He doesn’t have much of a case for it, but he’s trying to make the Osbornes think that they can avoid a big legal battle by selling to him.”
Sometimes, I forget Silas is a lawyer. It’s not that hard to forget.
“Do you think it’ll work?” Daniel asks.
Silas just shrugs.
“Hope not,” he says. “They asked my advice and that’s what I said, but who knows. When the easy way out comes with a side of a few hundred thousand dollars…”
“No,” my mom says. “That’s all he’s offering? For three hundred acres right along the river?”
“It’s what I heard,” Silas says.
We’re all sitting around the living room, ten people on two long couches, some rocking chairs, and the floor. I’m on the end of one couch, my arm around Violet. Seth is on the other end, Daniel, Charlie, and Silas on the other couch. Levi and my mom are in rocking chairs, and Caleb and Rusty are sitting on the floor, putting together a puzzle on a low table.
“What’s he want the lan
d for?” Caleb asks, squinting at a piece.
“An outlet mall,” Seth says, sourly.
“I thought it was a ski resort,” Daniel says. “Isn’t that close to where Stony Mountain used to be?”
“I heard water park,” Levi offers.
“So none of you know,” Caleb says, still looking at the puzzle piece. He puts it down, picks up another one.
“One of us is bound to be right,” Levi says.
“Are you?” Charlie asks. She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, her curls piled on top of her head, one knee touching Daniel’s leg. They’re both acting like they don’t notice.
“You know the saying about monkeys writing Hamlet,” Daniel says.
No one responds. They all just look at Daniel.
“He means that if you put infinite monkeys into a room with infinite typewriters for infinitely long, one of them will write Hamlet,” I finally say, since I know what he means.
“Right,” Daniel confirms. “And if you keep guessing, eventually you’ll guess right. It’s science.”
“Nope,” says Levi.
“Not science,” Mom says at the same time.
“The infinite monkey theorem,” Caleb says. “It’s math. You’re good.”
“See?” Daniel says.
“He’s not telling anyone what he wants the land for?” Violet asks. She sounds suspicious.
“Or he’s telling everyone different things,” Charlie says. “Which seems worse, somehow. Not telling anyone is just being difficult. Telling different people different things is…”
She trails off, frowning.
“Deceptive?” Daniel says, finishing her thought. “Backhanded? Sneaky?”
“Right,” she agrees.”
“He can say whatever he wants, and once the land is bought the use is between him and the zoning board,” Silas says. “It’s slimy of him to say that he wants to build a playground and then put a coal mine there, but if he can get it zoned and approved he can do it.”
Seth sighs.
“I hate him,” he says. “He keeps calling the state alcoholic beverage control board on us and it’s a huge pain in the a— uh, the butt.”
“Thank you,” Daniel says. Rusty giggles.
“Is dinner ready yet?” Seth asks. “It smells good.”
“I’ll go check,” I say, and pull my arm from around Violet, looking down at her. “If I’m allowed.”
She rolls her eyes at me, but she’s smiling.
* * *
When dinner is over, Levi and Silas direct everyone in kitchen cleanup, Mom and Rusty go to back to working on the puzzle, and Daniel slips out the back door.
I watch him through the sliding glass as he paces back and forth on the wooden deck. It’s hard to see him in the dark, but it looks like he’s on the phone.
I give him five minutes, and then I grab my jacket and follow him out.
He’s standing there, poorly lit by the porch light, wearing nothing but his flannel shirt as a light dusting of snow falls in the backyard, his breath leaving his lungs in bright puffs as he looks down at his phone.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
He looks at me, running one hand through his hair, which may as well be the universal Loveless distress signal.
“Fine,” he says.
“So you want me to drag it out of you,” I say, leaning one hip against the wooden railing.
“It’s nothing,” he says, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “We should go back in.”
“You checked your phone four times during dinner,” I say. “You’re the originator and fiercest defender of the no phones at dinner rule.”
He crosses his arms in front of his chest. He plants his feet, sighs, the air leaving his lungs in a long white stream.
“Crystal called,” he says. “Four times in forty-five minutes. She left me one voicemail that just says ‘call me back,’ and now, she’s not answering.”
Crystal is Rusty’s mom, and she does not have a good relationship with Daniel.
“She’s probably just drunk,” I say.
“She didn’t sound drunk.”
“I’m sure she’s good at hiding it by now.”
“Do you know how many times she’s called me in the past two years?” he asks. “Twice. She has called me twice. I’ve called her I don’t even know how many times, because if Rusty’s ever going to see her, it’s going to be my job to set it up. It’s my job to double-check that she’s still available. It’s my job to call her the day before a visit to remind her that it’s happening.”
“Is she in trouble?” I ask. “Would she call you if she were in trouble?”
“I hope not,” Daniel says.
“It’s probably nothing,” I tell him. “I bet she just wanted to know Rusty’s shoe size or something like that. Maybe she’s buying her shoes.”
Daniel snorts.
“She hasn’t bought Rusty shoes in…”
He thinks for a moment.
“Ever. She’s never bought Rusty shoes.”
“Quit thinking about it and come inside,” I say, taking him by the shoulder. “It’s freezing out here and she was probably just drunk.”
Daniel sighs and lets me lead him back in.
“I hope you’re right,” he says.
* * *
Violet holds a paper plate up in front of my face. On it is a slice of blackberry pie, covered with plastic wrap.
“Do you see this pie?” she asks me, her face and voice completely serious.
I just sigh and cross my arms.
“Eli.”
“Yes, I see the pie.”
“This is my pie,” she says. “I nearly had to stab your brother Levi with a fork to get it. And I love you, but if you try to eat it, I’ll stab you with a fork.”
“I understand,” I say. “You want me to eat it while you’re asleep.”
Violet does not look amused. We’re standing in our kitchen, putting away the leftovers that my mom made us take home.
My mom’s pie is one of the eternal mysteries of the universe, because it’s amazing. The woman is one of the worst cooks I’ve ever met, but an incredible baker. It defies logic.
“You already had a piece,” she says. “I watched you eat it. This one is mine, and I’m saving it.”
“For when?”
“For whenever I want.”
I take a step closer. Violet narrows her eyes, but she doesn’t move.
“A fork, you say?”
“Eli.”
I consider this, looking down into Violet’s shark-colored eyes. I’m trying not to laugh. I think she is, too, because she puts one hand over the pie
“Don’t look at it,” she says.
“Which fork?”
“All of them,” she says.
“Okay,” I finally say.
I grab the pie and hold it over my head.
“Worth it,” I say, grinning at her.
“Dammit!” she yelps, grabbing one bicep and pulling.
I switch the pie to the other hand. I’ve got about seven inches on her, so she doesn’t stand much of a chance.
“Don’t make me drop it,” I say. “Then no one gets the pie.”
Violet turns and opens the silverware drawer. When she turns back, she’s got a fork in each hand. She brandishes them.
“I’ll do it,” she says. “Don’t make me.”
“Go ahead,” I dare her.
She makes a half-hearted stabbing motion. I block her with my free hand, dodge the other fork. She gets the first one free, moves past my hand, and pokes me in the ribs.
It kinda tickles.
“Was that it?” I tease.
“Come on,” she says. “You already had pie. Don’t take my pie.”
I grin at her again, then toss the pie onto the counter. Violet breathes a sigh of relief.
“Thank you,” she says.
I lean back against the counter, grab her, pull her in. Violet falls into place perfectly.
<
br /> “Did you really stab Levi with a fork?” I ask.
“Almost,” she says. “I only almost stabbed him.”
I start laughing.
“Sorry,” she says, looking off to the side. “It was the heat of the moment, I probably shouldn’t have.”
“I’m sure he deserved it,” I tell her. “Besides, I’m glad you can hold your own against them, since none of you are going anywhere.”
She stands on her tiptoes, tilts her face up and kisses me, and even though she’s warm and familiar it sends a shiver of sparks down my body.
“I love you,” she says. “And I’m sorry I stabbed you with a fork.”
“I think I’ll live,” I murmur, kissing her again. “I love you too.”
We stay there for a long time, kissing in our kitchen, in the house we bought, in the life we built together. The life we’re still building.
She hasn’t stopped surprising me. I don’t think she ever will.
Violet pulls back, one thumb finding its way under the layers I’m wearing, sweet friction along my skin.
“Bed?” she asks, smiling, one eyebrow cocked.
“Ladies first,” I say, following the love of my life into our bedroom.
THE END
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Ride
A cowboy romance
Roxie Noir
Chapter One
Mae
The toddler stares at me, his tiny face surly. I stare back, praying for the right moment.