The small town of Colebury sat on a hill. At its base, the Winooski river flowed. Speakeasy and another bar, The Gin Mill, were situated along its banks, along with my new favorite breakfast spot, The Busy Bean—owned by Griff’s old girlfriend, Zara, and his current wife, Audrey (“It’s a long story”). Crossing over what they call a “state highway” in Vermont—a two-lane road that you could drive on for miles and not pass another vehicle—and heading uphill, I came to the Colebury Green, a lush, perfectly manicured lawn with a band shell at one end, where they held community fairs and public events.
Driving along the main road, I passed the Town Hall, a church and the Colebury Diner, noting the vibrant red, yellow and orange leaves on the trees. Fall was a beautiful time of year to be in the Northeast. If I kept straight, I’d get to the strip of small local retail stores. Instead, I turned, passing a row of large homes that lined the far side of the Green. Farther up, I turned again, into a neighborhood of more modest homes.
Following Lily’s directions, I entered a section of one-story, bungalow-style homes on small lots, mostly well-maintained. Spotting her van, I pulled in next to it on the short driveway and threw my rental SUV into park. I didn’t cut the engine, though, as if keeping the car running meant I could still escape this monumentally bad decision.
Oh, it had seemed like an okay decision yesterday, even if hastily made. To fuck with Kurt. The look on his face… Totally worth it.
Until, during another sleepless night, where I’d managed to talk myself out of taking a pill, I’d had way too much time to really think about living with Lily. Sitting beside her on the couch. Sharing a morning coffee, both of us sleep rumpled. Would she strut around in those short little skirts at home? Would there be tiny scraps of satin and lace panties hanging all over the bathroom? Would she walk down the hall wrapped in only a towel after her shower, the delicious scent of her wafting through the house?
The Marines had taught me discipline and honor and how to withstand torture. Over the next few weeks, I had a feeling I’d be straining the limits of that training. Living with the most attractive woman to cross my path in…years. The first woman to get my dick hard since before my accident.
The same woman who’d made it clear we would not be having sex.
Maybe…
Discipline.
Honor.
A loud knock made me jump.
Lily stood there holding her little dog, Tulip. She wore a pair of girly gray sweatpants that hung low on her hips, a figure-hugging white, long-sleeve T-shirt, no makeup and had her blonde hair pulled off her face with a purple headband. Obviously, she hadn’t gone out of her way to pretty up for me. Not that she had to. Not that I expected her to. Without even trying, she’d nailed girl-next-door pretty. Not the type I usually went for, but something about her got me thinking things I shouldn’t be thinking.
Since my car was still running, I lowered the window.
“You staying or going?” she asked. “Because idling a car for more than ten seconds produces more emissions that contribute to global warming than shutting down the engine and restarting it if necessary.”
“Good to know.” I shut down my engine. “Happy?”
“Yes. As a matter of fact, I am.”
Tulip chose that moment to push off Lily’s rib cage and launch herself at me. Thankful my reflexes remained quick, I caught the pup mid-flight. “Hey there, little miss.” I tried to contain her excited, wiggly body as she licked around my beard and mouth.
The tiny French Bulldog wore a light gray sweat jacket, her tan ears sticking out through holes in the hood. It had “I Love My Mama” stenciled in black on the back.
“She remembers you.” Lily smiled.
I remembered her too. How sad she’d been when I rescued her. With Griff’s help, I’d identified my persons of interest, their addresses and known hangouts. It didn’t take much effort to get someone to cough up Dorian’s location, hiding out in a friend’s mother’s basement in the next town over. By the time I arrived, he’d been tipped off and fled. Probably saved his life. Had he been there when I found Tulip, I might have killed him.
The poor pup had been barricaded inside a small bathroom in a partially finished basement with only a tiny window for light. Surrounded by her own excrement. Empty water and food bowls. No toys. No towels or rugs to lie on. Just the cold tile floor. She’d sat huddled in the corner between the tub and toilet bowl, and hadn’t barked once until I’d pulled into this very driveway. Poor thing.
I’d actually taken her back to my place to give her a bath before bringing her home.
“Come on, Tuley.” Lily reached into the window to retrieve her dog. “Let the man get out of his car.” She locked eyes with me. “Unless you’re having second thoughts?”
Why yes, ma’am, I am.
But I wasn’t about to let little things like second thoughts stop me from following through.
Peering into my empty backseat, Lily asked, “You need help to carry anything in?”
“I’m good. Just two bags.” My camo rucksack and duffle. I’d be leaving my cane in the back.
Due to my heavy load, the three steps up to the concrete front porch gave me a little trouble. Tomorrow I would up my exercises. Maybe get outside for a jog…or more likely a brisk walk. Work a little harder each day. You’ll get to where you need to be.
Inside the house, I set my things down by the door and removed my boots, slowly, giving myself time to catch my breath.
“Thank you for that.”
For what? I looked over my shoulder.
She motioned to my feet. “For taking off your shoes without me having to ask.”
“My mom would roll over in her grave if I didn’t respect the cleanliness of your floors.”
“Griff told me. About your mom. I’m sorry for your loss.”
It still hurt. Even a year later. Thankfully, I’d gotten past the point where I teared up when thinking of her. “Thank you.”
“As you can see, it’s not all that big.”
I took in her neat little home. A small, L-shaped kitchen to my immediate right. Old-style cabinets painted white with updated silver handles. “Great countertops.” A white marble with gray and black accents.
Walking toward them, she shared, “I made them myself.”
“The countertops?”
“Feel them.”
I did. “It looks like marble but feels like…” A hard plastic?
“Resin. They’re resin countertops made to mimic marble. That’s how I got into working with epoxy, which is another term for resin. From researching cheap ways to update my kitchen. And when I say researching, I really mean watching YouTube videos.” Her smile hit me low in my gut. “It took a lot of work and they’re not perfect, but resin is scratch and heat resistant, and I’m happy with the way they turned out.”
Rightly so. She had some talent.
“I made this, too.”
I followed her into the living area, where she stood beside an interesting coffee table.
“It’s called a river table. This is from a maple slab with a live edge.” She must have seen confusion on my face, because she went on to explain, “Typically, when lumber is milled, the bark is removed when a flat edge is cut on all sides. Maintaining a live edge keeps the natural outer layer of a tree intact with all of its ridges and imperfections.” She knelt down and ran a hand lovingly over the table. “This slab was from a vertical cut, which I then sawed in half, lengthwise, down the middle. To make the table, I positioned the wood in a rectangular frame with the flat inner edge on the outside and the uneven, knotted outer or live edge on the inside. Which left this space down the center between the two pieces.”
Where the crooked edges didn’t meet. A space she’d filled with clear black resin.
“The river table gets its name from the river of colored resin you pour between the two halves of the tree to bond them together, in this case to form a coffee table. A lot more goes into it, but that’s the basics.” She looked away almost shyly. “Not to bore you with the details.”
“You’re not boring me.” Her passion made me want to listen to learn more.
“My living room isn’t much.”
Big enough for a cushiony baby blue sofa with a pink, white and black afghan thrown over the back and a matching recliner chair. “Great fireplace.” Built out of rounded stones of varying shapes and sizes and topped with a thick wooden beam mantel.
“My friend Darren is an excellent stone mason. Comes into Speakeasy a lot. Next time I see him, I’ll introduce you.”
A large television hung on the wall above the fireplace. To the left was a black bookcase with more knickknacks than books. A tall silver lamp with three domes stood in the corner.
When she went quiet, I turned to see Lily staring at the bare wall above the sofa, so I stared too, noting a very slight discoloration that seemed to outline the shape of a square, with two picture hooks up toward the top. Like maybe a piece of artwork hung there at one time.
The longer she looked, the more I tried to see the space the way she would, with an artist’s eye. What if we were looking at some abstract art piece…the two hooks representing…I had absolutely no idea what. My mind didn’t work like that. If it did, maybe I would have been the one to duct-tape a banana to a wall and make bank by calling it art, like that Italian artist I’d read about.
Lily let out a breath. “Dorian painted a picture of me. A portrait. It used to hang there.” She pointed to the spot on the wall. “He took it with him when he left. I loved that painting. Let him into my bed for the first time the night he gave it to me.” She let out a sad laugh and shook her head. “I’m so easy.”
In the act of swallowing, I managed to choke on my own spit. “Jesus. Give a guy a break.”
“What?”
“Since we’re going to be living together, as roommates and nothing more, could you maybe not go on about how easy you are?”
Her pretty eyes narrowed. “Do you paint portraits?”
“No.”
“Do you write poetry?”
“No.”
“Do you write songs?”
“No.”
“Then I won’t be easy for you.”
My brain shouted challenge accepted! My mouth said, “That’s what gets you going? A man capturing your beauty on canvas, rhyming or singing your praises for all the world to see and hear?” Katie had filled me in on her last three roommates turned boyfriends. “How’s that working out for you?”
“You think I’m beautiful?”
“You know you’re beautiful. Stop looking for compliments.” I glared down at her. “I asked you a question.”
She gave a little shrug of her shoulders. “It’s not working out that great.”
I’d expected confrontation. Her honesty surprised me.
“Anyway,” she went on. “That’s why you’re here. To buy me time to find the perfect roommate. A female this time.” Without sparing me a glance, she walked down a short hallway. “My bedroom.” She pointed left. “Your bedroom.” She pointed right.
Three steps separated the two.
Lord help me.
Opening the door, I looked in to see a full-sized bed, a dresser, lamp and bedside table. Everything I needed.
“We share the bathroom.”
The retro rose-colored tub-shower and sink were old, but clean. The vanity neat and uncluttered. No sexy underwear hung out to dry. Rather than relieved, I found myself a little disappointed.
“This,” she opened a door back by the kitchen, “leads to my workshop.”
I followed her out, down a short concrete sidewalk, into the detached two-car garage. “I like it out here. Reminds me of home.” California heat beat Vermont cold any day. Every day.
“The ideal temperature for resin work is seventy-five to eighty-five degrees Fahrenheit.”
“Need an assistant?” I teased.
“I could put you to work, if you’re really interested. Or feel free to drag out a chair and pretend you’re at the beach,” she teased back. “Seriously, it costs so much to heat my workshop, I keep the thermostat in the house set just below sixty degrees. I’ve lived in Vermont all my life. I barely notice the cold until temps dip into the teens. If you need me to make the house warmer, let me know.”
That got me thinking about how body heat could keep us both warm and it wouldn’t cost her anything extra. Which got me thinking about how I needed to stop thinking shit like that if I was going to survive the next month, maybe two months.
I observed her workshop, every inch of space put to good use. All of it neat and organized. The walls were lined with metal and wood shelving that held various hand tools, sanders, drills and clamps. Dozens of plastic jugs, large and small. Drawers and cubby holes were filled with stacked cans and bottles labeled with assorted colors. Wood, in all shapes and sizes, lined the back wall, some stacked, some leaning. In the center, she had a large wooden worktable next to a miter saw, a table saw, a band saw and a router.
A large sheet of plywood over two sawhorses held a bunch of completed projects. I walked over to them. Lily followed.
“I have an Etsy shop,” she explained. “These are orders I’ve got to mail out as soon as they’re fully cured.” She glanced up at me. “Which means fully hardened.”
I reached out to touch but stopped myself. “May I?”
“Sure. These up front have been sitting for two days.”
I picked up a palm-sized, diamond-shaped…thing, clear with what looked like a purple flower suspended inside.
“That’s a ring holder.”
A what?
She set the flat bottom of the ring holder on the table, removed a silver ring from her thumb, and set it on the pointed top. “It’s so you don’t misplace your rings. It’s a popular gift for brides-to-be.”
Smart.
She pointed to two sets of four squares decorated with what looked like an ocean scene with actual white, frothy waves rolling into shore. “Coasters.” Larger rectangular pieces with round handles. “Charcuterie boards.” At my “what the hell is that” expression, she explained, “You know, for cheese, crackers, and meat. Veggies and fruit.”
No, I did not know. Whatever.
“These are lazy Susans.” She spun one of the six circular boards, each about one foot in diameter. Some had beachy scenes like the coasters. Others were colorful and shiny, some decorated with gold hearts, others with glitter.
“You’re really talented.”
She waved off my praise with a flick of her hand. “Not really.”
“No.” I stared into her eyes. “Really.” I meant it.
“Thanks,” she said, looking away, almost shyly, for the second time in the last few minutes. Not at all like the confident, gregarious, behind-the-bar-at-Speakeasy Lily I’d come to know. Huh. Interesting.
“Anyway,” she said, walking back to the door. “Tulip is not allowed in here. And she can’t go outside without a leash.” She glanced over her shoulder. “No matter how much she begs. Not that I expect you to walk her. But just in case.”
“Got it.”
“You probably want to get settled in.”
“Sure.”
On the short walk back to the house, I took a minute to check out her backyard. “Is that an inflatable hot tub?”
She stopped. “Dorian bought it. With my credit card.” As if lost in thought, she added, “Probably to lure Nikki and Shannon over here while I was working.” She glanced up at me. “Not together.”
Sucks for him.
Hands on her hips, Lily proclaimed, “Men are disgusting.”
Shit. Had I said that out loud? Might as well own it. “We are.” She started to walk but I grabbed her arm, making sure to keep my grip light. “I don’t know any guy who would turn down a chance to have two willing women, at the same time, in a hot tub. Or anywhere else for that matter.” She tried to pull away. I didn’t let her. “That doesn’t mean we’re all assholes and cheaters.” After saying what I had to say, I released her arm.
Which allowed her to slam her hands on her shapely hips and turn on me. “One woman isn’t enough for you?”
“Depends on the woman.”
“What about me?” she challenged. “Would I be enough?”
I did not like her tone, and, “I’d have to fuck you to find out,” flew from my mouth before I could stop it. “Since you’ve made it clear that’s not gonna happen, I guess we’ll never know.” I searched the yard for a way out of our spiraling conversation. “Does that grill work?” My words came out gruff. I worked to calm myself.
While I waited for her answer, I watched the indecision on her face, in her rigid stance. Allow him to change the topic at war with, Start a fight and storm off. Gradually, her posture softened, and she said, “Yeah. I think the tank needs to be refilled. I’ll try to—”
“I can take care of it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“If I decide to use the grill, I will get the tank filled.” Either way, I would get the tank filled. I was brought up to do what needed to be done and not to put it off.
“Thanks. Use it whenever you want.” She glanced up at me. “The hot tub, too. Preferably alone. Or you’ll be the one to drain it, sterilize it, and refill it.” She let out a breath. “Having done that very recently, trust me when I tell you, think twice before taking that on.”
I forced myself not to smile. “Noted.”
Back in the kitchen, she grabbed something off the counter. “These are your keys for the front door. Top lock.” She held up one for a deadbolt. “Bottom lock.” She held up the other. “And I’ll add this one.” She reached into a drawer and held up a brand-new-looking silver key. “It’s for the workshop.” She worked it onto the keyring. “You know, in case you need to go out there to warm up.”
Colebury seemed like a town where people didn’t lock their doors, but okay. “Thanks.”
With that, she headed to her room to put away some laundry, and I headed to mine to unpack.
Five minutes later I sat on my bed, not sure what to do with myself.
A scratch at my door figured it out for me. The next thing I knew, I was outside taking Tulip for a walk around the neighborhood. The crisp, pine-scented air smelled good. Felt good flowing through my lungs.
As I walked, as my muscles warmed, some of the tightness subsided, my limp barely noticeable…at least to me. “Come on, princess.” I picked up the pace and she followed along beside me, head held high, tongue out. A cute little thing.
It’d been too long since I’d done anything that could be called physical fitness.
“Every day from now on,” I told my four-legged companion.
I took her smile as an, “I’m here for you, buddy.”
Good.
We were both breathing heavy by the time we got back to the house. While I kicked off my sneakers at the front door, Tulip went straight to her pink ceramic water bowl with the bright red hearts.
Watching the dog put my eyes on Lily, who stood in the kitchen, an oven mitt on each hand.
“Something smells delicious.” My stomach growled loudly in agreement.
“My mama’s vegetable lasagna and garlic bread. Since we’re both off tonight, thought I’d throw together a welcome dinner. If you’re interested. I don’t cook often. Best take me up on it.”
“Yes, ma’am, I will.” I washed my hands in the sink. “What can I do to help?”
After a moment of apparent disbelief at my offer, she said, “Your mama raised you right.”
Yes, she did.
“Tell me about her.”
While I peeled and sliced cucumbers and carrots for a salad, Lily moved around the kitchen getting everything set up to serve. Same as behind the bar, we worked well together. While we prepped, I shared pieces of my childhood, growing up with my mom.
“What about your dad?”
I thought about how to answer and decided on honesty. “An alcoholic who got off on beating his wife and kid.”
She set down the plate in her hand and looked up at me, her eyes wide. “That’s terrible.”
“When I was little, it was.” Hiding out in my room whenever he stumbled home, trying to make myself invisible. He always found me. Hearing Mom’s sobs, knowing he was hurting her. Trying to help her and getting him even angrier. But I refused to let her suffer alone.
I cupped my hands, scooped up the cucumbers I’d just cut, and dumped them in the bowl. “The good news is he worked over two hours from our home and kept an apartment down there, so he wasn’t home every night.” Never attended a parent-teacher conference at school. Couldn’t be bothered to remember his only son’s birthday. Too busy to make a football game. Not that I cared about any of that. “I worked out every day, in my bedroom and at the gym at school, until I could finally fight him off. He stopped coming around much after that. We were better off without him.”
“He the reason you don’t drink?”
Smart girl. “Yup.” I didn’t want to risk turning into a man like him.
“Where is he now?”
“Dead. From a DWI.” On his way to the home Mom and I shared.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Best birthday present ever.” Although, I doubt he even recognized the date as a special one. “I’d been stressing over going away to college and leaving Mom home alone.” Unprotected. “It was a relief.”
After my depressing contribution to the conversation, we worked in silence. I put the finishing touches on the salad. Lily sliced the garlic bread. The mood in the kitchen had turned somber. Great job, asshole. Fix it.
“My childhood wasn’t all bad,” I told Lily. “Mom loved me enough for two parents. We got along great, most of the time.” I smiled, remembering… “In my freshman year of college, she overheard the reason my friends had nicknamed me Randy Dick.”
Lily laughed. “Let me guess…”
“Correct. Well-earned, might I add. Mom had a fit and strongly encouraged me, daily, for months to sign up for a summer Women’s Study course on Sexual Interactions she’d found at a community college by my house.”
She laughed again. “And…”
“That class was all women except for me and one other guy.” My smile grew. “Had a lot of study dates that summer.”
“You’re terrible.” She threw a cherry tomato at my head. “Did you learn anything?”
I thought about it before answering. Even though I joked about taking that class, I did learn a lot about the differences between male and female sexuality. “I learned to be more honest with my partners about expectations and more discerning in who I take to bed.”
“Wow.”
“Wow, what?”
“Just, wow.”
She didn’t sound angry or offended, so I let the topic drop.
Lily’s house didn’t have a dining room and her kitchen was too small for a table, so she set the food on the counter and, after we made our plates, we ate together at the coffee table. While she sat on the floor, I chose to sit on the couch, figuring I’d stiffen up while we ate and hauling my ass back up to standing could turn into a humiliating production.
Since Lily and I got along best when she did the talking and I did the listening, I let her chatter on about whatever she wanted. At first, she kept the conversation light, sharing stories about her years as a bartender. After a while, she moved on to her childhood, mentioning that her birth was the result of a one-night stand between her mom, a sculptor/bartender, and a man who turned out to be married. When she was fourteen, Lily lost her mom, something she did not go into detail about except to say that afterwards, she got sent to live with the father she’d never met and his angry wife. It did not go well. Luckily, Katie’s mom and dad agreed to take in their daughter’s best friend so Lily could finish out high school in her hometown.
Dinner ended on a happy note with cookies she’d picked up from The Busy Bean and locally made ice cream while we watched a rerun of The Big Bang Theory.
Aside from the evening I’d spent at Griff and Audrey’s house last week, my dinner with Lily rounded out the top two most enjoyable nights of the past year. Maybe the past two years. When I lay down in my new bed, in my new room, I started to think maybe living with Lily wouldn’t be a monumentally bad decision after all. I could handle it.
Not sure if it was the aftereffects of the long, energetic walk I’d taken earlier or the relaxing conversation and my full belly, but I barely had to convince myself I didn’t need a pain pill before I fell into a deep sleep…until the screaming woke me.