Ten

Raven

I’ve been staring at the front door so long I’m surprised I haven’t burned two holes through the wood. All I’ve done the past hour is stand and stare, sit and stare, pace and…stare. My eyes sting from lack of blinking, the inside of my cheek raw from chewing on it. Nico should be here in thirty—I glance at my stove clock—scratch that, twenty-nine minutes, each nanosecond I wait making me twitchier. I haven’t eaten in twenty-four hours.

My phone buzzes from the countertop, and I nearly jump a mile. I stub my toe on nothing as I lunge for it, smacking my cell to the floor with the back of my hand. The thing tumbles in slow motion, my anxiety spiraling with it, before it lands on the mat by the sink. Diving to my knees, I grab it, but I don’t look at the text. For sure Nico is canceling. We had to delay his pickup time to one o’clock already. Something probably came up at work or with his family.

Not seeing him since that scorching car kiss has been challenging, but if we don’t look for Rose today, if I have to endure another minute or night or week waiting, I’m liable to tie my intestines in a knot.

I exhale at the sight of Shay’s name on the screen: Open your door.

I scramble to my feet and do as requested. She and Lily are climbing the stairs and push past me, arms full of thick catalogs. They drop them on my kitchen counter with a thud.

I scan the six gargantuan books. “To what do I owe this honor?”

Lily shakes out her wrists. “We stopped by a few stationery places and collected catalogs. Since we were passing by your place, Shay wanted to show you and wish you luck today and…” She trails off as Shay tosses a plastic bag at my head that I barely manage to catch. “I had nothing to do with this,” Lily adds.

Inside are three boxes of condoms. “They’re extra-large,” Shay says.

I cough out a laugh. “What? No banana for me to practice on?”

She grins. “They weren’t big enough.”

She doesn’t know the half of it. Although most parts of my sexy-Nico-Aspen night are blurry, the one thing that’s clear as day was waking up next to him and lifting the covers to take a peek. I immediately touched my jaw, wondering how I didn’t dislocate it, and realized there was no chance we’d had sex; I’d for sure have been tender and sore. Now I’m dying to know how it would feel to be joined to him, filled up with him, ridden by him.

That’s a lot of man to handle.

Lily can’t look me in the eyes. “Nico would die if he heard you talking like that.”

“More like he’d be smug as hell,” Shay says. “Besides, I’m just trying to focus on the fun part of this field trip. How are you holding up?”

Instead of replying that I’m a jumbled mess, I open one of the catalogs and flip through it. Looping calligraphy, printed stationery, and colored envelopes fill each page. “These are great. Lots of options for our future customers.”

“Right?” Shay flips through another one. “We’ll figure out pricing, but there are tons in here.”

Lily stills my busy hand. “Seriously, Rave. How are you?”

Noxious. Terrified. I might have to face my sister and my betrayal. There’s also a chance I might find forgiveness. Find someone to order Chinese takeout with for Thanksgiving, because neither of us knows how to cook a turkey. Someone to remind me I was a shy kid who chased snakes and actually wore dresses.

I run my fingers over a cream invitation. The dainty ribbon enclosing the page is so sheer it looks ready to snap. “How many hours without sleep are considered dangerous?”

“It’s that bad?” Shay asks.

“I’ve been waiting to find Rose for seventeen years. There’s major buildup with that, and it could be a disaster.”

“Or it could be great,” Lily says. “Whatever happens, you still have us.”

She’s right. I know she is. But she’s always had family. Her birthday doesn’t pass unnoticed by her kin. Hallmark displays of Mother’s Day cards or “Sisterly Love” don’t make her want to spend the day at a gun range. I yawn into my elbow, my sleeplessness catching up to me. “I know I have you, I just might not have my sanity.”

“Because Nico might literally fuck your brains out?” Shay wiggles her eyebrows.

We all burst out laughing, even Lily tossing her head back with a hearty giggle. Man, do I love these girls. “The guy is dead sexy,” I say.

“No argument there.” Shay fixes her bra strap, the red lace a match to the ruby lips printed on her tank top. “Seriously, though, you’re still good with your decision? To take things further with him?”

“I’m still nervous, but there’s no use fighting it. He’s been nothing but good to me since the Aspen fiasco, and the attraction is too intense. Time will tell if it’s the right move.”

At the slums, our bodies touched so many times I may as well have smoked a joint. The way his thighs bracketed my ass while he looked at my photos, how his hands curled around my hips—every point of contact snapped through my bloodstream, leaving me a hazy mess. When he lowered his lips to my ear and said photography was my calling, my body melted into his.

Then, that kiss.

A girl could get used to that sense of connection, that swoopy feeling in her stomach. Very, very used to that. And sleeping in his arms might calm the anxiety keeping me awake at night. After he fucks my brains out.

We flip through the books, pointing out our favorite invitations. Mine has a large black raven swooping across the page (obviously). Lily’s choice has branches of coral layered over handmade paper. Remembering my to-do list for our business, I grab a stack of menus from my room and fan them over the books.

“I checked out five catering companies and chatted with the owners about what we’re doing. I think we should narrow it down to three. They all said we could crash a party to see them in action—taste their food and check out the presentation. I can get on that when I’m back. Just let me know if you want to come.”

Shay scrunches her face. “Is that a real question? Free fancy food? Sign me up.”

Lily stops chewing her cuticles long enough to say, “I’m in.”

Pounding sounds from my door then, one glance at my clock telling me my Sexy Beast is on time. Thanks to the girls, my nerves are less overwrought, but when I open the door, I nearly dissolve, my insides turning to goo at the sight of Nico.

Must be the sleep deprivation.

He smolders at me. “Hey.”

Definitely some form of deprivation. “Hey, yourself.”

He’s in his non-police uniform: tight black T-shirt—the stitching across his biceps holding on for dear life—dark jeans, black boots, and sunglasses covering those eyes. Come to think of it, this could be his on-duty wardrobe. Everything about him screams COP.

I stare at my reflection in his glasses. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

He looks down at his (I’d love to lick whipped cream off of it) chest and back at me. “Yeah.”

Nico excels at single syllables.

I huff out a breath, realizing neither of us is dressed right. He looks like a narc, and I could pass for a punk rocker with my black ensemble. The Rose I remember wore bell bottoms and flowered tops and tied ribbons in her hair. If we show up at a hippie commune looking like this, no one will talk to us.

“Hi, Nico,” Lily calls from behind me, both girls weighted down with their books.

He steps aside to let them pass. “That stuff for the event business?”

“Yep.” One foot out the door, Shay pauses. “You’re welcome in advance for my gift.” With that, they traipse down the stairs, leaving me with a confused Nico.

He doesn’t close the distance between us. He removes his sunglasses and walks into my apartment, positioning himself on one side of my laminate countertop. I stand opposite him, my back to my living space, a two-foot barrier between us. There’s an emotional gap, too. The same coolness I felt at the slums. It does nothing good for my anxiety.

He studies the room. “Not what I expected.”

I shrug. “It came furnished, and I haven’t had the cash to redecorate.”

My apartment in Toronto was cool. The walls were deep purple, black-and-white photographs decorated the space, and I had a cool beanbag chair and black leather couches. Not to mention the gothic mirror by my bed. This place is beige. Walls, beige. Couch, beige. Carpet, beige. Beige kitchen cupboards and curtains. It hurts my eyes.

What doesn’t hurt my eyes is the colossal giant taking up my kitchen.

He drops his head a moment, like he’s upset or nervous or I don’t know what. My agitation doubles. When he looks up, determination sets his jaw. “There’s something I need to ask you, and I didn’t know how to bring it up. Not sure this is the right time, and I’m not accusing you of anything, but we’re about to spend a couple days together, and I need to get this out.”

Excuse me? Accuse? I don’t know where he’s going with that train of thought, but my knees lock, and I cross my arms. “What exactly is it that I’ve done?”

He mumbles something under his breath and rubs the back of his neck. “Nothing,” he says louder. “Absolutely nothing. But when your wallet was found, your record came up.”

“My record? You looked into me?”

“No. It wasn’t like that. Alessi called, filled me in. Thing is, I haven’t told you, but my sister is a recovering addict. Heroin. She overdosed shortly after Josh got arrested, and it’s been a long haul to get her back on her feet. So when I saw the possession charge, it kind of stopped me cold. I want you, Raven. You have to know I’m falling for you, but drugs are a hard no for me. Can’t risk Nikki being near anything. So I need to know I’m being overly cautious here. That drugs aren’t a part of your life now.”

His words slam into my chest. “What you’re being is an asshole. You think I’m using? Or dealing? You think that little of me?” My knees go from locked to weak, and I grip the counter.

“No. Babe. Fuck. No.” He squeezes his eyes shut, then exhales. “I’m just scared. Scared how much I like you. Scared all the time something will set Nikki back. Scared I can’t keep my family together. Just scared.”

How do I stay mad when those blue eyes plead with me? I don’t like it. The accusation stings. But my stress over searching for Rose doesn’t hold a candle to the weights Nico bears. I press my hipbones into the counter. Closer to him, but still apart. “I’m sorry about Nikki. I didn’t know, and I don’t do drugs now. Haven’t for years. Weed was my thing in high school, nothing harder, but I was out with a friend one night. We got pulled over for a busted taillight. Turns out the idiot had enough heroin in the glove box to slap him with a possession charge, but I told the cops it was mine.”

The big guy frowns. “You took the fall?”

“He was a loser, but not all bad. The reason we were out was because he wanted to talk about getting clean. Asked my advice. He took care of his younger sister. Was really good to her. She needed him around or she’d end up in foster care. So I paid a fine and spent a week in jail. I’d just turned eighteen, had an open record, so all the crap I did when I was younger was tattooed on my file.”

Nico’s cheekbones sharpen. His light eyes take on a darker tone. It’s the same intense look he gave Tim when doling out his final warning. Like he doesn’t approve of the choice I made.

“Look,” I say, tightening my grip on the counter. “I’ve done some messed-up shit in my life, but that’s not who I am now. You and I haven’t spent that much time together, but we both obviously want more. I’m nervous to get involved with you, too, for my own reasons. We either trust each other and give it a shot, or we call it a day. If it’s the latter, I’ll go to Fraser Valley on my own.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He lays his hand palm up on the counter between us. An offering. An invitation. Inexplicably drawn to this man, I place my palm on top of his. His fingers are twice the size of mine. Calluses toughen his skin. He should be intimidating, scary, but he’s a gentle giant. “I’m all in. I just needed to know for sure. I’m sorry for asking. For being distant recently. Can we start over?”

My rush of relief is instant, and surprising. Searching for Rose on my own isn’t what I want. Nico is what I want. Him joining me on this adventure. His strong arms to wrap around me if things don’t go my way. Even right now, with all the sexual tension knotting me up, I also want to press my face into his wide neck and feel his pulse against my cheek. Let it lull me.

When I nod, he rounds the counter, closing the space between us in long strides. His lips capture mine, his huge hands wrapping around my hips. He kisses me so slowly I fall into him.

“Now what’s this about a gift?” he asks against my lips.

Breathless, I nod to the plastic bag on my floor. “Shay thought we might need condoms. You know, just in case.”

The man blushes. It’s so sweet, I nearly drag him to my room, but we have more pressing issues, as well as a night in a motel to look forward to. Our overdue fresh start.

First up, new wardrobes.

I extricate myself from his grasp. “We need to make a stop on our way.”

I grab my bag, but he takes it from me and follows me to his car. Our conversation and Nico’s judging gaze sit heavily at the back of my mind, but I’m tired of holding grudges. I’m all about new beginnings these days. With him. With Rose. As of right now, Nico and I are undercover detectives on a mission. Hiding him in plain sight won’t be easy. Good thing a Value Village isn’t far.

*  *  *

Speed shopping isn’t Nico’s thing. I drag him around the thrift shop, holding up clothes that might fit his large frame, a deep frown on his face the whole time. Shoving him in a change room proves a challenge. The only reason he agrees is that I promise to listen to his country music for the drive. (He doesn’t know I cross my fingers.) By the time we’re in our new outfits, our bag of old clothes clutched in his hand, Nico is highly unimpressed.

He stops at the exit and plants his hand on his hip. “I’m not going outside in this. I look ridiculous.”

Ridiculous is an understatement. “But you don’t look like a cop.”

“I look like a freak.” He grimaces at his baggy jeans, the waist cinched with an awful fabric belt, the pink ends hanging down his hip. His loose Hawaiian shirt hides the build he often emphasizes, but it’s the wig and hat that puts his outfit over the top. Brown “hair” hangs to his jaw, a red beret pulled over his forehead.

“If you saw the losers my sister hung out with in high school, you’d understand. Plus, if I’m wearing this, there’s no way you’re changing.” I flutter my light blue dress, the stitched yellow flowers undulating with the movement. Add the white ballet flats and wide-rimmed sun hat, and I practically look virginal.

Gently, he stills my hand with his. “You look nice.”

The reverence in his tone sends warmth curling through me. His fingers linger on my skin, little brushes that speak volumes: He’s sorry, I think each one says. Forgive me. Let me make it right. Like he’s worried his concerns and questions have set us back. Or maybe he’s thinking about the motel in our future. Whatever the reason for his increased PDA, I need these moments of connection today.

I kiss his shoulder. “Thanks, but I look like I should skip through this place humming ‘The Sound of Music.’”

“You really think this is necessary?” He scratches at his wig.

I play with one of the buttons running down the front of my dress, and his eyes follow my movement. “I think it’s our best chance of getting people to talk to us, and it makes me feel a bit protected. Like if she’s there, I can hide under this stupid hat and decide if I want to approach her.”

He tugs up his jeans, resignation on his face. “Fine. I’ll do it. Because it makes you feel better, but the hat and wig can wait ’til later.” He yanks them off and adds, “You better not take pictures.”

“If I do, might you arrest me? With handcuffs?”

That earns me a smile—dark and mischievous with a dash of me-ow. “Tempting. And the answer to your text from after the beach is silk.”

My cheeks heat, like the revirginized girl I am. I can definitely do silk.

A chaste kiss later, we’re on our way. Once outside the city limits, I try to ignore my mounting unease. The high-pitched twang vibrating from the radio doesn’t help. Cars blur by; trees and light posts break up the landscape. I yawn. I shake my head. No matter what I do, my eardrums feel as though someone’s drilling into them with ice picks. “I can’t take it anymore.”

I reach to fiddle with the radio, but Nico puts his hand on mine. “We had a deal.”

“That was before I was faced with losing my hearing at twenty-six. And I’d prefer to avoid awakening every dead dog within a thirty-mile radius.”

Smirking, he returns his hand to the wheel. “I like this music.”

“I like curry, but knowing you hate it, I wouldn’t lock you in here for two hours just to watch your face turn blue.”

His smirk widens. “Okay. I’ll give you two songs. Then we’ll alternate.”

I flip the dial, passing static, something French, a classical guitar, and coffeehouse yodeling that goes with our outfits. When a scream blares from the speakers, followed by a heavy bass, I stop fiddling. Nico winces but doesn’t say anything. He endures two metal tunes and then changes the station back.

This is how the drive goes: his songs, my songs, his stupid shirt showing off his forearms as he drives. My dress shifting across my sensitive skin. His gaze raking over my body.

And we talk.

He tells me about the school trip with Kolton and Sawyer that ended with Nico locked out of their room, only to wake up on the hotel floor, a mustache drawn on his face. I regale him with my tales of delinquency, complete with the time I shoved a banana up my principal’s tailpipe. He listens without interrupting. Nico always listens.

Once we leave the highway, farmland blankets the valley floor, mountains bordering the lush land. I relax more, the scenery as calming as Nico’s rich voice.

Until he pulls up to a sign that says, Neverland Farms. “You nervous?” he asks.

“Do they speak Portuguese in Portland?”

He chuckles. “Right. Stupid question.” He takes my hand, uncurls my fist, and laces our fingers together. The kiss he places on my pulse point hurts my racing heart. “I’m here because I care about you. That won’t change. No matter what happens with Rose, I’ll see you through this.”

That boyish grin of his appears, sneaking into places I usually keep locked. I’m not sure how he got the key. “Bet you weren’t counting on this much baggage, dating me.”

He looks at me then, really looks at me, and his eyes have never been so blue, burning bright with so much emotion I’m forced to glance away. “Raven,” he says, drawing my attention back to him. He cups my jaw and brushes his thumb over my cheek. A cut or callus scratches my skin. “I’m all in. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

His gaze is unwavering, his jaw as strong as the mountains around us. His shoulders are big enough to carry this burden of mine, and his family’s, and the kids he helps at the rec center.

He is such a good man. And he needs to know it. “What I wrote to you in Aspen is true. I’ve never felt like this before. With anyone, even after all this time.” The radio is off, but I’d swear a heavy bass beats in my chest. Nico presses his forehead to mine as though he wants to read my mind. Learn what drives my heart. I’m not sure how long we sit like this, his large hand on my cheek, my heart pounding in my ears.

It’s a good thing we brought lots of condoms.

He kisses my wrist again, then we drive under the arched sign. Flowers line the road, as wild and untamed as I feel, but my hand is secure in Nico’s grasp. When he parks, he releases me to stick that hideous wig on. I pull on my sun hat. As soon as my feet hit the gravel drive, he’s at my door and laces our fingers together again. It feels different this time—possessive, seductive. A promise of what’s to come.

Unfortunately, I laugh. “I really need a picture of you in that beret.”

“You obviously don’t value your life.”

“Come on. I could use it to bribe Sawyer. He’d clean my apartment for a month to get his hands on that.”

“Make that a double homicide.”

“Even if I promise to listen to country on the drive home?”

He tugs me forward. “Not a chance.”

Deep purple rows of lavender extend under darkening clouds, as does a multicolored fence. Other crops grow in sections, some tall, some short. The main house is painted pink and orange and every color under the sun, sculptures of dragonflies and butterflies stuck to the siding. My maybe-boyfriend is in a hideous outfit, holding my hand, while we search for my estranged sister at some whacked-out hippie farm.

The idiocy of the situation takes the edge off. Slightly.

Nico knocks on the door and pulls me closer. Someone calls, “Coming!” and that edge I’ve been balancing on sharpens. I tap my ballet flat and nearly hyperventilate. When the door swings wide, I tense and lower the rim of my hat, but immediately exhale. Not Rose. Still, I give myself a mental thumbs-up for dressing undercover.

The woman’s foot jingles from her stacked anklets. A baby is perched on her hip, her flowing patchwork dress as busy as the outside decor. “Can I help you?”

Although Nico is dressed like an overgrown hippie, his wide stance and stiff posture probably give him away. “We’re looking for a woman,” he says. “An old friend. Heard she moved out here a while back. Maybe a few years. Is there anyone who could help us?” He slides his hand over my lower back and grips my hip as though holding me steady. I press into his side.

The woman bounces her baby. “Sure. I’m Wispy, but Lake has lived here longer. He might know something.” She nods for us to come in.

Nico leans down to my ear. “You should probably call me Spirit.”

The big guy made a joke. “How about Starbright?”

Or Dusk. Or Ocean. Or simply Mine.

“Whatever you want,” he says.

We follow Wispy into the open floorplan. Like outside, it looks like a paint set exploded. Large pillows fill the area instead of couches, knit blankets draped everywhere in yellows, peaches, oranges, and greens. On the floor, a man has sunk into an oversized beanbag chair, his dark dreadlocks tied in a knot on his head. He strums a guitar with lazy strokes.

Wispy motions to us. “These folks are looking for someone who might have lived here.”

With that introduction, she floats off, lowering the top of her dress as she goes, exposing her breast. She begins feeding her baby. The simplicity of the act intrigues me, the innocence of it—our bodies doing what they were built for. Makes me wonder if I was breast fed. If I was ever held and loved and doted upon. The hard places under my bones assure me I wasn’t, but the beauty is so alluring I wish I hadn’t left my camera in the car.

Nico, however, blushes fire-engine red. He angles his body toward Lake. “We’re looking for a girl who might have lived here, or near here, a few years ago.”

Lake doesn’t interrupt his lazy tune. “Name?”

“Her name is Rose. Rose Hunt.” I’m thankful Nico’s the one speaking. Between our impending night together, this nutty place, and the possibility of finding my sister, I’m not sure I’d be able to string two words together.

A few more unhurried strums later, Lake says, “No. Your names.”

God, like I’m not nervous enough without him drawing out the agony. Nico scratches the back of his wig and huffs out a sigh. “I’m Spirit, and this is…Petal.” He presses his lips tight.

There will be retribution.

Strum. Strum. Strum.

Strum.

“Welcome to Neverland.” Lake sings the words with his guitar, and I kind of want to smash the instrument over his head.

“So,” Nico says when we’ve listened to eight bars too many of Lake’s impromptu song. “I was told Rose lived here a few years ago. She has long dark hair, dark eyes. She’s from outside Toronto, originally.” He nudges me. “Anything specific you can add?”

I want to add a black eye to Lake’s stoned face, but he means to Rose’s description. The first thing I always look for when scanning faces are the teeth—straight and white and perfect. Considering the nipple unveiling, there’s a chance Lake has seen the birthmark on Rose’s hip.

I point to the spot. “She has a large birthmark here, shaped like a heart.”

Strum. Strum. Strum.

Strum.

“Yeah…Rose…sure. I remember her.”

Strum.

My internal organs migrate toward my throat, nausea and excitement shaking my foundation. Nico’s strong hand grips my waist.

When Lake doesn’t go on, a growl rumbles from Nico’s chest, almost too low to hear. He keeps his voice even. “Does that mean she doesn’t live here anymore? Do you know where she is?”

Strum. Fucking. Strum. “I think she left a year ago. A friend of hers, Clara, might know where she’s at. She’s gone for the day but will be back for our potluck tonight. You’re welcome to come.”

My churning gut calms a bit, but the room spins. It looks different, the space filled with shadows of my sister. I imagine her working the fields or sitting on a giant pillow or cooking at the stove. I imagine her smiling her bright, white smile. She could also have dreadlocks and four kids named Rainbow, Butterfly, Rock, and Leaf.

Nico doesn’t reply, but he watches me, waiting.

“We’ll come,” I say.

“Groovy.” Lake’s incessant melody continues. “Bring something vegan to share with the farm.” He leans back and closes his eyes.

Our cue.

At the car, the first drops of rain fall. Nico spins me to face him and hovers over me. My personal umbrella. “You okay?”

Although my hands are shaking, all limbs are intact. Major organs haven’t shifted. I reek of patchouli oil from the incense burning in the house, but other than that, I survived our undercover operation. “Yeah, but I need a shower.” I slide my hands around his hips and pull him and his ugly jeans closer.

He tips my hat back to see my face. “You need help undoing those buttons down the front?” His gaze drops to the pearl snaps over my breasts.

Man, oh man. My dress is so thin his hard-on is unmistakable as he presses closer. But he steps away. “We might not have time. We need to find a motel and figure out what to bring tonight.”

Right. Vegan potluck. Not Nico’s large fingers struggling with my dainty buttons. “We can pick a bunch of flowers and grass and roll them in seaweed.”

He moves to open my door, and the light rain dances on my arms and legs. It’s pleasant. Refreshing. And knowing I won’t see Rose tonight melts some of my remaining tension. A breeze blows up my skirt as I slide into the car, and Nico groans from behind me. The sound travels up my skirt, too. This will be the longest (and only) vegan potluck I’ll ever attend.