Five
I n her childhood bedroom, Rheo pulled back the covers on the old-fashioned brass bed and slid under the cool sheets. She inspected the fan above her head. Like everything else, it needed a good dusting. Paddy normally hired a team to spring-clean the house in April. Did her normally on-the-ball grandmother forget to do that this year, or was it another sign Paddy was losing interest in the Pink House?
Normally, she’d ask, but since Paddy didn’t know she was here... blah blah blah .
Honestly, Rheo was surprised her presence in Gilmartin had remained a secret for so long. Sure, she’d been an infrequent visitor since she graduated college, but she’d expected someone to recognize her by now. Then again, according to Abi, the neighborhood had changed over the past five years. There was a huge demand for holiday houses in Gilmartin, and many older residents chose to cash in and sell. The residents Paddy knew well were either dead or had moved on, so Paddy couldn’t be that influential or well-known anymore.
The town was so different now, and Rheo was grateful. The last thing she needed was a nosy neighbor sending Paddy a message, updating her on Rheo’s every move. She could only hope the gazebo crashing didn’t raise anyone’s suspicions. Thank God the yards were big, and the houses were spaced far apart. She might’ve gotten away with it—at least she prayed she had.
Rheo recalled Fletch’s disgust over her handiwork. Okay, so carpentry wasn’t her strong suit. Yes, she vaguely remembered something about placing the pillars in concrete, but it sounded like a lot of work, so she skipped that step. Her lazy mistake could’ve resulted in someone getting seriously hurt. The next time she attempted a project, she’d follow all the steps. Do it properly.
Or, a far better idea, get a professional, as Fletch so rudely suggested.
Fletcher Wright...another adventurer. Why couldn’t her unexpected roommate be someone who worked in accounting or banking? Someone with a steady income, a healthy 401(k), a homeowner, and someone who saved ten percent of his income since he’d started working?
She had enough nomads in her life, thanks bunches. He was a complication and a distraction she did not need.
Rheo yawned. What a day! It was the most eventful one she’d experienced in months. She needed sleep but doubted she’d get it. Her brain was in machine-gun mode.
Her phone beeped with an incoming message. Abi. Shit! She’d forgotten to contact her. Her messages hit her screen, one after the other.
Well? Who is he?
What happened to pizza?
Why don’t you tell me ANYTHING ?
Ah, because, in between Fletch’s arrival, face-planting, kissing him, and the gazebo collapsing, updating her friend had dropped down her priority list. Rheo decided to mess with her a little.
He’s spending the night!
Excellent!
Damn, she’d forgotten Abi was unshockable.
Do you need me to do an emergency condom run?
No, Abs, he’s sleeping in the guest bedroom.
Disappointing.
Rheo saw the dots on the screen and waited.
Tell me everything!
Rheo briefly explained who Fletch was and the day’s events, including her fall but leaving out the kiss. She also omitted the gazebo crashing.
So, have you googled him yet?
Well, no, but that was a damn good idea. Rheo told Abi she’d call her in the morning and ended their chat.
Rheo plugged his name into a search engine, thinking she should know more about the man she was sharing a house with to justify her actions. She was a woman alone; it was smart. It had nothing— liar, liar —to do with her curiosity.
His website was the first result in a long list, but a podcast titled “Q he was a mountain goat.
Mentally, she could match him. She had a postgrad degree and an active mind. She read widely—okay, she didn’t know about Jeanne Baret, but she was pretty sure Fletch didn’t know the Italian alphabet only had twenty-one letters. She enjoyed interesting and stimulating conversations, arguing principles and debating ideas.
Rheo checked the time left on the podcast. Just a few minutes to go. She’d listen to the end.
“If you could go back and give your eighteen-year-old self one piece of advice, what would it be?”
“Honestly, I would tell people to go fuck themselves far more often than I did.”
“Wow. Don’t hold back, Fletch,” she whispered aloud.
“What are you bad at?”
She knew the answer to this question. He wasn’t tactful and he didn’t pull his punches. “Being patient and diplomatic. I don’t do hints, subtle or obvious. If you want me to know something, just spit it out.”
Nailed it.
“What’s the one thing you’d rush into a fire to save?”
“Two books. King Solomon’s Mines by H. Rider Haggard and Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer. After reading them as a kid, I became obsessed with traveling.”
She’d read neither and vowed she would. But only because they were classics. There was a gap in her literary education; it had nothing to do with Fletch and what he read as a kid.
“What’s your biggest fear?”
The interviewer was getting into deeper waters now, and Rheo doubted Fletch would answer. She didn’t know him well, but she suspected Fletch didn’t volunteer information, personal or otherwise.
“Fletch, your biggest fear?”
Fletch’s sigh was audible and his voice lowered, a fraction sadder when he spoke again. “I’d hate it if I had to stay in one place for the rest of my life. Being confined.”
Rheo turned over Fletch’s words, surprised by his sincerity. Why did he feel so strongly about being confined? She wanted to know.
“Then I suggest you avoid jail...hahaha.” The bad joke broke the tension. “Right. How big is your inner circle?”
“Not big.”
His answer surprised Rheo. With his looks and charisma, she expected him to have lots of friends. She imagined him to be like Carrie, who commanded attention and had hordes of people trailing in her wake.
“What’s the one thing you’d never change about yourself?”
Fletch didn’t hesitate . “My self-reliance.”
She respected his answer. She made her own decisions and owned her mistakes. True, she’d made more than usual lately, but they were hers to make, hers to own. And she’d learn from them. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but at some point in the future.
“And that’s a perfect segue into talking about your latest adventures. For those living under a rock, Fletch has spent the last twelve months exploring the North Pole, the South Pole, and for kicks, summited Mount Everest without oxygen.”
Why would he do that? Why would anyone do that? The whole it’s-there-so-I-must-conquer-it argument made no sense to her. Why put your life in danger, risking frostbite and hypothermia and rockfalls to climb a mountain? The mountain didn’t give a rat’s ass whether you got to its highest point or not.
“How did you find it, Fletcher?”
“Cold.”
Rheo grinned at his pithy answer and enjoyed his dry sense of humor. The interviewer thanked Fletch for his time and started thanking his sponsors, so she exited the podcast and placed her phone on the bedside table. As she removed her earbuds, her screen lit up with an incoming call.
Paddy. Of course it was, because life wasn’t done with kicking her ass today. Shitshitshit. Was she calling about the gazebo? Because someone saw Rheo talking to Fletch?
Rheo considered ignoring her call, but Paddy would just call back. Then she would send her a series of messages and a flurry of emails. It was easier to answer. Rheo greeted Paddy, amazed at the clarity of their call.
“It sounds like you are around the corner,” Rheo said.
“I want to see your face, I’m desperate to video call you,” Paddy complained. “I can’t understand why we always have such bad connections.”
Ah, that might be because Rheo always dropped the call if she was somewhere Paddy might recognize. Like her kitchen. Or garden. This bedroom.
“It’s a mystery,” Rheo breezily replied.
Paddy told Rheo about her trip, and Rheo listened, enjoying her grandmother’s sharp wit and perceptive observations. She wanted to be just like Paddy when she grew up. Strong, opinionated, independent, and financially free. Paddy had taken the money her ex gave her in the divorce, bought a few houses, and flipped them. Then she bought some apartment blocks and managed those for most of her life. At seventy, she employed a manager and moved into fundraising for charities, using her forceful personality to open wallets. At eighty, she decided she needed to see the world and opted to visit Australia first. Rheo was pretty sure Paddy had the country whipped into shape already. Rheo adored her, but her grandmother scared her.
Just a little.
After Rheo batted away Paddy’s questions about her life and job—“all good, nothing to tell”—Paddy changed the subject.
“How are your parents?”
“Fine, I guess. I haven’t heard otherwise.” Rheo sighed.
For the past eighteen months, Rheo’s dad and Paddy had waged an ongoing war about whether or not Ed had demanded to see his mother’s will. Paddy said he did, that Ed wanted to know what he could expect to inherit from her, and that her money was his retirement plan.
Ed insisted that he’d only asked Paddy whether she had a will, but Paddy vociferously disagreed. Knowing her dad’s irresponsibility, and his lackadaisical approach to money and the future, Rheo believed Paddy. But Ed could be extraordinarily stubborn on occasion, and he wasn’t backing down. As a result, mother and son hadn’t spoken for over a year. Messages and news passed through Rheo during their biweekly calls and monthly emails.
Rheo, tell your father...
Rheo, tell your grandmother...
“Where are they at the moment?” Paddy asked with a less than normal vigor.
Rheo frowned, needing a moment to think. “Somewhere in Western Canada. I haven’t spoken to them lately.”
“I presume you’ve been very busy with the UN General Assembly being in session.”
“Mmm-hmm.” There were omissions and there were outright lies, and Rheo tried to avoid the latter whenever she could, so she switched subjects. “Where are you? Still on the Gold Coast?”
“I’m staying at a superb inn in the Barossa Valley, quaffing truly excellent wine and eating superb food.”
The poor woman was having, obviously, a miserable time. Rheo’s heart bled for her.
“I’m thinking about staying longer, another month or two at least.”
That would put Paddy’s return at the end of August or September. Not that it mattered—Rheo would be out of here soon. “Okay. Are you returning to Portland, or will you swing past the Pink House?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
“I’m not sure. Did you hear that I’ve rented the Pink House? To a friend of Carrie’s, but I’m sure he’s her lover.”
Not a lover! Rheo wanted to protest, but kept her lips welded together.
“I need to think about what to do with the Pink House, Rheo,” Paddy continued. “It’s empty more often than not and needs serious maintenance. It’s been a lovely indulgence, but the costs are rising.”
“But you love this house,” Rheo spluttered. “You can’t sell it!”
“Who said anything about selling it?” Paddy pounced on her words.
Rheo cursed. She’d made it through a long and stressful day, and wasn’t up to sparring with her grandmother tonight. To be fair, she seldom was. “Sorry, I assumed that’s what you meant.”
“Something is going on with you, Rheo Jane,” Paddy murmured after an intense ten seconds of silence.
Rheo mashed her lips together. If she jumped in with a denial, she’d never hear the end of it. Paddy would dig and dig, and Rheo would cave.
She couldn’t. Currently, she wasn’t strong enough to face Paddy’s criticism or deal with her disappointment. Paddy never let her down—she loved her, supported her, and didn’t try to change her. When Rheo had a plan in place, a way forward, when she’d fixed her mess, she’d confess all and take her grandmother’s criticism on the chin. For now, she’d keep her silence for as long as possible.
“I must go,” Paddy declared. But she still had one more bullet to fire. “How’s that young man of yours... Colin?”
“Callum?” Rheo corrected her, guilt dancing under her skin. “He’s fine.” She hadn’t heard anything to the contrary. She wasn’t lying... technically .
“Stable, steady, but not exciting,” Paddy commented, getting a dig in. “He sounds as impressive as a white crayon.”
Her grandmother was smart but possessed the ability to strip wallpaper with her tongue. The fact that she was also right was intensely annoying.
“Be nice, Paddy.”
“I speak my mind because it hurts to bite my tongue.”
Rheo tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling. While her grandmother understood her need for stability and approved of her independence—financial and otherwise—she’d made it clear that Rheo’s predictability didn’t need to extend to men. Paddy believed Rheo should have excitement in the bedroom and assumed Callum wasn’t the man for the job.
She wasn’t wrong. Fletch’s kiss packed more punch than the lukewarm orgasms Callum had managed to pull from her. But predictability was safe. She knew what to expect.
Rheo didn’t like roller coaster rides. And Fletch was the biggest, baddest ride out there.