Seventeen
“Are you staying for lunch?” Roger stood at the BBQ with a plate of raw chicken. “After all, the thyme is cumin.” He picked up a seasoning jar, laughing to himself.
Nico shook his head. “We’re going to a friend of Valerie’s for the afternoon.” He’d mentally prepared himself for a day of socializing with strangers at Dalia’s party.
David looked over at the BBQ. “I told you to clean that,” he said. “You should let me do it.”
“Adds to the flavor,” said Roger. He clicked the tongs twice and picked up the chicken, which sizzled on the grill and sent up plumes of smoke.
“Too hot.”
“Nope.”
“It’s going to burn.”
“No, it won’t.”
Nico left David to micromanage Roger’s cooking with a level of concern he never applied to his own job and went to find Valerie. They were supposed to leave five minutes ago. To his surprise, he found her waiting at the car.
“Gotcha,” she said with a cheerful wave that made him feel light. He’d once read an article on how moods were contagious and had been somewhat skeptical, but being with Valerie made him realize how true it was. “You thought I was going to be late, didn’t you?”
She had him, but he couldn’t reply past a mumble because Valerie was wearing a loose white cover-up over a pair of jean shorts.
The shirt was buttoned almost to her neck and came down past her thighs but somehow left nothing to the imagination.
He could make out every heart of the tiny bikini top she wore under it, and how the little triangles emphasized her generous curves.
The strings were tied in a jaunty bow that peeked out of the collar, visible since her hair was tucked under a hat, and he could see where they dug slightly into her shoulders.
The small V of skin visible at her throat shone with sunscreen, and when his gaze went down, it was to see that chain around her ankle.
“You look nice,” he said. God, what a loser. Nice? She looked fantastic. Gorgeous. Luminous. Hot. Irresistible. He added, “Very nice.”
She beamed at him. “So do you. I like that shirt.” She stepped forward and tugged the front pocket, and his skin felt it like a touch. “You look good in black.”
Goodbye, green. He was only going to wear black the rest of his life.
Valerie stood in front of him with a heady spicy scent coming from her skin, along with her usual bug spray.
He’d never noticed the details of women’s perfume before he’d met Valerie, usually only categorizing scents into nice or too strong.
He took a chance and reached out to pull a lock of hair out from where it had fallen to catch under her collar.
She didn’t say a word and she didn’t stop looking at him.
He briefly thought of Penny, who could be watching from the house, and just as quickly decided he didn’t care.
Valerie bit her lip, like something out of a movie.
“Thanks,” she said, a little breathless.
From the house came the sound of David crowing that the flames were too high. Valerie rolled her eyes and stepped away. “We should get going,” she said. “Want me to drive?”
“No, and you know why.” She wasn’t allowed to drive his car once he found out how many parking tickets she had in her sordid past.
“Fine, I’ll be navigator.”
Nico struggled to get himself back to baseline during the drive to town, but could still sense the sleekness of her hair between his fingers.
What would it be like to run his hand through that smooth fall?
How would it feel to kiss her head and feel it under his lips, or have it drag across his body as she worked her way…
“Nico, the turn!”
Shit. “Sorry.” He made himself think of multiplication tables, flowchart design, if squirrels really did talk with their tails. Anything but Valerie sitting with her legs slightly parted beside him in the car.
It worked, to a degree. He was able to carry on a conversation as they made the standard pre-party stops for snacks and local craft beer as a hosting gift for Dalia, but he could feel his attention sharpen whenever Valerie leaned over, or fixed her hat, or breathed.
It didn’t help that she’d undone a few buttons on her shirt.
The multiplication tables weren’t working that well after all.
Luckily, dread of the actual party set in during the ten-minute drive to Dalia’s place and got his mind on track. Valerie perked up as they approached and she almost jumped in her seat when the music became audible. Nico didn’t recognize the song.
“This is going to be so fun,” she enthused. “We might be able to get some information about Yvette.”
“That’s doubtful.” He didn’t think many of the guests would be of Roger’s vintage.
“Doubtful is not impossible, and anyway, Dalia says her roommates are cool. It’ll be fun no matter what.”
Nico was less certain, but nodded. He’d said he’d come, and he’d do his best.
She touched his arm. “We can go any time if you’re not into it,” she said seriously.
He glanced over in surprise. “You’ve been looking forward to going to Dalia’s.”
“Sure, but I won’t have fun if you’re miserable.”
“I don’t want to wreck your day.”
She laughed as he pulled in beside a battered Corolla covered with bumper stickers, including one that said, “MS Chi-Cheemaun: 50 years of glorious service,” with a drawing of a ferry.
“Are we trying to out-polite each other?” she asked.
She was right. “How’s this: I can’t guarantee I’m going to love it because I’m not a party guy. What I can promise is that I’ll tell you if I’m hitting my limit.”
Valerie tilted her head as if that would help assess his truthfulness. “You’ll tell me?”
“Yes.”
“With words that come from your mouth?”
“I will literally say, Valerie, I would like to leave now.”
“You won’t sulk in a corner and expect me to read your mind and get mad at me when I don’t?”
“If I am in a corner, it will be because that is my preference at the moment, and not because I wish to passive-aggressively telegraph my desire to leave.”
“To confirm,” she pressed. “No getting upset because I’m not checking in with you enough to see if you’re having a good time because somehow that’s my responsibility? No worrying if the I’m fine actually means I want to go?”
What was that Jake guy like, that she felt the need to monitor everything? Nico disliked him. “You don’t have to check in at all, and the same goes for you. If you wish to go, you will say so instead of constantly asking me if I want to leave as a hint that you do.”
She frowned. “Why would I do that?”
“Some people do.” Madison had preferred him to make the decisions so she never had to take blame for when things went wrong, but also had strong opinions on what should happen. Things were much easier when people said what they thought.
Valerie ran the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip. “Okay,” she said. “I trust you.”
This filled him with the same pleasure as getting a handle on a workflow. “Then let’s win Cottage Games XXI.”
“XIV.”
He laughed. “Got it.”
When they knocked, Dalia threw open the door to the huge but ramshackle cottage wearing a long-faded T-shirt covered with bears and a flowered kerchief over her hair. “Greetings and salutations!”
The main room was filled with personality of the type that had been willfully edited from the Badgerton house.
Food covered the old oak table, which was surrounded by mismatched chairs.
Nico doubted the dingy avocado appliances had been made in this century, and the saggy, sun-bleached Naugahyde couches had clearly been hauled out from someone’s basement.
Valerie relaxed and he didn’t blame her.
Unlike the Badgertons, Dalia’s place felt as if he could spill a drink without getting arrested.
After a wave of friendly introductions, Dalia led them to a surprisingly new dock instead of the repurposed planks on floating barrels he expected, given the house. “The games are asynchronous and we’re going on the honor system.”
“Asynchronous?” Nico checked through the various games listed on the scorecard, all standards like horseshoes and ring toss.
“People are dropping in over the course of the day, so it made sense to do a final summing up and email the results.” Dalia kicked a ball out of the way. “If we remember. It’s pretty casual.”
“Who’s in the lead?” Valerie asked.
“Mickey and Sharon.” Dalia pointed to an older couple who were batting a shuttlecock back and forth with Ping-Pong paddles.
Valerie cast Nico a sidelong glance; she’d noticed the name as well. Roger might have said their job wasn’t to investigate, but surely they needed to follow up on things that had been presented to them on a silver platter. “Mickey from the Lakeview, Mickey?” she asked.
“You got it. Let’s go over and say hi.” Valerie showed Nico her crossed fingers as they paused at the big sign that read “Station 5—Shuttlecocks Keep Falling on My Head.”
“We wanted to name all the games after songs but there were a few fails,” said Dalia. She made the introductions as the other couple passed over the paddles.
“Nice to meet you,” said Mickey as Sharon went to grab a drink.
He was in his late forties and his bald head was as tanned as his weathered face.
His Lakeview T-shirt was damp with sweat, and faded tattoo vines climbed out the collar to trace up his neck.
“See if you can beat us. We got a high of twenty-two.”
It wasn’t until they finished batting the shuttlecocks, with Mickey and Dalia calling encouragement, that they had a chance to talk. “Sixty?” Mickey groaned when Valerie finally missed. “God, to be young again.”
“Dalia says you own the Lakeview,” said Valerie.
There was no reasonable way to segue into asking about Yvette, and Nico commended Valerie for just going for it.
“Yeah, bought it about a decade ago when the Toronto restaurant scene was getting too much. I got an ulcer, and me and Sharon took a break here. Saw the place for sale and made an offer right on the spot.”
“Why was the other owner selling?” asked Nico.