Chapter 10
Phelps
Phelps opened the front door with oven mitts on, both for humorous effect and because he’d just pulled out some roasted garlic.
“Welcome, first arrivals! Do you have your bags with you? Let me show you to your room. Also, fair warning, we’re down one
bathroom—my en suite toilet went kaput yesterday. Couldn’t get a plumber out in time, but—”
This was a white lie—the toilet went kaput six months ago—but who could afford a plumber these days?
“I’ll get our bag in a second,” said Bennett.
Phelps pulled Olivia into a firm hug while Bennett hovered behind.
“Gorgeous as always,” said Phelps before exiting the hug. “Do you not age, Oh, Elven One?”
Olivia laughed, then Bennett clasped hands with Phelps and pulled him close. They slapped each other on the back twice.
Bennett and Olivia looked great. Of course they did; they were living the good life . . . but what was the prickle of tension
in the air? A little lover’s spat, maybe, in the car? A little trouble in paradise?
“Everything good, bro-man?” Phelps said jovially, smiling his biggest smile, hoping to disperse any negativity via excessive good cheer. Tonight was for fun, damn it. For capers and laughs and forgetting about shit jobs and back pain and ex-wives.
“Yeah, man,” said Bennett. “Hey, the place looks good.” As Olivia peeled off her boots, Bennett touched the small of her back.
“Well, come in, come in,” said Phelps, gesturing.
They followed, and he saw the place through their eyes. The interior was darkish—better to hide the wear and tear on the carpet
and couches and the dings in the drywall—with the curtains half-drawn and strands of lights providing the only illumination.
Magical, Allie had said—a vast improvement over her first judgment upon arrival. And now that Phelps’s sense of smell had been cleared
out by the blast of cold from the front door, he realized the house also smelled amazing, like smoke and garlic and chocolate.
He was pleased.
Down the carpeted hall that led to the bedrooms and bathroom, Phelps opened a door. “Ta-daaa, you guys get the boys’ room!
You’re sharing with Will and Jenn. But don’t get any ideas. I don’t think they’re as kinky as you two naughty people.”
Bennett guffawed. Olivia pressed out a tight smile without looking at Phelps. Definitely a lover’s spat. Well, in a minute,
he’d pour extra-strong drinks and seduce them away from their tiny misery. Then all would be well in party-land.
“You guys can fight over who gets the marital-sized mattress and who has to be separated,” joked Phelps. There was a queen-size
blow-up mattress shoved into one corner, a child’s bed shaped like a huge plastic car, and a sleeping bag next to it. “Hall
bathroom’s freshly cleaned, Olivia, if you want to change.”
“Thanks,” she said, crossing her arms over her body and looking down at her feet.
Phelps had no idea how to read her sudden shyness. Sure, it had been five years, but . . . they weren’t strangers.
“Unless you’re opting out of the fancy clothes and sticking with sweats,” he said in a gentlemanly tone, “which, by the way, look fabulous on you—”
“I’ll bring our stuff in so you can change,” said Bennett, abruptly leaving Phelps and Olivia alone in the hall.
“So . . . how’ve you been?” Olivia said, awkwardly tightening her arms over her chest, like she’d just felt a chill.
“Never a dull moment,” he quipped. “Are you and Bennett . . . Everything okay? Do I sense the shadow of a little argument
in the air, or is it my overactive imagination?”
Olivia faced him, pale and serious. Her voice lowered to a tight whisper. “I told him.”
Phelps stared at her. “You . . . told him.”
“Yes,” she said. Her whisper sounded like glass shards, broken and dangerous.
“Okaaaay,” Phelps said, nodding like he was really processing this information. “You told him. I . . . Wow. Okay.”
Mainly, of course, he was stalling because he had no idea what she was talking about. Clearly she thought he should know. He mentally reviewed Bennett’s past couple visits. What was going on in their lives that she might be referencing?
Genetic testing because of that leukemia risk . . . Oh, fuck, was one of their kids genetically predisposed? And then Rosie
was in that temper-tantrum stage and Olivia didn’t believe in time-outs, which he knew via Bennett had caused a few disagreements . . .
“Do I hear guests?” came a high-pitched female voice from elsewhere in the house. “Phelpsy?”
He smiled in what he hoped was a soothing way. He’d have to ask Bennett later what was going on, on the DL. “Hey, we’ll have
time to talk later, okay? Come meet Allie. She’s the one responsible for giving this place an upgrade from Le Dump to Le Party.”
Olivia, arms still crossed over her sweatshirt and looking frankly miserable, followed Phelps back through the living room, through the party streamers and into the warm kitchen, where Allie was bending over the stove.
Damn. The girl was 100 percent heart-shaped ass.
He cleared his throat. She straightened up.
“The first guest,” said Phelps with a flourish as Olivia ducked under the streamers he was holding to the side for her.
“Hi! I’m Alessia! But you can call me Allie.” She moved forward and hugged Olivia, who was stiff as a board. Phelps headed
to the freezer to pull out the vodka he’d chilled. Best way to counter stiffness was with an equally stiff drink.
“Are you two . . .” he heard Olivia saying.
“Together?” said Allie with a laugh. “God, it’s too soon for that! Second date, he puts me to work cleaning his house.” She
laughed again. “No, I’m kidding, I offered. I couldn’t let you lovely people suffer the state it was in. Don’t worry. I’m
a kindergarten teacher. I’m used to cleaning up sticky spots and mysterious stains!”
“Well . . . thanks,” said Olivia.
“I bow to the expert,” said Phelps as he set the vodka and vermouth on the counter. Now for a chilled martini glass . . .
“She will be richly rewarded.”
Allie went on tiptoe next to him. “Mmmm, if drinks are happening, make me one, okay? But don’t you dare give out the Jell-O
shots! Those are for later, and I am personally handing them out!”
“She made Jell-O shots,” Phelps said toward Olivia in mock horror. “Next she’ll be suggesting beer pong. Hey, I’ll show you
the rest of the house in a minute—I know you’ve been here before, but there have been upgrades to the basement in the form of a dartboard and—”
There was a knock at the door.
“I’ll get it,” said Phelps, and honestly, he was relieved to leave Olivia’s presence for a minute.
He had always had a thing for her. Who wouldn’t?
She was educated. She was mysterious. She looked like a thinner version of Elizabeth Taylor.
But right now, frankly, she was being annoying.
Sure, she might be going through something, but they were all going through something.
That was fucking adulting. And part of adulting was also knowing how to lay your troubles aside
and party like it was 1999.
Oh, well. You know what? He’d loosen her up. Even though she wasn’t high maintenance, per se, the woman did have layers, and
for good reason. He’d put aside his annoyance and make it his personal mission tonight to melt the ice queen. After all, he’d
done it before, and he could do it again.