37. Daphne
Daphne
Maybe I’m just a snob who was ripe for a lesson in humility. But I hadn’t expected to like Moo U very much. I thought it would be big and impersonal. I thought the classes would be easier than the ones at Harkness.
But nope. My professors are every bit as sharp and engaging as the ones I had at Harkness.
So the homework starts piling up almost immediately.
It’s a good thing I only have four academic classes: a senior seminar on reproductive biology, a history course on voting rights in the twentieth century, an English course, and an upper-level statistics class.
Because I also needed a phys ed course to meet Burlington University’s requirements. This came as an unwelcome surprise. “At least there won’t be any homework,” I’d grumbled to Rickie.
“I’ve been putting that off, too,” Rickie had said. “Any ideas on what you’ll choose?”
“Um, I was considering badminton,” I’d admitted. “It sounds easier than weight training, or swimming, or any of the others.”
Rickie had laughed. And then he’d signed up for badminton, too.
So now on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, we’re swinging at birdies together.
And Rickie wears a vintage tennis outfit—a tight polo-collar shirt with sleeves short enough to show off his tats, and a pair of short white tennis shorts—just to troll me.
So that burden has become a blast. I don’t know what’s more surprising—enjoying my phys ed requirement, or the fact that Rickie is the one who makes me love it so much.
It’s hard to deny how important he’s become to my whole life.
I’m not the only one who appreciates him, either.
It’s been eye-opening to see him in his natural habitat.
People just turn up at the house on Spruce Street every Thursday and Friday night.
They bring booze and pot and music. He’s magnetic, and I’m not the only one who notices.
Yet I’m the one he kisses every time he comes home. It’s a little mind-blowing.
Meanwhile, I’m still working Wednesday afternoons at the School of Public Health.
“We’re going to need you at karaoke again,” Karim points out during the third week of school.
“Weeknights are for homework. Besides, you’re not interested in my singing,” I point out. “You just want Rickie there.”
Jenn giggles. “You may be right about him. But I want you there, Shipley. Boyfriend or not.”
And I’m pretty sure she means it. I’ve made friends whether I meant to or not. Go figure.
Life in Burlington—and on Spruce Street—is a whole lot nicer than I expected.
Just to keep up the appearance of my independence, I sometimes sleep in my own room.
But just as often I end up in Rickie’s bed.
All night long, too. Waking up to his naked body curled around mine is heaven.
Sometimes, when he smiles at me, I just want to pinch myself.
Honestly, it’s a problem. Rickie is on his way to becoming the first man I ever really loved. He’s already the first one I’ve ever trusted with my heart. And if I ever get these grad school applications done, it’s not going to be easy to walk away from him.
But I know I’ll have to.
As promised, I drive back home to the farm with Dylan and Chastity every Friday night or Saturday morning.
The orchard hours are not helping with my workload.
I should be writing my grad school essays instead of picking apples.
But Griffin is so grateful for the help. And my mother is happy to see me.
Besides—I’ve been away for so long that I’d forgotten how good the cider house smells when my brother is pressing apples. The last time I experienced that was the weekend I rode home with Rickie from Harkness. That was almost three years ago.
“Bet you don’t miss the pony cart,” my brother says one afternoon as we sort apples for the farmers’ market.
“You’d be right,” I agree. When the Abrahams moved away, they’d sold the horses. So now the apple pickers actually have to walk to where the Honeycrisps grow.
“Me neither,” he agrees. “They’re pooping their way across someone else’s farm now.”
I snicker. “And we don’t have to argue about that job anymore.”
“Right. Really appreciate having you here, though,” he says, tossing a wormy apple into the compost can. “Means a lot, Daph.”
“No problem,” I say quickly. “Wish we could get even more of this done before tonight.”
He gives his head a little shake. “We’re doing fine. It’s nice having you around again. Here and in Burlington. That’s all.”
“Really?” I blurt out.
My brother laughs. “Really. We weren’t always trying to drown each other in the baby pool, right? We had fun sometimes.”
“Yeah. We did,” I admit.
“You could stay in Vermont longer than a year, you know. Just saying.”
I lift my head to argue with him. But I’m not fast enough. He’s already grabbed his empty bushel basket and walked off, whistling to himself.
Dylan likes having me around. But he also likes having the last word. That’s how it is having a twin brother.
And I can’t say I mind.
Not much, anyway.
* * *
It’s a Thursday night in September, and we’re finishing up the Chinese food we all ordered together. I dump the last bit of fried rice onto my brother’s plate. “You know you want this.” Dylan is a bottomless pit, and always has been.
“Thanks. I totally do.”
I carry my plate over to the sink and rinse it. Rickie joins me there. He places a hand lightly on my back. “I ran into Karim in the library. He wants a karaoke rematch. Can you swing it next Wednesday night?”
“Um, no,” I say. “There’s something I need to do. Actually…” I drop my voice to a whisper. “I have a favor to ask. Can I talk to you privately?”
“Any time, baby girl.” He takes the plate out of my hand and puts it into the dishwasher. “Why don’t you step into my office? We can do some filing .” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.
Dylan, with a mouthful of fried rice, makes a disgusted sound. “Stop it with the creepy euphemisms.”
Rickie snickers and leads me into his room, where I close the door. “Do you really need a favor?” he asks.
“Yes.” I sit on the bed.
“A sexual favor?” He climbs behind me and starts rubbing my shoulders.
“No, but you can keep doing that anyway.”
Soft lips kiss my neck. “What can I do for you?”
“Can I drive the Volvo to Connecticut next week? I’d borrow Dylan’s truck, but I don’t want to explain where I’m headed.”
Rickie’s hands go still on my shoulders. “Where are you headed?”
“Harkness. Remember that invitation I showed you? The reception is on Wednesday. I plan to drive down, stay for less than an hour, and drive back.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. He goes back to massaging my shoulders. “Are you just going to schmooze?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’m going to slip into the office and get the postal account password out of that file folder.”
“Daphne, baby. What if you didn’t?”
“What if I didn’t what? ” I demand.
“Didn’t get it. Don’t take that chance,” he says, dropping his hands. “Is it worth it?”
“Yes,” I say immediately. Then I spin around so I can see his solemn face. And there’s a dark look in his eye that makes no sense to me. “I need to fix what he did.”
Rickie sits back, propping himself up on muscular arms, frowning. “You didn’t make that mess, Daphne. It isn’t yours to clean up.”
“But it’s science ,” I insist. “It matters.”
“So write a letter telling the dean where to find this information.”
“No way. If I strike out at him, it has to be ironclad. I need to see the evidence first. Otherwise he’ll bury me.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“No. I can’t,” I insist.
Besides—he’s wrong. I did make this mess. I was in charge of this data. And if I hadn’t slept with Reardon, I would have been able to ring the alarm the moment I saw something was wrong. I wouldn’t have let him blackmail me.
I’m such an idiot. But if I can fix this problem, I won’t have to feel like one anymore.
“Okay,” Rickie says.
My heart lifts. “I can use the car?”
“I’ll drive you down there,” he says. “You let me go with you.”
“Oh my God. You don’t trust me with your car?”
His gray eyes widen. “Baby, I trust you with my car, and I trust you with my life . But I don’t trust the violent fuckface you had the misfortune to date before me. So if you want my wheels, you take me as your plus one.”
“Oh.” My heart practically explodes. “Well okay, then. This thing is Wednesday night. It’s a four-hour drive.”
“I’ll make time, Shipley,” he says, laying a hand on my knee. “I don’t want you to go alone. We’re a team, okay?”
“Okay,” I say softly, because I really like the sound of that. “Okay.”