keep the windows open. I thought I was going to perspire through my brand-new tux. I really did. But there was a breeze, at least, so I could smell Carly’s perfume, and that helped.”
“What did she smell like?”
“Apples.”
The three-story house was coming into view. Immaculate men and women emerged from their hybrids and their Hummers and strolled up the short brick path to the front portico. Thousands of tiny white lights snaked around the marble columns. It was Christmas in April. Esme rubbed her moist palms on the car seat. She thought of dog’s tongues.
“Go on,” she said to her husband.
“Okay, so, finally we pull up to the valet. Now I’m sixteen, and I don’t know a valet from a hole in the ground but I’m a bright guy, so I quickly figure out the situation. However, I’m also a gentleman, and this is the junior prom, and Carly McGuiness is smelling like apples, so the valet comes over to my door and says hello and I hand him the keys and I open the door to get out and I walk in front of the truck to go open Carly’s door but the truck is still moving—”
“It’s still moving?”
“It’s rolling forward. Not fast, but enough to be noticeable when it bumps me in the ass.”
Esme knew the story, so she also knew her cue: “Oh God, Rafe, did you not shift the truck into Park?”
She laughed and he laughed and they pulled up another car length toward the Liebs. They were fourth in line now. Overhead the moon-sliver glowed like cat’s eye.
“Well, anyway, so, like a doofus I pretended I’d planned the whole thing and I walked over to Carly’s door and said, ‘The boat’s still moving. Would you like me to carry you across the threshold, madam?’”
“Oh, you didn’t.”
Rafe put up his hand in an oath. “I swear. Fortunately, we were friends, so, after grinding the gearshift into Park, she poked me in the ribs and let herself out of the truck. The valet stared at me like I was from Mars. And that was just the start of the evening.”
“Did you get laid, stud?” asked Esme. That part of the story Rafe had never shared, nor had she ever asked. But she was curious. And right now her husband was so adorable she could have eaten him up with a fork and spoon.
“No.” Rafe’s smile faltered a bit. “Just as I had set my sights on Hannah Draper, Carly had her sights set on Dale Dougherty. The only part of Carly that went to bed with me that night was whatever apple perfume had rubbed off on my cheek.”
Esme caressed the back of his hand. “I’m sorry.” And she was. She made a mental note to buy some apple-scented perfume next time she was at the mall. Someone had a fantasy that needed to be exorcised.
“Good evening,” said the valet, “and welcome.”
There were three valets working tonight. They were professional valets. Esme hadn’t realized such a profession still existed, but they did, and she had helped Amy book them for the fundraiser. They wore matching black-and-gold uniforms that were so starch-stiff they might as well have been made of plastic.
Esme tapped Rafe’s hand and pointed at the gearshift.
“Don’t forget,” she teased.
“Har-har-har.” He clicked off the Prius’s ignition, grandly (for her benefit) shifted into Park, and handed the keys to the valet. Then he climbed out of the vehicle and before Esme could reach for the handle, he was at her door.
“Would you like me to carry you across the threshold, madam?”
She replied with a wink. “Later.”
“Ooh.”
She stepped out of the car and joined her husband on the brick walkway. Rafe unsheathed the invitation from his pocket. Without it, they wouldn’t be getting in. In fact, some gate-crasher appeared to be creating some commotion ahead of them at the front door. A small crowd of rubberneckers had formed, blocking Esme’s view of the action. Suddenly, a cell phone went flying through the crowd and crash-landed right at her feet. The crowd parted for the gate-crasher, as he went to retrieve his broken phone. He stopped, though, mid-reach, and matched stares with her.
“Hello, Esmeralda,” Tom said.
23
Tom fucking Piper.
The very sight of the man, here, in his hometown, made Rafe want to spit fire. His groin still recalled (with soreness) their last encounter, back in Amarillo, and now he was here, not five feet away, still wearing that dingy black leather jacket—which he probably slept in. As a sociologist, Rafe