of ways.
“Don’t be sorry. I’m not.”
“I take it back.”
“Good. You can have it.”
“Thank you,” said Cotton.
“You’re welcome.”
And then she laughed because they spoke the same language, even if it didn’t make any sense.
Humdiddle.
Twenty-Six
Ria lay on the trampoline, reacclimating to having her contacts in again. She stared up at the sky, watching the clouds and waiting for Sean. They had a dinner date—he was taking her somewhere “special”—but she was still full from Cotton’s delicious omelet. Maybe if she concentrated, she could will her stomach into digesting faster.
That underground pond was so mysterious. The cold dark of it. With no bottom, no way to know where it ended. That had been risky, going in. But worth it. Definitely. Fear had been right to make an appearance, but she was glad not to have let it hold her back. And cutting Cotton’s hair had been so . . .
Sean.
She needed to think about Sean.
She held herself as still as she could, keeping her muscles taut and tense. Trying not to move the trampoline one tremor’s worth. She tempered her breathing to slow, working toward totally immobile. Every bit of movement, no matter how small, sent a shiver across the tight bed. It was a silly game the team used to play at the dry gym. Someone always started laughing, setting off all kinds of vibrations that always led to more. Now she remembered, the trick wasn’t holding herself tense, it was the not-holding. Complete and utter relaxation was key.
She let loose, trying to be noodled. The cave set her mind racing too much to be still. She needed to focus on something solid and steady. Like Cotton. Only he didn’t calm her either. She laughed to herself thinking of his superhero talk and squid.
“What are you doing?” Sean’s voice broke into her daydream.
She sat up, blinking and reacquainting herself with here and now. She could feel her hair, loaded with static electricity, sticking straight out.
Sean wore pressed khaki slacks, the crease down the middle of his leg looked sharp and straight. It was obvious his crisp white shirt was brand-new. It fit him snug in the shoulders, and the short sleeves wrapped around his biceps, showing off his swimmer’s tan.
“Do I need to change?” She slipped off the trampoline and landed next to him, trying to convince her hair to lie flat.
“I thought you might wear a dress. But you don’t have to.” Something in his voice sounded off.
Ria thought a minute. Not so much about the dress, but the way he looked stiff and nervous. She smiled and tucked her arm in his. “You can be the pretty one tonight.”
At his mother’s car, Sean opened the door. He reached in and grabbed a bouquet of pink roses. “These are for you, my lady.”
She hesitated, then played along. “Thank you, sir.”
Inside the car, the smell of his cologne, musky and deep, filled the air. She buried her nose in the roses, but the smell of his after-shave was stronger. He had a tiny spot of blood on his cheek, from shaving. If she told him, he’d be embarrassed. Maybe if she ignored it, it would fade away.
The restaurant, La Roche, was a small white house perched beside the dam, overlooking the river. The sound of rushing water was almost deafening, and yet had no specific sound. It was like an overwhelming wall of white noise.
“Let’s go look.”
“After dinner. We’re going to be late for our reservation.”
He put his arm around her as they walked up the cobbled stone path to the front porch. A green sign on the lawn said Gastronomie in fancy curlicue letters. “What does that mean? It sounds like a stomach bug. Or a snail. Isn’t that a kind of snail?”
“It’s French, Ria. Shh.”
“Shh?”
Sean was too busy opening the door with a flourish and bow to explain. She had the distinct feeling he had practiced this move at home. Probably in front of a mirror. Several times.
Inside, an overwhelming smell of lavender and garlic hit Ria in the face.
“Whoa. Looks like they’re expecting a fairy-princess invasion.”
The entire restaurant was decked out in fluff and lace. Little white lights that hung from the ceiling blinked gently amid pink and white ribbons. The hostess led them through the main room and around the corner into an alcove. Here there were four small tables, two taken by couples, each one covered in a white linen tablecloth with a doily topping that made her think of homemade valentines. China bowls filled with white