her. “Now it’s over here.” He got back in as she sat up beside him. Both of them sat, studying the empty space between the two nightstands.
“That’s a lot of pent-up sexual energy,” she decided.
“I’d say massive amounts. Has this ever happened to you before?”
“It’s a first.”
“Me, too.” He turned, grinned at her. “I’m going to mark it down on the calendar.”
Laughing, she twined her arms around his neck. “Let’s leave it here for now, see if we can move it back again later.”
“There are a lot of other beds in this house. We could experiment. I think . . . Shit. Shit. Pent-up sexual energy. Abra, the bed’s here, the nightstands, and the condoms are over there. I didn’t think. I couldn’t think.”
“We’re okay. I’m on birth control. How long have you been storing up your sexual energy?”
“Some over a year.”
“Same here. I think that area of safety’s covered, so to speak. Why don’t we hydrate, eat, then see what else we can move?”
“I really like the way your mind works.”
She was right about the soup. It was exceptional. He’d begun to think she was very rarely wrong about anything.
They sat at the kitchen island, he in flannel pants and a sweatshirt, Abra in one of his grandmother’s robes. Eating soup, hunks of bread, drinking wine, talking about movies she claimed he had to see or books they’d both read.
He told her about his find in the house’s library. “It’s interesting, definitely written by a woman with a male pseudonym.”
“That sounds biased and a little snarky.”
“Not meant that way,” he claimed. “Writer’s a word without gender. But this struck me as female, especially given the era it was written in. It’s a little flowery, definitely romantic. I liked it, even if it should’ve been labeled fiction.”
“I’d like to be the judge of that. Can I borrow it?”
“Sure. I thought, given the trench, I’d take a pass through the library here, read what we’ve got on the legend, the Calypso, on Nathanial Broome and my ancestor Violeta.”
“Now that’s a project I can get behind. I always meant to ask Hester if I could borrow some of the books, but never did. I tend toward fiction or self-help.”
Since he considered her one of the most self-aware and contented women he’d ever met, he had to ask, “What help does your self need?”
“Depends on the day. But when I first moved here I still felt a little unsteady. I read a lot of books on finding balance, dealing with trauma.”
He laid a hand over hers. “I don’t want to bring back bad memories, but I want to ask how long he got.”
“Twenty years. The prosecutor was pushing for rape, battery, attempted murder, and he would’ve faced life. So they pleaded it down to aggravated sexual assault, adding in the knife, and held to the maximum. I didn’t think he’d take it, but—”
“Factor in the stalking, the premeditation in breaking into your place, eyewitnesses in your neighbors. He was smart to take it. How are you about the twenty?”
“I’m good with it. Satisfied with it. When he comes up for parole, I intend to go in, speak to the board. I intend to take the photos of me after the assault. I like to think it’s not vindictive, but—”
“It’s not.”
“I don’t really care if it is, and I’ve made peace with my own needs on it. I do know I feel lighter with him in prison, and I’ll do what I can to keep him there. Away from me, away from someone else he might focus on. So I found my balance, and every now and then I like a little boost, or something that opens me up to a different way of thinking.”
With a smile, she spooned up more soup. “How’s your balance, Eli?”
“Right now I feel like I could do handsprings across a tightrope.”
She laughed into her wine. “Sex is the best invention.”
“No argument here.”
“Maybe you should write some sex into your book, unless you think it’s too female and flowery.”
“I sense a challenge.”
“Wouldn’t you like your hero to find his balance in the end?” She leaned over, brushed her lips lightly to his. “I’d love to help you with your research.”
“I’d be a fool to say no.” Eyes on hers, he slid his hand up her thigh. “The kitchen floor still looks good.”
“We should see how it feels.”
As she angled toward him, the doorbell chimed.
“Damn it. Hold that thought.”
He found Vinnie at the door, and realized he hadn’t hit balance