them with interest.
“Rock on, girl,” I encourage her.
She plunges back in, pulling out a huge pile and slams it on the newspaper. “And that’s for having your thugs attack my bestie, Flynn.”
I chuckle over her antics, happy to see that she can find something to laugh about. “That was probably the best therapy you could ever do to move past Juice.”
We both share a secret smile over that, continuing to work on our pumpkins. Then our chuckles die down and we work in silence for a while.
Rowan had brought these stupid pumpkins home and said she wanted to carve them for Halloween, which is less than a week away. I didn’t particularly care to do it, because I think it’s a useless holiday, but her enthusiasm was infectious and here we now stand, shoulder to shoulder, mutilating these poor cucurbits.
Stepping back to survey our now empty pumpkin shells, I ask, “What do we do with all the innards?”
“Well, I read online that we can roast them.”
We stare at the huge pile of pulp and seeds on the table, then look at each other. At the same time, we both shake our head, and say, “Nah.”
“I’m too lazy to do it,” Rowan says.
“Me too.”
I gather all the corners of the newspapers, rounding the entire pumpkiny mess up, and toss it in the garbage. Rowan lays fresh newspaper under our shells and we both give our hands a scrubbing in the sink.
“So… now what?”
She hands me back my knife, holding the blade and presenting me with the handle. “Now we carve.”
I’m not much of an artist and I don’t have the patience to skillfully chip away at the pumpkin, so I opt for the classic triangle eyes and nose. Glancing over at Rowan, I see she’s trying something a bit more exotic. Her pumpkin’s eyes have a cat-like slant to them with delicately arched eyebrows.
I’m impressed.
“Nix told me what your tattoos mean.”
The statement comes out of left field and for a second, I have no clue what she’s talking about. Then I understand.
“Always faithful,” I confirm.
“He told me you did it to honor him.”
I nod, jabbing my pumpkin in the left eye. “In hindsight, it’s kind of silly. I mean, how do you ever really honor someone like Nix for what he did, right?”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s silly at all. I think having those words inked on you is beautiful. I think the words also fit you perfectly.”
Surprised, my eyes fly upward to meet hers. They are gray pools of warm mercury, swirling with tenderness and affection, and the look hits me hard. I’ve been spending weeks with Rowan, vacillating between wanting to fuck her and wanting to cultivate this friendship that she puts such stock in.
But this look she’s giving me now? It makes me want it all... badly. It makes me ache with desire to just hold her, not in a friendly fashion, but not in a sexual fashion. I want to hold her intimately, and have her pour out all of her pain to me. I want to take care of her, covet her, and make everything in her life better. Not because I think she’s broken, but because she makes me a better person and I want to honor that.
“So what else did you and Nix talk about?” I ask, averting my eyes so hopefully this overwhelming need to sink into her goes away.
She’s silent for a moment but then she says, “He said you were in love with me?”
My eyes fly up to hers again, and there is the sadness and the fear I saw before. “And what did you think about that?”
“I told him you were just in lust with me,” she says with a bitter smile on her face.
“Hmmm,” I muse. “Is there a difference?”
Rowan shrugs her shoulders. “Nix doesn’t seem to think so. He says it’s a man-thing.”
I watch as Rowan continues to push her knife into the pumpkin, twisting it slightly to chip small pieces out. She looks strong and vulnerable all at the same time and I have no control over what I do next.
Reaching a hand out, I smooth it along her face and cup her behind her head. She’s surprised by the touch, and instinctively turns to look at me, allowing me to grip her neck. “I want to kiss you, Rowan.”
I pull her closer and she doesn’t fight me... at first.
But as soon as my mouth is just inches from hers, her hands sneak up to push against my chest. “Stop, Flynn.”
My chest constricts painfully over her denial but I don’t release her. She doesn’t push me farther away either.
I look at her... deeply... intently. “Rowan... why? There’s a connection here. You feel it, right?”
She quickly nods her head to assure me. “Yes... I feel it like the sun... it’s warm and encompassing. But I’m too afraid. I just can’t.”
I release her suddenly, needing the physical distance. Taking a few steps back, I lean against the counter, placing my hands on the edge by my hips. “Then explain it to me... again. Let’s talk about it. Let’s see if we can figure something out.”
I think she’s going to balk for just a second, because Rowan isn’t exactly known for her openness. However, she pulls the kitchen chair out from the table and sits down with a sigh, laying her carving knife down in front of her.
“My dad is a judge—very well known, highly respected. My mom is a socialite, also well known, probably not as respected since she was a trophy wife for him. He’s twenty-six years her senior.”
I don’t say anything but walk up and pull the other chair out, sitting down across from her. She continues.
“My dad was, I think, like around forty-eight when they had me, and frankly, I don’t think he was interested in having kids. He was well on his way to a successful career on the bench and his career was everything. But my mom was young and wanted them, so he gave in.”
“So you probably grew up in a pretty posh lifestyle, right?”
“Yup, although judges don’t make as much as you think they do. My mom is the one that had family money. Her family are ranchers... cattle mostly, but they are very successful at it. At any rate, growing up was okay. My dad paid no attention to me, and while my mom did at first, over the years even that faded away. She was never able to get pregnant again, and she filled her time by playing tennis and having lunch with her lady friends at the country club.”
Rowan pauses and gives me a sly grin. “Do you know what happens to a teen girl who gets no attention from her parents?”
“You rebel,” I answer, because that’s an obvious answer.
“That’s right. And boy, did I rebel. I was drinking and doing drugs by the time I was fifteen. I lost my virginity at that same age. I came home shit-faced that night, and bragged about it to my parents. Told them how Sam Cantor popped my cherry in the back seat of his daddy’s Lexus. I used that exact wording.”
“What did they do?” I ask, slightly horrified. I couldn’t ever imagine doing something like that and bragging about it to my parents. But then again, my parents doted on Renner and me. We never lacked for their attention.
“My dad just looked at me... but it was like he was looking right through me, you know? And he said, ‘I’m sorely disappointed, young lady’. Then he turned to my mom and said, ‘You need to handle this outburst, Susan. I can’t have this shit marring my public image’. He walked away and never mentioned the incident to me again.”
“What did your mom do?”
Rowan gives out a little laugh, filled with bitter humor. “She at least took a little time with me. She asked me to please behave so I didn’t disappoint my father, and also wanted to make sure I was practicing safe sex.”
“That was it? You didn’t get in any trouble?” I’m astounded her parents would ignore that. If it were my daughter, she would have been grounded until she was twenty-five at least.
