Page 27 of Anywhere with You

“Dear goodness,” Cara said.

I was thinking the same, but with less restraint.

Lane’s mom, it turned out, was the only veterinarian in the county, and she rented out her new, professionally decorated, spacious four-bedroom house while she was at conferences and on the very long vacations she took several times a year.

“You’re in luck,” Lane said. “It’s usually booked months in advance, but the guests that were supposed to come this week canceled.

Something about deciding that they couldn’t stand to be in the same house for another second?

That they would rather eat deep-fried batteries than share one more meal?

That they would rather sleep with a bale of barbed wire than with each other?

Something like that. Anyhoo. Too late for a refund.

I’ll ask to be sure, but since you’re in a jam, I’m sure Mom will let you stay for free. ”

Cara gave a hiccuping gasp. I took a step closer to her, worried that the marble countertops were about to bring her to tears.

“It’s gorgeous,” I said, “but this is the middle of nowhere. Why is it usually booked?”

Lane gave me a confused look. “Because of the hot springs, of course.”

Now I was about to cry.

“You’re an angel, Lane,” I said, taking the key and the takeout containers of pie from their hands. “A hero. A saint. You saved our vacation.”

“Please let your mom know how grateful we are,” Cara said. “We can pay her. And we’ll make sure it’s sparkling clean before we leave.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Lane said, grinning. “My cousin does the housekeeping, and he’s an absolute tool. Feel free to invite friends, throw a party, spill some wine. He’ll never get it out of the carpet. Ready to go back to town and get your bags?”

We were. Lane had driven us over in what they called their classic VW Bug, not seeming to understand the difference between classic and decrepit .

There were so many dents and spots of peeled paint that I could honestly tell what the last four colors had been.

But I didn’t complain, and neither did Cara, even though the road back to town was dirt and gravel and the VW had WWII-era shocks.

At the motel, we tossed clothes and shampoos and makeup into suitcases and bags, not caring whose was what, so long as none of it touched the contaminated carpet.

There may have been some spontaneous squeals of happiness, but I’d never swear to it.

I kept looking over at Cara, so overwhelmingly pleased to see her happy that I momentarily forgot that I was happy for other reasons, too—for a beautiful guesthouse, for hot springs, and more than anything else in my life, to not have to spend another second in this motel.

We waddled to the lobby with our load of bags. Cara passed the keys across the desk to the manager with carefully concealed glee.

“I hope you enjoyed your stay,” the manager said.

“Mmph,” she managed through closed lips.

I was openly laughing.

Lane helped us wedge our luggage into one side of the back seat and, when it was clear that wasn’t going to be enough, stacked on top of my feet and lap. I could rest my chin on my guitar case.

“You look squished, Honey. Do you want to switch me? I can—” Cara started.

“There is a hot spring,” I whispered. “Get in the car fast, and we might have time to see it before dark.”

Cara got in fast.

Lane gave us walking directions to the hot spring as they drove to the house. They said, “You can’t miss it,” so many times that I started to get nervous.

They’d already given us the tour of the house, so as soon as we arrived and they’d helped us unload everything into the living room, they left to get back to the diner.

“I know you guys are stuck here without a car. If you want food, just call the diner and I’ll drop it by. I live right over there.” They gestured vaguely, getting back into their rickety car.

We effused thanks.

“If I ever have a child,” Cara said, as we waved from the front door, “I’m naming them Lane.”

“At first, I thought you said you were going to have one with Lane,” I said, “which would not happen. They’re way out of your league.”

“Gee, thanks. I’d be more likely to adopt Lane. They’re probably young enough to be my kid.”

“No way. You’re what, twenty-one?”

Cara shoved me gently. “I’m thirty-six, and I hate that you can say that and it feels like a compliment.”

“I know it. Society is screwed up. Thirties are way better than twenties.”

“In every possible way. Can you imagine us at forty? Fifty? We’ll be unstoppable.”

We stopped talking right inside the front door, staring down at our pile of luggage.

“Deal with it later?” I suggested.

Cara nodded.

It was early afternoon, but we hadn’t eaten since diner leftovers early that morning. The kitchen was fully stocked, a nice touch in a place where, as far as I could tell, they had to have groceries air-dropped in.

Cara made fettuccine Alfredo with canned peas, and it was perfect. We sat at the breakfast nook in the kitchen, not wanting to disturb the place settings in the formal dining room.

“If you will do the cooking,” I said around a mouthful, “I will do all the cleaning while we’re here. Like, all of it. You’re much better at this than me.”

“I poured a jar of sauce on some noodles. Not rocket science.”

“I’ve had badly cooked noodles. Trust me. There is a science to it, rocket or not.”

“Oh no,” Cara said. I looked up, and she shook her head, smiling. “I could’ve made a video for your grandmother while I cooked. This wouldn’t have been good enough anyway. I’ll check the pantry later and see if I can come up with something worthy.”

I impulsively wiped sauce from her chin with my fingers. “That sounds wonderful,” I said. “Double points if it’s chocolate.”

We ate, happy and relaxed, but at one point, I realized we were sitting at a table for four, two empty chairs beside us. I didn’t want to remember all those dinners with Bridget and me, Cara and Lorenzo, but the shadow of those times rose up, just for a moment.

Were they happy? According to Mesmio, they were, but it was easy enough to pretend, in a few minutes of video. I imagined Bridget’s smile failing as soon as the camera was off, and it saddened me, unexpectedly.

But I had no reason to think that Lorenzo wasn’t making her happy, just because I couldn’t.

Still, I didn’t want them here at our table. I wanted Cara and this moment all to myself.

I was absolutely stuffed by the time the food was gone. I groaned in happy misery as I cleared the table, discovered a full wine rack in the kitchen, poured Cara and myself full glasses, and started the dishes.

Once the dishwasher was running, I wiped down the countertops and table while Cara watched. She gave the tiniest gasp when I buffed water drops off the faucet.

I looked at her, but she had turned away, cheeks reddening. I suddenly felt motivated to deep clean every room in this house and see if I could get her to moan.

You never can guess a person’s kink.