Page 65 of It's One of Us

Home. Olivia has exactly zero desire to be home. To help Park find his way out of this mess. Serves him right.

She ignores the text, ignores the vibration and ring that come moments later, too. She puts the phone into her back pocket, swipes the notification off her watch face, and is down two steps when the door opens behind her, and a deep voice says, “Liv?”

She freezes on the stairs, grabbing onto the handrail.

His voice. Vertigo. Her world spins, a kaleidoscope of possibilities. The offers, the joys, the regrets, smash cutting into this moment. His voice again, softer, aching.

“God, it is you. Aren’t you going to say hello?”

She turns into the face of the sun and is blinded.

Perry has grown since she’s last seen him. He’s two inches taller and fifty pounds heavier, but it is all muscle, easy to tell because he is shirtless, skin gleaming, and his hair, longer than she’s ever seen it, even in photos, runs in wet rivulets over his shoulders. He’s bigger than Park, fitter, too. Park’s physique, while still trim, has begun to blur around the edges lately—too much stress, too many bottles of wine, a sedentary office job. Perry is an outdoorsman, and it shows, long, ropy, all the way down to the grooves of muscle that disappear beneath the folds of the white towel hitched low around his hips, being held with a single hand. Not that she’s looking.

“Perry,” she says, the word a slow, deep breath. “You’re home.”

He grins. “And I’m soaking. Come in while I get dressed?”

“I shouldn’t. I...” She falters and shakes her head. “Sure. Of course.”

He disappears into the guest room; she makes a cup of tea. Grabs a second cup, just in case. He’s back before she’s had a chance to decide what to say, smiling again—why is he smiling, like he’s happy to see her?—and saves her.

“Oh good, tea. Thank you.”

“You still don’t drink coffee?”

“No. Nasty stuff. Give me a good old-fashioned cup of English Breakfast any day. How are you, Liv?”

From anyone else, this would be a simple interrogative. From him, it feels like being shriven. They’d been close friends long before they were lovers, and she realizes with a start how much she’s missed him.

“You’re doing really well for yourself.” He waves a hand. “The business suits you.”

“I assume Lindsey has filled you in?”

He gives her a look, one she recognizes from high school, the familiarity of it juddering through her spine. When they were young, he would have said, “Duh, dummy,” and she would have punched him on the arm, both of them hooting with laughter. Now he only smiles, the adult version of their old game.

“You are rather popular. And you have a website, social media. I check in.”

The juddering turns into a flutter, mid-abdomen, and she smiles despite herself. “You do?”

“I mean, not all the time. Only when I have Wi-Fi.”

“I’ve seen your work, too. You’re a bit more famous than me.”

“I am hardly famous. Let’s go with well-known in certain esoteric circles.”

“But the photographs—they’re beautiful.”

“I still have the camera. I use it all the time.”

A spike of pleasure. “The one my dad was going to sell on eBay? My grandfather’s Olympus?”

“Penny the Pentax. The very one. She’s in my bag right now. Fantastic camera. Still my go-to when I want to shoot on film.”

Olivia is deeply touched by this. She tries to cover her discomfiture by staring over his shoulder at the kitchen, then at her lap. Anywhere but at him. She takes a sip of the tea. It’s already cooling. “I should find Lindsey some new cups. These don’t keep their heat.”

“So Linds may have mentioned you and Park were having some difficulties.”

“You needn’t be oblique.”