Page 66 of When I Picture You

“No,” Renee groaned. “Why?”

“It’s late, almost ten.”

“So?”

Renee turned on her side so she was facing Lola and snuggled down into the bed, so her head was nestled below Lola’s chin, their breasts pressed together, their bellies, their legs, and all of it so lovely and soft.

“Don’t make me miss you,” Renee mumbled.

“Okay.” Lola smiled into the crown of Renee’s head.

Her answer was a contented sigh.

IT WAS AFTERNOONbefore they made it out of bed, after sex, sleepy and slow, hands moving over skin under the down duvet.

“I cannot believe you wanted to get up so early,” Renee said as she laid out the ingredients for an epic breakfast. “We have nowhere to be, plus there’s a three-hour time change.”

“I’m not used to lying around.” Lola passed Renee a mug of coffee. They’d quickly established that Lola was not suited to food prep duty. “And I didn’t expect you’d be so into snuggling.”

“I’m usually not,” Renee admitted.

Lola bit her lip, pleased. “Well, usually I have a hard time sleeping with someone else in the bed.”

Renee looked up from the onion she was chopping. “Shit, I’m sorry—do you want one of the other beds?”

“No,” Lola said. “Absolutely not. I slept great. I feel incredible, honestly.”

Renee’s grin was crooked, satisfied but still hungry, and Lola knew she was wearing the same expression. She slid in behind Renee and ran her hands up her back.

“Stop that, or we’re never going to have anything to eat,” Renee said, even as she pressed her hips against Lola’s.

Because Lola was also hungry for food, she dropped a kiss between Renee’s shoulder blades, then gave her space in the kitchen. She explored the living room, looking at family photos, a TV with an old DVD player, shelves stuffed with worn paperbacks and board games. In the corner, an acoustic guitar leaned against the wall.

She brushed her thumb experimentally across the strings. It was a battered thing, the varnish worn and one of the pegs chipped.

“That’s Dave’s,” Renee said. “I’m sure he’d love it if you played it.”

“Maybe I’ll go tune it on the deck while you finish cooking?” Lola said tentatively.

“I’ll bring everything out when it’s ready.”

Lola pulled on a fleece and, outside, settled into an Adirondack chair in full sunlight. She tuned the guitar, then let her fingers wander over the strings as she watched the lake. The water was a thousand shades of blue, the quiet punctuated only by her playing and the warble of birds.

When Renee had suggested they escape L.A., Lola hadn’t really believed it would achieve much. She’d been so overwhelmed, she’d have agreed to go anywhere. She’d never done anything remotely like this before—running off without even her security, asking Cassidy to cancel her obligations, texting Gloriana that she’d be unreachable for a few days at Renee’s family lake house. Once they were on the plane, she’d imagined it might be a nice break, before she finally confessed to Gloriana that the songwriting part of her brain was broken. As for her and Renee, she hadn’t dared to hope for anything.

Lola had not once considered that she might actually feel peaceful here—that that was what Renee had wanted to give her. One day and, already, the sharp mid-autumn sunlight and quiet rustling of the trees, stirred by the breeze from the lake, made the demands of her career and the people who issued them feel so distant. Renee had threatened not to give her the Wi-Fi password, but Lola didn’t evenwant it now. Her phone was somewhere inside—wherever they’d dropped their things last night.

No deadlines, no publicity, no fans, no record labels, no manager, no team. Just her and Renee.

Her and Renee.

Four more days of this. Already she wanted more.

Lola was picking out a melody when Renee appeared with plates of scrambled eggs and potatoes with onions and bacon, a bottle of ketchup under her arm, and set them on the weathered table.

“What are you playing?” she asked.

“Nothing, just messing around,” Lola said as she set the guitar aside.