“I’m not brave like you, Darce. When I take a vacation, I’ll start small.” He smiles like he feels foolish. “The beach in front of your parents’ house was as close as I’ve come to a vacation in years. And I didn’t even get in the water. Sad, I guess, to someone like you.” He eases back from me. “Maybe we can get a life together sometime, before you leave.”

I didn’t expect that. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t done this in a long time. But you’re the best person I know to teach me. Let’s just go get a drink to celebrate. Two weeks into the renovation. I need to talk to you about something important.”

I stiffen in terror. “Oh fuck. Just tell me now.”

He shakes his head. “Trust me.”

* * *

IT’S OUR FAKE date night. Tom wants to talk to me about something, and I think it’s something important, and related to the sexual fog we’re blundering around in. I have never been this nervous waiting for a man.

He’s talking to some guys at the side of the house. They are all looking up at the roof. It’s hard to get used to the fact that my house is now a group project. One of them says something that makes Tom’s head turn toward me.

“Yeah, this is not a girl you keep waiting,” I hear him reply. “Call me if you have any problems.”

“Don’t make me drag you,” I call out to him.

“She would,” he says with a laugh. There’s some hand shaking and now he’s walking up the driveway to me in his clean get-a-life clothes and I think about how being an adult suits him.

As a teenager, he was sweet and straightforward, with zero idea of his own appeal as he hauled himself out of swimming pools while every girl—and some of the boys—in the bleachers paused their music and leaned forward. Looking back on it, I was insane for him.

Now he’s got this huge shape that I can’t get used to, all stacked smoothly into his clothes. His stomach is flat under the waist of his nice jeans and with each step the denim goes tight across the thighs. There are so many steps up the drive. By the time he reaches me, I need a defibrillator.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. What are they doing?” I watch as some ladders are unfolded against the side of the house. “They’re here on a Saturday? That’s weird.”

He herds me up the drive. “They’re just doing some more assessing. We don’t need to be here.”

“Well thank goodness for that, because I’m taking you out to get a life.”

It’s funny, I almost feel like Loretta is here in this moment. If I turn my head just right, she’s at the front door, watching us. A throb of anger surprises me. She told me I should let him go. She bought me a plane ticket. What was so bad about me that I had to be removed? Before I hurt this good, pure person?

“Let’s take a cab. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you remotely drunk.” I try to picture what he might be like with a little less self-control. Can he dance? Can he kiss?

“I’ve got an early start,” he says, like he does every night of his life. His hands are on my waist, I’m given a lift and a boost into the passenger seat, and by the time I’ve caught my breath from the contact we’re driving down Marlin Street.

He glances to me. “Please don’t say we’re going to your bar. I’d like to remain alive tonight.”

I point and he follows my direction. “We’ll go to Sully’s. Let’s have a drink, and we can practice flirting with a few strangers. And then you can bail me out of jail.” He laughs at that and I change the radio over and over. Every song is about hearts. “Have you heard from my brother today?”

Tom sighs. “Of course I have. Many times. Your photos are the only thing keeping him from getting on a plane.”

“What will you do if he shows up?” I turn in my seat, just to watch his profile.

We’re at an intersection, and I watch him as he waits, one hand on the shifter. What a luxury to be able to close my eyes and feel the careful turn of the car; no squealing tire or digging my nails into the side of my seat.

“If he shows up?” Tom considers the question. “I’ll do what I’ve always done. I’ll deal with him.”

“That’s something I’ve never gotten. I mean, I know he’s fun when he’s in the right mood. But how is anything worth the stress he puts you through? How have you stayed his friend all these years?”

I don’t expect an answer and he doesn’t give me one.

His fingers touch my back as we walk through the crowd and find two stools at the bar. There’s a live band doing covers of old eighties songs, and the bartenders don’t have to abuse anyone. The Devil’s End is an ashtray in comparison to this place.

I try to keep my focus on the task at hand: showing Tom how to enjoy himself. It’s hard, because I’m nervous and he’s just staring at me.

“Okay. Getting a life, step one: Get a drink.”

“I think I know how to do that part,” he says, and orders himself a beer, and a glass of wine for me. The female bartender blinks fast when she registers his glory and gives me a congratulatory look.

“I’ll pay.” I scramble, but he hands over payment.

“I bet you pay for people a lot. But it’s my turn. Let me spoil Darcy Barrett a little.” He takes his change. “Let me get a taste of that feeling.”

I relent and take my glass. I feel it, glowing out of him: exceptional, golden happiness. He looks at his phone, texts, and puts it on silent. Then he focuses on me.

“Look at me, living my actual life after work.” He smiles at me and the room recedes. “I can’t believe I have no one to call back. Are you all right? You seem nervous.”

He’s gorgeous. I want him. It’s hard to carry on a polite conversation when those are the only two thoughts in your brain. But he’s noticing my dumb silence and I need to make an effort. “I’m nervous as hell. You want to talk to me about something. I don’t do well in these mystery situations.”

I’m feeling weirdly young and out of my depth. Weak, woozy adrenaline is in my blood. He decides to proceed like this is something we do together all the time.

“Jamie forwarded me the selfie your mom took, after your haircut.” He scrolls back through approximately a million texts from Jamie. It’s Mom, with a tear rolling down her cheek. I laugh and the knot of tension leaves.

“I wish she’d never learned how to take selfies. Imagine her, trying to hold perfectly still with the tear in position while she fumbled around with her phone.” I shake my head. “She sent one this morning, showing me her makeup, but look at Dad in the background. I am scarred for life.”

There’s Mom’s impressive eyeliner artistry in the white cavernous bathroom. In the background of the shot, my dad is on the toilet with his pants around his ankles, his face pure grievance.

“Your dad on the throne.” Tom laughs. “I don’t know how I ever found my way into such a royal family.”

I stretch happily on my stool and dangle my boots back and forth. I have never been this happy. Could this be life for the next three months? It’s so supremely livable.

“Tigers are very noble animals,” I remind him. His nickname from Dad has always been something that makes him a mix of embarrassed and pleased, eyes narrowing to focus on something, his face turning away.

“I’m lucky” is all he can say, touching his fingers on the engraved watch he wears. I know he needs me to change the subject very badly.

“Can we do this every night for the entire renovation?” I smile at his withering sideways glare. “Yeah, yeah. It was worth a try.”

I feel the shoulder of my tank slip for the tenth time and don’t bother fixing it anymore. This bra strap is pretty enough for the real world.

He takes my phone and looks at the picture of my parents again. “They made me realize things weren’t right with Megan.”

“What did they say?” I am incensed.

“They didn’t say anything. You know what they’re like,” he says, an eye narrowed in affection.