I put it back down and chewed on my noodles. The soup was spicy and I began to sweat. I refused to believe it was from nerves, and I took a fortitudinous sip of my wine. When the soup was gone, I washed out the plastic dish and put it in the recycle bin. I debated putting on my pajamas and going to bed. See? I can do avoidance like nobody’s business.

I suspected I wouldn’t sleep without knowing the contents of that stupid envelope. I picked it up and used my thumb to break the seal. One sheet of paper fell out. It fluttered to the counter like a bird with a broken wing. I scooped it up and read.

Ms. Martin:

The hot tub is a part of the pool and as such is off limits.

Daire

Well, that was coldly to the point, wasn’t it? I sighed in disappointment, knowing that I should be grateful that he hadn’t decided to kick me to the curb, given that this was my thirty-day probationary period and all. Still, I was a bit hurt that there was no acknowledgment of my drawing. My artist’s pride was not taking it well. Daire had probably thrown it in the trash. One woman’s art was another man’s garbage, after all.

I wandered over to the window and glanced out at the pool, which was empty, and the hot tub, also vacant, and then turned my gaze to the house. The drapes were all drawn. Jackson had been the first sign of life I’d seen from the big house and now he was gone, swallowed back up into the cloaked abyss. In a weird way, the lack of life about the place depressed me. Much like the bare walls in this guest house.

Daire had probably already gone to bed. If he had a live-in caregiver, or whatever Jackson was, he must be in very poor health. I managed to dig up a little empathy for him, but it was a struggle as I gazed at the lovely purple glow of the hot tub and pondered how glorious a glass of wine would be while soaking under the stars. My sigh was as gusty as a storm front that vanishes right before the rain.

There had to be a way to get Daire to give in, and I was just the woman to find it.

Nick

8

“What was she like?” I asked.

“Fine,” Jackson answered. He lumbered into the room, catching sight of his reflection in the far windowpane and pausing to flex, just the pecs. I rolled my eyes. Jackson could never pass a reflective surface without checking out some part of his muscled physique.