In the Middle of Somewhere (54 page)

I fake gasp and put my hand to my heart.

“Ginger Marie, as I live and breathe!” She flips me off. “Um, well, Rex may be trying to teach me to cook, too….”

“Oh god, what’s to become of us? Domesticated!”

“It’s just ice cream in an ice cube tray, Ginge, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Oh? And what culinary masterpieces have you achieved?”

“Uh. None. I made eggs that actually tasted like what I would imagine it feels like to die. Though I
did
somehow manage to infuse normal toast with such a strong scent of fire that I think it might be considered molecular gastronomy.”

“Molecular what now?”

“Molecular gastronomy. I saw it on one of Rex’s cooking shows. It’s kind of awesome. It’s like, they use dry ice and a bunch of other chemicals to make one food taste like or look like another. So, like, they could make something that looked like coffee ice cream, but then when you taste it, it’s actually meat loaf or something.”

“That’s the grossest thing I’ve ever heard. Why would anyone want meat loaf when they could have coffee ice cream?”

“Um, I don’t think I explained it well.”

We put the ice cube trays in the freezer and drop back on the couch as Jack Skellington’s minions are abducting Santa.

“God, Oogie Boogie has the sexiest voice,” Ginger says, and I nod.

“Oh, hey, Rex wanted to get you a Chanukah present, but when I told him about the whole free thing—”

“Which you cheated on.”

“Which I cheated on. Anyway, he says that if you want, he’ll build you new shelves in the back of the shop if he’s in Philly again. He says he noticed that yours were uneven.”

“He was only downstairs for, like, two minutes.”

“Dude, he’s creepy observant. It’s….” I shake my head, remembering how I reaped the benefits of Rex’s incredible powers of observation last night. How he held me down and explored every inch of my body, watching my reactions and zeroing in on all the places that had me squirming until, after what felt like hours, I was trembling in his arms, every touch electrifying, begging for him to be inside me. I shiver and shake it off, but Ginger is watching me like she can see the film reel playing in my head. I clear my throat.

“Well, that’s nice of him. Tell him I’ll give him any tattoo he wants in exchange.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“What? Why?”

Because Rex is perfect as he is. Flawless. Because he’s already a work of art. Because I don’t want anyone touching him but me. Not even Ginger.

“Um, I just… like him as he is….”

“Wait, what do you mean
if
he’s in Philly again? Why wouldn’t he be?”

“His words. I think he just didn’t want to assume.”

“Why shouldn’t he assume?”

“No, I mean, he should. I just. I don’t know. Who knows what’ll happen. If I’ll get the Temple job; if Rex would actually move if I did get it.”

“Didn’t he say he would?”

“Yeah.”

Ginger pulls out her phone and clicks around, giving me a very Ginger look.

“Hey, Rex,” she says.

“What the hell, Ginge?”

“I’m going to need confirmation on something. Did you or did you not tell Daniel that you would move to Philadelphia with him if he gets the job at Temple?”

“Ginger!” I hiss.

“Uh-huh, that’s what I thought. And did he or did he not agree to move in with you, whether or not that happens?”

“Ginger, give me the goddamn phone.”

“Excellent. I’m so happy for you both.”

“Ginger!”

“Hey, are my shelves really so crooked that you—”

I grab the phone from her and glare.

“Hi,” I say. “Sorry. She just, um, called.”

“Hi,” Rex says, his warm voice growly over the phone.

“Um, what are you up to?” I ask. I can picture him, drinking a beer in front of the Food Network, Marilyn curled by the fire, our Christmas tree lit up. God, I already miss him and I haven’t even been gone for twelve hours.

“And what are you wearing?” Ginger yells from the kitchen.

Rex chuckles softly.

“Actually,” he says, and he sounds a little shy all of a sudden, “I was using your computer. I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, sure. What for?”

“I was looking at a slideshow of stuff to do in Philadelphia.”

“Yeah?” There’s a warm flutter behind my ribs.

“Mmhmm. And as for what I’m wearing, well. I’ll leave that to your imagination.”

I groan, Rex’s words turning the warm flutter in my chest to a heat that dips considerably lower.

“Ooh, they’re perfect!” Ginger calls from the kitchen.

“What are you guys up to?” Rex asks.

“Making Michigan-shaped ice cream thingies.”

“Well, I’ll let you get back to your Chanukah,” Rex says seriously. I love that he respects how important my traditions with Ginger are.

“Okay. I… I miss you.” My voice is almost a whisper. I don’t know why I’m so self-conscious that Ginger might hear me.

“Hey, Daniel.” Rex’s voice is liquid heat. “I love you. I miss you too.”

I can feel myself flushing. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to hearing those words in Rex’s deep voice. They’re like a brand, marking me, claiming me.

“I love you too,” I say softly, hunching around the phone like I can direct the words more precisely to him.

“I’ll see you in a few days, baby.” I can practically see Rex’s smile, tender and satisfied.

“Bye.”

When I turn around, Ginger’s standing in the doorway to the kitchen, her expression soft. She’s licking an upper peninsula thoughtfully.

“So, what’s your pleasure this year?” Her expression turns mischievous. “Maybe Rex’s name on your ass? Ooh, or the cabin? I do a really good wood grain.”

I flip her off and she grins, but I can’t help but wonder how Rex would react if he pulled my pants down and saw his name scrawled across my ass in Ginger’s gorgeous script.

I fumble through my jacket pockets and pull out my keys.

“I want this.” I hand Ginger the wooden keychain in the shape of Michigan that Rex put the key to the cabin on. “And a little heart here.” I point to where Holiday would be.

“Oh crap, babycakes, that’s so good.” She sounds awed. “Let me grab the stuff from downstairs.”

It’s a small piece, but it turns out beautifully. In the end, Ginger convinced me that we should add the chain and the key. It’s so detailed and realistic that it looks like Rex just dropped the key on my chest.

“You’re sure it’s not too sappy that we put it over my heart?” I ask her, gazing down at it in awe.

“Too late, sucker,” she says, but she’s looking at the piece with satisfaction. She takes a picture with her phone. “No, I think it’s perfect.”

“It is perfect.”

“Should I send Rex the picture?”

“No. I want to surprise him.”

I stroke lightly over the key, glad that I’ll take the slight ache of the needle with me tomorrow when I try and confront Colin.

I lean back and let my eyes go unfocused as I look at the Chanukah tree. It’s a beautiful blur of green and blues. It’s almost like I’m looking through the window at Rex’s cabin—
our
cabin. Like it’s early in the morning and I’m still half-asleep, Rex’s warmth behind me, his face buried in my neck, and I’m looking out at the pine trees and blue sky. I can almost feel his arms around me, smell that mixture of cedar and pine and wood smoke that is Rex’s alone.

I close my eyes and let my hand rest on my chest. I’m not sure what’s going to happen in the next year. Whether I’ll get the Temple job or not. Whether I’ll stay in Holiday or move back to Philly. But, for the first time, the uncertainty isn’t freaking me out. Because I know that Rex will be there—wherever there is. And now I can look down at this key anytime I want and see my connection to him. See my way home.

R
OAN
P
ARRISH
grew up in Michigan and lives in Philadelphia, but is always a few minutes away from deciding to move. A former academic, she’s used to writing things that no one reads. She still loves to geek out about books, movies, TV, and music—now, though, she’s excited to be writing the kind of romantic, angsty stories that she loves to escape into. When not writing, she can usually be found cutting her friends’ hair, wandering through whatever city she’s in while listening to torch songs and melodic death metal, or cooking overly elaborate meals. One time she might or might not have baked a six-layer chocolate cake and then thrown it out the window in a fit of pique. She loves bonfires, winter beaches, minor chord harmonies, and cheese. But mostly cheese.

You can find her on her website or on twitter. Have questions/comments/ pictures of octopi? Want to recommend a strong cheese or express a strong opinion? Drop her a line on e-mail. She’d love to hear from you.

Website: http://www.roanparrish.com

Twitter: @RoanParrish

E-mail: [email protected]

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