Desire and the Deep Blue Sea

by Olivia Dade

  “We aren’t doing it for the sake of good TV. It’s more of a humanitarian mission than anything else. A good deed.” A gleaming swath of jet-black hair swung in front of her face, hiding her expression. “Aren’t Boy Scouts like you supposed to like good deeds?”

  His head gave a warning twinge, as it often did when Irene got that particular tone.

  “I don’t know. It still seems a bit…manipulative, I guess. And I wasn’t a Boy Scout.” He hesitated, then amended, “Not for long, anyway.”

  She snickered. “Nailed it.”

  “Irene…” He scrubbed his face with both hands.

  “Trust me.”

  He didn’t. But he also didn’t object when she sent a quick note to their boss.

  I think we have our next episode. Suggestions for the crew forthcoming.

  Chapter One

  Coffee. Sebastián needed coffee. Preferably in IV form, administered stat.

  An entire week loomed ahead of him, full of cameras and microphones and intrusive questions and strangers and too-tight spaces. Full of Lucy and the prospect of her imminent departure.

  Not since high school had he confronted such an exciting array of horrors, and he hadn’t missed that tug of dread deep in his gut. It was a familiar but unwelcome companion, dragging him by the hand into shadows.

  So yeah, if he didn’t plan to break his promise to his best friend—and he wouldn’t, although he knew she would react to his about-face with her usual easygoing acceptance—he could at least ensure he remained adequately caffeinated, despite his pre-dawn awakening and early arrival at work. Despite the entire day of—God help him—filming that awaited him.

  His fellow early-bird coworkers had gathered around the employer-provided gourmet coffee machine, their version of an old-school water cooler. But he didn’t have any choice in the matter. He couldn’t wait them out, not this morning.

  They moved aside so he could reach the machine, and their conversation—something about sacks and yardage—continued while he filled his stainless-steel mug.

  Only Gwen greeted him with a nod, her silver-streaked ponytail swinging. “Morning.”

  She still hadn’t given up on him, even after a year. Nice lady, but entirely too persistent.

  “Morning.” He nodded to her and swiveled toward the mini-refrigerator. Just a splash of milk, and he’d be—

  “We were just talking about the game last night. Are you a football fan, Sebastián?”

  At her question, all the other engineers turned to him, and he paused.

  Football didn’t interest him. Fútbol was more his speed. But they didn’t need to know that. If he told them, maybe they’d make a snide comment about how much “foreigners” loved soccer, and maybe they wouldn’t.

  To be fair, they probably wouldn’t.

  He still wasn’t willing to risk it.

  “Sure,” he said, pouring the milk carefully into his mug.

  Bill, the resident expert on all things sports-related, brightened. “Any particular team? The Rams? The Raiders?”

  Sebastián never should have told them he’d moved from California, but how could he avoid a direct question without damaging his already-tenuous relationships with his colleagues? And how could he get out of this conversation with speed but without outright rudeness?

  “They’re all great.” A quick sip from his mug established that he’d added enough milk. “Listen, I need to get going. I’m leaving work early today, and I have a few projects to complete before then. Have a good day, everyone.”

  A forced smile, this one directed at the whole group, before he made his escape.

  One obstacle down. But compared to what lay ahead of him, an entire day of public exposure and claustrophobic rooms and Lucy, the conversation at the water cooler was nothing. He’d need to keep a tight lid on himself. More so than usual, even.

  At his desk, he put in his earbuds and started a MATLAB simulation running. And when Gwen called across the room and asked him where he was going later that day, he pretended not to hear.

  “This cozy cabin is one hundred and twenty square feet, has one sleeping loft, and comes in ten thousand dollars below the top end of your budget.” Allie gestured toward the dilapidated wooden shack nestled among the trees. “I think it’s a great option for you.”

  Lucy pursed her lips, attempting not to laugh on camera. Cozy was clearly real-estate-agent code for ridiculously small.

  Sebastián said nothing, just studied the structure in silence. Then again, Lucy hadn’t expected him to express his opinion without prompting. After all these years, he was unlikely to change his communication style, whether or not cameras and a boom mic hovered nearby.

  “What are your first impressions?” Allie asked.

  Lucy searched for a diplomatic answer. “I love the setting. Very tranquil.”

  Sure, she wouldn’t actually live in this area much longer, and the house didn’t come with the property. But maybe viewers wouldn’t remember that.

  “You won’t leave much of a carbon footprint with this option.” Allie’s smile seemed brighter than normal. Wider too. “And what an opportunity to make this place your own with a few minor updates!”

  More code. By a few minor updates, Lucy assumed Allie meant extensive renovations to keep your flimsy new home from collapsing under the weight of an errant chipmunk.

  Allie rapped on a piece of dry, cracked siding with her knuckles. Then, when it creaked ominously at the contact, she snatched her hand away. “Just look at the lovely natural patina of this wood.”

  Ah, yes. Patina. Also known as dry rot.

  Ostensibly, Allie was talking to her, but Lucy’s friend and real estate agent kept both eyes on the camera at all times. And during each break in filming, she didn’t hang out with Lucy and Sebastián. Not even to tell them one of her notoriously dirty jokes or share recent pictures of her kids. Instead, she kept company with the crew, asking them questions and dropping tidbits from her own résumé.

  For years, Allie had talked about leaving what she considered the stifling confines of Marysburg, not to mention the orbit of her feckless ex-husband. Lucy just hadn’t realized the search for a tiny house was meant to serve as her friend’s exit plan. She should have, though, when Allie had pushed her to apply for Tiny House Trackers.

  And really, Allie should grasp this opportunity. Her friend deserved the future of her dreams. If Lucy had hoped for a bit more support during this process, that was a problem with her, not Allie. This was, it seemed, yet another occasion in which Jarrod’s complaints about Lucy’s naïveté had proven correct.

  Even two months after their breakup, she could still hear his voice. His disdain.

  She slipped her hand into the pocket of her skirt. Her worry stone—amethyst for calm—slid into her palm, a welcome and familiar weight. She rubbed her thumb against the smooth, cool surface as she contemplated her first tiny house possibility.

  She turned to Sebastián. “What do you think?”

  “What I think isn’t important.” He stepped closer to her, his black hair shining almost blue in the dappled forest sunlight. “This experience is all about you. So what are your first impressions?”

  She bit her lip. “I’d hoped it would be a bit bigger.”

  At least two hundred square feet, as she’d told Allie. Big enough for Hairy Garcia, her energetic golden retriever. Big enough to have room for her massage table.

  “Well, you wanted a tiny house!” Allie laughed, but her eyes narrowed in warning. “You need to be realistic, Lucy.”

  A comment she’d heard before, too many times. Lucy studied the leaves underfoot, her thumb circling and circling.

  “I believe she asked for at least two hundred square feet.” Sebastián widened his stance, his right eyebrow cocked. “This is significantly smaller than that.”

  Her shoulders unknotted, and she let out a slow breath of relief. Yes. Yes, that was exactly what she’d have said to Allie, if only she’d had enough confid
ence in her own position.

  Typical Sebastián: always on her side, always her champion. From the very beginning.

  Ever since he’d transferred to Marysburg High as a junior, he’d defended her from anything that might hurt her, even while he’d fended off countless bullies of his own. Too many of their classmates had proven eager to hassle the new kid in school, a Guatemalan-American boy who hadn’t grown tall or strong until well after graduation. A boy who refused to cower or back down no matter what was said or done to him. A boy who gradually shut off all visible emotional reactions to make himself an unsatisfying target for his persecutors.

  A boy who became her best and most faithful friend.

  Her battles, her wounds, had not been nearly as vicious or bloody as his. Still, he’d tried to protect her to the best of his ability. He might not have ever expressed his affection for her in words—she suspected he might not even be able to do so, not anymore—but he’d demonstrated that affection so many times she couldn’t doubt it.

  Behind a fold of her skirts, where the camera couldn’t see the gesture, she took his hand in hers. It was broad and warm and strong now, vital and electric. A man’s hand, not a boy’s. But it was still the hand of the best champion an easily hurt teenage girl could have had. She gave his fingers a squeeze of gratitude, and then let him go, before someone could draw the wrong conclusion about them.

  Someone like her, for example.

  She’d always thought that someday, maybe…

  But it wasn’t going to happen. Not now, as she prepared to move halfway across the country. No matter how enticing he appeared in that formfitting Henley and those well-worn jeans. No matter how soft and warm his eyes became when he looked at her. No matter how her fingers tingled when they touched.

  The camerawoman moved closer to Allie, capturing her tight smile in response to Sebastián’s matter-of-fact challenge.

  “Yes, Lucy wanted a slightly bigger house. But the supply of tiny houses in this area of Virginia is limited, as you know. That said, I’m sure we’ll find a great option among the choices I’ve located. Lucy just needs to be flexible.” Allie headed for the door, which rose high above the forest floor because of the trailer beneath the house. “Let’s go inside.”

  Lucy let Allie and the crew precede her. Sebastián stayed by her side, as she’d anticipated.

  Unsure of the boom mic’s range, she spoke in a whisper. “I’m concerned about the condition of the house. It seems more weathered than I’d hoped. And I think it’s too small for my needs. Although the inside could be very charming.” She paused. “In a hobbit-enthusiast sort of way. I hadn’t pictured living on the wrong side of the tracks in the Shire.”

  He closed his eyes and bowed his head, the telltale sign he was fighting a smile.

  “Come on. Spill it.” She poked his arm with her free hand, startled as always by the feel of firm muscle beneath her fingertip. The foreign, enticing hardness made her want to linger, to slide her fingertips up over his shoulders and down that straight, strong back of his. Instead, she dropped her hand to her side. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  When he raised his face, a small smile had cracked his stoic features. “I wonder whether the price includes cookie-making elves.”

  She giggled and deposited the worry stone back in her pocket. “I’m pretty sure Allie would have mentioned that.”

  “I hope she forgot. Because this place should definitely contain a tiny elven fudge-filled-cookie factory, given the asking price and the condition.” Arms akimbo, he stared up at the cabin, his grin fading. “If it doesn’t, I’d hesitate before buying.”

  “At least it’s towable, once I get a truck.” She peered at the trailer beneath the house. “Since it’s approximately the size of my childhood dollhouse.”

  A shallow furrow in his brow appeared for a split second. “Before we go inside, I need to know more about what you want. Just how soon do you need a house? How far will you have to tow it? And how often do you think you’ll move?”

  They should have discussed the logistics of her move weeks earlier, of course, but they hadn’t. On her side, because the prospect of leaving Marysburg seemed much more fraught, much more painful, when Seb was within touching distance. On his side…

  Well, her friend didn’t ask many questions. Not of her. Not of anyone.

  “I’m taking a few weeks of vacation to travel around the country before my new job starts, so I have a little time, but not much. And I might move…I don’t know. Twice a year, maybe?” She hadn’t asked for many details before accepting the job. The gut-level imperative to escape had driven the decision, as well as her hope that a fresh start would silence the critical voices Jarrod had left in her head. “My first assignment is in Minneapolis, like I told you, but after that they can send me anywhere across the country.”

  He fell silent for a minute before responding, his voice neutral. “Minneapolis is a long way from here.”

  It felt longer as each day passed and her departure from her hometown, from her clients, from her circle of female friends, and—most of all—from Sebastián became imminent.

  “Don’t worry.” She forced a smile. “I’ll write you a couple times a week, just like I always did.”

  He shifted his shoulders. “I’ll write back.”

  “Just like you always did.” She forced a smile. “With admirable promptness.”

  But he’d never initiated contact himself. Instead, he’d let her take the lead, just as he’d done since high school. If she ever stopped writing or calling him, stopped asking him to her house or inviting herself to his, she suspected she’d never hear from him again.

  He wasn’t capable of more, which was why she’d never asked for more. But what he gave her was more than enough to make him a treasured friend. One she’d miss terribly when she left Marysburg.

  She knew she was important to him, even though he’d never said it.

  Except maybe once, in that graduation limerick.

  “Depending on where you’re assigned, you might end up in vastly different climates,” he said. “You’ll need something sturdy, with good heating, cooling, and weather-proofing.”

  “And this Smurf mansion isn’t it.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  He wouldn’t make the decision for her, which was both frustrating and flattering. He trusted her judgment. Now she needed to do the same.

  She nodded. “Yes. I’m happy to tour the inside of the place, though. For the sake of good TV, if nothing else.”

  As if on cue, the producer poked her head out of the cabin door. To her credit, Jill didn’t appear impatient. Instead, she grinned at the two of them with seemingly genuine warmth. “Come on up, slowpokes. And a quick reminder: Try not to speak outside the range of the mic, if at all possible. We want as much usable footage as we can get.”

  Jill had explained earlier that as a relatively new and low-budget show, Tiny House Trackers used a small crew, so Lucy and Seb needed to stay near the two cameras and the mic. Unlike a few other shows on the network, there was no script either. HATV was attempting to keep the television experience authentic. Lucy truly hadn’t visited any of the houses before, much less bought one already, and in the end, she could either pick one of the three options or choose to keep looking.

  Given what she’d seen from Allie so far, Lucy suspected the latter choice would cost her a friend. And although she had plenty of those, including several true sisters of her heart, she hated to alienate anyone.

  Especially Allie, her childhood neighbor. The girl who’d told scary stories in front of backyard campfires and inside tents, a flashlight beneath her chin as she wailed like a ghost. The girl who’d insisted on playing Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board during every sleepover and always spread her sleeping bag beside Lucy’s. The girl who’d been part of every birthday celebration, every block party, and every camping trip Lucy’s parents had planned.

  The last traces of that girl had disappeared
years ago, around the time of Allie’s divorce, and Lucy understood why. But she’d always hoped the friend she’d once known might return to her someday.

  She was beginning to suspect that wouldn’t happen. But it didn’t matter, not now. Not when Allie, a camera crew, and Sebastián were all waiting for her to tour the inside of a dilapidated shack and pronounce it fit for human—or elven—habitation.

  “I guess I can’t put it off any longer,” she muttered. “Where are my glasses?”

  Sebastián produced them from his pocket. “You left them on the craft services table. You took them off to read the ingredient lists.”

  “Well, that explains why the house seems kind of fuzzy, as well as tiny.” She accepted the glasses and settled them on her nose. “Never mind. The house is fuzzy.”

  “Moss and mold.”

  She sighed. “Moss and mold on the places that don’t have dry rot instead. Lovely.”

  “Speaking of which…” Sebastián’s features had settled back into inscrutability. “Be careful on the steps.”

  A flimsy set of mildewing plastic steps stood before the cabin entrance. Sebastián ignored them, bounding up into the doorway with a single, athletic leap. But since she was wearing a long, full skirt, rather than pants, and couldn’t boast his six feet of height, those gray-tinged steps would have to suffice for her.

  He held her arm as she climbed them, not leaving the doorway until she stood on solid ground once more. Then, in unison, they shifted to look at the inside of the cabin.

  No. No, no, no, no.

  The words emerged before Lucy could bite her tongue. “Holy shit.”

  “Cut,” called Jill.

  Tiny House, Big Love is coming August 29, 2019! For news and updates, sign up for my newsletter, the Hussy Herald:

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  About Olivia

  While I was growing up, my mother kept a stack of books hidden in her closet. She told me I couldn't read them. So, naturally, whenever she left me alone for any length of time, I took them out and flipped through them. Those books raised quite a few questions in my prepubescent brain. Namely: 1) Why were there so many pirates? 2) Where did all the throbbing come from? 3) What was a “manhood”? 4) And why did the hero and heroine seem overcome by images of waves and fireworks every few pages, especially after an episode of mysterious throbbing in the hero's manhood?