Heat Up the Fall: New Adult Boxed Set (6 Book Bundle)

by Gennifer Albin

  Romy giggles. “He seems pretty live-and-let-live, actually.”

  “He’s better than that,” I say. “But he doesn’t want anyone to know, so don’t tell.”

  “His secret’s safe with me.”

  And it goes like that. For the rest of the night. We talk about art and music and the fact that we both like fried food more than is good for us. We talk about books, and when I quote from one of my favorites—this line from a Terry Pratchett novel that goes “It is at this point that normal language gives up, and goes and has a drink”—Romy crows, “The Color of Magic! I love that one!” By the time it occurs to us to hang up, it’s four in the morning, and we’re both starting to drift.

  “Romy?”

  “Caleb?”

  “I think I need to get some sleep.” But I wish I could stay on the phone with you forever.

  “Me, too. I have to be at my internship by nine.”

  “Oh no! I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I loved every minute of this.”

  It steals my breath, how she says stuff like that, just puts it out there. “Me, too. Maybe we could talk again sometime.”

  “Maybe. You have my number.”

  “So I do.”

  “So call me.” She whispers goodnight into the phone, and then she’s gone.

  I sink into sleep with her voice in my ear, continuing the conversation in my dreams.

  I step back from my painting and pull my earbuds from my ears, plunging myself back into reality and feeling the image in front of me release its grip. My lips lift into a smile, like my body knows what’s going on before my brain does.

  This is right, and it’s beautiful, and I know exactly what I’m going to do with it. It’s amazing how a few weeks can change everything.

  The flyer sits on my supply table. I saw Romy taping them up, saw her talking to Daniel, Markus, Daisy, and a few others about making donations to the charity auction in a week. She hasn’t mentioned it to me, probably because of the way I reacted when she first told me about it. But this, right in front of me, is because of her. I’m going to donate it.

  There’s an intake of breath behind me, and I turn to see Sasha standing outside my stall. “Wow, Caleb,” she says quietly, looking at the canvas.

  I grin. “I think I’m finally happy with it.”

  She smiles, too, but she hasn’t taken her eyes off the painting. “Yeah. Is this for a gallery show?”

  I shake my head, then realize she won’t see that, because she’s still got her eyes on my work. “No, it’s for the charity auction thing? I’m donating it.”

  She finally tears her gaze away and looks at the flyer. “Are you sure you don’t want to try to sell it? It’s huge. Worth something.”

  “No, this is spoken for.” Sure, there’s a chance I could sell this and make money, but I’m after something that’s worth a lot more. My phone chirps and vibrates in my pocket, an alarm I set to make sure I didn’t lose complete track of myself. “I have to go pick up my sister.”

  Sasha’s eyes have drifted back to my work. “Tell her hi,” she says absently. I squeeze her arm affectionately as I leave, grateful for her reaction, practically floating as I descend the stairs and head out to my truck. I haven’t even washed up. I’ve got paint on my shirt and I left my brushes dirty. But I can’t be late to get Katie.

  I drive to the hospital. Once Dr. Greer got involved with Katie’s case, he suggested that she attend a partial hospitalization program that includes this treatment with a long name I can’t remember, but that’s called DBT for short. It’s a lot of individual and group therapy, and Romy told me it works really well for people who have the same diagnosis as Katie. Dr. Greer and Dr. Prihadi consulted together and suggested Katie apply for some disability benefits, too, since my mom isn’t supporting her anymore. It’s the first time in a while that I’ve felt hope, that I’ve felt like things might get better. I still owe a shitload of money, but I’m hoping the hole won’t get any deeper.

  My phone rings as I pull into the parking lot, and my heart jolts as I see Romy’s name. “Hey,” I say. “What’s up?”

  “I know you’re picking Katie up now, so I won’t keep you—”

  “You can keep me,” I blurt.

  She laughs. “I was wondering if you had time to talk later. Before eleven this time.”

  We’ve been on the phone for hours every night. I call her as soon as I get home, or she calls me when she’s done studying. Neither of us is getting enough sleep, but goddamn, I’ve never been this happy. I just wish—

  Katie comes walking out the front entrance of the partial hospitalization wing, looking for the truck. A smile flickers across her face when she sees it, and relief loosens my chest. “Yeah, I’ll make time to talk,” I say to Romy. “I need to check in with Katie and see what she’s up to, and I’ll call you?”

  “Okay,” she says.

  “Is everything all right?” I ask Romy as Katie reaches the truck and pulls the door open. I’m dying to ask if Alex has tried to contact her again, but I can’t, not right now.

  “It’s fine,” Romy replies. But she sounds nervous, and now my happy, relaxed feelings are draining away.

  “I’ll call you as soon as I can.” I hang up as Katie buckles her seatbelt.

  “So,” she says, pulling her knit cap off her head, “are you going to tell me about her?”

  I stare at my sister. She sounds so … normal. I mean, it’s been getting a little better every day, but I’m not used to it yet. “What do you want to know?”

  “Girlfriend?”

  I laugh. “I wish.”

  Katie frowns. “Why isn’t she, then?”

  “It’s complicated. We’re friends.” Well, sort of. To her, I’m a friend, and to me, she’s the girl who has my heart in her pocket, but whatever.

  “Why don’t you ask her out?”

  I lean back against the seat, half of me considering the question, half of me processing the weirdness of talking to Katie like this. She’s usually so focused on her own stuff that she doesn’t ask me about my own life. I don’t want to mess it up or brush her off. “I … I guess I want her to ask me out. If she even wants to.”

  Romy’s needed space. She’s got this Alex guy breathing down her neck. He’s called her a bunch of times, leaving voicemails asking her to go out with him, telling her he wants to apologize. She’s too scared to pick up, but he isn’t letting go. It’s so fucking creepy. And it makes me want to kill him. But with all that going on, there’s no way in hell that I’m going to step out of the friend zone without an express invitation. I’m going to do this right. I just wish she wanted more from me.

  “Can I meet her?” Katie asks. “If she’s that important to you, you should introduce us.”

  I turn my head. Katie tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles hopefully. I want to bottle this moment and hoard it away forever. “You’ve met her already,” I say gently. “She was with your therapist the night you came to the co-op.”

  She bites her lip, her brow furrowing. “Library girl, you mean?”

  “What?”

  “The one with short hair. Before that night, she came to the library. We talked about books. But then she came to the hospital, too …” She’s obviously working hard to piece it all together. Whether it’s her meds or the fact that she’s usually focused on herself, trying to keep control of the demons in her head, her memory isn’t that great.

  “Yeah. She has really short hair.”

  Katie’s gray eyes meet mine. “She’s nice.”

  “She is.” Nice doesn’t even begin to describe Romy. “I could ask her if she wants to come over, if you want me to.”

  She smiles. “I don’t have plans tonight. We could make … I don’t know. Spaghetti. Does she like spaghetti?”

  “I’ll call her when we get home. Tell me about your day?”

  “Talking. Listening. I drew some stuff.” She fiddles with her purse strap.

  “Really? Like, ar
t?”

  She pushes my shoulder as I pull onto the road. “Not art like you do.”

  “Did it feel good?”

  “Yeah. Like I don’t have words for some things, but I have colors and shapes.”

  “I know exactly what you’re saying.”

  We drive home, and as we talk and laugh together, it feels like I’m watching from outside of my body. Me and my sister, actually having a civil conversation lasting more than a minute. When we get to the apartment, Katie heads straight for the computer to catch up with her friends, leaving me to call Romy. My heart beats like helicopter rotors as I hit SEND on her number. I try to sound casual as I ask her if she has plans, if she wants to come over.

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asks. “I mean, is it okay with Catherine?”

  I keep forgetting that Katie’s asking people to call her Catherine now. “It was actually her idea.”

  That seals it. Romy’s at the door an hour later—with a loaf of French bread and some flowers. She looks adorable, her hair tousled by the wind, wearing a loose sweater and skinny jeans that remind me how gorgeous her legs are. I take the flowers and bread from her and head for the kitchen, forcibly shoving away the memory of how it felt to have those legs locked around my hips. No matter what I do, those thoughts always ambush me when I’m around her. I almost wish we’d never slept together, because I can’t forget how it felt. That’s why phone calls are easier.

  Katie comes out of her room. “Hi again,” she says shyly.

  Romy smiles. “I finished that book you recommended. So cute. It made me laugh pretty hard.”

  Katie actually bounces. “Isn’t Garrick the hottest guy ever?”

  Romy’s gaze flicks to me for a second, and I feel it in my gut, like the ground just dropped out from under me. “He’s pretty hot,” she says, her lips twitching. “I’ll have to get that other book you suggested. You’ve got good taste.”

  Katie beams. I back away and hide in the kitchen, listening to the two of them talk, unable to believe this is really happening. I pull my keys from my pocket and unlock the med cabinet, which is also where I’ve stashed our knives and cleaning supplies. I’m quiet about it—I don’t want Katie to be embarrassed. I slice the bread quickly and put the knife back.

  We eat our pasta out of plastic bowls, and it might be the best meal I’ve ever had. Romy and Katie chatter the whole time, and I get to watch, unable to wipe the smile off my face. I think this is happiness, pure and simple, having these two women I care about here with me.

  After dinner, Romy asks to use the bathroom and Katie comes into the kitchen to take her meds. “You have to ask her out,” she whispers to me as I clear the table. “She likes you.”

  I shake my head. “If that’s true, she can ask me.”

  “I’ll tell her to.”

  I drop the bowls into the sink. “Don’t you dare!” I laugh. “Don’t make me regret spilling my guts to you.”

  She swallows her pills and sets her cup on the counter. “You’re right,” she says, frowning. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry. I liked it. And I’m glad you guys got along so well.” I turn on the water and begin to scrub the dishes, glancing over when she’s quiet for a few seconds.

  In her expression, I see so many things, affection and forgiveness that makes my hope swell—but something else, too, something scared or regretful that I don’t understand. “I’ll leave you guys alone, then. I’m going to call some friends.”

  She heads into her room as Romy emerges from the bathroom. They say their goodnights in the hallway and Romy joins me in the kitchen. “That was fun,” she says, grabbing a hand towel and drying the wet dishes. “Thanks for having me over.”

  “You said you wanted to talk,” I remind her, watching her hands, the dark thread of ink on the inside of her wrist that peeks out as she works.

  Her mouth opens and closes a few times, and then she chuckles. “I’m nervous.”

  I turn off the water, my heart accelerating. “What’s up?”

  “Remember that charity auction event I mentioned to you a while ago?”

  “Yep.” She hasn’t been in my studio since that night she was so upset. Does she know about the painting? Is she going to ask me to donate it? I hope so. Then I’d get to tell her I already have.

  She sets down the dishtowel and faces me. “It’s in a week. I think it’s kind of a fancy event. The house manager at the shelter gave me two tickets. And … I was wondering … if you’d go with me?”

  I blink. How should I translate this? What does she want? “You want me to go with you to the charity event …” A nervous excitement rushes through my veins, but I try to ignore it.

  Romy takes a step toward me and skims her fingertip along a smear of paint on the back of my hand, sending tingling shocks of pleasure up my arm. “If you don’t have other things you need to do, that is.” She glances toward the hallway, toward Katie’s room.

  Touch me again. Make a move. Please. “I’m free.” She hasn’t even told me when it is, but the flyer said next Saturday. Not that it matters. It could be at four a.m. on a Tuesday, and I’d be there.

  She smiles. “Good. It’s a date.”

  I stare at her. “A date?”

  Her smile disappears. “Not a date?”

  “Now you’re confusing me. I need this to be one of those times where you just say it like it is.” I arch my eyebrow. “You’re usually really good at that.”

  She squeezes her eyes shut for a second. “I’d like it to be a date.”

  I’ve never seen anything so fucking perfect as the girl before me, and her nervousness steals all of mine away. I can’t keep that shaky amusement from my voice as I say, “Are you asking me out, Romy?”

  Her eyes pop open. She lets out a breath. And she nods.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Romy

  I come out of the fitting room, the tag of the dress poking at my armpit. “What do you think?” I twirl around, and the light chiffon skirt flutters around my thighs.

  Jude arches an eyebrow. “Cute, but you could go hotter.”

  I roll my eyes. “Jude, people I work with are going to be there.”

  “But it’s also a date, right?” he asks cautiously. It’s been so weird since that night we had to take Catherine to the hospital. He’s not her therapist anymore, not since she was admitted to the partial hospitalization program, but we’re still careful not to talk about anything to do with the case, and that usually includes Caleb.

  “Yes. It most definitely is a date.” I’ve spent weeks trying to sort through my feelings for Caleb with Heather, my therapist, trying to decide whether I could trust myself. I’ve always felt this pull toward Caleb, this hunger for him, this desire to be close. I didn’t know if the fact that I’d had sex with him had gotten tied up in those feelings, though, maybe intensified them before I knew enough about who he was. Add Alex’s stalking behavior on top of that, and I’ve been a mess.

  Slowly, though, Caleb has made up my mind. He’s made me feel so safe, and hasn’t ever made me feel guilty or stupid about it. We’ve become friends, talking late on the phone about nothing and everything, checking in … just because. I’ve done that with Jude, too, and that’s how I know that Caleb isn’t only a friend to me. I want more from him than that. Once I figured it out, though, I wondered if it was too much to ask, what with his sister’s needs to think about.

  I decided to take a risk a week ago. Tomorrow night is the payoff. My first real date with Caleb. “Do you think he’ll like it?” As soon as I say it, I wish I could suck the words back into my mouth. Poor Jude. It can’t be easy for him to support me, after all the things he heard from Catherine. I want to tell him what I’ve seen, how sweet Caleb is to her, but it would blur too many boundaries.

  Jude chuckles. “Romy, you’d look cute as a button even if you were wearing a trash bag. He’ll like it.” It’s the most I can expect from him, and I’m grateful for it.
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  I run my hands down my sides, looking down at the dress. It’s russet-colored, perfect for fall, with a subtle sheen that makes me feel like a jewel. The bodice is strapless, with a wide swath of black beading at the waist and a skirt that hits just above my knee, because I don’t want to be too sexy, not when I’m going to be seeing Justine and maybe Dr. Greer and who knows who else. I think this dress looks good with my hair and my eyes. My tattoo winds up the inside of my forearm, clearly visible. I love the way it looks, and I hope people don’t think it’s unprofessional. “I’m getting this one, then. Thanks for bearing with me.”

  “No problem. Can we get lunch now?”

  “Sure.” I pay for the dress and we head out of the boutique to a café down the block. The orange and red leaves rustle as a cool fall breeze gusts around us, and a few of them let go and spiral to the ground.

  “I’m glad we’re doing this,” says Jude as we sit down and peruse the menus. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.”

  “I feel like I can’t talk to you about this big thing in your life,” he says sadly. “I don’t know how to do this.”

  “I don’t either. You’re the first person I want to call when I need to talk.” I frown. Actually, that’s not true anymore. Caleb is the first person I want to call, but Jude is the first person I wish I could call when I want to talk about Caleb. “But Heather has to listen to me instead.” The day she told me I was smart enough to trust my instincts was the day I asked Caleb out.

  Jude closes his menu and sets it aside. “You mentioned that Alex has been calling.”

  I push my menu away, too, because I’ve lost my appetite. I pull out my phone and bring up the latest text. I’m getting tired of waiting for you to call.