Touchstone

by Karen Stivali

  Sam watched me with a hunger that I truly hoped wasn’t just for my potential kickass menu.

  “Well, if that sample menu was any indication, I’ll likely be one of your best customers.”

  “That would be great. Everything’s happening so fast, I’m just nervous and a little overwhelmed.”

  “But it’s exciting, too, right? Are you excited?” He swept the hair out of his eyes and their silver-blue focused on me, full of anticipation.

  My breath caught in a way that made my chest feel funny. Truth was, I had more emotions running through me than I knew what to do with, and I certainly hadn’t planned on adding lust to the list, yet here we were. And I was indeed lusting. “More than I expected to be.”

  3

  Sam

  Phoebe insisted on helping me clear the mugs and dishes and put away the cinnamon rolls. Even with something as simple as cleaning up she had a clear, commanding presence in the kitchen that was insanely sexy. We’d known each other less than an hour, but I already felt oddly close to her. Like I’d known her for ages. The feeling soothed and unsettled me in equal measure.

  She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and folded it neatly before hooking it back over the stove handle. “Ready to show me my new home?”

  I handed Phoebe the keys and followed her to the mudroom. She slipped her Chucks back on and bent over to adjust the heels, giving me a view of her curvy, denim-clad ass that made my heart skip a beat. I cleared my throat, shoved my feet into flip-flops, and followed her out onto the porch. “Just drive the U-Haul to the far end of the gravel patch, and I’ll help you unload.”

  She hoisted herself into the massive vehicle, looking about as out of place there as she probably felt being in Vermont. I’d grown up here, and even for me it was an adjustment being back.

  I waved for her to keep backing up and then yelled, “Right there is good.”

  She turned off the engine and hopped out of the truck. After shutting the door, she gathered her long chestnut hair and quickly braided it, before twisting it into a bun that somehow stayed in place all on its own.

  “Nice,” I said. “Might have to have you show me that trick.”

  She raised one dark eyebrow and tilted her head, squinting at me. “Not sure I see you as a man-bun dude.”

  “Oh, I rock the man-bun.”

  She giggled, and the sound warmed me even more than the midday sun. “You want a tour first or straight to unloading?”

  “How about we carry in a few things, then you give me the tour?”

  “Deal.”

  She opened the large creaky back door of the U-Haul. Inside was a mix of boxes, wooden crates, a few bookcases, and some enormous trash bags. Clothes? Bedding? Phoebe grabbed two of the large black bags. “Just warning you, some of the boxes are full of books so they’re crazy heavy.”

  “I unpack shipments of rocks on a regular basis. I’m prepared.”

  “That sounds like such a cool job. Sorting through boxes of beautiful things.”

  I hefted one of the larger boxes and followed her to the tiny front porch. She reached into her pocket and withdrew the keys, then inserted one into the brass lock. The blue door gave a tiny squeak as it swung open—I need to oil that—and she stepped inside.

  “It’s like something out of a fairy tale.” Her eyes widened as she gazed around the room, taking in the arched doorways and the stone floor-to-ceiling fireplace.

  “Funny you should say that. When I was a little kid this was kind of like my playhouse, and I used to pretend all sorts of things in here.”

  Phoebe grinned, clearly amused. “Were you the knight in shining armor?”

  “Sometimes. Other times I was solving a mystery, or preparing for battle, or waiting for my Hogwarts letter.”

  Her shoulders shook with laughter. “Sounds like a magical childhood.”

  “It was. Like I said, I was lucky.” I got the impression Phoebe’s childhood was anything but magical, and that she didn’t want to talk about it.

  “Bedroom this way?” Her eyes twinkled in a way that gave me thoughts I shouldn’t be having about my new...tenant? Was that what she was?

  “Yes, follow me.” The room was small, mostly taken up by the king-sized bed and single nightstand. “It’s not spacious, but there’s a walk-in closet and there are drawers under the bed.”

  She lifted the quilt. “Oh cool. Excellent use of space.”

  “Thanks. I built the bed.”

  “You built it?”

  I nodded. “I’m pretty good with my hands.”

  Was that a blush creeping into her cheeks? Yes. Yes, it was. Nice.

  “Good to know.” Her gaze met mine and held for a moment.

  And then I was the one blushing. How could three words and a second of eye contact have me flushed with my dick chubbing? I opened the closet door and lifted out the antique standing mirror. “Didn’t want to risk breaking this while I was painting the room.”

  I set it down in the corner by the window.

  Phoebe ran her hands along the dark wooden frame. “Is it a magic mirror? A portal?”

  “Very magical. It’ll tell you if you’ve accidentally put your shirt on inside out.”

  Her laughter was deep and hearty. “That’s exactly what I need a magic mirror to do. Sometimes I’m moving so fast I’m afraid I’m going to leave the house without pants.”

  My brain provided an accompanying visual that hit me so hard I flinched and needed to clear my throat. “Well, you know, it’s Vermont. Weird is the way of the locals, so pants are debatably optional.”

  “Also good to know.”

  I might have been losing my mind, but something about the way she looked at me told me I wasn’t the only one having pantsless visions at the moment. Maybe that mirror was magical...

  “The bathroom’s right across the hall.” I held the door open and she walked inside. “No tub, but the shower’s pretty cool. Dual rainforest showerheads with adjustable sprays and a handheld, and there’s a steam setting and a little bench.”

  Phoebe smoothed her fingers over the tiles of the shower—her tactile nature had me thinking endless inappropriate thoughts. “These are beautiful. I looked at so many tile samples at…” Her voice trailed off in the saddest way.

  “You okay?”

  She nodded her head so fast that her bun unraveled, the braid slipping loose and sending waves of hair dancing across her back. “Yeah. Yes. Just still a bit thrown by the fact that the project that was my life for the past few years is now nothing to me. But that’s a story for another time. Seriously, though, the tile is gorgeous.”

  “Thanks. I got it from a buddy of mine. We did the shower ourselves.”

  “Damn. You really are good with your hands.”

  “I don’t lie.”

  She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “Everyone lies.”

  “Okay, I try to never lie.”

  She considered that statement for a moment. “I wish more people were like that.”

  Hmmm…. No statement about whether or not she lied, or any indication of who had lied to her in the past. Interesting. “I’m afraid you’re going to hate the kitchen. It’s functional, but tiny.”

  “I’m used to New York apartments—where your under-the-bed drawers would be a huge hit, I might add—and tiny kitchens are what I grew up with. I still managed to learn to cook.”

  “Well, if you ever need more cooking space, you’re welcome to the kitchen in the main house whenever you need it.”

  “Seriously? Don’t offer if you don’t mean it, because I’ll be in there making all sorts of stuff all hours of the night. I insomnia cook.”

  “I insomnia eat. Sounds like a match made in heaven.” My heart pinged a bit with that thought. It was something my grandmother might say. Something I grew up believing in. Lately…not so much.

  “Ready to grab some more boxes?”

  “Yep. Oh, and I have to warn you, the internet access from the guesthouse isn’t
always great. I’m getting a new router this week though, and that should help a lot.”

  Did she just shudder? We headed back outside.

  “No rush. I’m on an internet hiatus at the moment.” That sad, serious look clouded her features again.

  “Too much Candy Crush?”

  “I wish.”

  I heaved another big box out of the U-Haul. “Porn habit?”

  She snorted. “That would be much more fun and much less stress-inducing.”

  As if on cue, the box I was carrying began to vibrate. “Uh…”

  Giggles poured out of her and there wasn’t even a hint of embarrassment. My mind, in the meantime, had done a deep dive into the gutter. Was I holding a box of her sex toys? Because it was a damn heavy box. “Should I put this in your bedroom?”

  She gave me the naughtiest grin, her eyes dancing. “No, living room. That’s my vibrating foot massager.”

  I set the box down in the living room, and she pried the top open, producing a purple, plush, pillow-looking thing with slots for both feet. It was vibrating like a jackhammer.

  “Ah, nice.”

  She hugged it. “It’s a lifesaver. Standing on concrete industrial kitchen floors is a bitch.”

  “I’ll bet.” I followed her back outside.

  “Besides, I’d never throw my good toys into a box. They’re all nice and safe inside my suitcase.” She threw me a wink that nearly killed me on the spot.

  At this rate I wasn’t sure I’d survive unpacking the rest of her U-Haul, let alone a summer of her living fifty yards from my back door.

  4

  Sam

  It took about an hour to unload everything, then Phoebe went to drop off the U-Haul, and I followed and drove her back home. She looked exhausted, so I left her to settle in and unpack and invited her to join me for dinner in a bit.

  I was pretty confident in my grilling skills, but cooking for a New York City chef had me feeling a little out of my league. At least, that’s how I explained the fact that my heart was thrumming faster than it had on that morning’s run. I jogged up the stairs to get my laptop. I knew exactly which rub recipe I wanted to use, and I knew I had my great-aunt’s potato salad recipe in an old email too.

  It wasn’t until I reached my desk that I saw the two tarot cards. Ever since I was a kid, I’d been pulling two tarot cards each morning. My grandmother had started this ritual with me as a before-school habit to get me to focus on what the day might hold. As a kid with anxiety issues, it not only helped, it stuck with me. I hadn’t skipped a day in decades. But this morning I’d gotten out of the shower, done a quick ten-minute guided meditation, shuffled my Rider-Waite deck, and drawn two cards.

  Only the doorbell had rung before I’d had a chance to turn them over.

  Phoebe had been so much of a distraction I hadn’t thought about the cards all day. That had me feeling some kind of way, but I shook it off. Never too late for a little insight.

  I flipped the first card and laughed out loud as The Lovers stared up at me. Most people thought the card was about relationships—and sometimes it was—but the reading was open to interpretation. The card could be about choices. Which clearly had to be today’s message, as I hadn’t had a relationship in almost five years and had resigned myself to probably never having another one.

  Then I flipped the second card, and my heart went from racing to skipping a beat.

  The Two of Cups. Not only was that a love card, but paired with The Lovers? It was a soulmate draw. It didn’t just hint at soulmates. It was the kind of draw desperate, lovesick people prayed they would see when they went to a psychic to get a love reading.

  But I hadn’t had romance anywhere on my mind when I’d selected this deck or shuffled these cards.

  The universe clearly had some jokes. My fingers tingled as I traced the images. I’d have thought the sexual energy between me and Phoebe had influenced the draw—our attraction was undeniable, and unless I was way off base, it was mutual. But I’d pulled the cards seconds before Phoebe rang my doorbell, and I’d never heard of preemptive psychic horniness.

  I shook my head and stuck the cards back into the deck, wrapped it in its cloth, and pulled the drawstring bag closed. There would be plenty of time to think of an alternate interpretation later. Right now I had a recipe to find and some meat that needed rubbing.

  Not that kind of rubbing. Well... No. There’d be time for that later too.

  I banished all thoughts of soulmates and jacking off. I had a guest to feed. And I was pretty hungry myself after unloading all those boxes of books and assorted vibrating things.

  Puck hopped up onto my desk and pawed my arm. His soft, warm ears tickled my palm as I scritched the side of his face. “What’s up, buddy? You hoping to score some bacon before I put it in the potato salad?”

  He purred loudly.

  “You sure were all over our guest today.”

  He climbed into my arms and closed his eyes as he started kneading my chest.

  “Come on, Puck. We’ve got to go start dinner.”

  Talking to the cat and grabbing a beer at Speakeasy had been the extent of my social life since I’d been back in town. I’d made friends along the way on my travels, but it had been a long time since I’d cooked a meal for anyone. Let alone anyone who sparked this kind of interest in me.

  I honestly hadn’t been sure I’d ever be interested in anyone again. The cards popped back into my head. Couldn’t be. I’d sworn off all that stuff. I mean, I hadn’t intended to shut down emotionally. That hadn’t been a plan, or something I’d even wanted. It had just happened.

  I’d gone from being certain that I had found the love of my life—someone I could trust implicitly, who would never hurt me—to being shattered, alone, and never wanting to feel that way again.

  My grandmother had always told me that when I met “the one” I’d know. That the universe sent signs, that I’d feel it in my soul, not just in my mind or body. That sort of romanticism had been ingrained in me. It had comforted me. It had let me breeze through my teen years with far less angst and emo drama than most of my friends, because I’d trusted that when I met the right person, I’d know. For sure.

  And I had known. Or at least I’d thought I did.

  First day of my freshman year at Boston University, first time out of Colebury for anything other than a vacation or school trip, first time living on my own, in Boston—a big city instead of the tiny town I’d always called home—and I’d sworn I’d known the second I saw her. Camilla Grable. We’d never even agreed to start dating, we’d just become inseparable. All through college, straight into grad school, it had been the two of us, Sam and Camilla—Samilla—against the world.

  So, when she’d received a summer internship offer in California, I’d been as excited as she’d been. Sure, it had sucked that we wouldn’t get to see each other for a few months, but she’d be back soon enough. There hadn’t been a doubt in my mind.

  Then I’d gotten the phone call that had changed my life. She’d met someone. On her first night in California. And less than a month later, they’d gotten engaged. She wasn’t coming back. Ever.

  It hadn’t been just my heart that had broken. My world had fractured. Everything I’d thought I’d known for certain changed in an instant. I’d questioned everything from my sanity to my judgment. Then I’d changed every last thing about my life.

  I’d dropped out of my PsyD program—it had felt disingenuous to be studying human behavior when I couldn’t even explain my own or that of the person I’d sincerely believed was my soulmate. I’d left Boston. Because when you’d spent every moment in a city with someone who was no longer there, the entire city felt uninhabitable—it looked and smelled and felt different. I’d disconnected from my previous life by taking a job with Habitat for Humanity. And I’d stopped believing in soulmates.

  Thinking about today’s card draw made a shiver run through me. The ghost of who I used to be. Cards can mean any number of things
. Besides, I didn’t have time to be thinking about any of that. I had dinner to cook. I wanted to be a good…what had we decided on? Landneighbor?

  I’d never throw my good toys into a box. They’re all nice and safe inside my suitcase.

  My dick chubbed again as I recalled her words and the impish look on her face.

  I had a feeling it was going to be an interesting summer.

  5

  phoebe

  I’d unpacked the necessities: clothes, toiletries, my coffee maker, and a few pans. But I spent most of the afternoon going over my notes for tomorrow’s big meeting with the owners of Speakeasy.

  Audrey had assured me things would go great, but that didn’t keep me from being overwhelmed. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d somehow landed on a different planet. It was so quiet in the guesthouse I could barely think.

  From the Zoom interview I’d had with Alec Rossi, I knew that my first task would be creating the menu. Then I’d be responsible for contacting all the vendors, and hiring and training the staff. They wanted to open by the end of summer, which gave me roughly two months to whip everything into shape. We’d agreed to reassess at that point, with the option of me staying on if everything was going well.

  I’d had far longer to plan for the grand-opening-that-shall-not-be-named, but my previous efforts could easily apply to my Speakeasy tasks. I didn’t want to duplicate any menu items, but I’d spent so much time considering options over the last several years that I had plenty of overflow choices.

  I glanced at my tiny new kitchen. It wouldn’t cut it as a test space. Thank god Sam had so generously offered his house. Audrey had said people were welcoming up here, but this was so much more than I ever expected. I was used to begging friends to help me move and bribing them with promises of food. But Sam had done it without a second thought.