I blamed my reticence on the drink, the night, the stars, the moon.
I blamed it on my recent taste for solitude. Maybe I’d overdone that a little.
I blamed it on Sebastian’s smile as he latched the gate behind him. We might have become good friends, despite our age difference, despite our disparate careers. I’d sensed in him a kindred spirit, as had the dogs, who began to whine as he walked away.
I didn’t want to say goodbye, but you can’t hang on to any moment, the bad ones or the good. “See you, Sebastian Keye.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “See you.”
There were no goodbyes between us then.
Chapter Eight
Bast
I tried to sneak past Molly. I’d have had better luck jumping into the tiger exhibit at the zoo wearing Gaga’s meat dress.
She turned on the overhead lights, briefly blinding me.
I didn’t stand a chance.
“So? How was it? Did you have fun? Was he nice? Did he like the food?”
“Jesus, what gives with the third degree?” When the purple spots disappeared from my field of vision, I found Molly sitting primly on the convertible couch bed, her hair in pigtails, like Anne of Green Gables. “He’s not what I expected, but I had a good time.”
“Spill. Is he gay?”
“Nope. He has a wife and kids.”
“Oh, dang. I’m sorry, since you liked him so much.” She splayed a hand on her chest “Oh gosh, he’s not one of those guys who figures what the wife doesn’t know—”
“No. He’s not like that.”
“Or that it doesn’t count if he cheats with a dude?”
“He’s just a nice guy, Molz. He’s a Marine veteran. I guess that’s where he lost his eye.”
She got up and found the wine opener before grabbing a bottle from the fridge. “I’m going to need wine for this. How do you know he lost his eye?”
“He wears an eye patch, and he has some facial scarring—from the same incident, I guess.”
“You never mentioned that.” She poured two glasses and handed me one. “And it’s a pretty big deal. How come?”
Although I’d definitely had enough to drink that night, I sipped the wine she gave me. “I didn’t know what to say or how I’d sound saying it. Insensitive? Nosy?”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know.” I leaned against the counter. “He mentioned his time in the service but didn’t elaborate. I chose not to pry.”
“God. I can’t even…” She shivered. “It’s too horrible to think about. Imagine how much it must hurt to lose an eye. How scared you’d be.”
We sat in silence for a while.
“What else did you talk about?” Molly widened her eyes. “Did he talk about his family?”
“Mostly we talked about dogs and wolves and hybrids. There was evidently a boom in the market for hybrids as a result of Game of Thrones. Oh, and we talked about the places we’ve been. He’s been to Iraq, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Dubai, Japan…I told him a little about my trip to southeast Asia and how much I loved Ankor Wat.”
“So, you made a friend.” She lifted her glass. “Friends are good.”
I touched my glass to hers. “Thanks for helping with the food. When I go to visit the sanctuary, we’re going to try to get together again. You want to come along?”
“Sure. Anyway, how long do you think you’d survive without me?”
“I don’t want to find out.”
“Too bad he’s not boyfriend material.” She sighed. “You seem to really like him.”
“Dad told me to hang in there until I meet my soulmate. Of course, Dad was once married to my mother, so I don’t take his romantic advice seriously.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask. How come Alastair hasn’t remarried?”
I shrugged. “Probably afraid to get burned again.”
“But having a soulmate would be awesome,” Molly said dreamily. “I’ve never felt incomplete, but it’d be so nice to find someone who really gets me.”
“I’d want that too if I believed it existed.” I got up and took my wine with me. “I’m heading to bed.”
“Night, baby.” She drained her glass. “Dang. Now I’ve gotta brush my teeth again.”
“I’ll leave you to it.”
There’s a universal truth about RVs. The bigger they are—the more expensive and tricked out—the fewer people they sleep. Ours had one room with a queen-size bed and a sleeper sofa in the communal area. It was okay for Molly and me.
That night as I changed for bed, I discovered how much dog hair transfers from even well-groomed German shepherds and low content wolfdogs. I could have crocheted a whole other dog with what I brushed off my jeans alone.
I showered, cleaned my teeth, and set the alarm, allowing just enough time to throw on clothes and get out the door before the town car arrived.
On my phone, I found the picture I’d taken of Stone. He was lying on his back, arms beneath his head, with the dogs all snug around him like they were having a private Furry convention, and my heart ached with desire for a thing I couldn’t have.
Not love. Not romantic love, anyway. Not even tribe, although I certainly felt a kinship to the loner who cared for his dog family. If I closed my eyes and revisited the scene, I saw the smiling moon and brilliant stars. I felt the chilly wind that blew rosettes in the dogs’ fur as they lay huddled together in the kennel. Smelled the unique combination of dog hair, well-worn sleeping bag, and dirt.
They were more than tribe; they were a family.
I drifted to sleep hoping for a someday family of my own.
My alarm went off way too soon. I leaped from the bed, slipped on warm, comfortable clothes, and made it out just in time for Molly to hand me a cup of coffee. Though I was perfectly able bodied, she insisted on toting my gym bag to the golf cart.
A hired car met us in the clearing. Though the sun wasn’t yet up, the driver seemed lively. I slipped on my sunglasses and earbuds to discourage conversation.
We drove for ninety minutes in silence.
Unlike filming a television series, advertising photo shoots were fast paced and sometimes grueling with several costume changes and different settings in as few hours as possible. Until Molly had become my PA, I’d done what was asked of me past exhaustion, past dehydration sometimes, because being the focus of that much attention at a young age taught me to close my eyes and think of England.
“Hello, Sebastian.” The photographer greeted me after I finished with the makeup artists and a fashion stylist. “Do you remember me?”
I’d automatically lifted my hand to shake, but when my gaze traveled to his face, I pulled it back. “Ian Drake.”
He stared too hard. “You were barely sixteen the last time I photographed you. A beautiful child.”
His double meaning hit my bowels like a prizefighter.
“Where would you like me?” I pretended I didn’t already know—but I did know with an awful clarity where he would like me and what he would do with me if he could. I could not believe even my mother would set me up to sit for this man again.