First, they have to walk north toward the visitor's center, where most trucks and cars are parked. Avery's driver is there, hanging out with a few other kin and servants and one garou who is very interested in cars. It's quieter out here, less wild. That's where they part. Avery is not holding his hand when they come into view of the others, though it isn't like she pulls her hand back from him instantly, warily. It's a natural progression, and now that he knows where she stands, more in tune with her need for privacy than any fear of censure. She wonders, though, on the way, if Calden is safe to drive. Truthfully, he isn't, at least not yet. And if he says he is, he discovers that it takes a man more stubborn than he is to combat the frown she levels at him.
They are both intelligent people. One of them is far more drunk than the other, however, and they go back and forth a few times on ideas. Avery comes up with it, finally: her driver will transport Calden's truck to her house. Avery will drive with Calden in her own car. He can sober up there with her, and then they can make their way north. She thinks she's quite brilliant, and seems ever so pleased with herself as she walks away from him, explaining to her driver what will be happening.
She points out the Silverado. He looks at its mud and his skin pales slightly, but he nods. Avery hands him the keys she got from Calden. He assures her he will take quite good care of it, miss, of course.
So they leave. Avery stretches her dress a bit when she shifts inside the driver's seat of her semi-adorable CRV to burn off the alcohol she did imbibe, but it only takes a moment, and in that moment Calden has gotten into the passenger seat. Sweaty. And shirtless. Avery's lips are pursed in amusement. They drive to her house.
--
One of the older and more prestigious neighborhoods in Denver is the Polo Club. Many of the homes are converted from older structures, and Avery's is no different -- but it is the largest. They go through the gates of the walled, heavily treed neighborhood together, the CRV following the Silverado. Avery doesn't talk much on the drive; she's relaxed, and if Calden likes, they can hold hands. They pass mansion after mansion -- not McMansions, not mini-mansions -- before they get to her home, on the west side. It is a sprawling, ornate affar, the gates made of curling iron. He is drunk; he doesn't really get a good look at all of it, not that he'll remember.
"Shh," she does tell him, as they're leaving the cars in the care of her servants, laughing as she takes his hand to lead him into the house itself, "you're talking louder than you think, my darling." Oh, she laughs though, and so brightly, so prettily.
He gets flashes of marble and gold, white walls, crystal chandeliers, images that he should have expected and which pass quickly out of his mind. There is Avery. Avery handing him a white undershirt she found somewhere, a man's undershirt, laughing at him softly, shushing him again,
kissing him, or letting him kiss her, her eyes closing and her lips melting to his.
Somehow they end up outside again. She is giving him coffee, though the night is warm. A breeze pulls through, chilling their skins comfortably. She's sitting on the grass with him. They can almost see the stars, but not like they can out at his place.
Calden WhiteOh, Calden is happy in her car. He's happy because he gets these few extra moments with her, which right now are all he wants in the world. He's happy because he's still quite drunk, really, and while some men are morose drunks and others are aggressive, Calden -- at least tonight -- is a happy drunk. He leans back in the passenger's seat. He reaches up and slides the shade back on the moonroof; looks up at that enormous, enormous moon overhead. He talks to her. He can't remember later what he talks about, but he talks to her the whole drive back, ramblingly, his words drifting slow and lazy out of him,
about the mountains and their shadows, how the days are cut shorter! has she noticed?, about the summer storms that will hit every day at four, about her car, it's a nice one, he likes it, he thought she'd ride around in a Bentley. God, she's beautiful. Does she know that?
She's leading him into the house, later, and he's allowing himself to be led. She has to shush him because he's saying something about magnificent and he usually doesn't use such adjectives to describe architecture. He pulls her back under one of those crystal chandeliers to kiss her, and a little later she slips away to get him a shirt.
When she comes back he's sitting on her stairs. She left him somewhere else, something respectable and proper and courteous and suitable for a guest, but
he's sitting on her stairs, his back broad and solid and tanned, pivoting at the waist as he hears her coming. She hands him the shirt but he doesn't take it. I'm FINE, he insists. She drops it over his face, and he laughs, and
pulls her down, kisses her as she kisses him, cuddles her a while on his lap. There on the stairs.
Somewhat later they are outside. The night air is warmer than the air inside her house. It feels comforting, enveloping, soothing when one isn't trying to move about. He has a mug of coffee between his hands, and he is sipping it. He's not drunk anymore. He's merely tipsy, and quieter now, smiling at nothing and everything.
His shoes are off. He's finally been convinced to pull that shirt on, though. His toes idly stir the grass, and a breeze sifts through, and he sets his coffee down
so he can put his arm around Avery.
It suddenly occurs to him: "Is this where your father and your brother live?"
Avery ChaseThe house is quiet at night. The only servant up and around is the driver, tooling around with the CRV and the Silverado. Calden and Avery are on the other side of the house, though. There's a light on in one of the upstairs windows, or rather: flickering lights, blue and white and indicating movement on a television set. The grass is well-kept, the lawn watered on a tight and legal schedule during the drought. Calden is still inebriated, not quite ready to drive, but he's gathering his wits around him again. Avery also has water for him, a large rectangular bottle of it pulled from the fridge.
His arm slips around her; she's still in that arm-baring sundress, smiling at him as she leans against his side. It's a hug, or a cuddle. She is very aware of those flickering lights up there, even though they aren't noticable. Calden asks what he does.
She nods, simply. "Yes. My father is in bed, I think, or reading somewhere. My brother is... probably playing games up there," she adds, nodding her head in the direction of said window. "He wanted to come tonight, but I wanted to find out what it would be like first. Now I know next time there's a sept party like that, I should make sure he has condoms." She shakes her head, wry and giving a slight roll of her eyes. Her fingers stroke gently between Calden's knuckles. She lays her head on his shoulder.
Calden WhiteHer blithe acceptance of the Facts Of Life shocks Calden into a little blurt of laughter. He imagines fifty or a hundred years ago his people would have had something to say about that, something about the decadence of the aristocracy, etcetera etcetera. It's not fifty or a hundred years ago now, though, and she's just being reasonable. Responsible, even. And he's just old-fashioned.
"Probably a good idea," he manages. Her head comes onto his shoulder, and his hand squeezes hers gently. "The first time my brothers brought me along to one of these things, they told me it's not considered a success until someone's twisted an ankle dancing, someone's puked behind a bush drinking, someone's blackened an eye fighting, and someone's ... had sex. Though I think they used more colorful language."
With his free hand he picks the mug up again. Drinks. Holds it balanced atop his knee, a warm circle.
"Did you get what you needed?"
Avery Chase"Fucked," she says with a smirk, a little smile, and she doesn't pretend she's not a little bit pleased at herself for being so vulgar when he's so old-fashioned. "I do think there was plenty of that. All of it."
Calden sips his coffee, a more palatable temperature now, not so liable to scald that tongue of his she prizes so highly. His question confuses her, though. She tips her head to the side slightly. "What do you mean? At the party?"
Calden White"Yes," Calden admits with a laugh. "That word was definitely employed."
There was plenty of that. All of it. Calden laughs into his coffee, nodding as he lowers it. "Yup," he agrees again.
And that's that for a while. When they speak again, he's asking if she got what she needed. She doesn't know what he's talking about. He's not sure if he's just remembering wrong, but: "Oh -- I thought you had to come home to pick something up. Or ... do something. Wait, are we just here because I was too drunk to drive?"
Avery ChaseShe laughs, but only partly from embarassment. "Oh, no. I understand now." She laughs again, leaning over and kissing his jaw, right under his ear. "I did. You don't remember me handing my bag off to Chauncey to go in the car, do you?"
Avery grins at him, kisses his cheek this time. "You drunken baffoon. Yes, I got what I needed." She nuzzles him softly. "But I like having you here, too. Even if you're just sobering up."
Calden WhiteHe is kissed. Several times. Below the ear, on the cheek. Nuzzled. He tilts his head, leans into it; thinks passingly of the way birds will groom one another. A soft laugh escapes him as his eyes open.
"I like being here too," he replies. "Though you should give my apologies to your father in the morning for arriving too late and leaving too early to meet him."
Calden finishes the last of his coffee. He looks into the empty mug, and then up at the stars. The brightest ones are visible here in the city. More, out at Roxborough, and on his ranch. He feels a faint, sweet ache behind his breastbone: longing for hearth and home, longing to bring this fancy lady, this enchanting creature, this beautiful woman home with him.
"Are you sure you don't want me to drive you there and back?" He can't help but offer again. "It's really no trouble."
Avery ChaseShe should give her apologies to her father for him. Avery laughs at that. "Did you give my apologies to your father for the same thing?" she teases him, then leans forward and nips his earlobe, ever so gently. "At least I'm not riding you on the downstairs couch."
Her voice is warm, and the words are warmer. It's not as though what she says is so shocking; he had her right there on his rec room couch while his father slept upstairs. Given that she seems so matter-of-fact about getting her little brother condoms before taking him to a Fianna-led party, it may seem that she wouldn't worry about said little brother deciding to come see what the rustling about downstairs was. He's not a kid.
Then again, Avery just might not do that. She's wanton, but private. She's cheeky and pragmatic, but sometimes withdrawn, sometimes solitary. She smiles in the words, licking the spot she bit just a second ago, as though to heal him. Soothe him.
"I want to drive myself," she says simply, smiling, and nuzzles him again. The bottle of water finds itself into his hand now that he's finished the coffee. "I have to come back for the moot anyway."
Calden WhiteCalden smiles as the water just magically makes contact with his palm. He twists the cap off onehanded, then lifts it obediently to his lips to rehydrate. If he has to stop at a gas station on the way up, he thinks, at least she'll know why.
"The moot," he echoes. Then he lifts her hand, kisses the back of it. His lips are warm, though the upper is a little wet from water. "Did you come here with a pack? Or are you looking for one?" He glances at her. "If I'm prying, I'll stop."
Avery ChaseAnd she'll know where the gas stations are between here and his place. How long it takes when one can drive oneself. How much gas. She'll know the mileage between them when he's at home and she's at home and they aren't together. Avery, resting her head on his shoulder, closes her eyes and feels a strange ache she wasn't expecting. She's not sure what it's for. Even now some part of her mind can't help but compare the two men, the stark differences and the subtle, dangerous similarities. She can't help but think of loneliness as a balm as much as a sickness, and her hand finds his in the grass, soft and seeking, squeezing his.
Her other hand makes contact with his mouth. He kisses it, and she turns it, resting her fingertips against his lips, tracing the outline of his mouth.
"I didn't," she says softly. "I'm... not really looking, either. I feel the same drive that we all do, but... my madness will always pull me away from them. It isn't fair."
Calden WhiteAs though their ache amplifies each to each, now it's Calden's turn to feel a sharp, unmistakeable twinge. His brow furrows. He kisses her fingertips too, nips at the pads of her fingers very gently.
"Do you want to know what I think?"
It's an honest question, and he hopes she knows that. He hopes she knows he wouldn't be offended if the answer were no.
Avery Chase"You think," Avery says softly, lightly, smoothing her hand over his jaw instead, moving it til it rests on his chest, turning her head til she can meet his eyes, "that anyone would be lucky to have me, mad or otherwise. That I'm lovely and enchanting and wise and wonderful, and that I should not be alone."
Her mouth curves at the corner. She smiles at him, fondly, almost searchingly. "Am I close?"
Calden WhiteCalden smiles. He can't help it. Oh, she has him. Not exactly, but some of it, at least: lucky to have her was the exact phrase he had in mind. And he tells her:
"I was going to say exactly that. Anyone would be lucky to have you. Anyone."
His hand covers hers over his chest. She can feel his heartbeat there, beneath cotton, beneath skin, beneath muscle, beneath bone. As deep inside him as anything: that's the organ she seems to touch so easily. There it is again, a skip in his pulse as she smiles at him. He kisses her this time, softly.
"But I was also going to say, I think you should let them decide whether it's fair or not. The wolves who might want to follow you, the ones that might want you as a packmate and an Alpha, might just think it's quite the bargain to have you at the price of your madness."
Avery ChaseLucky to have her.
That is the way he looks at her. That is the way he looked at her when she ascended the stairs at his place for the first time and he saw her -- not a direwolf, not even a regular wolf, not even the pristine white specimen of purity and perfection that took down one of the elk that sometimes roams his land, but her. That's the way he looked at her when he lowered his mouth to her cunt that first time, eager and hungry, like she was doing him a favor letting him touch her like that, kiss her there, make her make such sounds.
He looks at her like that so often. He doesn't even seem to notice himself doing it, but she sees it. She knows that look somehow, as though the very words were writ across his face. So she knows: he thinks they'd be lucky to have her. Anyone would be. He would be. And he holds her hand to his heart like he's making an oath against it. He kisses her and her eyes fall closed, then open again as he draws back.
Inexplicably, when he has said what he means to say, her eyes open again and they're wet. She doesn't shed those tears, though, no. She blinks at them, inhales, smiles, exhales. "We should go. I'd like to go now."
Calden White[! AR YOU TAY?]
Dice: 5 d10 TN6 (1, 1, 2, 7, 10) ( success x 2 )
Avery Chase[Avery isn't sad because of any latent self-loathing or self-recrimination in the form of worrying that she's too damaged to hold a pack together, or because Calden suggested they would want her as their Alpha. It has more to do with that hand over that heart and everything happening between the two of them, and the way he looks at her, and the memory of something far more painful than anything in this conversation being stirred by that hand, and that heart, and ... everything happening between the two of them.]
Calden WhiteA flicker of a smile again, bittersweet. He looks at her; he understands her a little better every time he does. And he doesn't push, doesn't dredge, doesn't stir the past further.
"Okay," Calden says. He pushes one hand against the ground, standing, picking his bottle of water up. "I'll give you my address," he adds, "in case we get separated on the freeway. You should call me if you get bored. We can put it on speaker and just ... talk on the drive."
Avery ChaseThat past hurts her. The losses, the terror, the change, the life. And it didn't stop when she came back from death and earned her name and took her place among her tribe. It wasn't as though she reclaimed something that had been taken from her, or hidden from her, and the losses stopped. Somehow they only cut more deeply. What she thought was hers. What she thought she was entitled to, what she had been promised, what she had hoped for, longed for.
She has not lost so much to have become hopeless, depressed, resigned, numb to the pain. To her credit and to her pain, she still hopes. She still dreams. She still feels.
Calden rises, sensing that pain, and he doesn't prod at it tonight. He doesn't poke at the wound and ask her why it's there. But then, this is the only time he's seen tears in her eyes. He gets to his feet, not swaying this time, his eyes not swimming. He offers her his hand, and she laughs softly as he reaches down, draws her to her feet. She looks up at him, and there is naked feeling there, naked gratitude and affection and an intimacy that neither of them was looking for and both of them aren't sure what to do with.
"That sounds lovely," she whispers, smiling at him.
--
His Silverado looks like it did the day he bought it. He's been at her place... what, an hour? An hour and a half? It's detailed to perfection. The interior is vacuumed. There was a stain on the passenger seat that isn't there anymore. The dash has been cleaned and given a coat of dust and dirt repellant. It's been washed, then waxed, and gleams from the polish. For the love of Christ, even the tires have had every speck of dirt cleaned out from their treads.
Avery smiles, pleased. "Chauncey takes cleanliness very seriously," she says, without mockery. She smiles up at Calden. "If you're pleased, I'll tell him so. He'll be so happy. But if you aren't pleased, I'll tell him to leave your truck alone next time."
She's driving the same car they got here in, a brand-new pearl-white Juke. It's adorable and curvy and has a bouncy look to it, and her overnight things are already in the back. She kisses him in between the cars, her hands on his waist and her mouth tilted up to his, her eyes dry now.
"Promise me you'll have me as soon as we get there," she whispers.
Calden WhiteTruth be told he wanted to hug her, there on her lawn. He wanted to hold her. It's the first time he's seen tears in her eyes. It may or may not be the first time he's backed off so readily, but it's certainly the first time there was never a doubt in his mind that he would.
He doesn't hold her, though. Somehow, that too seemed a little like poking at the bruise. Exposing the wound. So his hand takes hers instead, and he pulls her to her feet as chivalrously as anyone would expect. Lovely, she calls his tender little plan of talking on the way there. And he smiles.
The truck. is so. clean. It's so clean that Calden nearly doesn't recognize it as his own for a second. It's on his tongue to mention that it's interesting that her father or her brother drives the exact same car he does, but then
he sees the shadow of that rifle racked on the roof. The silhouette of that little ornament he has hanging from the mirror: an intricate knot of finely wrought iron; something that looks like it might have once been a Christmas tree decoration before careless handling bent it and scuffed it and made it unfit for the Yuletide.
"I haven't seen it this clean since the day I bought it," Calden says, amazed, as he opens the driver's side door and looks in. Even the rifle is polished. Even the little ornament is polished -- and unbent, Calden notices. "Thank Chauncey for me, please. Tell him he's ... the fastest detailer I've ever seen."
His hand cups her upper arm, warm against her deltoid, as they kiss. She demands a promise, and his mouth curls.
"Miss," he replies, that gently mocking gravity of his, "I would be honored to."
And then he kisses her again. Lighter this time, smiling. "Drive safe," he whispers. "Call me when we're out of the city."
Avery ChaseLike all Silver Fangs, Chauncey has his share of madness. Cleanliness is next to godliness. That which is in his care must be perfected. All of Avery's family's vehicles are under his care. They have their oil changed regularly, they only take the best gas, and nary a crumb gets squished into the carpet that he doesn't get out. It soothes him. It makes him feel calm, doing all this. It steadies his mind and lets him sleep at night.
Avery smiles at Calden's amazement and pleasure with how his truck looks. She looks so happy, as though she's about to clap. "I'll tell him you said so. He so likes to have his work appreciated, but he would do it even if it was not. He's very hardworking."
And he is hers. Not her blood, but he is her kin. He is in her care, and if Calden has seen anything of Avery, it is that those in her care
are kept safe
and comforted
and happy. Where it is in her power to take care of them, she takes care of them. Even those who serve her. Even those whose duty it is to take care of her.
--
She wanted to ask him to promise to make love to her. The words were on her tongue a moment before she changed them. She closes her eyes a moment and kisses him. His gently mocking gravity is erased. She kisses him the way he should always kiss her, drenching and long and hungry. No light kiss. Avery doesn't permit it. She has her fingers in his hair. If he is sobered up by now, she makes him drunk again. She watches his eyes as she draws back.
"I will," she says quietly,
and she does. Some time later, and some distance north, his cell rings. And she is asking him, right off the bat: "Did you go to school in a one-room schoolhouse? Do they have schools out in the middle of nowhere?"
Lightly. As though her eyes have never known tears.
Calden WhiteThey're in the small hours of the morning by then, and in the dark expanses of the countryside. To the left, the low-etched line of the mountains, the ice-caps on their tallest peaks brilliant in the moonlight. And to the right, the beginnings of the Great Plains stretching away infinitely into the east.
Their highway cuts the line between mountain and plain. The traffic has dropped away, and though they didn't try overhard to stay close in the city, Avery can see Calden's truck now on the road, black and gleaming, the chrome accents catching every bit of light.
In the cabin, it's dark save for the lights on the dash. He has the air conditioning turned down low. He has an audiobook going, which is his habit on these long drives. He has his phone close at hand, and when it rings he picks up in a heartbeat. She asks him
something so random that he laughs, and she hears it like he's in the car with her. "Hello to you too, Avery," he says.
"And, they do have schools," he promises her, "of a sort, anyway. I'm glad to report I wasn't forced to teach myself my letters and numbers like some storybook convict. But I didn't go to a public school 'til seventh grade. I could have, but it was a long drive and my parents didn't think it made sense to drag a six year old out of bed at five in the morning just to drive to school.
"Besides, one of our neighbors -- his wife had a college education and a few years' experience in education, so she converted her dining room into a sort of classroom. So that's where my brothers and I, along with all the kids for twenty miles around, had our elementary school education.
"We all went to public school for seven to twelve, though. There were a lot of kids in the family, so we just all carpooled there. By the time I was in seventh grade my biggest brother had already gone off to college. So my big brother drove us, and after he graduated my middle brother drove us, and by the time he left I drove my little brother.
"Pawnee Junior/Senior High," he says. "That's the name of the school. You can Google it later."
Avery ChaseShe asks him a question that he must think is random and silly, but it's truly not, he's an educated man who enjoys reading, but he lives nowhere. It's not even on a map. She's convinced. "What about college?" she asks, almost instantly after he's told her about his early education, his high school.
Calden White"State school," he replies. "CSU, over in Fort Collins." Wry, "I didn't go very far from home. I did take a year off after college to travel, though. Backpacked through Europe and all before coming home."
Avery Chase"I've heard that's a lovely institution," Avery says diffidently, when he dares to sound wry about his alma mater, calling it a state school. But he packpacked through Europe. He left Colorado, he left the States, he left his father and the cows and all of it. Avery smiles in her little Juke.
"And what did you think of Europe?"
Avery Chase[PACKPACK.]
Calden White"Good beer," comes his oh-so-predictable answer; that, and a helping of low-simmering humor. "Good wine. Good vodka, if you went far enough east." A little more serious then: "Old, old cities. Sometimes it was like I'd turn a corner and there'd be a street or a bridge or a river or a statue or a building I recognized from some ... textbook or novel.
"I was surprised by how small some of the cities were. Especially the ones so famous that you'd imagine they had a population to match their name. Canterbury was tiny. Bordeaux was small. Even Rome was smaller than I'd expected."
Avery ChaseGood beer. High praise from a man who grew up a stone's throw from Fort Collins. Good wine -- that's a little more obvious. She smiles as he mentions vodka. Age. Antiquity. He can't see her, but she's imaginging it with him, visualizing things from her own youth, her own travels. Even Rome was smaller than he expected.
"Who was with you?"
Calden White"My shadow." Now she hears the smile as fully as she's ever seen it. "Faithful as a hound.
"What about you, Miss Chase? Done any traveling?"
Avery ChaseHe went alone. He grins in his truck. Her own smile as she drives lazily behind him is lopsided. He can only hear the faintest huff of her laughter. "Oh, of course," she says. "A little when I was young, then more regularly in my teens. I studied abroad while seeking my degree, as well. I haven't been since I changed, though."
Calden WhiteHe sounds curious: "Why not?"
Avery ChaseA faint sigh comes through his speakers, wistful more than anything else. Resigned, perhaps. "I've just been too busy."
Calden White"I wish I could claim differently, but I can't remember the last time I traveled for pleasure. Or very far. Though truth be told, I think I might just prefer being home to anything else. I'm rather boring like that."
Avery Chase"Yes, you're quite the dullard," Avery says matter-of-factly, and he can only hear the grin at the very edges of her words, the spread of it over her teeth, the held-back laughter.
Calden White"I am!" he insists, laughing. "I'm in bed by eight most nights, I'll have you know. Bringing royal wolves and beautiful women home is an aberration in my daily rhythm."
Avery Chase"Oh, my," Avery says, and demurely: "Should I take myself back home, then? I wouldn't want to disturb your rhythm. One should never upset the fragile constitution of one's cherished friends for one's one pleasure."
Calden White"You'd break my heart," Calden replies instantly.
Avery Chase[EMPATHY]
Dice: 4 d10 TN6 (3, 5, 8, 8) ( success x 2 )
Calden White[he's joking! he would be sad if she seriously turned around and went home, but he doesn't think she'd actually do that.]
Avery Chase"Well, that would be quite a step above upsetting your rhythm," Avery says mildly. "I suppose for your own good I'll have to come in and be utterly un-boring."
Calden White"I would love," Calden replies, smiling, "to be un-bored by you."
Avery Chase"Are you bored now?" she asks. And when the inevitable no comes, when he laughs or when he says hardly, madam, a slow smile spreads her lips again. "Well, then I suppose I'm already doing splendidly on that front."
Calden White"Absolutely not, miss," is his reply,
which, really, she expected.
And so it goes. The drive passes faster like this. An audiobook is nice, but it's nothing compared to the scintillating conversational wit of one Avery (names names many names) Chase. Now and then Calden alerts Avery of an upcoming turn, from freeway to highway to country road. He doesn't quite follow the path Avery's GPS plots. His path might be slightly longer, but it involves fewer turns. At one point -- after they leave the freeway, before they plunge into the lightness countryside -- Calden does in fact stop at a gas station. He fills up, meeting her by her car with a cup of hot chocolate he bought from the convenience store. They talk a little while, and then they get back in their cars.
An hour later they're rolling down the crumbling asphalt drive to Calden's house. Unsurprisingly, the house is dark. There are a few lights in the front, casting a warm glow over the stone facade, illuminating the drive. He indicates that Avery should park in the honored spot near the front door; he himself parks where he usually does, around back where he can access the pastureland more easily.
Coming back around in his borrowed shirt, keys flashing in one hand, he meets her at the front door and lets her in. The house smells exactly as it did the night she met him: like simple homecooked meals, like wood and woodfire, like Calden and his kin.
He takes her hand in the foyer. He leads her to the kitchen first -- with the semicircle of a breakfast bar, the focal lighting over the stove and the expansive built-in flat griddle. Calden gets some water out of the fridge, grabs some summer sausage and some grapes and a block of cheddar, gets a loaf of bread out of the breadbox. Avery might protest -- how much did he think she would eat at two or three in the morning, anyway? -- but he carries the bounty with him anyway, taking her hand again, taking her through the dark, open space of his living room. She can see the moon outside those soaring windows. The sky is a deep, deep blue, three shades from black. The moon is enormous. They walk toward it, and then they circle the foot of the stairs, and then
Calden leads her upstairs.
"Study," he murmurs, pointing with their linked hands. "Terrace." Behind the stairs, and out glass double-doors: with large, padded seating around a fireplace. "And my room."
It's a suite, really, and one with a slightly odd floorplan that stands mute testament to the many iterations and incarnations this house has been through. A small sitting area; a large bathroom that practically seems to be a sort of drawing room in and of itself. No closets, but a very large set of wardrobes against one wall. A small bookshelf near the sofa. Yet another fireplace, and that's not counting the small one in the bathroom. There's another terrace accessible from the bathroom, and a smaller balcony right across from the bed
which is large, and high, and four-posted. A lot of deep colors in this room; exposed dark wood and vaulted ceilings, reds, browns. Warm, earthy tones; a welcome contrast, doubtlessly, when winter comes and the world outside is blue, white, black and ice.
Calden sets the food down on the coffee table. "Make yourself comfortable," he says. "I'll build us a fire." And he goes to the fireplace and -- absurd, considering how hot and dry it is outside, considering the house is only dim and cool because of his air conditioning -- begins to do exactly that.
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