Sullivan talked to most of the greenery, the conversation getting more and more irate and more and more for Kia’s entertainment. Every time Sullivan pushed her hair out of her eyes, she smeared mud on her face. When Kia tried to wipe it off, she made it infinitely worse. And everything was funny. A heavier gust of wind. A particularly slimy root ball. The crowd eating biscuits below.
Finally, Sullivan stood up, shivering and triumphant.
“The water’s going down!”
They’d loosened the vital root ball. Suddenly the water was draining like a bathtub. They heard someone below yelp.
“Serves them right for eating biscuits down there,” Kia said. She slogged through the diminishing water and threw her arms around Sullivan.
Sullivan hugged her back and tried to kiss her, but all she did was get mud in their mouths, and it was almost as good as a mud-free kiss because they were in it together.
“Is there one part of you that’s not covered in mud?” Sullivan said, laughing.
“There is,” Kia said.
Sullivan opened her mouth and then shut it.
“Look who’s blushing now,” Kia said, although to be fair, it was hard to tell if Sullivan was blushing or just flushed from the cold.
Even with the rain pounding and urban seaweed splashing around them, Kia felt warm all the way through.
“Let’s get you home, Ms. Jackson. I owe you a hot shower.” Sullivan trailed her fingers down the front of Kia’s raincoat. “And a whole lot more.”
chapter 25
Sullivan let theminto the house dripping mud.
“We wrecked your cab,” Sullivan said apologetically.
“Trucks are meant to get muddy.” Kia dropped her jacket in a pile in the foyer. “Haven’t you seen the commercials?”
“No one drives a truck that nice through mud, do they?”
Kia wasn’t thinking about the truck. Sullivan could have exploded paintballs in the cab, and she wouldn’t have cared. What she cared about was what came next. In the museum, when Sullivan said,We’re consenting adults and we’re married, Kia was ready to say yes. A hundred times yes. Kia didn’t know how to make a move now. Luckily she didn’t have to.
“Do you want to shower upstairs or downstairs?” Sullivan asked.
“Which one do you want?”
“I want the one you’re in.”
“Yes,” Kia said.
Sullivan held out her hand.
“Downstairs?”
Kia nodded.
“Watch out for the Turkish rugs,” Kia said as Sullivan led her down the hallway.
“I don’t know if they’re Turkish. I got them from Wayfair.”
“You said they were Turkish.” Kia tiptoed around the edge ofthe runner.
“Because I didn’t want you stepping on them.”
That night felt like a long time ago.
