chocolate from the well-stocked pantry. Viviane always has plenty of chocolate on hand; it seems to be a universal staple for writers.
âAre we going back to the living room?â I want to be alone with her, but I canât seem to say so.
âLetâs go to your cottage. I donât want to wake anyone up. Do you have some nail polish? We can make it a real girlsâ night.â
âI do, but itâs pink. Donât you usually wear red?â
âI donât mind. Come on.â
We go outside, and the air is chilly, making goose bumps rise on my skin. Or maybe itâs knowing I will finally be alone with her.
Once inside my cottage, I turn on the lights and head into the bathroom.
âI have some polish remover, too,â I call over my shoulder. I look through the drawer where Iâve placed most of my toiletries, everything lined up in neat rows, and come up with the polish remover, a file, some cotton, and bring it back into the main room.
âPerfect,â Audrey says, and I feel unaccountably pleased.
She opens the wine and pours it into two glasses she brought with her from the house. I arrange all the nail supplies on the table and sit on the edge of the bed.
âIâm not very good at this,â I tell her, taking a long swallow of the wine. Itâs rich and dark on my tongue. I swallow some more.
âOh, Iâm sure you are,â she says, her tone throaty, flirtatious.
But thatâs Audrey, isnât it? I shouldnât read too much into it, no matter how much I want to.
âNo, really. Iâm not that much of a girlie girl. I donât wear much makeup. Keeping my toes painted is one of my few nods to being female.â
âDonât sell yourself short, Bettina. Youâre very female,â she says, sipping her wine, watching me over the rim of her glass.
A small flutter starts in my stomach.
Donât be foolish. This is just Audrey being Audrey.
I take a breath, forcing my pulse to steady. I drink some more of my wine, finishing off the glass. It helps a little.
âCan I do your toes?â she asks me as she refills both our glasses.
I am not going to say no.
âSure.â
âHere, scoot up and sit on the bed against the pillows.â
She shakes the polish, and I wait with my breath held in my lungs as though I am waiting for her to bend over me, to undress me, kiss me.
Stop it.
She leans over my toes and strokes the old polish off with a ball of cotton. I can feel her fingertips around the cotton ball. I drink some more of my wine, trying not to watch the way her hair falls around her face, like dark satin.
âSo, tell me what kind of guys you like,â she says to me. I laugh uncomfortably. âWhat?â
âWe canât have a slumber party without taking about boys!â
âIâve never actually had a slumber party before.â
Audrey pauses to look up at me. âYouâre kidding.â
âNope.â
âPardon me for saying so, but thatâs a little weird, Bettina.â
âI know. Iâve had a weird life, I guess, but not in any sort of interesting way. Iâve just missed out on a lot.â
âWell, itâs an awfully good thing that I came along then, isnât it?â
Sheâs teasing me, but itâs true, I think.
âYes. It is.â
She grins at me, and I smile back, and she empties her wineglass before bending her head to her task once more. I swallow the rest of my wine in a few gulps. It goes down easy, and my body relaxes.
âSo. About the boys,â she prompts.
âI donât know if I have a type. Guys are soâ¦theyâre a mystery to me. I donât like that I never seem to know what theyâre thinking.â
Audrey laughs as she opens the bottle of polish and begins to paint my nails. âI can tell you what theyâre thinking. Theyâre thinking they want to get in your
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