Hold Me Close Read online

  “Someone else is doing that one.” Polly dragged her fork through the casserole, separating the chicken from the rest of it and pushing it to the side.

  Heath tipped the beer bottle against his lips, then swallowed. “You’re not going to eat that?”

  “I think I might become vegan.” Polly shrugged.

  That was news to Effie. “You realize that means no cheeseburgers, right?”

  Polly laughed. “Duh!”

  “And you’ll have to actually eat vegetables,” Effie added as Polly pushed the broccoli to the side, as well.

  “Yes, Mother,” Polly said with a sigh. “I know.”

  Heath poked his fork into a piece of chicken on Polly’s plate. “More for me.”

  Polly eyed them both. “So, you’re okay with it? If I become vegan?”

  “If that’s what you want,” Effie said. “I think it’s going to be harder than you think it will be, but okay.”

  Polly looked faintly surprised, then frowned. “Sam’s mom told her she wasn’t allowed. She said that Sam could do whatever she wanted when she grew up, but while she still lived at home she had to eat what her mom made for dinner.”

  Effie had never forced Polly to eat anything she didn’t want to, never made her clean her plate. Eating and food were complicated issues for Effie, and she wasn’t about to make them so for her daughter. She gave Heath a look.

  “Well, Polly, I can’t promise you I’ll make all kinds of elaborate meals for you—”

  “You don’t anyway,” Polly pointed out.

  Effie made a face. “Thanks, kid.”

  Polly laughed again, and this time it sounded more natural. “I can find recipes on the internet.”

  “I can help you cook some vegan meals.” Heath stabbed another bite of Polly’s discarded chicken and chewed slowly, and that was that.

  “Where do you think that’s coming from?” Heath asked when they’d finished eating and Polly had gone to her room to do her homework.

  Effie looked at him from the sink, where she was washing the casserole pan. “Wanting to be vegan? Who knows. It’s trendy?”

  “She’s growing up.” Heath leaned against the counter next to her, close enough that she’d knock him with her elbow if she wasn’t careful.

  Effie blew a palm of soap suds at him, keeping things light. “That’s what they do.”

  “Yeah. I guess so.”

  She faced him. “What’s up with you?”

  “Nothing.” Heath shrugged and ran a hand through his hair to get it off his eyes. His phone rang from his pocket, but instead of answering it, he pressed the button to send it right to voice mail.

  Effie kept her voice casual. “Your girlfriend won’t be happy if you don’t answer her calls.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Of course not.” Effie rinsed the pan and set it on the dish rack, then washed her hands and dried them before looking at him again. She touched the fading bruise on his cheek.

  Heath closed his eyes at the touch, which was not quite a caress. He turned his face to let his lips press her palm in not quite a kiss. Effie took her hand away.

  “Let’s cut your hair,” she said.

  Seated in front of her in a kitchen chair, a towel clipped around his neck, Heath shook his head until his hair fell over his eyes. Effie dragged her fingers through the thick, silky darkness. She scratched his scalp lightly, and he let out a sigh. She finger-combed it, letting the length tickle her fingers. Heath had gorgeous hair, and it seemed a shame to cut it, but he also couldn’t go around looking like a sheepdog.

  She took her time, trimming a bit here and there. Humming under her breath, she drew the hair to the tips of her fingers and let it fall over his face to judge the length. Trimmed some more. Caught up in what she was doing, she didn’t notice him staring at her at first, but when her gaze snagged on his, she paused.

  “Kiss me,” he mouthed.

  Heat flooded her, but with a small smile, Effie shook her head. Heath’s eyes glittered. She was standing between his spread knees, the scissors in one hand and his hair in the other. He let his hands run up the backs of her denim-clad thighs to anchor her hips and inch her a step closer.

  “Kiss me,” he said in a low voice.

  “No. Sit still.”

  Heath closed his eyes and gave Effie a sleepyish smile. She put her knuckles beneath his chin to tip his head back, then stroked her fingers through his hair, once, twice, again. She watched his smile thin, but he didn’t open his eyes.

  She wanted to kiss him, of course. Wanted to do more than that. Simply touching him this way, when he was acquiescent under her caress yet on the constant edge of a plea, made Effie feel as though she were slowly treading water but waiting for the inevitable moment when she knew she was going to drown.

  Instead, she focused on finishing the haircut. Brushing the hair from his shoulders and catching as much of it as she could in the towel, Effie stepped back. “All done.”

  Heath opened his eyes and scrubbed both hands along his scalp. “Thanks.”

  “You don’t want to look at it?”

  “I’m sure you did a great job.” He stood, looming over her. Stray hairs clung to his face here and there, and he held out the collar of his shirt to shake it. “Itches. I need a shower. Then dessert? You want to watch a couple episodes of Runner with me?”

  Over time, they’d slowly been working their way through the entire ten seasons of the show, although they’d seen them all already. Effie shook the towel over the garbage can. “I have a project to finish. But I bet Polly will watch with you. Make sure she’s finished with her homework first.”

  “Of course.” Heath snagged her by the belt loop to pull her a few steps closer. He would kiss her now, she thought, but he only passed his thumb over her lower lip for a second before letting her go.

  Twenty minutes later, the familiar sounds of Runner’s opening theme song hummed through the wall as Effie stood in front of her easel. She’d bought this house because of the glassed-in back porch, which was too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter, but had amazing light all day long. It didn’t matter much now, since the sun had set, but she’d rigged up a pair of strong work lights.

  This piece would probably be better painted in the dark.

  She stood in front of a canvas still mostly blank. She’d stroked a few tentative lines over the surface. Letting her fingers get a feel for the image. At this point, the picture was still all in her head. It had taken her a few weeks to get started, for the idea to move from concept to actual planning. This piece would be different from the ones she put up for sale at her Craftsy store or the ones people paid her to create based on their own specifications. This one was going to be all Effie.

  She’d thought she would sketch an outline first, but now she picked up several tubes of paint instead. Black, crimson, shades of blue. The faintest, palest pink. She squeezed out liberal amounts onto her wooden palette and took up a brush. She began to paint.

  * * *

  Happy little trees.

  People could make fun of Bob Ross all they wanted, but Effie has spent hours with his soft drone and those landscapes. The TV in the basement gets only one station, PBS. It’s almost worse than having no television at all, but Daddy gave it to them as a “reward” for good behavior, and Effie wouldn’t complain about it, not even to Heath. Especially not to him, when he’s been the one to suffer for the reward.

  She’s always loved drawing and painting and art, but she’s learned more about technique in the past few months of The Joy of Painting than she had in the years of taking classes with Madame Clay. Yesterday, Effie painted a pretty landscape with trees and mountains and a lake. Then she painted crossbars, like a window, so they could hang it on the wall and pretend they had a view. Her p