Page 16 of Drive
Rainey slepton.
Jacques turned in his seat to face her. Her head was tilted back against the headrest, her ivory neck angled and her chin braced against her right shoulder. In sleep, her face had lost its worry, its outrage, its humor. She looked completelypeaceful.
He knew he shouldn’t stare, but with her mouth softly closed, the bow of her lips made him think of raspberries, and his eyes wanted to have theirfill.
Just then, another ride request came through on his phone. He stared at it. He could wake Rainey, accept the next ride, and be on hisway.
Jacques pressedDecline.
Whatever time he had with her, he didn’t want to rush it. He tucked his phone in his back pocket, and it was this movement that wokeher.
“Oh my God,” she muttered, shooting up and rubbing her eyes. “How long have we beenhere?”
He smiled. “Not long. Not even aminute.”
“Mm.” She shook her head. “I need coffee… Would you likesome?”
“Yes.” He spoke without hesitation, and he saw that his quick response made her smile. Even if it was at his expense, it was worthit.
“Great. Let’s goin.”
Jacques got out of the car just in time to open the door for her. She thanked him, and he followed her up the path to the inset front porch, the one that cascaded with terra cotta pots, each spilling over with herbs andflowers.
She stopped at the orange double doors and pulled out her keys. “My dog Archie might jump on you, but he’s harmless,” she said, unlocking thedoor.
As soon as she opened it, a golden blur bounded out, jumped up on Rainey’s legs, and then turned and ran to Jacques, giving him the same treatment, before he darted back inside, springing high around them as theyfollowed.
“Archie, calm down.” She dropped down to her knees, and the dog, practically vibrating with excitement, hit her with his squirmingbody.
“Is he a poodle?” Jacques asked, dropping into a squat next to her and reaching out a hand to the dog’s curly coat. Archie’s brown eyes and nose gave him a friendly look, and his golden curls yielded under Jacques’stouch.
“Something like that. Archie was a rescue, so there’s no way to be sure,” she said, scrubbing the medium-size dog until he stopped squirming and just drooped. Then he flopped onto the floor and gave her his belly. Jacqueslaughed.
“We used to have a dog,” he said, smiling at the memory of Ace, Pal’s Catahoula, with his patchwork coat and ice blueeyes.
Rainey shook her head. “I can’t remember a time when we didn’t. I’d be lost without a dog.” Archie gave a sigh of contentment as she scratched hisbelly.
“Seems like he knows he hit thejackpot.”
“Yeah, he’s spoiled,” she said, giving Archie a pat and getting to her feet. “C’mon.”
They hadn’t gone farther than the foyer, but once Jacques stepped through that into the open living room, he saw that the whole house — inside and out — was tongue-in-groove cypress. The interior was stained a rich honey — floors, walls, and ceiling. Framed artwork and wall hangings broke up the view, making the power of the woodwork that much morearresting.
His lungs filled. Not simply because of the beauty of her home, but because the surroundings made him feel like he could catch his breath. Breathedeep.
“Wow,” he murmured. “It doesn’t feel like we’re in townanymore.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. I love this house.” She gestured to the living area with its welcoming furniture — a deep sectional sofa, moss-colored but scattered with crocheted orange and turquoise throw pillows, and a low coffee table. “Make yourself at home. I’ll start the coffee.” She turned then to the right where the room opened to a galley kitchen, separated from the living room by a counter flanked withstools.
He was about to take a seat on the sofa when his eye fell on the fireplace, bricked out in rough-hewn slate. Actually, his gaze landed above it to the vintage guitar mounted just over the mantle. Despite its obvious age, its round, aluminum body gleamed, and the gold plating at the top of the headstock teased him with letters he couldn’t makeout.
“How old is this?” he asked, pointing to therelic.
Rainey turned from the kitchen counter where she was filling the coffee basket and looked at theguitar.
“1930s, I think,” she said with a shrug. “It’s mydad’s.”
He gazed back at the beauty. “What is it?” he asked,marveling.
