Read Online Slow Dancing on Price's Pier by Lisa Dale - Free Book Online

as the first energy bars.
    And maybe it’s difficult to see why an espresso—brewed with intense heat and steam—has anything to do with cultures that make “coffee” not from the beans of the tree but from the gently boiled leaves.
    But all in all, coffee connects us to our roots—a reminder of our nomadic and unindustrialized origins, and a reminder that no matter how distant we get from our beginnings, we’re never very far away at all.

FOUR

    In the dream it goes differently. She’s eighteen—beautiful. She’s wearing the same clothes she wore that day: an aqua T-shirt that shows a little of her belly. Denim shorts that are frayed to white at the bottom edge. Garret pushes open the door to the falling-down barn, knowing what he’ll find on the inside: old tires, a coil of rope the width of his leg, rust-crusted shovels, flattened beer cans, remnants of charcoal and ash.
    But instead, as he leads Thea inside the barn inside the dream, he doesn’t find the detritus of a falling-down silo, but instead, he walks into paradise: pinkish sunlight, pillows and candles, grapes and wine.
    She’s not nervous and neither is he. This isn’t their first time anymore—not in the dream. They’ve been doing this forever; he knows every inch of her body, every inch of flesh that’s round or sharp, dry or wet. He’s in no rush as he leads her to the plush and silken bed, the promise of her soft, slim fingers in his, the slight sheen of her lips where she’s licked them. Desire is restless but tender, greedy but patient—the want of old lovers, not new. The kind of passion Garret’s never known with anyone, least of all Thea, except in dreams.
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    On a peninsula jutting westerly into the waters of the Narragansett, the Pennant Inn appeared to Thea to be overwhelmingly regal, as if the perfect green lawn sloping away from the building was created to display the architecture like a velvet pillow displays a crown. At a table in the restaurant, Thea and Sue sat before a long line of curved bow windows that offered near panoramic views of the shoreline and foaming white breakers. Though they’d never explicitly talked about it, it was always understood that Sue paid.
    The busboy refilled their glasses of cucumber water, the ice sparking in the sunlight, the sound of classical music covering a long lull in the conversation. Nervous, Thea picked up her glass. Lately, she’d been working extremely long hours at the coffee shop, and she’d looked forward to her lunch date with Sue. They’d already covered the unusually cool weather, the traffic on the bridge, and the drop in numbers of tourists. But the truth was that neither one of them had come for chitchat.
    Thea shored up her courage. “Have you spoken to Jonathan?”
    â€œI talked to him. And he seems fine. But he always seems fine.” When she spoke again, her voice was gentle. “What happened—if you don’t mind my asking. I thought everything was going so smoothly . . .”
    â€œSo did I.” Thea squeezed Sue’s hand; her friend’s compassion showed clear on her face. “He clammed up in the last year. Like he was going through the motions but nothing else. I wish he would have talked to me. Warned me that something was wrong.”
    â€œSweetheart. It sounds like he did.”
    Thea was quiet. As far as she knew, no one had told Sue about Jonathan’s infidelity. And Thea wasn’t about to. What she wanted from Sue was guidance. Understanding. Wisdom. All the things she had come to depend on from her good friend. “Please. Tell me what I should do.”
    Sue drew her hand back and picked up her white wine, her fingers almost as thin as the crystal stem. “Did you know Ken cheated on me once?”
    â€œHe did?”
    Sue nodded, her usually gentle smile marred for a moment by nerves. “I don’t know if I should call