The Art of Romance (18 page)

In the middle of belting out “I Cain’t Say No,” and ignoring the looks she was sure she was getting from the other people waiting impatiently in the crowded cell phone lot at the Nashville International Airport, Caylor’s phone chimed with a new text message.

Finally.

P
LN LANDED
. G
TNG OFF NOW
. B
GG CLAIM #8
.

Caylor pulled up the airport’s website on her phone and located the map for the baggage claim area of the terminal. Carousel number eight should put Felicity coming out at one of the first two doors from the direction Caylor would approach the building.

T
EXT ME WHEN YOU GET TO BAGGAGE CLAIM AND CAROUSEL STARTS RUNNING
. S
HE PUNCHED
S
END ON THE MESSAGE BUT WASN’T CERTAIN
F
ELICITY WOULD—

The phone chirped.

K

Well, maybe Felicity would remember to follow through. Caylor started the SUV and turned the music back on, though at a reduced volume. Several cars pulled out of the lot. Caylor waited. Two more songs. Three.

H
ERE
. C
ARSEL MOVING
.

Caylor pulled out of the waiting lot and into the traffic, trying to navigate the many forking lanes of the airport’s access road. With as many times a year as Caylor picked up and dropped off her parents or flew in and out herself, she knew which lanes went where, so she could concentrate on not getting into a wreck instead of having to read the signs.

Oh, lucky day. Someone pulled away from the curb just between the two doors closest to carousel eight as Caylor drove up. She whipped into the spot, put the Escape in P
ark
, got out, and went around the back to open the tailgate of the small SUV.

Just in time, too. The airport’s glass doors slid open, and a young woman with long, stringy red hair exited, dragging a huge duffel bag and suitcase behind her. Caylor didn’t even want to know how much the enormous, and probably overweight, bags had cost her to check.

She waved. Felicity acknowledged her by raising her chin and moving in her direction. Not wanting to leave her still-running vehicle unattended, Caylor waited for her sister at the curb but took the rolling suitcase from her as soon as she got there.

“Mercy—how much stuff did you think you were going to need for a couple of weeks at home?” She was pretty sure she felt something in her back pull when she hefted the suitcase up into the SUV.

“And hello to you, too.” Same Felicity, always grumpy after traveling.

“I’m sorry.” Caylor helped her sister get the duffel in then turned and drew her into a hug. “Hello, Felicity. Welcome home.”

“Sage.”

Caylor stepped back, and reached for the tailgate to close it. “What’s that?”

“I’m going by Sage now.”

“O-oh.” This was all Mama and Daddy’s fault. Hadn’t they realized when they named their younger daughter Felicity Sage that it would have an effect on her? “Let’s go, then, Sage.”

Caylor had to remind
Sage
to put her seat belt on before she would pull out into the flow of traffic, which she managed to do right before the traffic cop with the mean face reached them.

“How come you decided to fly in a few days early?” Caylor again kept her attention on the other cars—and decided to take the back exit out onto Donelson Pike to get to the interstate instead of going all the way around to I-40 on the airport access road.

“I knew Mama and Daddy were coming in today, and I thought it would make a nice surprise if I was already here when they got here. It means I’ll get to spend as much time with them this year as you do.”

Was that a hint of jealousy, of sibling rivalry, Caylor detected? Well, she wasn’t the one who’d dropped out of college in the middle of her sophomore year, after losing all her scholarships the year before from poor grades, and decided to bounce from job to job, from place to place, landing who knew where.

“So, Portland, Oregon, huh?” That was the last city Felic—Sage had listed as her current city on Facebook.

“Yeah. But I liked Eugene and Salem a lot better. Portland was too big, too expensive.”

Judging by the grungy look of her clothing, she seemed to have assimilated into the West Coast, crunchy granola crowd. “What were you doing in Portland?”

“I worked as a receptionist at a salon for a while.” She twisted one dingy strand of hair around a finger. “They fired me because I wouldn’t give in to their establishmentarian ideals of personal appearance.”

Yep. Just as Caylor suspected. Not that her sister had ever really cared much for what other people thought of her appearance or behavior. And if Caylor could hold her breath for the almost thirty-minute drive to Forest Hills, she could survive her sister’s slept-on-a-floor-in-a-gym-for-a-week odor. She felt sorry for the people who’d had to be mushed up against her for hours on the flights from Portland to Denver and Denver to Nashville.

“Sassy is over at Mrs. Bradley’s house, baking this afternoon. I thought we could go straight there so you can see her.” Caylor took the exit from I-40 to get onto the I-440 parkway.

“Actually, can we stop at the house first? I’d really like to take a shower. It’s been a few days since I’ve been able to get one, and I know I smell pretty ripe.” After the bravado she’d shown at the airport, Sage seemed to shrink into herself—and the shapeless oatmeal-colored sweater.

“What’s going on, sis?”

Sage shrugged, her eyes pointed out the side window. “It’s a long story, and I don’t want to have to tell it several times. Let’s just wait until after Mama and Daddy get here.”

Stopping at home first, they unloaded Sage’s luggage, which they dragged into the den, where she’d be sleeping on the sofa, and while Sage went into the bathroom off the guest bedroom downstairs, Caylor carried all of her shopping bags upstairs to the loft.

Assuming all of Sage’s clothes were in pretty near the same condition as the ones she’d been wearing—if not worse—Caylor pulled out a sweater and T-shirt that had shrunk up in the wash and were way too tight for her now and a pair of warm socks, then went down to Sassy’s room and pulled out a pair of jeans Sassy rarely wore because they were too long for her. With Sage being between their heights, at just over five foot ten, but with a slenderer build than Caylor’s, hopefully the clothes would fit.

Laying the clothes out on the end of the bed in the guest bedroom where her sister would be sure to see them, she then went back upstairs to send a quick e-mail to Zarah and Flannery to let them know “Sage” had arrived safely.

She archived a few e-mails from students complaining about their final grades—she’d deal with those later.

The third step squealed.

“Hey, Caylor?”

She shut down the computer and headed for the stairs. Sage stood on the betraying third step. “That sweater looks good on you, if a bit too big. Sorry about that. Do the jeans fit? They’re Sassy’s.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Sorry I couldn’t supply you with underwear.”

Sage stepped down into the den but turned and held up something wadded in plastic in her hand. “I was able to take a few dollars and get a pack of new underwear at a discount store before I left. That’s one thing I definitely refuse to live without—clean undies.”

Even with her hair still wrapped in a towel, Sage looked 100 percent better.

“I’ve got some body sprays up in my bathroom if you want to borrow one.” Caylor listed the scents she could remember off the top of her head. Students and faculty and staff loved to give either bath product gift baskets or candles for gifts, so she had a stockpile of both.

“Ooh, jasmine pear sounds great.”

Caylor went back upstairs to dig through all of the travel-size bottles until she found that particular scent. She had three, so she took two of them down to Sage. “Here. I’ve got several. You can have these.”

Tears sprang to Sage’s hazel eyes. “Thanks.”

Since her sister had already indicated she didn’t want to discuss her problems right now, Caylor gave her a quick hug then pretended nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Ready to go?”

Sage pulled her damp hair back into a ponytail holder, leaving the length of it tucked under in a loose approximation of a bun at her nape. Having washed away the smudged eye makeup that had made her look like she hadn’t slept in weeks, she looked so much younger than her thirty-one years. “Yep. Let’s go.”

Back in the car—this time Caylor didn’t have to remind her to buckle up—Sage kicked off her black mules and pulled her heels up onto the edge of the seat and wrapped her arms around her knees. “How come Sassy is cooking over at Mrs. Bradley’s house?”

Caylor told her about the second oven giving up the ghost—and about Sassy’s elaborate plans for remodeling the house, including the arrival of Mr. Fantastic. By the time she pulled up the long driveway to the Bradleys’ grand Victorian home, Sage was actually laughing.

Caylor parked the car, but before turning it off, she reached over and clasped her sister’s hand. “You know I love you, right?”

Sage squeezed her hand back. “I know. I love you, too.”

“And you can tell me anything.”

“I know.”

“Just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.” She gave Sage’s hand a quick double squeeze then reached for the keys and killed the engine. “Come on. I’m sure Sassy has some bowls or spatulas for us to lick.”

She led Sage up the steps of the side porch, and the door opened before Caylor could knock.

The young, long-necked scientist from the family cookout back in October stood in the doorway, smiling. “Caylor, right?”

“Yes—you’re Paxton?”

“Pax, yeah.”

She shook his hand and walked past him into the warm, heavenly smelling kitchen. “This is my sister, Sage Evans.”

Pax didn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze fixed on Sage’s clean, angelic face. He seemed to recover himself as soon as her foot hit the threshold. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you, Sage.”

“Felicity? Is that you?” Sassy dropped her wooden spoon into the bowl of batter she was mixing and rushed across the kitchen to hug her younger granddaughter. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming in early?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.” Sage looked like she might burst into tears when Sassy pulled her into a rib-crushing hug. Caylor moved around until she could catch Sage’s eye and tried to send waves of calmness to her sister. Apparently it worked, because Sage relaxed, blinked a few times, and regained her smile.

“Felicity is going by her middle name now, Sassy. I like it. I think Sage suits her, don’t you?” Caylor moved closer to her sister and grandmother.

“Yes. In fact, I’m the one who suggested that to your mother.” Sassy patted Sage’s cheek. “Now, Sage, I don’t know if you’ve ever met Perty’s oldest grandson. This is Dylan Bradley.”

Caylor whirled around. Behind her, sliding off one of the breakfast-bar stools, Dylan stood and moved toward them.

She seriously wished she could take a page out of his book and flee the room.

C
aylor did a good job of hiding her initial shock at seeing Dylan. He went around the end of the bar to shake hands with Sage Evans. She had the same red hair as Caylor—though hers was long and pulled back instead of framing her face like a spunky elf.

The buzzing oven timer was the only thing that could pull Mrs. Evans away from fawning over her younger granddaughter.

“Sit, stay awhile.” Perty waved them toward the four stools at the breakfast bar. Dylan returned to the one on the far side. Caylor, who wouldn’t make eye contact with him, took the one on the opposite end. Paxton helped Sage get situated in the one next to Caylor before he sat down.

Dylan wasn’t sure what to say to Caylor—if he got the chance today. She seemed embarrassed to see him. Embarrassed that she’d taken what Dr. Putnam said the wrong way? Or embarrassed over the scene Dylan had caused by misinterpreting what could have been simple friendly gestures from her?

Perty handed them each a mug of cider from the slow cooker on the counter. Mrs. Evans slid the batch of cookies from the baking sheet onto a cooling rack, plated four of them, and brought them over to the bar.

She held the plate in front of Caylor first. “Toffee chip. Your favorite.”

Caylor picked up the hot cookie and slid it onto a napkin then set it down to cool for a few minutes.

“How were your flights?” Mrs. Evans asked Sage, returning to stirring the mincemeat pie filling she’d been working on when they arrived.

“Fine. Long. I had to be at the airport a little after four this morning—that’s what, six o’clock this time zone?—so it’s been a long day for me already.” She punctuated the statement with a yawn.

“Where do you live?” Pax seemed oblivious to the fact there was a tempting cookie and a cup of hot cider in front of him.

“I came in from Portland, Oregon.” Sage took a bite of the hot cookie. “You really should try these—they’re Sassy’s signature cookie.”

“What—oh.” Pax picked his up, took a bite, and then puckered his lips and started blowing to keep the hot bite from burning his tongue, bringing him momentarily out of his Sage-induced euphoria.