“Clarita can only stay an hour! Her brother’s driving her and he has to get her home before work.”

“Nice that he’s willing to drive her for such a short time,” I said. Noelle pouted and raced back up the pool deck stairs.

So, I wasn’t the only older brother looking after kid sisters today.

Dad sighed. “Drama. It’s all life or death. There are advantages to old age. You’ll see.”

“Like adapting to disappointment?”

My dad shot me an annoyed look, then picked clumped ice from his near-empty glass. “Sparkling ice or puddle melt -- there is something in between.”

Yeah, my existence now. Like clouded ice. That’s how I felt in bed last night as I recalled Edon’s hands on my waist, imagining, not him, but a stranger pressing me against the brick, his mouth in wild exploration until it found mine ... and then plunging in. There on the front porch with Mrs. Rosen’s eyes hardening in disgust.

Ice. Muddied, without sparkle. No, it hadn’t been right. Over the past year, I’d had too many not right nights. I hadn’t painted since I left school.

Standing, I indicated my empty glass and reached for Dad’s. He stretched, yawning, and gave up the plastic, though he was supposed to be serving me. “There’s bagged ice downstairs if the pitcher needs more. Blend it a little, okay? I like it frosty.”

The girls squealed, and a huge splash sparkled over the pool. My eyes were still adjusting to the shadowed kitchen when I saw the flash of a car in the driveway. Setting the pitcher in the blender base, I wiped my sticky hand on a towel and grabbed my T-shirt from the chair, sliding it overhead.

Must be Clarita, I thought, as I headed to the front door to let her in.

A tiny dark-haired girl stood sandaled on the porch step, frog beach bag dangling off her shoulder. Cracking open the door, I smiled, then stopped.

Beyond her, swinging out of the car, was the brother. He rested his forearm on the car door, ginger skin, shiny like it was sun-polished, and tight over a smooth bicep and rounded shoulder. Slim and toned, he wore a white tank shirt with thin blue stripes. A breeze ruffled it over his lean chest, and it gaped beneath the shadowed clavicle.

“Hey, they’re out back,” I said absently as Clarita squeezed past me in the doorway. Kicking off her sandals, she padded through the kitchen. The backdoor protested on rusty springs and clicked closed. The brother stood, his eyes concealed by dark glasses. Black hair shone straight across his forehead. His plush lips tipped to a grin.

Jesus. Collecting myself, I stepped barefoot to the hot porch. “Hi. Thanks for driving her over.” The guy didn’t move to get back in the car. We stood staring. The sun fell like a concrete block. Then he slammed the car door and started over.

Animal, I thought. Each step was territory marked. I thought of that dancer at college, the one who’d leap the stairs, skirt down railings. There was something naturally fluid in this guy’s step. I backed up and realized I had nowhere to go. The door had closed behind me.

At the bottom of the step, he put out his hand. Shit, I was sure my hand would be sweaty. My lungs were tight. “Hi,” he said. “I was just wondering if there was a coffee shop or something nearby where I could wait.” The full lips spread with a flashing white smile. Then, slowly, he raised his sunglasses.

“Richie?” My dad’s voice startled me out of stupidity. The door cracked open, bumping my leg. “Oh,” Dad said then. Damn right, oh.

Clarita’s brother.