Page 71 of Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail

“Hey,” Astrid said, slipping in the back door and shaking out her clear umbrella. She was dressed to the nines, as usual: a black blouse, wide-legged ivory pants, and her standard three-inch black heels. Jordan had no clue how she traipsed around the Pacific Northwest weather in those shoes.

“Mm,” Jordan said back, focusing again on the screen.

She felt rather than saw Astrid pause, take stock of her. She could feel the woman’s eyes sliding over her, feel her brain working, assessing.

“I’m fine,” Jordan said preemptively.

Astrid click-clacked closer to her, not stopping until their shoulders touched. She smelled clean, that ocean-breeze-and-laundry scent. She smelled likeher, and Jesus Christ, Jordan’s knees nearly buckled. She was suddenly so tired. Fuck the smiles, maybe what she really needed was to sob into Astrid Parker’s lovely neck, feel her arms around her.

She shook her head, trying to get a grip. She hated that Meredith could still do this to her. One thought. One memory. Andkapow!She was laid out on the floor, body parts strewn all over the fuckingplace. Emotionally speaking, that is. Suddenly, nothing felt right. She was going to blow this—the design was tacky, Astrid just wanted to fuck a woman, didn’t matter who, and Jordan would never play any role in her own goddamn life other than the best friend. The pal. The—

“Jordan.”

Astrid’s voice.

Astrid’s fingers on her cheek.

Jordan let Astrid turn her chin so they were facing each other.

“You’re okay,” Astrid said.

NotWhat’s wrong?NotAre you all right?Nothing interrogative whatsoever. A statement. A beautiful declarative sentence. Jordan’s eyes began to sting, legit tears threatening to swell, and Jesus, she would not cry and ruin her eyeliner right now, not with her family and camera crew due to arrive any moment for their meeting.

But she did circle her fingers around Astrid’s wrist. Two wrists, as somehow both of Astrid’s hands had come up to frame Jordan’s face, thumbs swiping across her cheekbones.

“You’re brilliant,” Astrid said, the breath from her words whispering against Jordan’s mouth. “And everyone is going to love what you’ve created.”

Jordan leaned in until her forehead touched Astrid’s. “What we created.”

Astrid sighed, then nodded. “We.”

“We.”

“It’s a nice word.”

Jordan laughed. “Yeah. It really is.”

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, fingers drifting over cheekbones and smoothing over wrists, almost like a dance. With Astrid this close, Jordan didn’t feel like just any woman.

She felt like herself.

She felt like—

A knock sounded on the swinging door, and Jordan pulled back a second too late. Natasha’s head was already through the opening, her expectant expression brightening into something else.

“Oh,” she said as Astrid stepped away from Jordan and straightened her blouse, cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Except her tone said,I am so glad I interrupted.

“You’re not,” Astrid said, professional smile back in place. “Come on in.”

“I was just so excited to see this final design plan,” Natasha said. Emery, Darcy, Regina, and Patrick spilled in behind her, quickly turning on all the equipment they’d set up the day before for today’s shoot.

“Welcome,” Jordan said, waving her arm at the space, where a single sage-green cabinet, complete with mullioned glass, rested on the floor. She and Astrid had moved it in here yesterday afternoon, planning to use it as a talking piece for their presentation.

Or rather, Astrid’s presentation.

Jordan saw the moment Natasha laid eyes on the cabinet—her steps halted, eyes widening.