Page 40 of Bed and Breakup (Dial Delights #15)

Robin

It’s eighty-five degrees today, a treat in early October. Molly and I would be fools not to take advantage of it. So we’re putting off regrouting the bathroom tile and soaking up some sun at our favorite swimming hole.

They’re a real thing. Even though this one, Hogscald Hollow, sounds like it was made up by J.R.R.

Tolkien. Looks like it too. Tucked into the stacked limestone mountains of the Ozarks, it’s a gorgeous turquoise color, dotted with waterfalls and surrounded by trees, currently vivid shades of orange and yellow and red.

It’s a secret spot known pretty much only by locals, surprising considering the centuries-old legends of its healing properties.

Everyone in town flocks to it in the summers, and the old Eureka hippies used to skinny-dip there, I hear from Dot and Eleanor.

But today’s a quiet autumn Tuesday, so we get it all to ourselves.

You can’t drive right up to Hogscald Hollow.

There are no parking lots or formal hiking trails.

Instead, you drive as close as you can get before the gravel roads are swallowed up by trees, then follow your instincts toward the water.

Molly and I do it while balancing our old kayak and paddles on our heads.

We peel off our hiking boots and shorts and T-shirts as soon as we reach the lake, throw them in a bag, and tie it to a tree branch away from bugs and critters.

I’ve got on some swim trunks and a blue bikini top.

Molly’s wearing a simple black one-piece with a plunging back that reveals a swath of tattoos.

I could spend all day staring at her, but we’ve got other plans.

We jump right in. It’s pleasantly chilly, and, even more refreshing, there’s not another soul in sight.

After splashing around for a few minutes, we climb into our kayak and paddle toward our favorite spot, just a little farther down Beaver Lake (a name that still makes me giggle like a teenage boy).

It’s a quiet cove tucked away in a corner, surrounded by magnificent rock formations and lush greenery, with a brilliant blue waterfall that looks too beautiful to be real.

The cliff a good fifty or sixty feet above it is known as Lover’s Leap.

When our kayak makes the turn into the cove, Molly and I stop paddling to appreciate the view.

“Is today the day we finally brave it?” Molly asks, looking up at the zenith of the waterfall.

I used to be the one trying to convince Molly to take the leap, but it looks like the tables have turned, and now I’m the chicken. “I’ll stick to the ten-foot jumps,” I say.

We tie our kayak to a tree trunk and dip back in the minerally water.

Molly floats on her back, a look of pure bliss on her face.

“I know I’ve never been farther from home than I can get in a car,” she says, barely audible over the rushing bellow of the waterfall.

“But you can’t convince me there’s a more beautiful place on earth than right here. ”

I tilt back to join her, my eyes closed against the glare of the sun. “Remember when we came here after our wedding?” I ask. “After everyone left, we rented that cabin and spent a full day out here, sunrise to sunset, swimming and picnicking on the cliff?”

“Of course I remember,” Molly says, her voice dreamy, hair floating in a watery halo. “It was our honeymoon. We ate the leftover cake and split the last bottle of champagne. It was perfect. I kind of wished we could have skipped the wedding and just hung out here instead.”

“Oh, come on,” I say, kicking to propel myself closer to Molly’s side. “You wouldn’t really have skipped the wedding.”

“I absolutely would have.”

“Probably would have saved us this whole divorce nightmare.”

Molly turns, dipping below the water, then resurfaces. “I wouldn’t have skipped out on the marriage part,” she says, staring at the waterfall across the swimming hole. “Even now. But the wedding…it took me a long time to look back at it without it hurting.”

“Hurting?” I say, shaking water out of my ears.

Our wedding wasn’t perfect. Since it was at the inn, we had to handle a lot of logistics ourselves.

And same-sex marriage wasn’t allowed in Arkansas until a couple months after our wedding, so the ceremony was legally meaningless.

We used our celebration as a test for future weddings (which became a huge moneymaker for us).

And our vows were interrupted by a thunderstorm that came out of nowhere.

But in the end, even though I was exhausted, it was a good day.

My family and friends had a great time. The cake I made was killer.

We even got a stunning rainbow out of the weather delay, and the pictures of us kissing under it made it into a bunch of queer magazines and blogs. Talk about free advertising.

Molly pushes her wet bangs from her face.

“I’d never been so confronted by how lonely my life was until our wedding,” she admits.

“No family, no old friends. Only Key trying to hold me together with hair spray, safety pins, and pep talks. That day never felt like mine. It felt more like a marketing ploy.”

I’m shocked by Molly’s candor, and shattered to know this has been hanging over her for all these years. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I say, my voice raw. “I never wanted you to feel that way. I would have done things differently.”

“Like what?” Molly asks, surprisingly calm. “Canceled the wedding on all of your family and our team? Made my parents less estranged? There’s nothing you could have done.”

“I could have involved you in more of the decisions,” I say.

“You were so checked out of all of it. I was annoyed that so much of it became my problem. Maybe we’d both have been happier if we’d actually talked about how we were feeling.

” I chuckle grimly. “Imagine that. A relationship that could have been improved with better communication.”

Molly dances her fingers across the surface of the water, a trail of rings expanding around her.

“I blamed you unfairly for a while. Especially after our marriage fell apart. I convinced myself you were using me to advance your business, planning the whole event as a photo op where I was just a prop. But eventually—recently, actually—I realized I was the one who disappointed me. I couldn’t control what happened with my parents, or keep Gram from dying, or make my childhood friends less homophobic.

But when I ran out of people to trust, I could have focused on building trust in myself, gotten comfortable being alone.

Instead, I put all of my energy into us and our love for each other.

And that was too much pressure for any one relationship to take. ”

I push my hair straight back, thinking about what Key said about Molly being softer than she seems. “That’s not fair. To you, I mean. You’ve had a lot of shit thrown at you in your life. It makes sense that you have trouble opening up to folks. But there are people you trust. Keyana, for one.”

“Yes, and I’m grateful for her every day. But her life is bigger than me. She’s got her whole family, her sisters, nieces and nephews, all her artist friends and college buddies. I’ve just got Key.”

“You’ve got me,” I say, pulling a leaf from Molly’s shoulder. “I know you didn’t for a while. But I don’t want it to be like that again. I want to be someone worthy of your trust. Someone who sticks around, even if it’s just through phone calls and occasional dinners when we’re in the same city.”

“So you want to be those stereotypical lesbians who are besties with their ex-wives?” Molly says, smirking.

“Maybe they’re on to something.”

Molly holds a hand above her eyes to block the sun as she says, “Well, we have to get divorced before we can be ex-wives.”

I groan and dramatically throw myself under the stream of the waterfall.

Then I duck under the water, grab Molly around the waist, and pull her with me.

We laugh and splash each other, which turns into kissing for a while.

Afterward, we climb into a cave-like gap in the rocks behind the cascade and sit on the edge, dangling our feet above the lake.

“You know, I wasn’t totally satisfied with our wedding either,” I admit, still thinking about Molly’s confession.

“You weren’t?”

I shake my head. “I spent so much of it trying to please my family and worrying about how the pictures would look for the website. You’re right. It didn’t really feel like it was about us.”

We absorb my words in silence, and I wonder if every couple feels that way, if weddings always leave a bittersweet aftertaste.

“So how are we going to end it?” Molly asks. “Do we wait another year and a half for a divorce?”

“It would have to be eighteen months living apart, if at least one of us can establish residency at another address in Arkansas,” I say, remembering the pamphlet Danica gave us.

“Or we have to establish residency in another state and figure out their divorce laws, and neither of us really has a plan to live anywhere long-term. So realistically, it could take years to figure out if we don’t find another way now. ”

Molly rubs a hand along the edge of the rock platform, smoothed by centuries of water. “It seems like adultery might be our quickest option. Do you want to find a girlfriend, or should I?” she asks.

I sigh. “This is so stupid. I hate this fucking state.”

“You could call Georgina,” Molly suggests. “She would at least understand the situation.”

“No way,” I say immediately. “Things got messy between us at the end. At this point, I don’t think she’d throw me a rope if I was drowning.”

“That’s probably what you would have said about me too before this summer,” Molly says, her fingers sliding from the rocks to my thigh, tracing patterns that give me goosebumps.

“I don’t think so. I always knew, or at least hoped, that we would make things right again.” I look at Molly and draw my thumb slowly across her bottom lip, then kiss her. “I just didn’t realize it would be this good when we did.”

“Me either. But one of us will have to find someone else,” Molly ventures softly, my hand cupping her jaw.

I stare at Molly for a moment, taking stock of each freckle and dimple, before I ask, “Can I be honest?”

“Always.”

I shift to face Molly and she mirrors me, our legs crossing and knees pressing together.

I tuck her half-dried hair behind her ears and rest my hands where her neck meets her shoulders.

“Even though the plan is to split up and move on, even though there are probably other people out there for both of us in the future, maybe the near future…you’re the only person I want right now.

While we’re still under maritime law, I don’t want to go looking for someone else. ”

The corners of Molly’s lips tilt up, and I swear the sun starts shining brighter. “I feel that way too,” she says.

“If other people have the most success with the…what did Danica say? The one about making each other’s lives miserable? It must be the easiest to prove,” I reason.

“Sounds logical,” Molly says. “What should be our main point of conflict?”

“Probably,” I say somberly, “how you always put your cold toes on me when you first crawl into bed.”

“Hey!” Molly shifts to playfully dig her toes under my thighs. “How about how you sing in the shower before I’ve woken up? Off-key, I might add.”

“You’re lucky,” I say. “It’s a very exclusive concert. And you take long-ass showers that use up all the penthouse’s hot water, so I have to get in early.”

Molly loops her arms over my shoulders, her fingers toying with the tie of my bikini top. “Easy solution,” she says, her eyes glittering. “Get in the shower with me next time.”

My body temperature spikes. God, this woman is going to kill me.

I can’t resist tucking my hands into the low back of her swimsuit, cupping her ass, pulling her closer until her legs are wrapped around my waist. A moment ago we were talking divorce proceedings, but that’s firmly out of mind by the time I catch her lower lip between my teeth.

Suddenly her fingers are tangled in my hair, and we’re rolling our bodies against each other, breathing fast.

My right hand slides under the stretchy fabric of her suit between Molly’s legs, and she grinds herself against my palm, moaning.

I kiss my way down her neck, then pull the front of her one-piece down with my teeth and circle my tongue around her nipple.

I want to make her scream louder than the rushing water hiding us from view.

I insert one finger, then two, my other hand under her thigh, guiding her rhythm as she bucks against me, faster and faster until she comes, her head thrown back, swimsuit askew, loud enough to echo across our hidden paradise.

I don’t notice she’s untied my top until I feel mist from the waterfall hit my chest. Apparently Molly doesn’t need a moment to recover, because suddenly she’s pushing me back against the smooth rock, throwing my bikini aside, running her hands and her lips over my torso.

She shimmies my trunks over my hips and licks a path down my ribs, below my navel, and I only briefly wonder if she can taste the minerals from the lake water before I’m gasping for air, arching my back against the ground, begging Molly to keep going, yes, right there.

Moments later, we’re laid out side by side, panting for breath. I turn to look at Molly, and we both realize what just happened before we could think better of it.

Molly swallows. “Did we just…”

“Have lesbian sex under Lover’s Leap on Beaver Lake?” I say. “Yeah. We did.”

“Wow.” Molly lets out a laugh-sigh. “I think that’s officially the gayest thing I’ve ever done.”

I shift to my side, resting my head on my fist, and use my free hand to trace the outline of Molly’s swimsuit, finding my way to the nipple still visible above the stretched neckline. “You know what would be even gayer?” I ask with a devilish grin. “If we did it again.”