Page 17 of February (New Orleans #2)

T he whole day had been fun. Bridgette hadn’t been expecting that. She had not expected Monica to show up in the office and for her to spend a couple of hours trying to help Bridgette save the company instead of focusing on buying it. Monica hadn’t mentioned Arnette Assets as an investor, either. Instead, she had helped Bridgette see that there was validity in the ideas she had long held but hadn’t been able to convince her parents to do. In addition, Monica hadn’t just let her off the hook and told her how amazing those ideas were. She’d made sure to challenge Bridgette, in a good way, because Bridgette had always taken no as the answer from her parents and had never put together any kind of strategy or proof that her ideas would make them money or could save the business. While Monica had made her see that she’d failed in that regard, she’d done it in such a way that made Bridgette feel like that wasn’t the end of the world and that she could still convince them if she only saw it through.

After that, she had met Aaron, Monica’s son, who was, as it turned out, not an annoying eighteen-year-old boy. He had some of Monica’s maturity, even at his age, and he was taking his college search seriously. He had already done his own research and knew the campus well enough for someone visiting there for the first time. Bridgette had been pleasantly surprised at how good it felt to be back at school, knowing she’d already graduated, and therefore, the place had a totally different vibe now. She also liked that she could help Aaron, but mainly, Monica, who remained mostly silent throughout the tour because Aaron had a lot of questions and Bridgette had most of the answers.

During the structured events offered to prospects, Bridgette and Monica stood off to the side or went to grab a cup of coffee. The school also offered a parents’ event where they gave an overview of the important things for freshmen parents to know, so Bridgette had planned on remaining outside and walking the campus on her own while Monica attended, but Monica hadn’t even asked her to join; she’d just looped her arm through Bridgette’s, and they’d walked into the room. Bridgette had tried to play it off. She’d pulled out her phone for a minute and scrolled because this wasn’t anything she needed to know, but quickly, she’d put it away because she found she did want to know. She liked Aaron. She wanted to make sure he would be okay here, and she really liked Monica and wanted to be there for her since Aaron’s other mother and Monica’s ex-wife couldn’t be bothered to show up for their own son.

When the tour was over, Bridgette was prepared to hop on the bus and head home, but Aaron asked if she’d go to dinner with them. Bridgette had recommended a place, and Aaron had been excitedly talking about his experience that day for nearly the entire dinner. Then, when the check came, Monica reached for it and paid without a word, and her arm had ended up over the back of the booth in that way that said she and Bridgette were close enough for her to do that. A few times during dinner, Monica had also leaned over to explain one of her son’s stories further. Aaron seemed to love both Tulane and telling stories of his mother that were at least slightly embarrassing, making Bridgette lean in with interest and Monica occasionally place her hand on Bridgette’s forearm or briefly, her thigh.

Dinner over, Monica and Aaron had headed back to the hotel, but not before they’d dropped Bridgette off at home. Having left Aaron in the car, Monica had gotten out with her, and she’d walked Bridgette to her door. There, Monica had opened her arms for her, and Bridgette had just moved into them without thinking. It was their first hug, and it had been a really good one, too. She’d probably held on to Monica a little longer than she should’ve had, but she hadn’t wanted to let her go. She’d wished Aaron hadn’t been sitting in the car, waiting for his mother, and that they had a moment of privacy because she would have asked Monica inside to talk. She would’ve poured them a drink, and maybe they could’ve finally talked about this possible chemistry between them, but that hadn’t been the case.

Two hours later, though, Bridgette was surprised that there was a knock at her door, and when she checked the peephole, she could see Monica standing there.

“Hey,” she said when she opened the door.

“Hi,” Monica replied. “I’m sorry to just show up like this.”

“No, it’s fine. Are you okay?” Bridgette asked her.

“I’m good. I just…” Monica paused. “Aaron is back in his room, preparing for LSU tomorrow, and… I don’t know. It was early still, and I didn’t have anything to do. I was going to work, but I couldn’t focus, so I…”

“Came here?” Bridgette asked.

“Yeah, I guess.” Monica chuckled. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just see myself out.”

“You can come in,” Bridgette offered as she pushed her door open more. “You didn’t call, though, so I don’t have the plush red carpet ready for you to walk on. I hope that’s okay.”

Monica laughed and said, “I’m sure I can handle it.”

Bridgette motioned for Monica to come inside and then closed the door behind them. She locked it, too, giving her an extra second to stall because she didn’t know what to say or do right now.

“Nice place,” Monica noted, looking around Bridgette’s modest living room.

“Well, it’s no million-dollar home in Manhattan.”

“Actually, this might just be worth a million dollars in Manhattan.” Monica turned around to face her. “I wanted to thank you again for today. What you did really meant a lot to Aaron and to me.”

“I just walked you around campus. No big deal.”

“It is a big deal, though. He’s my son. This is important to him, which makes it important to me, and you took the time to show him around, to get him excited about the possibilities of college, and you told him which dorms to avoid, which I appreciate.”

Bridgette smiled and replied, “Well, you’re welcome, I guess. Can I get you a drink?”

“Oh. I don’t know. I didn’t mean to interrupt your night. I just didn’t want to stay in the hotel and wasn’t comfortable going out on my own.”

“You didn’t want to stay in your fancy hotel?”

“No, I’m getting used to the humidity, I suppose.”

“You want to be outside?”

“Yes, but without the walking. Don’t make fun of me, either. I took a car here because we walked all day.”

“Red or white?”

“Huh?”

“I’ve got red and white wine. Which would you like? Keep in mind, I bought them at the grocery store, so they’re probably not what you’re used to, but we can have a glass and sit on the balcony.”

“There’s a balcony?”

“Yeah. Not the best view, but you can see some of the city if you squint really hard.” She squinted to demonstrate, earning her a laugh from Monica.

“Red, then,” Monica said.

“Okay. Give me a minute. Make yourself at home.”

Bridgette disappeared into her small kitchen, where she had a momentarily freak-out because she couldn’t remember where the wineglasses were. She had wineglasses, didn’t she? She had wine. She had to have glasses for it, no? She had a corkscrew, too. It was somewhere.

“Junk drawer,” she whispered to herself.

She pulled the drawer open and promptly rifled through all the ketchup packets, the rogue batteries, and pens until she found the corkscrew. Then, she reached for the one bottle of red wine she had and took a few more minutes than was probably necessary to get the bottle open before she went in search of those glasses. She’d bought a set of six when she’d graduated college, expecting that she and her friends would suddenly begin drinking wine at her small apartment. She’d broken one – no, she’d broken two over the years – but there should still be four more in a cabinet. She pulled one cabinet door open after the other, looked, and finding no evidence that she’d ever even had wineglasses, she gave up and pulled two regular glasses down off the shelf in embarrassment.

“Sorry, I can’t find my wineglasses,” she said when she reentered the living room.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Monica replied as she turned around to see Bridgette holding red wine in two glasses.

“I swear, I do have them. I–”

“Bridge, I do not care about wineglasses.”

“But you probably have all the glasses,” she noted as she handed a glass to Monica. “Like, all the specialty alcohol glasses that make it taste how it’s supposed to taste.”

Monica laughed and said, “I have some, yes, but they’re usually given to me as gifts, honestly. I don’t go out and buy them myself.”

Bridgette nodded and walked over to the sliding glass door, which she opened and motioned for Monica to walk through. Then, she followed behind Monica and closed the door to make sure no bugs would get in.

“It’s a nice night,” Monica said as she leaned over the railing.

“You can sit.” Bridgette nodded toward the two chairs and the small table between them.

Monica sat down, and Bridgette followed. They didn’t talk for several minutes, and Bridgette kept finding herself looking over at Monica to try to guess what the woman was thinking. Monica looked at ease. She seemed calm and had a small, almost hidden smile on her face.

“How is it?” Bridgette asked after Monica took a drink of her wine. “You can be honest.”

“On a scale of vinegar to the best wine I’ve ever had, I’d say this is about a three.”

Bridgette laughed and said, “Out of ten? I’ll take it.”

“You buy your wine at the grocery store?”

“I’m there a lot.”

“Why?”

“I’m doing the replenishments now, remember?”

“Right,” Monica said as she took another drink.

“Are you really okay?” When Monica turned to her and looked confused, Bridgette added, “You’re just really quiet.”

“Oh,” Monica let out. “I get quiet when I’m content.”

“Content?”

“Those moments when you can sit back and think that everything is okay right now and just enjoy them.”

“And you’re having one of those right now?” Bridgette asked before she took a sip of her own wine.

“I am.” Monica smiled.

“I see,” she teased.

Monica laughed quietly and shook her head at her.

“You have taken me by surprise, Bridgette.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“How?”

Monica sighed and said, “I was supposed to come here and buy a company. That was it. My dad told me to plan for a few weeks, but that was just because he also wanted me to take some time off. I thought it would take a few days, we’d get the lawyers working, and I’d go home.”

“Oh,” Bridgette said with disappointment in her tone.

“Then, I got down here, and I was fine in my fancy hotel room and ordering room service, but this annoying local kept mocking me and insisting I take time to enjoy the city.”

“Annoying? That local sounds brilliant,” Bridgette said.

Monica laughed quietly again and replied, “She has her moments. Now, I’m also taking my son on college tours down here, and I’m glad I’m not going home tomorrow.”

“You are?”

Monica nodded slowly and said, “There’s something about this place, isn’t there?”

“Yes, there is,” Bridgette replied.

She heard her cell ringing from the coffee table, where she’d left it before answering the door, and thought about letting it go to voicemail.

“You can get that,” Monica said.

“It’s fine. I’ll check the message later.”

The phone stopped ringing, but then there was a ping, indicating a text message.

“I’ll just…” Bridgette stood and placed her wine on the small table between their two chairs. “Be right back.”

She walked inside and picked up her phone, thinking to herself that this better be good. It wasn’t. Bridgette groaned internally when she saw that Jill had been the caller and Melinda had been the texter. They wanted to know if she wanted to grab brunch tomorrow, and it seemed that their timing was coincidental more than anything. She didn’t reply, though, figuring she’d do that later, and when she turned around, she saw Monica standing there now.

“Sorry,” Bridgette spoke. “Friends.” She held up the phone before she placed it back on the table.

“Everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah. They just want brunch tomorrow.”

Monica nodded contemplatively and said, “I should go.”

“You just got here,” Bridgette noted.

“We have a long day tomorrow at LSU. I should get some sleep and maybe take a nice bath or something.”

“Okay,” Bridgette said.

“Thank you for the drink and for everything, really.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I liked it.”

“The wine?” Monica teased.

“That too,” she said, chuckling. “But I meant today. I liked today. Aaron is great. And you…”

“Me?”

“I liked spending time with you.”

“You did?”

“I usually do, yeah, now that you’ve pulled that giant stick out of your ass.”

Monica laughed, and Bridgette thought she was crazy because she thought she’d seen Monica taking a step toward her. She was probably just going to hug her again.

“It wasn’t all that giant.”

“It was a fence post.”

Monica laughed again, and Bridgette’s feet moved on their own accord until they were standing only about a foot apart.

“I liked dinner tonight. The three of us,” Monica said.

“It was fun,” Bridgette agreed. “Aaron has all the good stories about you.”

“You want to hear stories about me?”

Bridgette nodded and said, “I liked that it felt like… it was you and me there.”

“It was you and me,” Monica replied with a confused expression.

“No, I meant that it was you and me. Together,” Bridgette explained.

“Oh,” Monica said softly.

“Yeah, oh ,” Bridgette added.

She looked down when she felt something. Monica’s hand had reached for and taken her own, joining their hands between them.

“I liked that, too,” Monica shared then.

Bridgette leaned in about halfway, giving Monica every chance to pull back and tell her that this wasn’t happening. When Monica didn’t, though, Bridgette remained there, leaning in, hoping, and waiting until Monica leaned in, too, and connected their foreheads. Not exactly what Bridgette had been going for, but it felt good all the same.

“Aaron likes you,” Monica told her.

“Do you like me?” Bridgette asked.

When Monica’s nod forced her head to move a bit as well, Bridgette couldn’t wait anymore. She cupped Monica’s cheek with her free hand and gently pressed their lips together. Monica let out a gentle puff of air, and a second later, she reconnected their lips. Her kiss was soft and slow, just how Bridgette dreamed it would be. It wasn’t a kiss that asked for more, that demanded anything. It was a kiss that told Bridgette that Monica was exploring this, exploring how it felt to kiss her before really letting go, intensifying the kiss. When Bridgette heard her let out a very soft moan, she let go of Monica’s hand and placed her own on Monica’s hip, pulling her flush against herself as they continued to kiss, standing in her living room.

Monica’s other hand moved around Bridgette’s neck as her tongue slipped inside Bridgette’s mouth, and she explored a bit while Bridgette kept her tongue out of the way. When Monica’s tongue left her mouth, though, and Monica slowed down and then stilled the kiss altogether, Bridgette regretted that. She should’ve let her tongue play with Monica’s. Why hadn’t she done that?

“That…” Monica started.

“Yeah,” Bridgette said.

“I’m going to go now.”

“What? Why?”

“Because that was a perfect first kiss and the best way for me to end a perfect day.”

“The best way? I can think of better ways.”

“Can you?” Monica asked with a lifted eyebrow.

Bridgette almost said yes because sex would be a better way, but she shook her head instead because she realized that Monica was right: a perfect first kiss after the amazing day they’d had was the best way to end this day. Sex was something to build to. It was something she wanted as part of a relationship with a woman she could see herself falling in love with. Sex with Monica could wait.

“Good night, Bridge.” Monica pecked her lips sweetly.