Page 15 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls (Kissing At Work #2)

Three minutes later, a link to a signing form popped up, and Celene lowered herself into a wooden dining chair. Her muscles had been so tense, they ached. A jog would loosen her up.

Skye – 10:15 am

Sent.

Celene – 10:16 am

Thank you.

The dots of Skye typing started. Then stopped. On and off, suspending Celene on the edge of her seat until finally, a text materialized.

Skye – 10:23 am

I’m calling it the Forever Fuchsia. Because it’ll never wilt.

Celene gazed at her real-life fuchsia on the table next to the window door, downturned pink blossoms yawning open. Vibrant, beautiful, and nothing close to wilting.

Time alone had lured Celene into a false sense of security, finding the peaceful potential in this house.

Only for it to be destroyed by family. Elise cough-laughed at maximum volume social media videos, belaboring the point.

Celene thumbed out another message, as Skye had yet to give her a headache.

Celene – 10:26 am

Fitting. I like it.

Having a tidy, organized shed should’ve been a cause of modest celebration—maybe pizza. Instead, Celene, Elise, and Ajay argued over the splintery wooden plank sporting six broad strokes of Gertrude’s most popular house stains.

Celene knew she had final say, but it wouldn’t pass without lots of hemming and hawing if it came out any less than perfect for the whole house.

They’d bickered until Celene fled to a tea shop in time for a client call, desperately needing space.

Their family was heavy on discord and deficient in resolution.

After telecommunications on free wifi good enough for email and too choppy for video, Celene visited a couple of vintage stores. Nothing stood out, and the salespeople assumed she’d cave to their unreasonable prices. Her dad may foot the bill; it didn’t mean she’d be taken advantage of.

Starving, she to-go ordered what was supposed to be an uncomplicated vegan sandwich.

Driving back to the summer house, she impatiently bit into it and gagged when she pulled a hunk of prosciutto from her mouth.

A revolting mix-up. Its dry, limp side salad kept her alive, which she washed down with a green juice while parked in her driveway.

Elise and Ajay made too many unsubtle remarks for Celene to “take her time” for their “bonding” to know how they’d passed the hours with her out of their hair. At 7 p.m., Celene slammed the front door and upped the gusto of dropping her handbag on the table and getting water. As a courtesy warning.

She locked herself in her room before Elise and Ajay could emerge and invite her to stream a musical on their tablet.

Celene showered in the primary ensuite’s bathroom, changing into her silk nightgown. Something luxurious against her skin, but too revealing to wear out front with company present. Confined, she’d probably fall asleep soon.

Ready for bed right after 8 p.m. Life of the party.

She drew her new vertical louvered blinds from the patio door for a view of their half-grassy, half-rocky backyard, darkened by the enclosing trees. The sky, blushing with oranges and pinks, calmed her. It reminded Celene not to let everyone’s foolishness ruin this time for herself.

Not lakeside, but acceptable.

On a normal day, she’d meditate for about twenty minutes around this hour.

In Yielding, she conceded, her meditation schedule fluctuated.

Directly after chatting with a contractor or Elise?

Meditation, yes. When gazing at the natural colors the world had to offer?

Celene merely lounged on her fluffy comforter.

She used to tell Quinn a fantasy of escaping where nobody knew them.

To live away from the familiar concrete and high-decibel noise.

Yielding hadn’t been in the equation, however.

She’d been thinking of states with more scenic qualities, even upstate New York, near Tara.

Quinn had listened politely, though she thrived in cities, and Celene couldn’t picture her ex leaving that behind.

It’d been a recurring talking point, a dream of a burnt-out city dweller.

Absently, Celene unlocked her phone and reread the contract signed and delivered hours ago. Skye had a graceful, calligraphic signature.

Be it the lack of dinner or the resplendent scene through her dated French doors, Celene let her mind roam, wandering only to a love life she’d locked away the moment Quinn left her.

She’d noticed Quinn Archer at a friend’s going away party more than five years ago, and god, she couldn’t concentrate on anyone else.

Quinn had been stuck nodding through some unsightly man rambling about god-knows-what, and Celene couldn’t let it continue.

She strutted up to them and, in plain English, told him, “She’s not interested.

Go away.” He’d faltered, trying to laugh it off, until he noticed neither of them laughing along, and unsurprisingly, he lumbered off to bore someone else.

Quinn’s beauty hit Celene like a firecracker. Unavoidably, in her face. Lengthy, dark tresses and high cheekbones and confidence behind the shyness. Hot, hot woman, call the fire department.

Celene stared past her phone, at the ceiling spliced with wooden vaulted beams. She relaxed further, to touch on yet again, losing all sense of herself when browsing around Luce’s when she’d spotted Skye.

Skye’s fine features, as delicate as her flowers and even her art, were almost unfair.

Curled lashes, a swanlike neck, stylish hair going where it wanted, and looking flawless in its journey.

While her beauty was undeniable, it simmered from beneath the surface, temperature rising as Celene’s eyes lingered.

Skye gave furtive sexiness, almost damningly stealthy.

It would overtake Celene before she’d think to dial 911.

Kind of like the actual sky. Something seen all day, but once one stopped and stared, its beauty was all-consuming.

“God,” was all Celene grumbled. That’d been almost poetic. She’d find her right mind once she exited the GWB, back to Manhattan.

It was unavoidable to lie on her back, flicking at the chipped polish on her pinky, in the room once inhabited by her parents, and not get nostalgic.

Much like the gray cardigan she found that morning.

It’d been abandoned in the shadowy end of the bedroom’s closet, and Celene played detective to decide which ex-wife or wife left it behind.

Cardigans were practical and understated, much to Edna’s style, but did it make sense for nobody to throw it out after so long?

Lonnie, Donovan’s mother, mostly wore bomber jackets, but she’d nab anything on sale if it suited her mood.

Its high quality and versatility would fit Shanice, a lover of layers.

Celene couldn’t imagine Shanice leaving clothes of all things in a house she didn’t frequent.

Any could work, but something hopeful —and ick, sentimental —favored her mother wrapping herself in it before sitting out on the back deck, those twenty-something years ago. Still, Celene’s memories didn’t protect her from the evening’s chill like this gray cotton blend.

Celene picked up on Elise or Ajay rifling out in the kitchen, starting the microwave with excessive beeps. She’d left her light on and hoped they didn’t see it as an invitation to hang out.

With younger siblings, opinionated parents, and the extras of in-and-out family blending, Celene’s sense of privacy had been under attack most of her life.

Even in adulthood, anything significant to Celene—introducing Quinn to her family, a glaring example—started okay.

Then, when things had gone south, her family wouldn’t let her forget it.

They reminded her she’d been abandoned like that cardigan, or that Quinn’s beautiful girlfriend got along so fucking well with Donovan’s girls, or Celene hadn’t gained experience soothing babies.

She’d hated those neighbor girls Elise brought up—Clarissa—no, definitely Claire—and Barbara-Lynn Wayne.

That first summer vacation in Yielding, Byron befriended the sisters’ dad, a boon during his short-lived DIY phase.

The Wayne father woodworked everything, including an expansive two-story playhouse in their backyard.

Celene, Elise, and eventually little Donovan, based on proximity alone, gained automatic access to enter throughtheir gate to partake.

Respectively one and two years older than Celene, Claire and Barbara-Lynn were absolute dictators.

Elise’s sunny demeanor won them over, but they clashed with Celene constantly, as the Waynes praised, breathed, and sustained themselves on strict gender roles.

Celene pushed back against them enforcing her to wear their tutus or tending to the babydolls.

And their terror extended to literally dragging boys off Goldfinch Lane to act as their “husbands” while playing house.

Claire shoved the runt of the boys to Celene, readying them for a mock wedding.

That was Celene’s last straw.

Elise had been a kid, eager for acceptance. She’d looked away when Celene told her they should both leave. So, Celene stormed out, and instead of flying into the Vale house to find an adult, she kept going down the street, as swiftly as she could, into the woods.

Now, at thirty-six years old, Celene could rationalize their childlike motivations. It made sense; she’d been uncooperative not only in the husband thing, but in any game where she felt as cornered as those fake husbands did. Aware of herself, her attitude probably brought the mood down.

Eight-year-old Celene had sunk into the cold dirt, breaking down against a tree. She didn’t know this area or how far she’d run. And that meant she’d be kidnapped or eaten by a bear. Another reason to cry until she heard a voice above ask:

“You like birds?”

She’d batted her wet eyes and sun rays flowing past treetops to Skye swinging her feet, smiling down at her.

Celene – 8:32 pm

Does Yielding have much of a nightlife?

After tossing the phone to the comforter, Celene clapped a hand over her eyes. Did she care about Yielding’s middling nightlife? No, not at all. She preferred relaxing with tea and a psychological thriller she’d downloaded to her e-reader. Yet, what other excuse would cover texting at this hour?

Skye – 8:40 pm

Nothing good on a Tuesday night.

I’m not the one to ask, though.

Celene’s top teeth dented into her lip as she rolled onto her stomach, letting the smile slip through. She studied the messages to see if they meant anything deeper. Loner or a lover of peace, like herself? Too unbothered or busy with a partner?

Celene – 8:44 pm

Why not? Are you a recluse?

Skye – 8:46 pm

I’m doing this.

And Celene held her breath for her phone to load a picture of about thirty bowls of tiny mosaic pieces scattered around a bedroom, telling by the part of a rug and woodgrain floor.

Although that wasn’t what made Celene pinch and zoom.

In the background stood a full-length mirror propped on the wall, where the reflection showed Skye sitting cross-legged in a hoodie, the phone covering the lower half of a very concentrated face.

Skye definitely didn’t notice herself in this.

Her legs were bare, and Celene wondered if she had shorts on or not.

Feeling playful, she screenshot her zoomed-in segment and sent it back to Skye.

Celene – 8:51 pm

Oh, hello, recluse.

Skye – 8:52 pm

Wth

The tiles. You’re supposed to be looking at the tiles.

“Like I give a damn about tiles.” Celene kept her voice low and loathed that she had to. But she’d heard snippets of Elise and Ajay chatting through her door, more rumblings than discernible words.

Celene – 8:55 pm

Are they for my commission?

Skye – 8:57 pm

No, sadly. I’m sorting for Luce. I’ll be using stained glass for yours, all hand-cut.

Celene – 8:58 pm

Okay. Good.

The conversation ended there, realistically. No three dots bounced on Skye’s side. If Celene felt like having a more dynamic talk, she could hit up Nadine. Yet, reflecting on the past left her a little wounded, a little wistful.

Celene – 9:03 pm

What do you do for fun?

Skye – 9:05 pm

Hang out with friends. I take walks. Picnics.

I mostly spend my downtime in nature.

Celene – 9:07 pm

That hasn’t changed.

Celene looped long hair around her pointer finger, pushing a pillow under her chin. It surprised her to find this much interest in what could come off as a mundane discussion. Her smile bent like anything else.

Skye – 9:10 pm

You’re right.

Well…

I do have a thing tomorrow.

A thing? Her mind guided her back to the clumsy Gertrude’s interaction. By now, Celene had decided on a stain color, and her sister would have to get on board.

Celene – 9:12 pm

With June?

Skye – 9:13 pm

No.

Seniors at the rec center on Cedar. Luce volunteered me to be the caller at their Pokeno game.

Pokeno’s like bingo with playing cards.

How very small-town and kind of cute. Older generations could be fun. Less bullshit and faking from them, though Celene hardly saw seniors outside randoms on her everyday routes in the city. Her grandparents were all long gone.

Celene – 9:16 pm

Do they win fabulous prizes?

Skye – 9:20 pm

Prizes, yes. Fabulous, idk but they get really heated about them.

Celene downloaded a pdf from the recreational center’s mobile site. She kind of envied this quaintness. With the resources being so reduced, one would find regular events. No bombardment of choices.

‘Pokeno in the Poconos.’ Wednesday, 4 p.m.

Interesting.

Celene – 9:26 pm

Preserve your voice. Drink chamomile with honey.

Skye – 9:29 pm

I will, thanks.

Drive home safely tomorrow.

Skye remembered. Smiling, Celene pulled up the tile photo, zooming in on the unsuspecting woman again. Skye tended to wear long sleeves, Celene noticed, rubbing at her own arm, onto a tattoo—a thin, geometric rendering of a stemmed flower.

Celene would’ve left tomorrow morning. It wouldn’t hurt to postpone that a little.