Page 18 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls (Kissing At Work #2)

S hould Celene take offense?

Ten minutes after the activity room cleared, after she and Skye trotted past displays on social security, prostate checkups, and swimming pool aerobics, after eavesdropping on Luce and Skye bickering about a priority deadline, Celene was left loitering on the walkway outside the brick recreational building.

Skye lost the argument with her grandmother and had been skulking around the glass bird feeders.

She wouldn’t even glance in Celene’s direction.

A jokey ice cream date repulsed her, clearly.

Celene didn’t know what came over her. The doors practically boomed when she busted in last-minute to Pokeno, and a quick, inquisitive trip morphed into spending her evening playing for prizes she didn’t even want.

In her normal life, Celene mediated fractured teams and mentored lackluster managers. She blended into the crowds as a New Yorker, blissful in her privacy. Or fielded calls from family with their various issues. Level-headed, responsible—accurate descriptors of Celene Vale.

In Yielding, PA, nobody knew her or expected results from her. Play a glorified version of bingo? Sure, why not? Chat with entertaining seniors? Easily. It’d been medicinal, liberating to banter with people she may not ever interact with again.

Then there was Skye, who had her little caller set up at her granny’s behest. Wholesome fucking cuteness. Her and Skye’s relationship could remain professional, but some flirting couldn’t hurt.

Especially for the payoff: Skye unconsciously pushing the long sleeves of her blouse to her elbows, then sliding them back into place.

Or her failed attempts to play off Celene’s eye contact.

Skye’s smooth legs restlessly dancing beneath the table, fingers twisting curl after wandering curl behind her ear. All signs of someone prone to fluster.

Celene flustered someone. How long since she’d even tried?

But she wouldn’t beg for an unsolicited date. Fuck that sort of desperation.

“Here.” Celene proffered the laminated certificate where anyone could punch out forty dollars’ worth at Nell’s. “Go with Luce. My treat.”

Skye adjusted the strap of her bag, shaking her head. The mauve sky painted them with light much too beautiful to be shut down like this. “You won, though. Its use is lifelong, so there’s no rush.”

“I won’t go destitute paying for ice cream. If my winning or even showing up today agitates you so much...” Growing irritable, Celene stuck her prize in an open pocket of Skye’s bag. “No more texts, no more visits.”

“Celene, that’s not?—”

“What is it, then? You won’t even look at me.”

Skye pulled the certificate out, bending it slightly within her slender fingers.

Her nails weren’t painted; they were very nicely groomed all the same.

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to spend time with me.

You hit it off with Luce’s friends better than I have my whole life, so I get not wanting to disappoint them by turning me down. ”

Celene never formed a reputation as the consoling type. She was predisposed to cut her losses and drive straight back to Manhattan. But she and Skye shared a history. And a contract.

One of the round, hanging feeders spun in the wind; Celene stopped the motion with a light touch. “You’re well-loved here. I can tell.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Skye breathed more than spoke.

In the distance, Marta shut herself into a blue Saab parked nearby and gave a sharp, efficient wave.

Skye lifted her arm in salutation. The car left the parking lot, and she said, “You’ll leave soon, but this is my home.

I grew up a bit of an outcast, and now I’ve been single for years.

Everyone and their mother will know the only way I got a date was because of my grandma. ”

Perception problems. Celene related strongly. “That sounds suffocating.”

“That’s a good word for it. I guess I’m kinda stuck and it’s weighing on me extra lately.”

Skye, Celene noticed, didn’t always move only her eyes. Her entire head flitted in short, subtle movements. Much like a robin she spotted outside her window today. Simultaneously compelling and beautiful.

Resenting it the moment it left her mouth, Celene replied, “My ex-fiancée abandoned and ghosted me. Three years ago. My family acts like they’re past it, but I can tell they’re disappointed.” She let the bird feeder go. “You’ve met me. I’m not the most approachable.”

By then, Skye watched her with keen, sympathetic eyes.

Celene went preemptive, dreading what she’d say. “Please, please don’t pity me.”

Pity would ruin her night. It’d flush her with the cold, hard reality: she was a thirty-six-year-old daughter killing time with a pointless home improvement project. All the effort she put into her fitness and peace of mind helped, but she hadn’t allowed herself to cry in months.

“Nell’s is a ten-minute walk away.” Skye pointed with the certificate, its rectangular shape starkly pink in the twilight. “I think ice cream would help both of us.”

In an unspoken understanding, Skye guided them on a grassy shortcut off the paved path, their footfalls muted.

Celene dodged a dragonfly zipping past her nose, frustrated at herself.

That degree of vulnerability jarred her, frankly, never mind speaking it aloud.

Those were thoughts meant for Nadine and effective meditation.

Private words meant to be lost forever on a mountaintop or at a yoga retreat or on a dusty hiking trail, tasting of sweat.

It tempted her to call this off. What would she gain by hanging out with a sometimes-friend from decades ago?

Celene continued to walk, wary of more flying insects.

But it seemed more worth it when Skye said, “Celene, you’ve always been larger than life. I don’t pity you at all. I wouldn’t know how.”

Skye owed Celene an apology she lacked the tenacity to speak. As someone once considered the neighborhood misfit, it should have become second nature to keep her unfounded notions in check. Though, how ? How could she when Celene carried herself so methodically, so coolly, with her head held high?

Celene messaged her first last night. Out of nowhere. As just another bored woman at home. That wasn’t a high-maintenance businesswoman with a dapper boyfriend and an abundance of plans and prospects.

Another one of Skye’s assumptions got disproven. Observed when Celene casually pushed the door open for Skye to Nell’s Rolled Ice Cream Shoppe and how she swiped two paper menus from the door stand for them.

Celene took charge effortlessly. Not as an arrogant, aloof woman, but as someone whose sense of taking charge came as naturally as breathing. It was enlightening.

And sort of sexy.

A few patrons glued eyes on Celene with her expensive handbag and flowy midnight hair, completely devoted to scanning her menu. She gave off I-command-this-place-and-I’ll-command-you-too vibes.

“Do you know what you want?”

“Mmhm…” Skye pretended to study, thoroughly acquainted with the stock. Celene smelled nicer than anything behind the glass; Skye stood close to relish it. “I’m partial to the jasmine with berries.”

Nell’s was a cute venue and, woefully, a town staple. Skye nodded politely at Mrs. Locke, her eleventh-grade English teacher, and instead of a smile in return, her stare bounced between Skye to Celene. It read as alarm. Or even disgust.

Not everyone was accepting in Yielding. Skye stepped back from Celene. Not by much, but enough to feel a little ashamed at caring about someone who graded her papers so long ago.

“I love tea flavors, too, but I’m getting toasted sesame.” Celene took Skye’s menu and deposited it in a stack on the counter. “Does sharing food bother you? Mind if I try some of yours?”

Skye did mind…normally. That was a degree of intimacy she worked up to with women. Usually, women she liked more than friends.

She could decline. Celene gave her an out.

That rejection wouldn’t come naturally, however. Not after Skye heard Celene’s voice plead, her face tense to implore, ‘no pitying.’ A taste or two was a fair trade-off. “I don’t mind.”

They fell into silence as the teenage clerk, Deb, a niece of an old classmate, expertly wielded two metal scrapers to chop berries into a drizzle of beige mixture. In minutes, she curled six speckled rolls of dense ice cream and arranged them into a pink cup.

Once both their orders were sprinkled with nicely portioned toppings, Celene chose a two-seat booth next to the storefront window bearing the shop’s hand-painted logo.

Now, not only would her old homophobic teacher be in her line of vision, but anyone passing by would see them on this “date.” Yielding wasn’t minuscule, but gossip traveled.

“Tell me, do you still climb trees?” Celene asked, poking into her cup before scooping some meringue pieces.

Skye tapped her knees together restlessly. The shop’s temperature raised goosebumps on her skin. “I do. Not as much as before. I miss that fearlessness.”

“Don’t we all?”

Skye’s questions about the good ol’ days lost all relevance. What enticed her was the now, who Celene had become. She savored the creamy, floral taste. “You were dressed very professionally when?—”

“I caught you napping in the dead of night on the side of the road.” A crinkle at her eyes added a sweetness, offsetting her deadpan tone.

“Yeah, that. What do you do for work?”

“I’m a strategic leadership consultant. Pretty much, I coach executives and train them on currying favor with their direct reports.

I deal with a lot of temper tantrums. I critique their strategies on climbing the corporate ladder, knowing it’s bullshit because they’ll use their connections anyway.

” Celene spooned a small mouthful, smiling around it.