Page 20 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls (Kissing At Work #2)

“ F ake dating?” Nadine emptied cold brew equally between her and Celene’s glasses. Their second helping that morning—one before breakfast delivery and now one after dining on a third of the blackberry pie. Post-dessert coffee, a usual for when they hung out, never mind the hour.

Celene slid her sunglasses higher on her nose. “That’s right.”

New York welcomed Celene back with mellow heat and the right number of clouds. Especially ideal on Nadine Hayes’s private terrace. She fancied the location of the luxury building in Tribeca, not its location a floor above Nadine’s parents. Negligible, though, for the amenities.

Feeding her caffeine addiction with a lavish sip, Nadine bounced her crossed legs upon a cushioned lounge chair. “You’re not mad enough for me.”

“I’m conflicted, to say the least.”

“Don’t say the least. Say more.” She twirled her pointer finger midair, in a winding fashion. “Your little ice cream thing sounds cute and all, but c’mon. I thought we chose to resist all the shit that doesn’t serve us. And this, without a doubt, is extra.”

Celene would have said the same thing, had the tables been turned.

Vaguely, she took note of the potted greenery lining the outdoor furniture and fountain, how the Hayes paid someone on retainer to trim them when Yielding residents mostly did those tasks themselves or hired people they knew personally.

“I don’t think it’s coming from a bad place. A little self-serving.”

“Little?!” Nadine spun in her chair, pulling Celene to do the same.

Her similarly arched eyebrows reached the clouds above.

“This lady wants to pretend date you. Pretend . Children pretend with dollies. Not women. Babe.” With a sharp switch of her hand, she removed her shades from wildly unimpressed eyes.

“I’m going to talk you up, love. ’Cause has Nature Girl seen your bank account?

Has she counted your abs? Has she seen you in a bikini?

A tank top? Who the fuck is she to ask you to pretend? ”

Celene pushed her phone forward. “Record that. You’ll be my morning affirmations.”

“I’m only returning what you’ve done for me when I’m bamboozled by beautiful women.”

“Bamboozled’s an interesting way to put it.” Any afflictions of the heart resulted in strong, constant reminders that they were worth much more. Celene swirled a metal straw in her coffee, too unfocused to drink. “Skye and I laughed so hard, I couldn’t breathe. I normally only do that with you.”

“Your mind is scrambled because she’s a Pennsylvanian forest nymph, weaving her spells on you.” Nadine poked out full lips free of lipstick. Within a minute, she dialed a number on speakerphone. “I’m calling reinforcements.”

Dante. Nadine’s twin brother. Celene sighed, prepared for a two-on-one intervention.

Her pragmatic, clear-headed inner voice already shut this down. A fake girlfriend. What a waste of valuable time and resources. And so much lying.

Instead of rejecting her outright, Celene had hit Skye with questions. To understand where this came from.

Celene – 12:04 am

Why?

Who are we convincing?

Does it have to be me?

On her drive into the city, she’d reflected on the prospect of entertaining this whole idea. Joking around as they did charged something inside Celene she hadn’t felt since she’d first dated Quinn: excitement. The thrill of being someone else in a new place.

Skye had gotten back to her, answering the questions in order.

Skye – 12:31 am

I could finish your fuchsia faster. Luce doesn’t question my time away when I’m dating.

Everybody, mostly.

No, but I think we have good chemistry.

Quite bold to mention their chemistry. Not inaccurate, just bold. These surprises were stimulating, like the caress of Skye’s face against Celene’s wrist with the provocative “favorite teacher” line. Made her want more and see what could happen within their boundaries.

Two calls later, Dante answered. He lived in an apartment across the hall from Nadine, and it wouldn’t take much effort to bang on his door, him being a late riser on his days off. Nadine preferred blowing up his phone, sacrificing no comfort on her part.

“What?” he croaked out. Definitely still in bed.

“Incoming hypothetical situation, so wake up.” Nadine placed her phone on a table between them and their coffees. “Celene’s here with me. It’s about women.”

Dante grunted that he was listening. They should have led with asking for advice, since he loved offering it unasked. “You need a man’s perspective?”

“Close. I need a bitter single’s perspective.”

“I’ma hang up.”

“No, you’re not.” Nadine rolled her eyes as if her brother weren’t her other half. Technically fraternal, they operated like identical twins penned by sitcom writers—in sync, a package deal. “If a woman asked you to pose as her fake boyfriend, would you do it?”

“Hell yeah,” he replied in a deep yawn. “Sounds sexy.”

Celene smirked, enjoying this advantage. “He has a point.”

Nadine returned to her drink, betrayed by her own. “So you’re both lost causes. Got it.”

This topic added more pep to his deep, grainy voice. “As long as we have a connection, I’d be down.”

“Isn’t that a form of her using you?”

“Depends.”

“Riveting,” Nadine droned. “A tree-climbing old friend wants Celene to fake date her. That’s what we’re doing?”

“Hold up, this is for Celene ?” Dante’s personality bounced between perceptive and acerbic. A natural extension of Nadine. “You need to do it, then. You get no play.”

Celene scoffed, and so did Nadine, who also dated nobody. “You can’t talk, Dante. When was your last girlfriend?”

The three of them locked their hearts in safety deposit boxes; another reason their rapport flourished. He mumbled under his breath before going, “This isn’t about me. Anyway, Quinn’s the past. You’re opening yourself up to new things.”

“New heartbreak,” Nadine muttered.

“It’s still new,” he concluded. “Do it.”

“There you have it.” Celene’s best friend of a decade lay back, replacing her sunglasses.

Thoroughly done with their betrayal. “You could go the rational route and find your equal, who meets you halfway in a true partnership, deception-free. Or you could have...whatever this will be.” With a gulp at her half-melted iced coffee, Nadine shrugged. “The choice is yours.”

Burning the candle at both ends may have been achievable in her early twenties, when Skye could roll out of bed after forty-five minutes’ sleep and operate effectively.

Those additional ten-plus years, while usually not the most noticeable, plagued her current-day body with dry eyes and rigid joints.

During the day, Skye managed the shop. In the evenings, right after work, she’d assist Luce in mixing grout, polishing, and organizing a slew of special pieces for the upcoming festival.

While Family Feud played, Luce’s agile fingers blurred as she set each tile in a complex andamento for the true-to-life-sized arrangements, calling at Skye for any assistance.

Be it to replenish the color-coded tesserae or jot down memos.

It also marked a time where grandmother and granddaughter switched roles, for Skye to be the caretaker.

Fixing snacks and meals for Luce, prompting her to take five-minute stretch breaks, and opening the screened windows for ventilation.

At Luce’s midnight bedtime, Skye tidied everything optimally, ready for the next morning’s goals.

Then, Skye would enter through the bedroom’s trap door to her covert studio and chip away at Celene’s commission. She’d already received half the due amount—more than she could imagine anyone paying her for art.

Skye sneak-ordered her stash of glass, smalto, and tools, keen not to get them mixed into Luce’s supply.

Mocking up test patterns took hours. So did drafting concepts on graph paper and experimenting with flexible, bendy wire.

Skye would crawl from her workspace like a mole person, greeted by the unwelcome spray of morning light.

Other nights, she’d pass out before getting to touch the Forever Fuchsia and mourn the lost time more than lost sleep.

Thanks to multiple fans and windows, the rollable metal racks of Luce’s drying artwork clogging the living room and hall didn’t turn their home into a fume risk.

One ridiculous enough to suggest pushing a rack or two in Walter’s off-limits study would have Luce biting their head off, though Skye considered it absurd not to utilize the space.

Not an artist himself, her granddad loved art and anything related—he’d understand.

Skye yawned into her arm, realizing she’d carried her rinsed toothbrush into the dining area.

Setting it aside in a cup, she and Luce detoured from festival needs to finish a custom portrait of a patron’s great-grandson.

It’d come out superbly, amber enamel emphasizing his large, downward-sloping eyes.

“Have you eaten?” Skye asked, chopping a Honeycrisp apple into cubes. Manipulating a paring knife woke her up some. No time for nicked fingertips.

Receiving a noncommittal noise, half-drowned out by a movie’s action sequence, Skye rolled up her sleeves to scoop out oats and pecans for two servings of oatmeal.

She’d whip up some eggs, too. They had a busy day ahead of them.

“I’ll be out this evening. Around...” She blinked hair away from her eyes. “Six, I guess. Dinnertime.”

Luce found her voice to ask, “Is your girlfriend in town?”

The other reason Skye sacrificed sleep.

A text message three long days after sending thought-out answers to Celene’s initial questions about their fake dating arrangement.

Celene – 11:07 am

Okay, I’ll do it.

Somewhere down the line, Skye’s comfortable—if not occasionally humdrum—life bloomed into something out of a TV show: collusion in a secret dating arrangement.

Reluctant to have Celene come to her senses and change her mind, she’d tried her version of indifference. Deleting any knee-jerk ‘ Really? ’ or ‘ Omgkfsjdfd ,’ she’d decided on: