Page 26 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls (Kissing At Work #2)

T he remaining hours of toast activities went by in a whirlwind. Gaining Skye’s friends’ trust came with a barrage of questions. Celene tactfully answered what she could, studied up on their cover stories and research.

Nevertheless, she hardly had to lie. Thalia, sparkling with necklaces and color and fabric galore, asked, “What first attracted you to our Skye, hm?”

“I saw her in the dark first,” Celene replied after giving Skye a wry, pointed stare. “Even then, I couldn’t ignore her elegant bone structure—cheekbones, chin, how everything is set. Her entire face is timeless and refined.”

“Well, shit.” Zinnia pouted up at June. “When Thalia asked you that, you said my eyes.”

June had shrugged in bewilderment, mouth stuffed with hummus toast. “Eyes is good!”

They were a cute bunch. Celene especially enjoyed Larkin, who’d disappear for twenty-minute chunks to edit clips in real-time for her social presence.

Whenever she caught up with them, she’d discuss interesting tidbits about Yielding instead of quizzing Celene.

In a soft, soulful voice, Larkin revealed how Skye’s parents did invaluable promotion to get her name out in the digital space, and she’d been forever indebted to the Florentines.

Then, smoothing the sleeves of her crisp top, Larkin told Celene she used to harbor a years-long crush on Skye. Their nine-year age gap kept her on the sidelines, and, eventually, Larkin moved on.

In any other circumstance, Celene would disclose her father and the much larger gap with his wife, Shanice.

But Celene chose impartial acceptance. Because throughout the day, it’d become clear that Skye hadn’t ever considered fake dating until the ice cream night.

Amused by this revelation, she slinked to Skye, who’d just finished losing to June at the Slamwich playing tables, and draped herself onto her lap.

“Maybe next time,” Celene had cooed, knowing Skye would be onto her antics. Taking it further, she toyed with the two charms on Skye’s necklace.

Skye leered, suspicious. That couldn’t mask the warmth coming from her. She flustered easily, and Celene loved it.

They ended their outing at the Yielding Pride booth.

Surrounded by circular standing tables, its house music practically drowned out the fair’s playlist. An elderly gay couple in matching panel shirts ran the operation, and Celene got a little wistful when they giddily clasped each other’s hands before greeting them.

Thalia and Larkin wandered off to find “the perfect last snack” while the rest of them laughed with the couple and discussed local events and fundraisers. A no-brainer—Celene, Skye, June, and Zinnia tapped their phones to donate.

Nadine – 6:46 pm

How’s Toast Day? Are you an unofficial townie now?

Celene stepped away, worrying her lip. Honestly, she’d had a fabulous day. Any snarkiness on her part abated, allowing her to immerse herself in the special occasion. It was a rush, a release.

Celene – 6:56 pm

Not a townie yet. Toast Day’s really, really fun.

The three dots of Nadine bounced. Stopped, then bounced some more.

Nadine – 7:00 pm

Is that right?

I get it. You’ve been extra tense lately.

Celene – 7:01 pm

I bought bread-themed jewelry.

Nadine – 7:03 pm

I’m jealous, tbh. Everybody at my job wears the same ol’ shit.

Hold tf on. I know you, Moneybags McGee.

What’d you get for Skye?

Perceptive best friends, ugh. Nowhere to hide, much less from a hundred miles away. Celene sent an up-close shot of their photo on the cringey couple wall at Pearl’s. She pictured Nadine’s perfect, cynical face scrunching.

Nadine – 7:10 pm

That smile doesn’t look fake to me.

Celene welcomed the distraction as their missing groupmates returned from their final snack hunt, triumphantly bearing a platter of funnel cake piled high with toppings. That allergy sign up front should paint in a grinning gluten character, too.

An unashamed sugar lover, Larkin held out an array of plastic forks and knives. “Powdered sugar Nutella funnel cake, drizzled with caramel and bacon bits, you’re welcome.”

June cut a hunk onto a paper plate for her and Zinnia. “Damn, Lark. You pregnant?”

“Great photo op,” Larkin countered, showing the table a reel she’d shot when the plate arrived. They nodded their approval—solid food porn.

Thalia broke off a segment with the least number of extras. “Too many flavors. I can stomach three bites of this, tops.”

Skye, to joy Celene didn’t want to unpack, portioned a bacon-less wedge for the two of them to share. Their crew herded around a single table to eat. The funnel cake satisfied Celene; it made her feel younger, unburdened. She could attribute that to this entire day, actually.

As the sun set, the temperature dropped along with it. Nothing unbearable. Still, Celene grinned at Skye bunching the end of her sleeve over a fist as she ate.

There was something special about inherently quiet women. With them came a tranquility that Celene chased. And Skye’s eyes told so many unearthed stories.

Tempted, she drew fingers over Skye’s shoulder, resting at the back of her smooth neck. Pleased Skye consented to the touch with a quirked smile around her fork, Celene massaged the skin she’d eye whenever Skye veered ahead of her that evening.

Celene angled nearer, meeting Skye’s ear like they’d done earlier. To deliver the whispered words Skye asked for, like, “You’re so sweet for inviting me.”

Skye made a choking noise. She sipped her water, cleared her throat, and then continued to chew.

Strange. Skye wasn’t too verbose anyway, but...

“Everything okay?” Celene asked.

Had she gone too far somewhere? Change of heart?

Celene sensed herself being watched. And when she caught hazel eyes staring, June rushed to shovel funnel cake into her mouth. Now, what was that?

Licking her lips of sugar, Skye projected ‘Dragonfruit’ before she mouthed the word, and they wandered several feet away, steps crunching on the dirt.

Nerves roiled through Celene’s insides. Very much like the ant pile a contractor disturbed while scaling for the new deck installation.

Celene whispered the reality word and waited.

Skye wiped her hands with a napkin. Then, wrung it into a compact ball.

God, wha t?

Accompanied by a trenchant little smirk, Skye said, “Uh, the neck pinching. You should be aware of what it does to me.”

Celene crossed her arms, urging her to illuminate further.

“My nape,” Skye emphasized. “It’s an erogenous zone. An extremely sensitive one.”

Jesus. Celene would’ve assumed admission to being in witness protection before the truth. She held in a laugh. “I’m turning you on.”

Skye covered her face with both hands. Just so cute as Celene’s blood raced. “We can’t do this right unless we’re honest, I guess.”

Celene tested a joke with, “Will I get lucky tonight?”

“You’re enjoying yourself too much.”

Enjoyment didn’t scratch the surface. The intrigue, the secrecy, the company, the beautiful, reactive woman—Celene indulged in every morsel of this moment. Like Skye’s heavier lids and the pitchy breath of a woman recovering from arousal. “Can we be clear? Am I allowed to touch you there or not?”

Skye’s eyes couldn’t have grown wider. “You’re tormenting me. You told me you love to torment.”

Celene pulled Skye in by the hand, embracing any reason to graze the side of her ear, to feel that tickle of soft hair upon her cheek. Skye’s fingers were just as soft, and Celene stroked them with her thumb. “My flirting style is gentle torture, Skye. You’ve made your bed; now lie in it.”

“We’re unbalanced now,” Skye responded with a tremble. Celene wished she could record and replay. “Tell me where to touch you. To even the playing field.”

An opportune moment to go super salacious. In a charitable mood, Celene met a face that hadn’t fully come out of its haze, giving space. “You found it already. At the ice cream shoppe, when you were teasing Mrs. Locke, you swept your face against my wrist.”

“Really, your wrists?”

“Now you know you’d started it. Please handle that information with caution.”

Skye opened to say more when their table beckoned them ( “over here, lovebugs!” ), thusly dumping cold water on the tension. The gay couple had brought out a platter of Champagne in colorful flutes for a proper “Yielding Toast.”

June’s sketchy stare made sense now. They were exes; she’d be aware of Celene tapping into a very private aspect of Skye in public.

Quite logical. However, knowing this annoyed Celene.

She followed Skye, and she made sure June saw her openly scope out Skye’s backside and legs, never letting go of her hand.

Petty? Sure. Possessive? Who cares?

Her relationship may have been a front in many ways, but Celene had known Skye longer than anyone at that gay table. That counted for something unique, something that outranked them all.

And it felt glorious.

Skye hardly daydreamed all evening. With good reason, as today had transpired like an illusion from her deepest reveries. Other than that short bit of friction about superfluous clutter, Celene gave her the best date in years. Possibly of all time.

Stimulating conversation, absent of a partner who’d goad her to ‘speak up’ when Skye preferred to silently take in her surroundings.

Her friends got along with Celene, but most importantly, her grandmother adored her more than before.

Luce looked short of proposing to Celene herself, telling how she sold out of her custom sandwich art faster than last year, five purchases referred by Celene and her skills of persuasion.

She let Celene keep the logo pin, an honorary member of the Mosaic Wonderland team.

“That went well,” Skye said as she scaled the uphill path to Celene’s car. A gross understatement.

Celene shook dirt from the point of her nice boot. “It did. You make it easy, though. I’ve always been comfortable around you.”

After the sugilite present, this night took its big turn.

Gifts weren’t expected at all, especially from a girlfriend in title only.

Celene’s day job required her to point out faults, to tear down people who may or may not deserve it.

To be the best, to prove a point to herself, and maybe to this fiancée who broke her heart.

Except, Skye saw only sincerity in Celene’s dark, hooded eyes.

On Main Street, Celene’s car winked lights at them, triggered by the car fob. Skye hugged herself against a breeze that wouldn’t let up, watching Celene load the backseat with her bag and purchases. Yielder pride broadened the smile on Skye’s lips.

Celene leaned onto her car, scraping silky hair backwards, just transcendent. More than transcendent when she asked, “Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

Stunned, Skye steadied her stance before speaking. “No. Toast Festival is over, so I’ll have a free Sunday.”

“Come by. We can read and have lunch.”

More hours bundled into Celene. She couldn’t affirm it faster. “I’d love to.”

“A neighbor from across the street visited. Ms. Greene or something...” Celene shrugged her disinterest. “She accidentally received our junk mail. I swear it was an excuse for her to mention me ‘cuddled up’ in the hammock with you. Look at us getting gossip.”

“All the more persuasive.” Skye laughed under her breath. “There are worse people to get rumors about.”

“Beware saying that, or else I’ll expect compliments all the time.”

And Skye would give them. “I’m just saying. You’re a great sport.”

“Should I...” Jingling keys, Celene rubbed the back of her arm. Something Skye picked up as a fidget. “Drive you home?”

“Luce needs my help. We’ll break down the booth with Zander, and I’ll get her home safely.” She knew she’d later fantasize about going anywhere alone with Celene. Sounded divine. “I appreciate it, though.”

“You’re good to her. Your grandmother.”

“Thanks.”

They lingered, unspeaking, aimlessly watching other patrons hunting for their cars and sharing laughs. Here and there, dogs whined, not keen to leave all the stray pieces of bread littering the ground.

Searching for anything, Skye asked, “What are you reading now?”

Since the first hammock afternoon, Celene had blazed through at least three books. An introverted, voracious reader—also attractive.

Celene watched her own hands play with her keychain.

“A narrative about a ninety-two-year-old man coping with his true love dying. He’d known he was gay his whole life and chose the conventional path: a wife he didn’t love, children who don’t speak to him, lies to cover his affairs.

He learns to accept himself as he grieves, in the twilight years of his life. ”

“You and your depressing books. Why do you read them?”

“To unwind.” She aimed a wry smile at Skye, stirring something deep inside. “Meeting those men at that Pride booth, happy and fulfilled in their partnership, moved me. Like seeing an alternative version of the main character’s destiny.”

Unable to restrain herself, Skye strode close, leaning on the car, too. “That’s deep.”

“What are you reading?”

She couldn’t roll her eyes harder. “I take forever to finish a book. I’m still on The Mistress of Norwood’s Scientific Method .”

“You and your smutty books,” Celene replied, lightened by sarcasm. “Why do you read them?”

Skye waved a moth away without breaking their stare, their mutually seedy smiles. She shrugged. “To unwind.”

Finding this a sound place to leave the night, Skye lifted her arm, approaching Celene. To walk right into her receiving the hug. Holding Celene tightly, any remaining negative assumptions fluttered off into the wind.

Overwhelmed by the strong smell of bread at every turn, she cherished the traces of Celene’s perfume. “Thank you for today.”

“Thank you for choosing me,” Celene whispered. It dripped with more vulnerability than anyone would expect of a fake girlfriend. But Celene was much more than anybody. She’d been the girl who cussed out neighborhood bullies. The girl with aster in her hair.

Skye stepped back first; she’d dwell on that all night.

But not as much as the next thing—mid-step, Skye stopped as their bread pendants remained attached.

“Um?” Celene pointed at their connection.

“Oh, uh, Pearl must add coded magnets to these. They’re attracted to each other and no other metals.” That last sentence knocked at Skye’s chest so hard, she fumbled twice before dividing them.

“Clever. Peanut butter and jelly sticking together.” Smiling enticingly soft lips, Celene squeezed Skye’s hand once. “Text me when you’re home.”

Skye teetered back in a dizzying sway. “You, too.”

“See you at our date tomorrow, Skye.”

After Celene drove off, Skye nearly rolled down the hill in her reckless jog down the rocks and unseen grooves. She found her balance, but not her breath because she’d been so, so close to kissing her.

Kissing her fake girlfriend.

Uh oh.