Page 28 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls (Kissing At Work #2)

In the open plan’s kitchen, Celene stirred two blackberry mojitos, as the bird situation gave reason to drink.

Conscious of Skye, she prepared her glass with a smaller portion of rum so that the bicycle-in-a-ditch joke wouldn’t become a reality.

The ripe berries from the Farmer’s Market section of the Toast Festival provided the perfect garnish on top.

“I shudder to think how many birds slammed into that gable window while nobody was around.”

Skye attached her third reflective decal to the window. “You’ll atone for your family’s sins.”

“Their blood is on my dad’s hands, not mine.” An apparent lover of the morbid, Celene highlighted that with the breathy laugh Skye daydreamed about.

Any icy, unapproachable edges of Celene faded to distant memory. She couldn’t fool Skye; she’d named Beaker and paced outside post-flight to make sure she didn’t fall. Peeling another decal free, Skye replied, “That won’t be a problem anymore.”

They’d pushed the reading session, instead hunting through apps and old menus stuffed in a drawer until they settled on sweet potato gnocchi and a spring salad for lunch delivery.

Dating—uh, pretend dating—another vegetarian added a refreshing commonality.

She used to wait at least twenty minutes after ex-girlfriends ate meat to kiss them.

For the extreme pinkness of June’s beef, Skye would be too squicked out for most of the day.

Curtains drawn, sunlight touching overarching points of the living room, Skye and Celene had chatted over their fresh, simple lunch like they’d never severed ways over twenty years prior.

In the middle of a big laugh about gossipy Ms. Greene from across the street, Celene placed her hand on Skye’s knee.

Under the table, casually, as if that didn’t steal every intelligent thought from her head.

Skye practically flew to the shed for a ladder to recuperate.

“Do you forage for blackberries?” Celene asked as she made herself comfortable on a new, modern couch. It certainly fit the developing semi-minimalist, semi-rustic ambience.

“I do.” Skye fought the urge to tug at the bottom of her shirt. Though long-sleeved, it was cropped, right above her shorts. The designer hadn’t accounted for the wearer to be on a ladder—good thing she wore a bra today. “They’re never as sweet as the ones at the Farmer’s Market.”

Celene stared openly. She made a show of lounging, languidly sipping her mojito. Twisting a finger into her long hair, she purred, “Take your time up there. I like the view.”

“A fan of decals?” Skye retorted, reeling at this flirty side.

“Oh, yes. Decals distracted me from my studies all through high school and college. I adore a nice, perky pair of decals.”

Skye braced her hand on a wall, snorting. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m too high up.”

“I’d catch you.”

Somehow, she didn’t doubt that. Skye bit her lip and finished her work.

Three mojitos later (two for Celene, one for Skye), they’d choreographed a smooth method of wiggling into the hammock. The alcohol hadn’t done a lot, just mellowed Skye out too much to care about Norwood’s Mistress and her bounty of sex-craved lovers.

“You have the most relaxed smile I’ve ever seen,” Celene said, lowering her paperback of the depressing gay book. “Did I overpour?”

“No. I’m just happy.”

Celene shifted a little, which was a lot on a hammock. They rocked as she rested her head on her bent arm, watching Skye the way she’d done earlier. “Thank you for helping me today.”

“Thanks for calling me.”

“You’re the only person I could think of.”

Letting go of any chance of reading, Skye shoved the book to her side.

Not to belabor it, but Celene was so wonderfully warm. Skye glimpsed up at the treetops and, interestingly, her daydreams didn’t take her on a fantastical outdoor ride. They conjured up a chilly winter’s night, sharing a blanket with Celene for a heat fix.

Skye’s vision burrowed deeper. Where on Celene would be the warmest? The hottest?

“Permission to touch you?”

It took Skye a minute to realize she hadn’t imagined Celene asking that with a rasp unheard until now. When she caught on, she whispered, “Yes.”

“Thalia asked me an interesting question yesterday.” Celene’s words flowed with the slopes of her fingertips tracing Skye’s leg.

From the ankle to the knee, down to the thigh, where they stalled on her shorts hem.

“She hinted at intimacy. I realized we hadn’t discussed if sex is a part of our fake backstory. ”

They’d crossed an invisible line by now. Skye let herself squirm. “Do you adhere to a timeline, like you sleep with someone after three dates?”

Celene’s eyes held nothing but dares, a test to explore whatever this chemistry meant. “I sleep with someone when I want to.”

“Oh. Fair,” Skye mumbled, studying Celene’s necklace, its jasper charm, the swell of her breasts beneath her blouse. “Is this a reality check discussion?”

“Not for me.” Celene upgraded to whole-hand caressing. Despite Boob Mountain, anyone passing by would stumble upon Skye being fondled.

A little scandalous. Skye reveled in it, letting her eyes grow heavy. Letting her breath get shallow. “Our illusion’s too good?”

“For our first time’s cover story,” Celene diverted, thumping Skye with her thigh, “do you imagine it slow and sensual in bed or like we couldn’t control ourselves and I fucked you in your office?”

Skye’s fists ached from their clenching. Had she ever heard Celene use the word fuck like that before? She’d gone molten, embarrassingly so—any sudden movement and her shorts might press against her at a critical point. “You’d do me? Not the other way around?”

“Naturally. I’d make you come against that candy wrapper wall.”

“Dragonfruit,” she all but begged. She chanted the word four times until Celene said it back. Swallowing hard, Skye had to bring in some clarity. “What are we doing?”

Celene blinked rapidly, a bit more about herself.

“You’re single, I’m single. We’re consenting adults.

..” Wincing, she paused and tried again, hands off of Skye like she couldn’t speak and touch at the same time.

“Skye, I’m able to shut myself down. To not look romance in the eye for as long as I want.

I haven’t slept with anyone since my ex.

” Releasing a long breath, she said, “But I fucking adore being in a couple. I love pampering someone. Making each other laugh. Relaxing in bed, discussing our day. I miss having a woman moaning underneath me.”

A butterfly fluttered past, and Skye wouldn’t even glance to identify its species. She needed Celene to continue. So badly.

“We’re old friends. The attraction is mutual.” Celene danced two fingers along a hammock fold, directly staring with those bold, dark eyes. “Fake girlfriends can have sex, to fulfill our needs. Are there rules against that?”

“We—we...” Skye hated herself for this diversion; she would’ve let Celene touch beneath her shorts moments earlier. In broad daylight. That scared her. “We haven’t even kissed.”

Some teasing took place of the arousal in Celene’s gaze. Lip curled, she asked, “Aw, Skye. Is that what you want?”

Skye couldn’t get an answer out. Not when a white Pathfinder pulled into the driveway, rolling to a stop behind Celene’s car. If the intrusion hadn’t extinguished the moment, the passenger lowering her window to yell, “Celene, we brought your nieces!” sure did.

The undisguised frustration on Celene’s face soon melted when two little girls’ voices trailed right after with, “Aunt Celene! Hiiiii!”

A tan dude with Superman-coifed hair slammed the driver’s door.

He took a stance with his arms crossed, checking out the house with a hint of authority.

The daughters already scaled the yard in wide, screamish sprints, the single bows in their dark hair bouncing at each bound.

“You’ve done a damn good job so far, Celene. When are they replacing the deck?”

“They’re starting tomorrow,” Celene answered more as a question. “Why are you here? No warning?”

“It’s a surprise,” the passenger woman cheered, then she blushed when she noticed Skye untangling herself from Celene on the hammock. “Oh, shit. We’re interrupting.”

Celene masked nothing, her voice taut and unamused. “Yes, you are. I deserve a heads-up like anyone would.”

“Dad gave us the go-ahead,” the guy defended, though weakly. “My mistake.”

Of muscular build and stature not much taller than the woman waving awkwardly, he traipsed New Balances towards Skye, holding out a hand. “Donovan Vale. I’m Celene’s little brother.”

Skye already gathered from their informality and the jet-black hair, though Skye appreciated the greeting. She accepted the handshake, taking note of his similarly hooded eyes. “I see the resemblance. I’m Skye.”

The woman shook Skye’s hand, too, her brunette ponytail wagging in shame. “And I’m Briana. Celene’s very apologetic sister-in-law. We should’ve called.”

“That’s where we agree.” Welcome unwarm, Celene accepted a hug from Briana before fitting her fingers through Skye’s. “Skye might remember you, Don. She used to visit all the time.”

Donovan only sort of acknowledged that because he and his wife found interest in their handholding. “Uh, did I miss something?”

“Skye’s my girlfriend.” Celene’s glance over was thoughtful, authentic. Skye’s heart pounded, wondering when she’d gained the ability to tell. “I’m enjoying her before telling the family.”

“That’s stupendous. Oh, what a relief!” Briana gasped, her shoulders shooting upwards when Celene glared. “Your parents worry. I can’t help I’m around when they do.”

Skye dredged up the nerve to speak, heat rising that she couldn’t explain. “With me or not, Celene’s been committed to making this house perfect. She manages to marry the old with the new.”

Donovan and Briana’s brows bobbed up. They exchanged nods, grinning.

“Dad should’ve trusted you sooner.” Donovan simulated a punch to Celene’s arm. Celene edged away but smiled. “Maybe he’ll give you a cut when it’s sold. Then, you can live wherever you want.”

The Vales spoke about more—like the new deck plans, Celene’s upcoming counter replacement, and the doe grazing the yard before the girls scared her off. However, Skye couldn’t get Donovan’s statement out of her mind.

‘Live wherever you want.’

They were on borrowed time. Surely, Celene had a future in a location with a bigger population, where their claim to fame wasn’t toasted bread. Celene would move on and never look back.

“Hey.” Celene brought her to the present, frowning. She peeked at the other couple who’d run off to peel the oldest girl off Boob Mountain. “You’re welcome to stay.”

Skye knew she couldn’t hide her disappointment. And it knotted in her chest, smashed at her heart. “I’d rather not. If that’s okay.”

“I understand. I’m furious about the interruption.”

“Don’t be. It’s a great time when Cosmo comes by with his family. You should cherish these moments, too.”

Celene licked her lips, and Skye further mourned not experiencing them. “Can we finish our conversation later?”

“I’ll be prepping for Monday morning at the collective, so…” Skye motioned to where she’d left her bag. “Text me. No pressure, though.”

Clearly unconvinced, Celene loosened her hold anyway. Skye mounted her bike, aware that her evening ahead would be a slog. She’d complete Luce’s tasks, proceed on the Forever Fuchsia, yet every movement would lay heavily on her.

Glancing up at the triangular gable window stickered to deter any other collisions, Skye headed home, wishing her heart could get some decals, too.