Page 36 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls (Kissing At Work #2)

S omewhere in SoHo, an advertising manager was probably crying.

Celene followed most of her coping strategies, but even she acknowledged she’d given no leeway to that asshole.

She’d filled a forty-minute spot at a morning seminar, conducting a roundtable discussion about engaging with what most of these executives snidely called “lazy interns.” One dude from ScrollCycle—she couldn’t point his face out in a lineup—uttered an off-color comment, and she dedicated several minutes dressing him down to size.

The rest of the attendees gaped as he slouched helplessly in his chair, as pale as his overpriced suit.

He deserved it, Celene deduced during Byron’s session at the pickleball court.

The scuffing of sneakers and rhythmic popping of the ball filtered through the air of four full courses.

Her dad and his playing partner were winning or losing, she really didn’t care to ask the score as she sent emails on her phone.

Occasionally, Byron would yell out, “Ya dad’s still got it!

” and Celene awarded him the facsimile of a slow clap.

How could she give a damn about pickleball when Skye and her incredible lips existed? Driving home yesterday, she’d nearly turned around twice, then carried on because she chose not to be frivolous with others’ time.

“We beat’em,” Byron announced, flopping into the bench next to her. He stretched one of his legs with a gravelly groan. His partner exchanged celebratory words with him, and they clasped their hands in salutations before he left.

Celene pieced on a smile beneath her sunglasses. “Congratulations.”

“Don’t sound so eager. I might recruit you as a cheerleader.” Byron bounced his big hands in a pompom fashion. “You’d do that for us, right?”

“Our reservation starts in eight minutes,” Celene said, refusing to humor the joke. “Will you freshen up or...”

“Nah, I’ll go sweaty. I’m heading home right after.”

She reminded herself not to sneer, especially when they sat at their lunch destination.

Byron hadn’t stopped talking the entire walk over, and Celene’s patience was wearing thin.

If only she could transport to the hammock about now, her hand tracking goosebumps onto Skye’s legs by blissfully tranquil Goldfinch Lane.

Briana sent forty photos of the deck progress, and Celene still held her judgment for an in-person review. When the Vale house was empty again.

“My knee’s a little stiff.” Byron flexed his leg underneath the table, his blindingly white dad sneaker rotating with his shin.

Celene read out her meal choice to the waiter. Once he left, she yawned. “Get a physical therapist.”

“Maybe.” He shrugged like he hadn’t considered doing anything about it. “Your old man’s active. Gotta keep up with Theo when he’s running around.” A bleak look dimmed his smile and flickered away just as quickly. “Aren’t you glad they built that pickleball court?”

Sighing, she sipped her ice water. “Those courts weren’t built . The city repurposed basketball courts that, by the way, were used regularly by a younger, local crowd.” Letting that hang uncomfortably, she brusquely snatched off her sunglasses.

“Right. I heard something about that.” Byron gulped his water and reached for the pitcher. “It took you long enough to answer my calls. Let’s get down to business.”

Expecting discourse about the house’s progress, Celene rolled her eyes when “About Elise...” trickled from his lips. He scratched his graying beard; his tell for discomfort.

“What about her?”

“Whose responsibility is it?” Byron went on, knowing Celene wouldn’t understand. “You and Elise aren’t as attached as I’d hoped. Never have been. Do we chalk that up to Edna’s parenting or mine?”

Celene didn’t appreciate the humor he sneaked into this, a superficial patch to a gunshot wound. “Elise is selfish.”

“Wanting to pass the house down to future generations is selfish?”

This was a losing battle. Now that he had someone else in his court—so to speak—this would go downhill. “Why are we meeting? What do you need from me?”

Perspiration speckled Byron’s temples, mixing with the darkness of his short haircut. “You’ve proven you have an impressive knack for bringing life back to the house. I know you insist on selling—Shanice agrees with you. But I believe Elise deserves a say, too.”

“What does Don say?”

“He won’t take a side.”

Donovan never took sides. Admirable and ultimately, irritating. “It’s a waste to hoard a home you visit once or twice a year. Nobody goes there.”

Byron smiled up at the waitress shuffling salt and sugar holders to make room for their plates.

He shoved two fries into his mouth, yelping at them being hot.

Celene almost smiled. Recovering with a hard blow of air, he replied, “That used to be true. Ever since, you’ve stayed twice for at least a week.

Elise and Ajay want to visit it more. Don and Bri told me the girls are asking for a tree house. ”

Perfect. She’d ruin everyone’s fun. “There’s not much to talk about anymore, right? You keep the house.”

“Don’t do that,” he grumbled, his groomed eyebrows tense. “A decision hasn’t been finalized. Mavis noted all the benefits of Lake Harrier Reserve. And its value skyrocketed even before your changes.”

“Dad.” Celene glared. As nicely as the restaurant prepared her salad, she’d lost her appetite. “This is confusion. Should Elise take over? Is that what you want?”

Byron coughed onto another fry. “You know that wouldn’t fall through.”

“So you agree with me about her.”

“I’m playing neutral here.”

“Of course.”

“I’m telling Mavis to ease up, but not back down. Elise will go by the house more to get a feel for how much work goes into it. You’re still in charge; I’ll remind her.”

Celene eyed the diner-style setup, watching the red retro counter for their waitress. She’d be bagging her meal to go. Gut feeling. “What makes you so sure I’ll go back anytime soon?”

“Well, your girlfriend, for one.” Byron cracked out a sly smile. “That’s a guarantee.”

She drummed her fingernails on the shiny tabletop, hot solely at the thought of meeting Skye again. “Elise must inform me before she drops by. Everyone should.”

“Yeah, Don told me they interrupted a moment last visit.”

“Do they tell you everything? Jesus.”

“We’re close .”

That came out with some sass. Celene squinted over their meals, at her father in his sweat-dotted collared shirt and unflinching gaze back. Eyes as dark and stubborn as hers.

Excuse the fuck out of Celene for having her own life and faculties, for not running to Dada for anything like her siblings. They must have a field day talking about her.

“Understood,” she replied, directing their waiter to bring her a box.

Byron checked over his shoulder at her request being honored. “Leaving so soon? We have a lot more to discuss.”

“I orchestrated a roundtable and did two panels today.” She gestured at her pantsuit. Too dressy for a quick bite outside the pickleball courts. “If you want me to finish my list of changes, you’ll allow me this time to rest.”

He agreed behind his hand in a gruff noise.

Packed and pay-tapping to treat Byron, Celene stood. Childish as it was, she almost wished he’d ask her to stay.

Which was why she needed to go. Regressing like that wasn’t conducive to living as her full self. Her siblings and parents had each other. Celene functioned on the sidelines, and that’d been established decades ago.

Byron watched her leave, though. And when he merely lifted his grilled cheese to finish lunch without her, Celene knew she’d made the right decision.

Byron hadn’t been kidding. Come Saturday evening, Celene and Elise pulled into the Vale House driveway, one car after another. A little sister tagalong.

Except this sister had a chauffeur husband hauling their bags after Celene disengaged the alarm system. Ajay dragged Celene’s stuff in, too, while she prowled the outside premises. She nodded at the trimmed grass and pulled weeds, compliments of Donovan and Briana before they drove back to Jersey.

And—a massive win—the brand-new decks were sturdy yet remarkably refined. Gertrude’s team came through.

She could acknowledge one of Elise’s advantageous qualities: the woman bounced back from conflict quickly.

Maybe they learned that in drama school.

While Celene preferred a day or so wading courteously, getting a read of the waters and the temperatures between them, Elise belly flopped onto the couch, groaning for sustenance.

“You want delivery?” Elise asked, punctuating it with a sneeze into a tissue. The antihistamines she’d gobbled were no match for Yielding. “I could perish.”

Celene had never been so relieved to eat before she left the city. She rolled her bag into the primary suite. “Order without me. I’m fine.”

“We could save you something.”

“Do whatever you please.” Then, she shut the door behind her.

This would be a long week. That morning, Elise sent Celene a three-part text message detailing her and Ajay’s “honeymoon away from the honeymoon,” rife with hikes, eateries, and “small town Americana” she’d researched. This honeymoon would not fucking end, god.

Draping on her mom’s old cardigan, Celene scrolled through her sister’s messages again. These were all open invitations, and she planned to accept none of them, thank you very much. She closed out of that, or else she’d form another headache. Besides, she had more intriguing people to contact.

Celene – 6:34 pm

Hey, Nature Girl. Got here in one piece.

When will you show me your secret studio?

Skye replied speedily. Home already, probably.

Skye – 6:36 pm

Any weekday after 4pm. Today won’t work because Luce’s friends are here playing spades all evening.

Well, friends for now. Card games turn them into short-term enemies.

Celene – 6:39 pm

Are you playing with them?

Skye – 6:40 pm

No way. They’d hurt my feelings.

I’m hiding in my room.

A broad smile came naturally, as this opened the gates for shameless flirting.