Page 46 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls (Kissing At Work #2)

“Really.” Celene gazed at Shanice’s midsection, where her waist trainer was visible if one paid close attention. “Are you okay?”

“I am now because I quit being stubborn and let my sisters and parents make good on their offers. Postpartum’s no joke.

” Shanice corrected her braids, gaze unfocused.

“Family’s strange. You have to get the toxic members out and figure out who you can maybe trust. I learned who to shut out and who to call when Byron couldn’t shoulder it all.

It takes a village, you know?” She shrugged.

“Gradually, my body felt less foreign, more like me. I can share it with Theo without feeling like a milk vessel anymore, as unmotherly as that sounds.”

Celene stepped down from the treadmill and surprised herself by how easily she hugged her six-year-older mother-in-law. “I wish I’d known. I could’ve helped more.”

“I pushed everyone away, even your side of the family.” Shanice pulled away with a comforting squeeze, eyes lighting up at the homemade sanitizer Celene fished from her bag. “Suspicious bottle, what’s that?”

Squirting the clear liquid into both their palms, they eagerly disinfected. And, of course, Celene bragged about Skye making it.

“I’ve dodged Theo’s colds so far. I need the extra coverage,” Shaniceremarked before veering to the house subject again. “You don’t have to decide on the house today. Or tomorrow. Byron’s proud of you.”

“Hm.” Not that Byron had never spoken those words; it’d been years, though.

“For now, do something that seems difficult for you lately.”

Celene reached to unlock her phone, grinning at a sweet message from Skye. After the night they’d had, it affected her crucially. They weren’t hooking up to purely cure their loneliness. They cared about one another. Noticing Shanice waiting, she apologized and asked, “What should I do?”

Shanice whipped her towel over her shoulder. Laughing fondly, she said, “Breathe.”

“Swindle, Phish. Break time from your underwater grift.” Skye portioned out the fish’s breakfast, stretching her bleary, dry eyes. The imagery of the speckled, majestic gouramis bubbling over tiny burner phones was funny, but she was too sleepy to laugh. Too sleepy to stand, nearly.

The fish dinked their pointed faces into the corner of the tank, as close as they could swim towards Skye, until they swooped to the water’s surface to suck in the flakes with puckered lips.

Today was Saturday, and Skye had a breakthrough.

Eight tutorials and a 3 a.m. green tea powered her through engineering simple metal connections, the mechanisms that hinged her Forever Fuchsia blossoms to their pedicels and stems at the angles she’d envisioned.

It’d been an obstacle finding strong enough materials to sustain the estimated bloom weight while staying mostly unnoticeable.

She’d completed three glass blossoms—gorgeously, if she may say so—and held her breath as she let them suspend on their own. This would impress Celene, no doubt.

Discoveries in the dead of night lead to Skye practically dead herself.

Luce blared into her room through the intercom at a ripe 7:38 a.m. that morning.

Skye toppled from her workroom, risked her life ejecting herself down her loft ladder, and halfway understood Luce rambling about a day trip with a friend.

Luce believed sleeping past 8 a.m. to be a personality flaw. Skye rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, swearing she’d grant her body its deserved rest the moment she locked the door behind her grandmother.

“Janetta’s picking me up any minute,” Luce declared in a new dress, multihued purse latched under her forearm. “Shopping, then going out of town to the casino.”

Skye smothered a yawn with her arm; her nod tempted an incoming headache. “Isn’t that backward? Win money first, then shop.”

With a wink, Luce chuckled. “Janetta had a three-win streak last Pokeno night and wants to put her luck to the test. I’d rather know I’ll come home with gifts for the grands before she blows all her cash.”

Cosmo and Soraya’s three children—Kelan, Sami, and Zola—had birthdays falling within the next two weeks.

They’d begged for gift cards to spend on their online games, so Skye heeded their wishes.

More traditional in her approach to presents, Luce pulled her great-grandmother rank and promised she’d find them “something useful.” The oldest Florentine didn’t understand Cosmo’s love of gaming, and that hadn’t changed for his kids.

A raw desire for sleep hindered any defense of Skye’s nephews and niece. Though no amount of deprivation deterred her smile at the mention of Pokeno. Of her and Celene’s first fake date. Ice cream, homophobia, and flirting turned her life around.

Yielding would welcome Celene within its limits on Monday. She’d try to focus through her 10-4 workday. Then, she’d speed home, change, and her lips should be on Celene by 5 p.m.

“Skye!” Luce advanced on her, snapping her fingers. Five back-to-back snaps like an echo. “You’re spacing out, child. Carl’s gonna be here at six this evening.”

Skye schooled her expression at Luce’s behest, though she wanted to frown. “For?”

“You do not listen sometimes.” Shaking her head in her out-in-about hat, she heightened her voice to painful levels.

“Box up those—” She gestured to a rack of three nine-by-nine-inch reliefs.

“So they’ll be ready for Carl to pick up and ship for me.

He’s doing me a favor since it’s the weekend. Have them sitting by the door.”

Eager to do or say whatever would get her in bed soonest, Skye pulled Luce’s jacket from a wall hook. “I’ve done this for years. No problem.”

“This order’s important.”

Skye knew. She’d kept communication flowing with Mahdi from Chromatique Flair , about his team’s photoshoot of exclusive new work for publication and an online gallery.

It’d been a long process, with the first email of interest from before Granddad’s death.

“They’ll love them. I’m not used to you worrying about these sorts of clients. ”

“Well, Walter loves this magazine.”

Skye hugged her grandmother, arms locked in a firm hold. She’d hugged her like this ever since she’d been a kid. In the past few years, she’d gentled her arms around muscles not as tight, a body softer with age. “I’ll do the packing justice. Anything else?”

“That’s it, that’s all,” Luce muttered. And when Miss Janetta honked from her gray sedan outside, Skye thanked the stars. Holding the door open for Luce to stride out, she meant every bit of her: “Have fun and don’t rush.”

Then Skye shut every curtain and switched all the lights off in her path to her bedroom.

Their home shall be a cave. A cave for her to hibernate.

Sure, she wouldn’t forget her responsibilities, setting several alarms to wake her by 2 p.m. More than enough time for optimal boxing. They’d honor her grandfather in style.

She remembered art enthusiast magazines splayed upon Granddad’s desk, pre-stroke.

He swore Luce’s work belonged in all of them, and they’d accomplished that feat for a half dozen.

Lucky number seven would happen with forgettable, indirect assistance from his granddaughter.

Nobody spoke of handlers and delivery people in speeches on fine art, but that should change.

Skye – 8:06 am

About to embark on a six-hour nap. Wish me well.

Celene responded seconds later.

Celene – 8:06 am

Busy night?

Skye – 8:08 am

Yeah. Working on your commission.

Celene – 8:09 am

You’ve earned a nice, long rest.

Will you dream of me?

Now that Skye could promise, every time. She bent her stiff joints beneath her comforter, sighing at how far they’d come. Life made sense now.

Skye – 8:12 am

I don’t need to sleep to do that.

Celene – 8:13 am

I believe you.

Go to bed, beautiful.

“Mmm, I love you, Celene,” Skye whispered into the fabric of her cool pillow. It sent chills through her, speaking those premature, possibly forbidden words. They were her truth, though. Only her dimmed room held that privilege of hearing.

On the bed rail next to her charging phone, she’d attached their ‘Bready for Love’ couple photo, as stunning as the day Pearl captured it. Skye would certainly embrace Celene in her dreams, swirling in peachy clouds and yellows of worlds unseen.

Yet, her thoughts fell on her grandfather when she closed her eyes. It would’ve been nice to create something for him, too.

Skye’s body begged for more sleep when the alarm clock went off in a bright, digital tune next to her head. Besides a few winks to adjust her eyes to the sunlight bleeding through her curtains, she’d think of nothing else but that delivery until it was prepared for Carl.

“Sheesh, okay,” she said as she hopped off the bottom rung of her ladder.

The nap helped—perhaps too much. Contrary to assumptions about a daydreamer and her mystical bedtimes, Skye didn’t nap well.

They left her disoriented and off-balance, much like a dream that hadn’t culminated in a conclusion. Six hours of this sapped her.

Eyes bleary from the transport in time, her shoulders thudded on either side of the hallway in her walk to the front room.

Midday coffee would remedy this. Or better—black tea from Celene’s teapot.

Infused with something tangy, like grapefruit or pomegranate seeds.

Her stomach lurched as a warning not to bother. Nothing here would compare.

Dreams in this nap began enthralling, of Celene’s hands in Skye’s hair and her mouth clasped onto the pulse point on her neck.

Then, those visions blew away in murky nebula engulfing Skye, folding over itself like waves.

She’d call for Celene, and the mist would choke her into silence.

In a fit, she’d yell out to her parents, then Luce, and her shrieks could only voice one person: Granddad, Granddad.