Page 58 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls (Kissing At Work #2)

T hree hours and forty-two minutes later, Celene collected her visitor’s badge, hands shaky in the hospital’s chilly air.

With urgency contrasting the stillness that settles in these white, sterile wings, Celene’s footsteps clicked past personnel in pastel scrubs, much more deliberate in her pace.

For the majority of her drive, something bugged Celene. Like a speck from the wind, too tiny to see, less painful when one blinked the right way. Then it’d float to the cornea, and she’d wipe and search with watery eyes. It’d been one of her final interactions with Skye.

While Celene had folded her clothes into their packing cubes, maybe more forcefully than necessary as she’d slipped into distress.

But Skye had picked up on it, crouching next to her.

Celene remembered continuing as if she weren’t there, brain churning out scenarios: her father’s exact diagnosis, long-term issues, Shanice’s mental health, and hardened family conflict.

Had Elise been downplaying or exaggerating over the phone?

Why the fuck couldn’t she trust her sister’s word?

Then, Skye placed a hand on Celene’s arm. And Celene quaked beneath the touch, ashamed of...being concerned?

The normal act of a daughter worried about her father embarrassed her.

“Should I go with you?” Skye had asked, warm in her loose top, eyes unsure. “I can move my schedule around or ask Zander to train the new associate at Luce’s. I could?—”

“Thalia’s art show’s tonight. Your parents are visiting,” Celene reminded her. Tears threatened to sting her eyes, so she tightened up, focusing on her tasks in their proper order. Of all the times Skye could meet the Vales, it couldn’t be now. Not at a low point.

Not when Skye could be seen as a crutch, like Celene needed a girlfriend to survive these uncertain moments.

Skye stared. Celene could feel it, reducing herself to deflection. Getting dressed and brushing her hair to do anything but feel.

“They’ll all understand if I’m helping you,” Skye tried again. “I don’t need to pack much.”

“It’ll be fine. You deserve a better introduction to my family.”

“Dragonfruit.”

And that was when Celene flinched. Because their reality word had never been used like that. Combatively. Like a gotcha.

So, Celene didn’t say it back. Instead, she lectured about the proper steps to shut down the house, and Skye brought out her phone to take everything down. Eager to get it all right. It teased a soft sigh out of Celene because Skye loved her, truly.

But she couldn’t face what honesty would’ve come from that ‘Dragonfruit’ exchange. Not in her fragile state.

“We’re adults,” Celene had given her, chin held too high to be natural. “I can’t expect your life to stop for mine.”

On the way to Manhattan, she’d spoken with her mother for about fifteen minutes.

Otherwise, everyone else’s line was tied up; probably busy on calls with each other.

Thankfully, from Edna, she learned that Byron wasn’t in a dire situation, but the doctor wanted to assess for any underlying problems. A relief that only went so far, since she wouldn’t be hopeful until she saw him herself.

Celene let herself into Byron’s patient room. Habit encouraged her to knock and get an invitation, yet social necessity was the last thing on her mind.

Several people scattered around the bed turned for her, and Celene sighed. Of course, the Vales wouldn’t respect the two-at-a-time visitor policy.

“Aunt Celene.” Fiona hopped from the end of the bed to hug her. She squeezed Celene’s torso in a tilt that implied she was used to being swung around.

Celene attempted this, trying not to grunt as the six-year-old giggled, blinking behind black fringe that needed a trim. Relieved at settling her back on the floor, she formally greeted her niece. “Hello, Fiona. Are you well?”

From those days spent together at the summer house, Celene learned the girls adored anything they equated to “grown-up” treatment. Be it drinking out of glass cups instead of cartoon plastic, sitting through stale talk on warranty details, and most importantly, language.

Celene could do that, no problem, knowing kid-friendly speech didn’t come naturally to her. Fiona smiled broadly enough to show gums above her tiny teeth. “I am. Can I hold your phone? Do you have games?”

Briana shooed her daughter out of the way to scoop Celene into a hug. “How was the drive?”

“Uneventful.” Celene looked past Briana’s shoulder at Byron rolling his eyes as if he’d been caught skipping school by the truant officer. Taking note of that, she peeked around the room. “Where’s Isolde?”

“Edna’s walking Izzy to a vending machine for snacks,” Briana told her, pushing Celene to Donovan, who threw a hard arm around her shoulder.

And that move placed her beside her dad, his cropped hair dried in sloppy waves as if he’d been sweating. Celene made a show of her critical eye, since he welcomed her with guilt more than gratitude. “What happened?”

“You didn’t have to come all the way here,” Byron said, lifting a hand connected to an IV stand. “It wasn’t a heart attack.”

Elise whacked Byron from the other side of the bed, wiggling the sunglasses holding her hair back. “Dehydration and overexertion.”

And his first baby after thirty years. Celene kept that to herself. “ Dad .”

“I’ll drink more water, Gatorade, coconut water, anything.

I made one tiny mistake,” Byron grumbled, lap under the crisp white sheets with nowhere to hide.

Celene was no doctor, but she recognized the slightly elevated number on the blood pressure reader.

Her dad followed her eyes to it, and his grimace deepened.

Not a good look to age himself in a hospital bed, accompanied by the steady, telltale beeping of the cardiac monitor.

“He skipped breakfast, too,” Elise added, the snitching continuous.

Celene needed to pile on, as he’d probably feared. “No hydration, no food, summer forecast in the 90s.”

“Aged over sixty,” her sister chimed in, “chasing a ball like a dog, I’m shocked you didn’t keel over permanently.”

“You don’t chase a pickleball with your teeth,” Ajay muttered, clutching Elise, who laughed along with everyone else.

Everyone but Celene. She extracted her ponytail from under Donovan’s arm.

Her father was an active man. Though in a space vaguely smelling of antiseptic and rubber gloves, Celene came face-to-face with her father as a mortal.

The rows of skin in his creased forehead, a jawline not as taut as his glory days.

Had his beard grayed more since the last time she saw him at that godforsaken pickleball court?

It brought Skye to mind, who couldn’t mourn her grandfather the way she saw fit. She didn’t need to check to know Skye filled her phone. With questions? Follow-up on Byron?

Huffing, Celene asked, “Is Shanice home with Theo?”

Byron switched to full grizzly old man, crossing his arms. “Yes.”

“She’d been with him since he arrived at the hospital,” Briana volunteered from a chair with Fiona on her knee, scrolling through the app store on her phone. “We convinced her to rest at their apartment for a few hours and come back later. Theo was fussy the whole time.”

“Theo’s having some sleep regression,” Donovan whispered. Byron glared at him like he’d been betrayed by some bro code. “Dad, what? Fifi and Izzy constantly had sleep strikes at that age. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“So, you’re sleep-deprived on top of everything else.

” Celene wasn’t a fan of the parental role reversal, the older she became.

Parents surely turned into children. And Byron deserved a scolding.

“I understand keeping fit and needing to blow off steam, but you have to take care of yourself in all aspects of your life.”

Byron shrugged as if he weren’t currently a man dependent on a bag of fluids. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then, simplify it. You’re retired.”

“Again, not that simple.”

“Shanice breastfeeds Theo around the clock. You get to leave the house for hours to smack a ball around, and I only hope she gets an equivalent of that time to herself.”

At that, Byron steeled, and so did the air of the room.

A bubble-popping game sounded from Briana’s phone.

God, Celene shouldn’t chastise her father at a low point, but this was pissing her off.

Shanice wouldn’t allow herself to spend more than an hour at the gym with Celene until she rushed home to tend to the baby.

“You don’t understand,” Byron said, voice thickening to something she used to heed.

Celene shrugged away from Donovan. She had enough weight on her shoulders. “Then, help me understand.”

“Relationships are work. Children—” He gestured at Fiona spinning in place as she tapped at the screen, then the drip connected to his hand, bright against his deep tan skin.

“Are work, Celene. You don’t understand because you can’t understand.

If I need advice about coaching managers, you’re the first one I’ll call. Dealing with life stuff is my domain.”

The tension now made its way around Celene’s neck. Her single sigh may have hinted at her frustration, yet she sharpened her glare in metal stakes. She’d left a bed warm from actual love in her life to get ridicule?

Around her, the rest of their party shuffled uncomfortably. At a loss. Specifically, Celene met her typically talkative sister’s eyes, disappointed by those eyes growing wide and not her mouth in a rebuttal. Was everyone stunned? Or did they agree?

Celene gripped the bedside control panel, not realizing she’d gnashed her teeth into her inside cheek until she tasted blood. “Isn’t that convenient?”

He hadn’t expected that response. Her father straightened in a soft, weak wince, his short nails scratching into his cheek.