Page 63 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls (Kissing At Work #2)

“ W ork was painless today. For a change, a woman was the biggest asshole.” Celene spoke behind dark sunglasses, coming off just as much of an asshole in the West Village at six in the evening. Her eyes were raw from crying, though, and she had no desire to explain.

Since she herself didn’t know why.

Nadine occasionally shaded her own eyes in the dead of night, so she didn’t question it. She swigged from ice water, then her espresso martini. “I’m tempted to say, ‘good for her,’ but I’ve seen the demons who go to you for guidance.”

Celene’s consultation appointments had been remote today.

Three sessions in a row with managerial types who’d gotten a slew of complaints in quarterly reviews.

Stepping out to meet her friends should’ve uplifted her mood.

Instead, she’d checked her reflection when she arrived at the coffee bar, blotting under her eyes.

From a similar martini, Celene plucked off a spiral of shaved chocolate and savored its richness. “She claimed—direct quote—‘My hires can easily be replaced in this hellscape economy.’”

Dante snorted, swiping through a dating app. His idea of mindless fun. “Could you give her my number?”

“I should. The stock of her company’s been tanking, so I’m sure she’ll have plenty of time for you very soon.”

“Damn. Ice cold.”

“It’s a requirement to handle these types.

” Celene sniffed dryly, peering at a work group having an anniversary celebration.

The party’s two booths in the corner weren’t sufficient for the twenty-plus crowd.

They were crawling over each other. The ant comparison flooded her brain, because she couldn’t escape Goldfinch Lane.

Celene’s phone illuminated in the ambient dimness. Notifications from her friend in the pantsuit across her table, plucking at her croissant.

Nadine – 6:40 pm

That’s the fifth time you’ve sniffed.

You don’t have allergies and you don’t do cocaine.

Tell me what’s wrong.

Celene – 6:43 pm

I don’t know.

She flipped her phone downward after this, subject closed. It pained her not to have a name for her feelings. They left her uneasy, almost sick.

Nadine’s glare could cut glass. Nevertheless, she asked, “Meeting with your family this weekend, right?”

The uneasiness roiled harder. Celene flicked her gaze around for the bathroom door, in case this led to vomiting. “I am, on Sunday. Dad wants a firm answer about the deed.”

“Byron gave you a five-bedroom house and you haven’t accepted it yet?” Dante’s smirk wasn’t a fun one; it was perplexed. He scratched at his thin eyebrow. “You and I aren’t cut from the same cloth, Celene.”

“You’d keep it?”

“Nah, I wouldn’t live out in the sticks. I’d sell or rent it out.”

“It’s not the sticks .” Defensiveness weighed each word until they slanted, italicized. “Yielding’s endearing. Festivals, nice shopping options. Walkability could be improved, but the hiking makes up for it.”

Nadine licked her lips after another sip. “Well, aren’t you the spokeswoman for your cute little town?”

Celene shrugged, eyeing the foam on top of her martini. “Yes, so?”

“Celene, honey,” Nadine tried, tone losing its suspicion. She grasped Celene’s hand and gripped with perennially cold fingers. “You love it there, and that’s a good thing. I’m kind of empty without you around.”

Dante stole a tip of Nadine’s croissant. His laugh wasn’t mocking, thankfully. “She’s not lying. You’re all Nadine’s got.”

Not convincing in the least. Celene pointed between the two of them. “You have your sibling bond. Anyways, you’ll always have me, Nadine. Regardless of where I live.”

“I know,” Nadine concluded, her smile resigned. “I’m sure the jokes get repetitive. Sorry.”

Celene hadn’t come down from her protectiveness over a town she hadn’t always taken seriously, either. She caught up with her emails as the three of them stared at their phones, backdropped by the coffee bean motifs and rich bursts of multiple roasts hitting the low-lit air.

It took Nadine slapping Dante’s hand off the croissant to redirect the mood. “Buy your own bread. Cheap ass.”

Dante gawked down at his wrinkle-less dress shirt and slacks, as if the ‘cheap’ comment came from a style perspective. “You’re not finishing that.”

“Hungry? Order a sandwich or something, cheap ass.”

“Call me cheap again, see what happens.” Mumbling, he ambled his long legs to the ordering booth, taking his time examining the hand-penned wall menu.

Nadine had an ulterior motive. Not surprising. Touching Celene’s hand, her eyes shone with a soft plea. “Now that he’s gone, be real with me. Off with the sunglasses.”

Never mind the lighting; Celene knew her eyes gave everything away once she slipped her sunglasses into her bag.

How Nadine sighed told her enough. “Tell me, Celene. Watched a sad movie? Hormonal? Existential malaise? Or should I spare us the guessing game and get to the heart of this?”

“Go ahead,” Celene granted, frustrated by this perceptiveness.

“You cry when you’re overwhelmed, yeah, but you cry like that over women.” She drew an invisible line down her cheek with a pointer finger, pantomiming a fallen tear. “You’re in love with her.”

“Of course I’m in love with Skye.” No use in covering it up. “It’s scary.”

“Who are you telling? I’m scared for you.”

In a way many wouldn’t understand, that settled Celene into a soft laugh. She’d ruin the carefully curated balance of their commitment-phobic friend group. “I’m trying to embrace the fear.”

Nadine leaned further upon the table. Full lips pursed how Celene did hers. “You’re tough as nails, Celene. A season of heartbreak didn’t defeat you, and if this goes up in smoke, you’ll survive again. You have me.”

Celene ate the rest of Nadine’s croissant. Her best friend status gave her an exemption from any slapping.

The season metaphor stood out. Summers typically flew by for her, used up by vacations or seminars for her job. In Yielding, hours stretched longer and not long enough, considering the source of her crying.

The source that shone from her phone on the table.

Skye.

Skye – 7:21 pm

I’m two hours away from NYC.

I remembered you don’t like unannounced visits, lol. Is this too short notice?

Turning around’s an option.

Nadine had been reading the message upside-down, judging by her nod. “Look at that. You shed a few tears and your woman comes galloping into the city on her trusty steed.”

Celene – 7:25 pm

Aren’t your parents coming over tomorrow?

Skye – 7:26 pm

They are.

But they’ll understand.

Celene – 7:27 pm

Stop texting and get here in one piece.

Skye – 7:30 pm

Ha, fair.

Love you, my protector.

Celene wanted to bite back her smile and failed. “You know, they have cars in Yielding.”

Twirling a pretend lasso, Nadine’s attempt at a ‘yeehaw’ needed a lot of work. It was ridiculous—and heavily appreciated. “Whatever. She’s running to you; this one won’t run away.”

“I’m afraid you’re right.”

Celene – 7:34

I love you, too, Nature Girl.

The next thirty minutes with Celene’s friends loosened up, sprinkled with banter, and, unsurprisingly, more bickering when Nadine stole a bite of Dante’s pesto panini. Though this time, Celene could join in laughter without the dark barrier of her sunglasses.

Buzzing from the martini, her subway ride home didn’t bother her.

She made a detour into one of her favorite shops for quick bites, filling a metal basket with a baguette, mozzarella, basil, jam, and anything else that evoked the intimacy of a picnic.

Even if it’d be indoors, at Celene’s table, usually outfitted for a party of one.

Those times in her own company were fortifying and sacred, yet Skye wouldn’t impede that energy.

Celene had ample time to shower and outfit herself in a loose, off-the-shoulder crew neck and shorts in breathable material. To really wrap herself in comfort.

Who was she kidding? She wished to come off as touchable, willing those graceful hands onto her without a verbal request.

And in all her preparation, Celene’s senses still blurred at Skye—in the flesh, present in the place she once called her sanctuary.

“I had to parallel park,” Skye groaned in the doorway ten minutes later, threading fingers into her flat-ironed hair and effectively diffusing the tension. “I disrupted an extra-large flock of pigeons, though.”

“Excuse you,” Celene volleyed back, “those pigeons are our valets. They’re remarkably competent drivers.” They laughed as she tugged Skye into the apartment.

Celene didn’t hesitate to commemorate this first visit with her hand on Skye’s jaw, submerging them in the depths of a long kiss.

The wall ornaments, the contents of her open-face shelves, the blinds on her windows floated off into the annals of space, leaving her swallowed into the darkness behind her eyelids, wrapped in Skye’s arms and the warmth of honeysuckle.

Was this how it felt to be rescued?

To be adrift, displaced amongst everything she thought she’d known. Then, someone hoisted Celene up before she realized how far she’d sunk into her own unhappiness.

“I brought your fuchsia.”

No other statement could’ve pulled Celene away from Skye’s lips. She parted, both of them catching their breath. “Which one?”

“Your photosynthetic one.” Skye extracted the heavy pot from a canvas bag on her shoulder, the tubular flowers trembling.

“Your Forever Fuchsia’s at my studio, about eighty-five percent complete.

Using this as a reference sped up my progress.

I don’t know why I hadn’t thought of that sooner.

” And with a timid wink, she produced a bottle of red wine. “I got us this, too.”

It’d pair splendidly with their meal—curated, private, and impeccable. Celene thanked her, lips curling to herself as she brought it into the kitchen to chill.

She rarely threw around the word ‘dreamy,’ but damn , she couldn’t deny it. That’d been so effortless.