Page 9 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls (Kissing At Work #2)

C elene wouldn’t call the Vale summer house beautiful. It had potential.

After storing the groceries in the refrigerator and lowering blinds for her new houseplant, she surveyed the lay of the land. The maintenance requirements pissed her off for getting involved. Did the house need consulting on its managerial staff? She could sort that out for it.

Its best quality was its size—five bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms on a single story.

The lot wasn’t vast within the neighborhood confines, but had plenty of playspace outside for her and her siblings years ago.

Celene placed her hands on her hips, scrutinizing the dingy driveway extending to the street. Goldfinch Lane was quiet, at least.

As children, the dead silence of Yielding at night creeped her sister out.

Celene remembered Elise sneaking into her bed, whining about hearing ghosts.

Full of sibling wickedness, a nine- year-old Celene made up a grisly story of how in every family that lived there, a vine-y shadow demon would slaughter only the youngest sister.

Elise, somewhat astute at seven, called BS until Celene assured her she’d heard it on televised news, and for some reason, that persuaded her.

Poor girl hardly slept for the rest of the vacation, even after their parents found out and made Celene apologize.

Celene scuffed the heel of her trainers on thinned, dry grass and entered that in her phone.

Her FIX THIS checklist was getting ridiculous; Byron visited this place maybe twice a year, and he was no handyman.

However, he was a retired operations manager with expendable funds, keeping the basics current: appliances, air, heat, water, and septic system.

Anything dealing with curb appeal and restoration fell by the wayside.

She sneered at the discolored paneling of the house’s exterior. Blemished with lichen, chalking damage on prominent edges. Had it always been this dreary and uneven? Their house looked like it’d died from the flu years ago.

The front yard’s shade was respectable, she evaluated, walking a path around several trees as well as Boob Mountain—their conjoined 5-foot boulders closest to the street.

Many houses in Lake Harrier Reserve kept locally sourced boulders in their yards for aesthetic purposes, erosion control, and property markers.

Byron followed suit.Alas, landscapers had an apparent vendetta against their family, giving them land titties. Boys used to draw nipples on them.

Years of weather wore one boulder down more than the other, so they were a little too lopsided and speckled with moss to evoke rocky breasts anymore. A relief.

Celene froze when a skinny green snake slithered lazily from the overgrowth around the boulders. She’d killed some bugs already, but she’d draw the line at reptiles. In her notes app, she added red exclamation points to the lawn care entry.

“My family owns the ugliest house in town,” Celene said, connecting to a FaceTime call with Nadine. She switched the camera’s view to hear a reaction.

Nadine’s back-of-the-diaphragm hiss sounded painful. “Byron has money. Can’t he hire someone to fix all this himself? You’re not qualified.”

“I’m not qualified.” Celene relished the reasonable opinion. “He’s too damn sentimental about this place and wants one of us to fall in love with it. It’s not even lakeside.”

“That’s a facade only a father would love.”

Laughing felt so good. The snowballing number of challenges (yard work, checking insulation, replacing a host of old furniture, updates that would bring them into the 21st century, etc.) had deep-frozen her face into a scowl that hurt her jaw.

Sneering at a slab of the rotting deck, she planned aloud, “I’m imagining two bigger, better decks.

I can replace those god-awful dated porch doors with a modern sliding option. ”

Nadine propped her phone up, freeing her hands to stab at a Cobb salad in her mother’s office.

She wore her hair natural today, styling it up into a thick bun.

Her statuesque, typically acute appearance softened with her cheeks full of romaine.

“All that, Celene? No. Do the bare minimum and cash out. It’s less hassle and—wait, are you getting a cut of this sale?

It must be worth a hundred times more than it did in the ’80s. ”

“I mentioned that, and Byron babbled like, ‘yeah, sure, we’ll talk.’”

“Not him dodging the biggest questions.”

“Nobody does it better.”

“He’s raising a baby in his sixties. To think he’s got the energy to play pickleball every week.” Nadine spoke behind a manicured hand as she chewed. “I just googled. Yielding has some nice views.”

“Does this mean you’ll come by one day?”

“Don’t push it. I want you back here.”

“I’ll be there in a week.” Celene jiggled the tarnished latch of the backyard shed, then rubbed green oxidation from her fingertips.

Earlier, she’d unlocked it in a short act of bravery and lost her nerve, considering what creepy crawlies could’ve set up shop there.

Maybe a sunburned exterminator would yell out their window at her next. “Should I open it?”

Nadine had been sipping cucumber-mint juice, her gracefully lined eyes growing in horror. “What in the serial killer hideaway?! Step back. Do not enter, god, don’t we see the same danger?”

“Maybe it’s just bugs?”

“ Just bugs?” she screeched several octaves higher, fork wagging between her knuckles. “Unleashing a swarm is worse! You could be breeding mountain roaches bigger than the ones in the city, cannibalizing each other. I’d set it on fire, personally.”

Alarmist or not, Nadine’s angle convinced Celene. “Fine. I’ll outsource this task.”

“Gasoline. Matches.”

Celene swatted at a gnat zipping by, her ankles itching from the high grass scraping her shins.

She was not built for this. On her solo trips, where she’d do light hiking or join a yoga class in the middle of the elements, she’d idealize living that way full-time.

A serene life outside the honking and sirens, but at what cost if it meant cannibal roaches and endless upkeep?

“Show me more of your land. How big is the backyard?” Nadine snapped the seal of a cold brew. She was one of those oral fixationists—never far from a beverage. “From what I see, your neighbors aren’t practically sitting on your lap.”

Something in the favorable column about Yielding. Celene marched further out, slowly panning her phone in a 180. “The grassy half of the backyard I’m standing on is serviceable, the rest...”

“Why did your dad buy this?” An appropriate reaction to the other half of the rectangular space, fraught with ground-set rocks, bursts of weeds, leaves, and crisscrossed surface roots. Surrounded by trees on all sides, it gave privacy away from most people, but not—“Oh look, I see baby deer!”

Sure enough, a doe and her two fawns lifted their heads.

They moved deftly through the craggy space on spindly legs, trimming grass in a graze.

Celene proceeded to the front yard, unwilling to bother their mealtime.

“We have deer, rabbits, the occasional fox. Oh, god. And bears. If I dared to step around those rocks, I’d find bear poop. ”

“Nasty. That was Fern Gully charming for a minute. I’m turned off again.”

The smoky drift from someone’s barbecue grill reached Celene; her stomach tightened with hunger. She switched the video to front-facing. “I got your pie, by the way. When I browsed outside the market, this woman giving off strong gay vibes stopped her van to chat.”

Nadine rubbed her hands together, caffeinated eyes round. “You’re already a ten in the city; over there, you’ll break the scale.”

Dismissing that with a scoff, she began kicking small branches off the grass.

“She pitched her landscaping business, and it worked because I’m already sick of comparing companies, many of whose websites are crap.

Whatever, she’s not the important one in the story.

In the passenger seat was the same lady I texted you about. ”

“The blueberry one who followed you?”

“Yes, her. She’d scanned her ID to get into the neighborhood, so she lives around here, too.” Celene bit her lip. Had to consider how to frame this, as Nadine’s eyebrow rose. “She gave me a welcome gift. A fuchsia. Are you familiar?”

“I know roses and I guess, lilies. Hydrangeas. Do dandelions count?” Nadine waved off the rest of her weak botanical knowledge with long fingers. “What do you do now? Are you obligated to invite her over? Do you owe her something?”

“No idea. It’s pretty, even pre-bloom.” She welcomed a distraction from Nadine’s wry expression as a middle-aged lady in a visor strolled on the road, walking a beagle. As customary there, everyone waved—a lot. Celene ignored her, lowering her gaze to the call. “Blueberry forager. I recognize her.”

“From where, your fantasies?”

That was the extent of their little quips about women. Celene was so thankful. “I can’t place it, but I know her.”

Nadine hummed thoughtfully. “May I ask how she looks?”

“A grown-out French bob, curly bangs,” she recalled like her friend asked of the weather forecast. “Dark brown eyes, full lips. Really soft, delicate features.”

“Maybe she’s the scale-breaker.” Nadine didn’t badger her further, though her fingertips brushed over her unmistakable grin. “I’m thinking about dating again, maybe.”

That was different . Celene allowed the same grace, trying not to sound too shocked. “Anyone in mind? I remember you saying the women at work are dry.”

“They’re still dry.” Nadine capped her unfinished coffee, eyes on her fake engagement ring.

She went above and beyond to be unavailable.

“I miss those cute moments. Like, when I come home from a day where everyone’s a headache and a girlfriend’s all, ‘Baby, what’s wrong?

Let’s order Thai, and you can tell me about your day. ’”

That did sound nice. Celene nodded for her to continue.