Page 41 of The Sun and the Moon

Cadence

Meet me in the butterfly garden at the Victorian Inn. Come hungry.

I followed Sydney’s instructions to a location I have never been, not in any of the times I’ve visited Solvang.

When I pull up outside the bed-and-breakfast, I’m taken in by what I see.

A beautifully restored Victorian home, three stories tall, painted yellow with white trim, the intricate trim’s woodwork details popping out in a deep rusty red.

I cut the engine on my rental car and step out.

I follow the map I found online that shows the grounds around the inn.

There are multiple gardens, but the butterfly garden is at the edge of the grounds near the greenbelt of trees that lines the boundary of the property.

I take the path that leads away from the Victorian house, winding through a rose garden, past a small cobblestone seating area where a few guests eat brunch.

Eventually I come up to a small gate with a curved trellis overhead.

It’s been planted with passionflower, which blooms in bright burnt orange.

A small wooden sign that reads June’s Butterfly Garden tells me I’m in the right place.

I press through the gate and round a slight bend in the path where, on a deep green knoll of grass, stands Sydney.

Beside her is a yellow-and-green picnic blanket with a basket I assume contains food.

Staked into the ground beside the blanket is one of those wooden wine holders with two cups secured inside and full of what look like mimosas.

But my eyes don’t want to focus on the scene around me.

They want to focus on her.

Her blond hair is down, long and straight and shiny. She wears a deep orange dress that ties at the neckline and cinches in to accentuate her curves. Pearl earrings catch the light, and her fitted denim jacket is rolled up at the cuffs.

“What’s this about?” I ask her, swallowing the frog of nerves in my throat. I adjust my deep purple button-down, hoping I am dressed appropriately for whatever she has planned. I close the gap between us.

“Just a little brunch date,” she says, bending to grab our glasses. “Ranger Girl.”

I don’t bite back my smile at the nickname. I want her to see that I like it.

I like her.

We cheers with our glasses and take a sip, but just as I’m about to sit down, she reaches for my waist and tugs me against her. Her hand slides into the back pocket of my jeans, I feel her breath on my cheek, and my lips open.

She covers them with a kiss.

Deep and passionate, but also tender and sweet.

I let my free hand slip around her, fingers splaying out over her back. Her ample curves meld with my more solid frame, and my knees almost buckle at the sensation. Her mouth lifts from mine, and I let out a whimper. I need to get ahold of myself.

She practically has me panting.

We drop to the blanket, and Sydney proceeds to pull out two sandwiches, one a caprese on a ciabatta and the other chicken salad.

She knows I don’t eat pork or beef, was a vegetarian for years, but I never told her that even now I often can’t stomach chicken, though occasionally I’ll eat it if there are no other options.

Birds are my favorite creatures. I even like chickens.

I take the caprese sandwich. “Thank you. This is really thoughtful.”

“I have ulterior motives, I’m afraid,” she says, a small smirk playing on her lips. I quirk my brow, waiting for the rest. “I thought I’d get you a little tipsy and then make out with you surrounded by nature.”

My cheeks warm. “You don’t need me tipsy for that.”

I set the sandwich aside and then secure my wineglass back in the holder.

The heat in her gaze is matched by the warmth I already feel between my legs. I take her glass, never unlocking my eyes from hers.

I press up to kiss her. Just a light brush of my lips at first.

Sydney is a pilot, the head of her flight crew.

She’s used to being in charge, and I think she mostly likes taking the lead, but even the most strong-willed type A person sometimes wants to surrender.

My hand finds the curve of her neck as my fingers move her jaw up, angling her face toward me.

I deepen the kiss, and she opens her lips for me to let my tongue explore.

We drift back to the blanket. Everything else melts away.

I feel the curves of her beneath my hands.

Soft and yielding, not an ounce of tension in her muscles, just surrender.

It’s easy to let go with her. To let myself soften.

All the hard edges I’m so used to get worn down in all the right ways.

I find the hem of her dress and then the flesh of her thigh right beneath it.

I let my instincts do the rest.

?Later, we’re lying on the blanket, nibbling on the remains of our sandwiches, and laughing, when it hits me.

I also made a date with my mom.

“Fuck,” I exclaim.

“We did.” Her voice is all mischief, and it almost derails me completely.

I yank up my phone from the edge of the blanket to check the time.

“Moira asked me to go with her to the winery.” I sound like I’m in pain. “I said I would go.”

Sydney sits up. She hovers over me, lit from behind by the sun.

“You’re gonna hang out with your mom one-on-one?” she asks, a smile spreading her lips, turning her voice bright, too.

“Apparently,” I reply, chagrined.

“This is good,” she says. “At least attempt to let it be good.”

Her eyes search my face. I can’t help but notice the longing in them. Maybe I’m just seeing my own longing reflected back at me.

I don’t hate my mom, no matter how much I want to.

“That’s a big ask, Sydney.” I lift up, reaching out to brush the hair off her shoulder. She removed her denim jacket earlier and hasn’t put it back on.

She shifts, scooting closer. Her hands cover mine.

“I never talk about my mom,” she says, her voice tentative. “Not to anyone.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Her eyes trip up to mine. The softest, sweetest blue.

“I had this goldfish when I was younger. My mom had gotten it for me before she got sick, and she helped set up the tank, taught me all the care instructions, everything.” I’m listening intently, her eyes never leaving my face.

“But her health declined rapidly—maybe she had been sick for a long time and I just didn’t know. ”

Her eyes sheen with tears she’s trying not to cry.

“And even though she could hardly stay awake, she’d still bring up the fish. Every day—did you check the filter? Don’t forget to feed Flounder—”

“Excellent name,” I break in. Tears tug from my eyes to skate down my cheeks.

“I couldn’t keep her from what was to come, but the goldfish—I could do everything right, follow the rules of care.

I could show her I could handle it on my own.

I could show her I was fine, fully capable.

” Her thumb brushes the tears from my cheek.

“But I wasn’t. And Flounder died the same week my mom did, because I forgot a simple step in his care.

I was so determined to show her I could do it on my own that I killed him. ”

“Goldfish are surprisingly difficult to keep alive,” I reply. I chuckle, but it’s small and embarrassed.

“We need people, Cadence. As scary as it is to be vulnerable.” Her voice cracks. She takes me in her arms. “I push people away, too. It just looks different on me. But if she’s reaching out, and you think you can handle it to reach back—”

I press my lips to hers, but not to silence her.

To thank her.

She smiles against my mouth.

“I spent most of my life up until I left LA trying to hold Moira close—or figure out what it was that I could do to get her to hold me close,” I say, my voice rough. “I’m just scared that she’ll let me down.”

Growing up, I knew I was important to my mom. I saw how much pride she took in me. But I also saw how she was always willing to put her needs first. Her agenda. Her wishes. I just wanted her to put me first, even if what I wanted wasn’t what she thought I should do.

“I don’t know if Moira is going to let you down,” she says. “In piloting, we learn to analyze flight paths to seek out the best possible routes given the ever-changing factors of the skies. What if the skies have changed and all you need to do now is look for the best way forward?”

“Forward.” I mull the word over in my mind.

“You’re almost smiling,” she says.

She presses her lips to the edge of mine. She’s still holding on to my back with one hand, which she now uses to tug me on top of her. Our bodies crush together as she peppers me with kisses down my neck.

I can’t stop the giggle that breaks free.

Her laugh is almost as intoxicating as her eyes.

And then her phone begins to buzz.

She peers around behind me to where it sits on the blanket.

“It’s my dad,” she says, groaning. She reaches around me, and the move causes me to fall back against the blanket. She hovers over me, boobs mounding from the top of her dress, which is still untied from earlier.

“What a view,” I breathe. She cackles as she drops back to a seated position, taking the view away.

“Hey, Dad,” she says, the chuckle still in her voice.

I can’t make out what he’s saying, but I can hear that he’s chipper to the extreme.

She listens, nodding a couple of times. “Yeah, Cadence is going to the winery with her mom.” She grins at me, and I roll my eyes.

“A horse ride?” She nibbles her lower lip for a second. “Sure, that sounds nice, Dad.”

Looks like we both have dates with our parents.