Page 42 of Windlass (Seal Cove #3)

“Silly question.” Angie plucked the whisk from Stevie’s hands and play-smacked her shoulder.

Years of experience meant that even now she could whip up pancakes without consulting a recipe, and she let Angie take over the task of conversation. When Jaq eventually asked to use the bathroom, however, she seized the moment of privacy.

“She’s cutting,” Stevie said without preamble.

“I know.” Angie rested her hand on Stevie’s arm.

“You knew?”

“Yeah.” Angie’s tone did not imply Stevie was slow on the uptake, but she certainly felt slow. “I’m guessing there’s stuff going on at home.”

“How long have you known?”

“I noticed when she started. It’s common at her age.”

That sentiment again as if somehow something being common made it acceptable. There wasn’t time to fight about it right now, though. Jaq could be back at any moment.

“But shouldn’t we do something?” Stevie flipped a pancake before it burned and turned back to Angie. “Do we tell someone?”

“Only if that won’t make things worse for her. You are doing something. You’re making her pancakes, and you’re letting her hang out with horses.”

“The bar, folks, is on the ground.”

“The bar is not on the ground.” Angie’s tone was suddenly serious. “Never underestimate the value of giving someone a place they feel safe.”

Angie’s hazel eyes briefly met Stevie’s.

The world shrank, and Stevie didn’t know if she could stand the rush of emotions barreling through her.

She made Angie feel safe; Angie’s expression said so clearly.

She wanted to pull Angie into a tight silent hug.

She did not. Angie rarely shared her feelings, and Stevie sensed she’d shy away if Stevie acknowledged them openly.

Instead, she threaded her fingers through Angie’s and asked, “Will you talk to her sometime?”

“I’ll try. She might not want to talk to me.”

“Well, she wouldn’t tell me what was going on.”

Angie cupped her cheek, a sad, half smile on her lips. “Sometimes what matters is that you cared enough to ask.”

Again, the lowest bar possible, but she didn’t voice that sentiment this time. She focused instead on what she could do, and what she could do was make pancakes and another pot of coffee.

Stevie made Angie feel safe. Her hands were steady as they poured batter onto the griddle. Her heart, however, pounded with the effort of containing her bittersweet joy.

Jaq returned as Stevie flipped the first pancakes onto a plate.

“Butter and syrup, the real stuff, on the table. Eat. Now.”

“Yes sir,” said Jaq.

The three of them sat down around the table, a stack of fluffy pancakes adorning each plate, and Stevie grilled Jaq on her opinions about each flavor until Angie kicked her beneath the table and told her to let the poor girl eat in peace.

“There is no peace in the battle for pancake supremacy,” said Stevie, deepening her voice.

“Oh my god, you’re such a nerd. Have you asked Jaq about watching the house while we’re on the island?”

“Uh, no. Jaq, want to make some extra money and risk life and limb taking care of Angie’s cat and the horses?”

Jaq nodded with a mouth full of banana pancake.

“Cool. I’ll leave out some fireplace gloves in case you need to touch him—”

“Stop maligning my sweet prince. Jaq, James is fine. He won’t give you any trouble. Stevie is being a jerk.”

Stevie, who felt herself to be the victim of James’s many crimes, pulled a face that made Jaq laugh, choke, and laugh again.

Contentment, that most dangerous of emotions, settled over Stevie with the sound.

Ivy’s nerves, evident in the increasing number of engagement-related text messages blowing Stevie’s phone, had started to rub off on Stevie, and she was relieved when it was finally time for their island weekend getaway.

With a final text to Ivy that read Turning my phone on silent so nobody starts asking questions about our torrid affair , Stevie stowed her phone and turned her attention to the far more intriguing affair in front of her: Angie.

Morgan was due to pick them up any minute. Their bags sat by the door, and Stevie had left detailed instructions with Jaq about caring for the horses and James, who would not be accompanying them. He and Stormy shared a healthy fear of water. Unlike Stormy, James would be spared.

“How am I supposed to go three days without touching you?” Stevie said into Angie’s neck. Angie pressed into her with her hips and chest, her breath growing needy as Stevie bit her.

“At least we’re sharing a room.”

“True,” said Stevie. “But you’ll have to be quiet, and I don’t want you to be quiet.”

“Do you know what would make that even harder?” Angie asked, her lips brushing Stevie’s ear.

Stevie bit her in response.

“Something hard ,” Angie said.

Stillness rippled through Stevie, followed by a rush of heat. “Do you mean—”

“Fetch,” said Angie.

“Be right back,” said Stevie, her heart lunging out of her chest. Despite her words, however, she didn’t pull away.

“Too bad I’ve already had you twice this week,” she said into Angie’s ear.

“New week starts Sunday at 12:01 a.m.”

“Not that you’re counting.” She grazed the shell of Angie’s ear with her teeth, which made Angie squirm, her breathy gasps raking hot claws through Stevie’s stomach. She needed this woman. Now.

“Like you’re not.”

Stevie absolutely was. In answer she found Angie’s taut nipple, which strained through the fabric of her thin blouse because Angie was actively trying to murder her by not wearing a bra, and rolled it between her fingers until Angie’s hips bucked.

It really would be torture to watch Angie walk around looking like this without being able to touch her.

Her blouse tied at her navel revealed a strip of tan skin, and her loose, subversively preppy pants somehow accentuated her ass just as much, if not more, than the criminally short shorts she slept in.

Or maybe Stevie knew now what Angie looked like bent over the kitchen table, and the knowledge superimposed itself over everything Angie wore. She unbuttoned another button.

“Wear it like this,” Stevie ordered.

“Whatever you say.”

God, she shouldn’t like hearing that in Angie’s breathiest tone as much as she did.

Tires crunched the gravel. Jaq might be taking care of the horses and James, but Marvin, who was accompanying them, barked in excitement. He’d seen his food, bowl, and favorite toys packed and knew what that meant. Stevie gave Angie’s breasts a farewell caress before stepping back.

Angie’s eyes dripped need. Stevie retraced her steps and pressed Angie back against the wall, their foreheads together, lips just barely apart.

Of all the rules, this was the one she hated most. Kissing Angie consumed her thoughts, especially when she could hear the whine of frustration at the back of Angie’s breath.

Angie’s tongue swept across Stevie’s lower lip, testing her resolve. The cruelty of setting that rule and then teasing her was deliberate. Her only comfort was the physical understanding that Angie wanted it as badly as she did.

“Fuck you,” Stevie said, the brush of tongue searing through her.

“Please.”

A horn honked.

“You are such a tease.” Stevie pulled away with a groan. “Tell them I’ll be right there.”

She raced upstairs, digging through a drawer until she found the cloth bag where she’d stashed her strap-on and lube, then tore back down just as Angie opened the door.

“Hey hey, babes.” Stormy hopped out of her Jeep. “Morgan sent me to chauffeur you. Stevie, any chance you have any horse tranquilizers lying around? I cannot believe you all are making me get on a boat.”

“Safer than a car.” Angie hoisted her bag and left Stevie behind on the step. She followed, admiring the view.

“Sorry, Morgan won’t leave any controlled drugs with me ever since I tried to spike her oatmeal. Kidding by the way. Are you going to be okay?”

“I am absolutely popping anti-anxiety meds before we get onto Morgan’s death trap.” Stormy might joke, but her face was tight with stress. Her fear of boats was very real.

“We could take the ferry with you if you want. It’s bigger.” Stevie didn’t know the ferry schedule but figured it would be regular in early August.

“Bigger isn’t always better.” Angie turned to wink at Stevie in the backseat. “But it is in this case.”

“We’re gonna need a bigger boat,” Stevie quoted.

“Not funny,” said Stormy as Stevie began humming the Jaws theme song.

“Why are you afraid of boats?” Stevie asked. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Stormy reached a brightly painted, oven-scarred hand back to pat Stevie on the knee. “I’ll tell you, boo. My uncle was a lobsterman. He and my mom were really close. He got knocked out on his boat while fishing alone and drowned.”

“Jesus, I had no idea.”

“You were, what, eight?” Angie said.

“Yeah. Formative age, unfortunately.”

“That’ll do it. I have plenty of extended family who fish, but that’s never happened. At least not that I’ve heard.” Stevie took Stormy’s hand and squeezed. “I’m sorry, buddy. Let me pull up the ferry schedule. It can’t be that hard to find.”

“Thanks, love.”

She scrolled. “There’s one that leaves pretty soon. Want me to tell Morgan we’re taking it?”

“Tell Ivy,” Stormy said. “Morgan might be too busy with the boat to answer, and . . . yes. That would make me feel a lot better.”

“Consider it done.”

She texted Ivy. A few moments later a reply came with a receipt for ferry tickets and a follow-up text asking, Do you think I bought enough champagne?

“The douchebag paid for the tickets for us already,” she announced to the car. “Typical.”

SW: Unless you’re planning on filling up a bathtub, which, ew, yeah you’re good

“Listen, I’m not complaining,” said Stormy. “I’ll make it up to her in coffee and baked goods all day long.”

“Do I get any of those since I came up with the idea?” Stevie tried out her best puppy eyes in the mirror.

“Cooler bag to your left. Don’t eat them all.”