Page 19 of Of Socialites and Prizefights

Roz’s frown solidified. “That’s no good. Have you got a tool kit? I can fix that right now.”

“No tools,” Deepa said, caught between apology and embarrassment.

“Right, no worries. Any business owner worth their salt will have something. Wait here, I'll be back in a mo.”

And then she stomped off, her boots loud on the stairs. Deepa stared after her, tongue-tied as she tried to untangle the knot of feelings in her chest. They were more complicated than anything she could put a name to, leaving her off-balance.

She required true love’s kiss to break her curse, but she wasn’t sure she’d recognise love if it danced up to her holding a sign and wearing a feather boa. The curse was an insult. It rankled her. She wanted to break it by any other means just so she wouldn’t have to admit that she didn’t know the first thing about love.

At the same time, she wanted to break it properly to spite Phillip, who was so convinced she couldn’t.

Deepa had never backed down from a challenge before. All she had to do was fall in love with Roz. It couldn’t be that difficult; people claimed to fall in and out of love all the time. Her heart and mind just needed a little extra convincing, that was all. As for Roz falling for her in return: Deepa had few concerns on that front. She had it on good authority that there was nothing easier than falling in love with her.

And then, once the curse was broken, the matter of love could fall into irrelevance once more. There needn’t be any long-term consequences from the affair, and she could return to her pattern of tempting men and collecting proposals before the summer was out. She would have her life back, and Roz…

Roz would be fine, Deepa decided. Whether they proved a short-lived summer fling or continued seeing each other after the curse was resolved hardly mattered, as far as Deepa was concerned. She had no intention of hurting Roz either way. It would be a mutually beneficial scenario: Deepa would get her curse broken, and Roz would get Deepa, and everyone would be perfectly satisfied with the entire experience.

“Say, she’s an awful lot more useful than any of the loverboys you've had around before,” Cherie commented.

“Better than any of yours, too.” Belatedly, Deepa set her newest acquisition down in her bedroom, the velvet case resting on the nightstand.

Cherie shrugged in acquiescence. “Shame she’s got no money to speak of. Still, I suppose if she’s that good with her hands, she might make up for it.”

Roz returned in short order, bearing a toolkit she had apparently borrowed from The Songbird. Deepa had never given the first thought as to whether there was a toolkit in proximity, and, looking at it, she realised she had no idea where to start even if she had access to one. She had thought herself nominally self-sufficient, earning her own money as she did, but, standing opposite a woman as physically competent as Roz, she rather thought she might like to be taken care of.

It wasn’t a terrible feeling when it was another woman inspiring it.

Roz headed for the bedroom, not waiting for an invitation now that she’d been assigned a task. Propping open the toolkit on the chair in the corner, she got straight to business, frowningthunderously as she slid the window up and down before identifying the problem. A mere five minutes later, the lock was fixed, and she was returning the toolkit to order.

“Ideally, you want that whole window replaced,” she explained. “Good luck talking the landlord into that, I guess. This’ll hold for now, so long as you’re gentle with it. No slamming the thing open or closed. Alright?”

Deepa nodded, edging her way around the bed to join Roz by the window, gently blocking her path when she made to pack up and leave. Roz stilled, holding the kit by the handle at her side.

“If you don’t mind me coming back, I can patch those holes in the walls another day,” she said, watching Deepa intently.

“I feel I should be paying you for your work.”

“Don’t. It’s a favour.”

“In that case…”

Deepa took a soft step forward, closing the distance between them, to land both hands high on Roz’s chest. Tipping forward on one foot, she moved in slow motion to press the gentlest, most tentative kiss to Roz’s lips. For a second, there they stayed, mouth to mouth, Roz’s heartbeat thundering under her hands, before Deepa drew back just enough to look her in the eye.

“Thank you,” Deepa murmured, her breath soft against Roz’s just-open mouth.

Roz hadn't breathed since Deepa first touched her. When she finally inhaled, she looked like she was waking from a dream.

“Guess it did end up being a date after all,” Roz managed.

Smoothing her hands over the front of Roz’s shirt, Deepa reluctantly backed up a step to allow for freedom of movement. Roz made as if to follow her, not wanting the space Deepa offered.

“Come to the club for my next performance,” Deepa said, searching Roz’s eyes. “I have a set tomorrow evening. Can you make it?”

“What sort of performance?” Roz asked in a rumble, dropping her free hand to Deepa’s waist. “Because I caught a look at those dancers on our way in…”

“Nothing salacious. Not on stage, anyway. And, to be clear, itisa date.”

“Good. I want that.” Roz stepped like she might inch past Deepa to exit the room, but instead, leaned close, eyes trained on Deepa’s lips like she wanted to kiss her again. Her hand was hot on Deepa’s waist, broad and steady.

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