Page 27 of The Last Lavender Sister

“You’re talking my language now.”

Fifteen minutes later, Pickles and Dill, who was already three-quarters his mother’s size, raced around the small kitchen table while Brynn and Aster read quietly on the couch. Brynn went through periods of enrapture with her book and others where it felt like all she could do was notice Aster, two seats down the couch. She had her legs stretched out and resting on the coffee table, no shoes, the hem of her jeans frayed. As she read, she tended to run her forefinger across the open cover of the book, a tiny action that Brynn found fascinating.

“Are you hungry? I could make us something.”

Brynn looked up from her book, a romance novel she’d heard about from a patient’s human, who’d brought her cat in for compulsive stealing, not really something Brynn could help with. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”

Aster got to work making them a couple of BLTs and homemade fries. The aroma of the sizzling bacon after the day she’d had almost brought Brynn to happy tears. She’d skipped lunch entirely. Who knew bacon was the ultimate comfort food? Aster, apparently. They ate on the couch while they read, the quiet domesticity of the evening like the warm hug she needed to come down from her stresses.

After that night, something shifted. Unspoken. Their get-togethers increased. Living next door made it easy. Brynn now knocked and entered without waiting for Aster to answer. They’d become that casual, and she loved it. She began looking forward to their evenings together, and Pickles agreed, racing into the house each time they visited, finding Dill and heading off on an adventure in the square backyard or a cuddle on the floor under the table. She and Aster had grown closer in that sense, too. It had started when she’d granted herself permission to be more affectionate with Aster. Brynn was tired of ignoring her instincts. Her arm briefly slung around Aster’s shoulders as she perused the fridge. Her fingertips on Aster’s forearm when she made a point. Theyalso sat a little closer together on the couch because it allowed them to share a blanket. Blanket coverage was important, after all.

“Why are men always such jerks in these things?” Brynn asked, holding up her fifth romance novel in a row. She was on a kick, likely because of the lack of action in her bedroom. Vicarious living had perks.

Aster looked up from her biography of George Washington Carver, something she’d called a palate cleanser in between sci-fi binges. “Got me. I don’t know how you can read those things.”

“You just don’t like them because they’re all feelings.”

“I don’t mind feelings, but shouldn’t there be more packed in? Wars? Failing societies? Flight?”

Brynn leveled a stare. “See? I knew you’d say that. You’re just as predictable as my books.”

Aster tried for wounded but came up cute. “Gotta work on surprising the world more.”

“I have no doubt you will. There’s nothing you can’t do. I’m convinced. Art? Check. Food? Check. Trivia? Double check.”

“I can’t save animals the way you can.” Oh. She’d said it so sincerely. There was that sweet side of Aster peeking out again. “You make a kind of difference that I can’t.”

“Thank you.” And with the warmth that enveloped her, she snuggled in a little closer.

“Tired?” Aster asked. Brynn had worked late again and wondered what it would be like if the clinic took on a second doctor. With the amount of breeze the folks of Homer’s Bluff liked to shoot, they could sure use an extra pair of hands to see more patients. She’d decided to mention it to Tyler.

“Mm-hmm. A little, yeah.”

“Well. You can lay your head down if you want.” The indication was Aster’s lap, which looked incredibly inviting. She wore black joggers that were not only soft looking but accentuated her athletic form almost too perfectly. She watched the pulse in Aster’s neck shift after extending the offer. Brynn noticed something. Her proximity made Aster nervous, but not to the extent that she didn’t ask for more.

“Okay, yeah.” Brynn lay back, her head in Aster’s lap as she continued to read about stoic men and the bedroom activities of people who sadly weren’t her. Then she got to thinking about the fabric ofthose joggers beneath her head and what was beneath. The smooth skin of Aster’s legs. Her thighs. Their apex. She sat up. “It’s getting so late.”

“Is it?” Aster murmured, lost again in the pages. That was the thing about Aster and books. They swept her deeply away into the worlds and lands she read about. She gave herself over so fully to the activity. All activities, really. Brynn wondered what she’d be like in the midst of passion—just as thoroughly committed? She had a feeling. Meanwhile, Aster ripped her gaze from the words that clearly had her riveted. “No. Do you have to go?” The implication wasThis is nice, and God, she wasn’t wrong by any stretch. Which was what had Brynn putting space between them. She had a feeling that slipping her hands beneath Aster’s shirt and exploring her breasts might put their friendship in a precarious spot, and honestly? Their friendship had been the best thing that had happened to her in a long time. She felt the need to preserve it and hold on to this oasis of happiness. Taking things farther could easily ruin the purity of what they had going. In fact, it likely would. Romance had a way of scattering the good parts of life like pieces of a broken vase. No, thank you.

She planned to do things differently this time. No rolling the dice.

“I’m sorry. Didn’t get much sleep last night and I should probably catch up. ’Night, Aster.”

“’Night,” Aster said with a touch of bewilderment behind her voice.

Brynn hated that she had to lie, but the truth was a daunting reality she wasn’t ready to face. The second she voiced her feelings to Aster out loud, the more real they’d become. And, well, she simply couldn’t have that.

* * *

It was close to midnight on a warm evening in August, and both she and Brynn had work in the morning.

In fact, Aster would be rolling out of bed at four thirty to open Hole in One, but there was no way she was moving from where she sat on the couch. Tonight, Brynn sat next to Aster with her feet folded beneath her like an adorable person. She’d memorized the image, the shape of her, cozy and tucked in like that.

Aster had started clinging to moments like this one more and more,knowing their value and that once she left for Boston, she would sorely miss this kind of quiet time with Brynn. She’d miss everything about Brynn. In many ways, it felt like they’d carved out their own little quiet refuge from the world. Aster had been someone who didn’t mind time spent on her own, preferred it even, but Brynn had changed that. She waited each day until their stolen time together, literally counting down the hours. Sometimes she cooked for Brynn, who was the absolute best food audience. Even when Aster had overcooked the sautéed chicken and mushrooms because she got lost reading the recipe originator’s backstory instead of watching the pan, Brynn refused to acknowledge the problem.

“It’s fantastic.”

“It’s not,” Aster said, embarrassed. “I’ll make us something else. Give it back.”

---