Page 20 of Late Bloomer
“Here, let me help,” Opal says, moving to my side.
“I’ve got it.” I try to nudge her back as she reaches for a sponge.
“Seriously, no biggie,” Opal says in her cheery voice.
She grabs a towel from the edge of the sink, then crouches down to wipe the floor, the movement swift and in sync with my next step, sending my ass torpedoing straight for Opal’s face.
In a moment of sheer awkward panic, I twist, catchingmy hip on the counter and knotting my legs under me. Balance off-kilter, I topple to the ground, knocking Opal over in the process. She lets out a sharp yelp as we bounce across the kitchen, then land in a heap. My immediate impulse is to try to roll away, but it tangles us further together until we’re both lying on the cold wood floors in stunned silence, panting slightly from the commotion.
After a few seconds a slight tremor runs through Opal’s frame.
“Are you okay?” I ask, blinking at the ceiling as I try to collect myself.
Opal’s shaking continues. “Fine,” she eventually wheezes out, her entire body vibrating.
It’s the choked, snorting sound that comes next that makes me realize Opal isn’t holding back tears. The heretic islaughing. It’s also the moment I realize just how closely our bodies are pressed together.
I feel the heat of Opal’s laugh on my neck, how tightly our legs are notched together in the tangle, Opal’s knuckles brushing mine as she brings her hand up and pushes back her pink bangs.
I jolt up, crab-walking backward until I bump into the cabinets, using the counter to hoist myself up.
“I told you to leave it,” I snap, looking down at Opal’s flushed face, her nose crinkled with laughter. How could this woman find anything funny about any of this?
Opal’s laughter dies, and she blinks up at me with those big blue eyes. “Are you… are you mad at me or something?”
I fist my hands in my hair, pulling until I nearly wince. “I can’t say you’re my favorite person at the moment.”
Opal sits up, gaze fixed on me, and I have to look away from her tiny frown filled with worry. That frown has no right being as cute as it is.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice is soft. Gentle. It rips through me. “I was just trying to be helpful.”
“What would help me is if you left.” I lean into my anger, gripping it with both hands. Anger is easy. Justified. Who is this woman to barge into my life and mess everything up?
The owner of the property, you numbskull.
“I…” Opal bites down on her lip, giving me a look so tragic, the anger whooshes out of me. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispers. “I’m sorry I’ve caused you so many problems, but I… I really have no idea what to do.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, dragging a hand across my forehead as I try to think of any solution.
“I could reach out to Trish. See if she’d be willing to reverse the sale,” Opal offers, that lilt of optimism always present.
“She won’t.”
“Maybe she will. I could—”
“Shewon’t,” I say with too much force. Too much bite. But Trish won’t do anything that helps anyone but herself.
Opal gives me another wounded look, filling me with so much guilt I might as well be yelling at Bambi. After a moment, she stands up, dusting herself off and straightening her shoulders.
She lifts her chin with something close to defiance… she doesn’t look wholly comfortable with the sensation.
“Stop talking to me like I’m your enemy,” she says, jaw set and voice more serious than I thought she was capable of. “I’m not. I swear I’m not. I’m trying to be your partner in finding a solution to this mess, but you’re making that really hard with the way you speak to me.”
I blink in surprise, a ripple of guilt trailing down my spine. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be an asshole. This is just…” I wave my hand in a jerky movement.
“This isn’t ideal for me either,” Opal says, her voice softening at the edges but her eyes still holding a determined glint. “I had plans for this place. For my future. I put most of the money I have into buying it and the rest into getting supplies for my business. I can’t walk away from this investment. I’d have nothing left.”
“One of us is going to end up with nothing,” I whisper, the truth of this situation twisting my stomach into knots. I reach into my pocket, grabbing a small, wilted lavender sprig and rolling it between my fingers. Opal watches the movement.
