Page 49 of Late Bloomer
“The youngest are always the most selfish,” Olivia says with a mournful sigh.
“The least she could do is go hiking with us tomorrow,” Ophelia adds. “But no, the delicate princess is too good for such physical exertions.”
“She said, and I quote,I would rather put my foot in a meat grinder than subject myself to hiking. Unquote.” Olivia laughs, and my eyes flick to Opal, but she’s no longer in the living room. I have to check the urge to go searching for her.
Ophelia and Olivia give me a quick hug, then duck into the inky night.
I shut the door, pressing my forehead against it with a sigh of relief.
But energy still thumps through the house like a plucked harp string, soft and subtle but vibrant nonetheless. It’s all very… Opal.
I turn around, half expecting her to be staring at me with those big eyes, unnerving and disorienting.
But she’s not.
I do another sweep of the living room, then around the kitchen.
She’s gone.
And I’m a chump.
Still not horny, though.
With a sigh, I grab an armful of glasses, then walk into the kitchen, taking my spot in front of the sink. I let the hot water run, squeezing out dish soap and watching the bubbles form.
I need to get a grip. I grab my sponge and get to work, trying in vain to shut my brain off with the automatic cleaning motions as I stare out the window, my bewildered reflection going fuzzy at the edges, mixing with the sprawl of land beyond. My conversation with Diksha loops around my head.
Lust? Is that what this is? Can you even lust after someone you aren’t sure you like?
Lust would be horribly inconvenient right now with the ridiculous living situation we find ourselves in. And I can’t help but wonder if Diksha has a point (outside of her depraved comments on desires I’m definitely not feeling). Opalwouldbe a good person to recruit to help me with the competition.
I’ve… Well, I wouldn’t call it spying, exactly, but I’ve peeped into her shed a few times. The small space has morphedinto a galaxy of color; controlled chaos with shoes propped on shelves, canvases half-filled with paint up on the easel or leaning against the wall. It’s… it’s a lot. But even my untrained eye can recognize that it’s good.
I could ask her. Despite her sporadic nature, it’s pretty obvious Opal would jump at the opportunity to help anyone with anything. But it doesn’t seem like a good idea. Our lives are already far more intertwined than I ever wanted to be with another person. Entering a competition with the financial resuscitation of my farm on the line doesn’t seem like the best move in establishing distance with the woman.
But part of me feels kind of… God, whatisthis feeling? A bizarre sort of poppy, punchy energy at the idea of working on it with her. A kind of… giddiness.
Very ridiculous considering what a terrible idea it is.
“Hey.”
Opal’s voice cuts through the kitchen, scaring the life out of me. I let out a mortifying little scream, hands shooting up and bubbles flying everywhere.
I spin around, looking at the short little menace standing in the archway.
Her lips are pursed, half a smile tugging at the corners—the look entirely too affecting.
“Do I scare you, Pepper?” she asks, the smile winning out.
“Yes,” I answer honestly, my heart flip-flopping around my chest. “Why are you wearing that hat?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.
She leans against the archway, head tilting back as shegroans. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, shakes her head, and then reaches up, ripping off the hat.
I suck in a startled breath. “Oh my. That’s, er, a change.”
Opal rolls her neck, glare locked on me. But it’s like getting a dirty look from a crested duck, those white strands puffed up at odd angles. I bite hard against my lower lip to hold back a laugh.
“Oh fuck off, Pepper,” she says, a grin growing on her own face. There’s no holding my belly laugh back when she lets out a soft chuckle. “It was an accident,” she says, raking her hands through her hair.
