Page 110 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
They were mid-thirties adults. Committed to one another, visiting a bakery owned by women in love, trying cakes for a same-sex wedding.
Those implications couldn’t be stronger.
Movement drew Celene’s eyes downward, to Skye’s hand, fumbling around in the front-facing pocket of her shirt. Wordlessly, Celene slipped her hand in, too, slotting their fingers together. And, in there, her fingertips brushed something smooth and hot from Skye’s clutching.
“What rock is this?” Celene whispered. No need to bring their neighbors into this. She needed to know, rolling naturally beveled edges within her fingers.
“Moonstone.”
“What does it do?”
“Thalia says it helps with intuition. Emotional connections...and...” Skye’s mouth snapped shut. In a clear rerouting, she concluded, “Bonds. It strengthens bonds.”
Celene could call their reality word, though anything deeper deserved the two of them only, not Zinnia and June moaning over the spiced apple maple slices replacing their current plates. She hadn’t even noticed the bakers dropping in this time.
Allowing no missed opportunities, Celene caught Skye’s hand before it grabbed a fork. So warm and silky within her fingers, Celene’s voice shallowed to ask, “Skye, would you ever marrysomeonelike me?”
The emphasis was necessary, though the question’s weight thickened the air.
It couldn’t be helped. Skye’s eyes were too dark, too full of wishes, and Celene wanted to fulfill them all.
Skye licked her lips and settled into her seat with a sigh. Then, she smiled not unlike the one in that video of her and Beaker, sufficiently leaving Celene breathless and desperate for an answer. “I can’t think of anything I’d want more,hypothetically.”
Celene’s hand shook as she released Skye.
God, Skye loved her back.
Someone wanted to make a life with Celene. Permanently.
Skye scraped gooey chopped apples on her fork and murmured at the sweetness. She pocketed her hand again, then asked Celene, “And you?Would,” she stretched out, “you ever marry someone like me?”
Celene stared long enough that Skye had to nudge her to try the cake.
But Celene didn’t want to taste cakes for anybody else. She would, for the sake of Skye’s friends; however, she was long distracted. Honoring the adrenaline surging through her, she used a pointer finger to slide her taster choice card for Skye to view.
Lowly, Celene explained the mark of ‘No’ on the blueberry lemon jasmine cake. “They can’t have this one. Because it’ll be for us someday.”
Skye blinked. Just blinked and blinked. “Oh. Alright.” And she changed her checkmark to the ‘No’ column, too.
They shared a soft laugh before continuing their tasting experience. Ex-fiancée abandonment or not, Celene couldn’t see herself as aimless anymore. Her choices pointed her in an obvious direction.
Celene lifted her fork, intent on voting for the second-best choice.
27
“Should we tell anyone our dating started as an act?”
Skye turned to Celene in a linen shirt over a bikini top, tapping a rhythm on her steering wheel. Outside the windows, rain poured down—an opportune time to broach the topic.
Evenly, Celene replied, “To my family, no. It doesn’t make a difference.”
“I agree. It’d be more work explaining the why, and everyone would end up frustrated.” Skye nodded, then crossed legs mostly bare in her cutoff jeans. “Same for Luce. As for Thalia and Larkin, I think they deserve to know when we started for real. And you know how Thalia’s all about transferring energy and truth.”
She’d fished the moonstone from the backpack she and Celene shared for the occasion—an afternoon at one of Yielding’s local pools. They’d searched for the best one across town. Clean, fewer children, plenty of shade to read. The weather app failed them; dark clouds had swelled the sky as they left the Vale house, and once they arrived outside the pool, rain pierced the ground in streams.
From the same bag, Celene uncovered her latest read: a memoir on a mother grieving the disappearance of her two children. Not the sunniest poolside read.
Celene thumbed to her bookmark in the middle, a consummate fellow introvert, capable of finding her comforts despite the inconvenient weather. “Tell them. I don’t mind.”
