Page 36 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
She could decline. Celene gave her an out.
That rejection wouldn’t come naturally, however. Not after Skye heard Celene’s voice plead, her face tense to implore, ‘no pitying.’ A taste or two was a fair trade-off. “I don’t mind.”
They fell into silence as the teenage clerk, Deb, a niece of an old classmate, expertly wielded two metal scrapers to chop berries into a drizzle of beige mixture. In minutes, she curled six speckled rolls of dense ice cream and arranged them into a pink cup.
Once both their orders were sprinkled with nicely portioned toppings, Celene chose a two-seat booth next to the storefront window bearing the shop’s hand-painted logo. Now, not only would her old homophobic teacher be in her line of vision, but anyone passing by would see them on this “date.” Yielding wasn’t minuscule, but gossip traveled.
“Tell me, do you still climb trees?” Celene asked, poking into her cup before scooping some meringue pieces.
Skye tapped her knees together restlessly. The shop’s temperature raised goosebumps on her skin. “I do. Not as much as before. I miss that fearlessness.”
“Don’t we all?”
Skye’s questions about the good ol’ days lost all relevance. What enticed her was the now, who Celene had become. She savored the creamy, floral taste. “You were dressed very professionally when?—”
“I caught you napping in the dead of night on the side of the road.” A crinkle at her eyes added a sweetness, offsetting her deadpan tone.
“Yeah, that. What do you do for work?”
“I’m a strategic leadership consultant. Pretty much, I coach executives and train them on currying favor with their direct reports. I deal with a lot of temper tantrums. I critique their strategies on climbing the corporate ladder, knowing it’s bullshitbecause they’ll use their connections anyway.” Celene spooned a small mouthful, smiling around it.
“You tell bosses what to do. That sounds about right.” Skye appreciated Celene grinning with her. “I studied data analytics in college, worked in two cities. Granddad needed me, right when I’d been getting homesick. Corporate life took a toll on me.”
“It’s tiresome to me sometimes, too.”
Skye took in how Celene emanated corporate even in her everyday clothes. “Really?”
Celene leaned on her forearms like she’d done at Pokeno, upon the round faux-marble table. “About twenty percent of my clientele are loathsome, but if I can outfit them with tools to be marginally less despicable, I’ve done the world a favor.”
“Thank you for your service.” Skye found herself drawn into Celene’s eyes, so dark with a curious amount of mischief. Yet, she could only enjoy it for a second with Mrs. Locke openly glowering. At a hush, Skye muttered, “An old teacher of mine is trying to mentally damn us to hell.”
Shamelessly, Celene brushed her hair aside to peek at the permed brunette woman in a solid-colored t-shirt and gray sneakers. Choosing to be a hater in comfortable clothes. Celene faced Skye, and the mischief intensified. “What’s her story? Religious zealot or an overall nasty person?”
“I recall Mrs. Locke being an ordinary, harmless lover of the Oxford comma. Then, when she saw me holding hands with a girlfriend at a game, that changed.”
“She’s staring hard,” Celene hissed through lips that certainly told off a thousand jerks in her line of work. Skye hadn’t ever seen such a wily smile. “I bet she touches herself to tattered old Sarah Waters novels after her husband falls asleep.”
Skye almost shot berry out of her nose. “Well, damn. I did not expect you to say that.”
“Imagine. Why else would she be so angry? You’re on a hot date and she’s eating her vanilla bean, fuming because Mr. Locke would rather watch TV at home in his jammies.” Somehow, Celene’s assessment tracked the Lockes’ dynamic spot-on. And her already hushed voice went schemey. “Want to have some fun with her?”
“What sort of fun?” Skye asked, growing warm as Celene dipped her spoon into Skye’s cup for a casual sample.
“Oh, that’s good. Try mine.” She nodded down to her attractive cup topped with almond. Satisfied by Skye returning the gesture, approving so much to take a larger bite, Celene let her in on her idea. “Flirt with me. Either it’ll piss off a bigot or give her the angriest fantasies until she cheats on Mr. Locke with a woman from—who knows—her monthly punctuation club.”
Skye covered her giggle. In fact, Yielding’s rec center advertised a Grammar Goldies Club, and Mrs. Locke was its coordinator. Two for two. “I suck at flirting.”
Celene pulled off her cardigan, revealing lean, fit arms. “Then, I’ll get you warmed up. Permission to touch you?”
How hadn’t they melted everyone’s ice cream by now? Skye pushed curls from her fevered cheek for anything to do with her hands. “Mhm. Go ahead.”
She’d been admiring Celene’s fingers. Celene had lost a bit of polish on her pinky, and somehow, that enhanced her beauty. It made her real. Skye could stomach a little handholding without throwing up her ice cream.
That hand departed from the table in a slow crawl.
In time to catch Celene’s wink, every pore on Skye’s body raised as a single fingertip skimmed from the tip of her bare knee to the hem of her shorts. Skye’s breath hitched, and she couldn’t even fake that it didn’t.
“Is this okay?” Celene asked.
