Page 47 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls
Celene followed the path to Luce’s Mosaic Wonder-Booth, taking in the various artists, food vendors, and children in strollers or on parents’ shoulders, biting into candied bread on a stick. Accustomed to city life, Celene would be lying if she said she loved big crowds. The clamor, the litter, ugh. Give her nice weather, lounging in her hammock any day.
Her front yard had become a standout relaxation site, enough to ignore the occasional flying bug. Skye had visited twice more—once to bring a fluffy cinnamon roll she’d baked herself. They chatted in the yard for about two hours, shocking them both when they checked the time.
Nadine – 12:35 pm
Omfg. Now I want an animated film about these twisted allergens destroying lives. One case of anaphylaxis at a time.
The other visit served as a second hammock date. Celene grinned as she took note of the canary yellow bruschetta truck, remembering how Skye brought that incredibly graphic book again and fidgeted through most pages. Though Celene had been too distracted because Skye wore a cutoff tee and, as someone apparently raised by treehuggers, no bra.
Celene considered herself a very put-together, astute woman, yet if someone quizzed her on the contents of her memoir that day, she’d undoubtedly fail. The wind worked like Skye’s personal blow dryer, adding an unfair amount of sensuality to someone already blessed with that smile and imagination.
They’d been texting, too. Swapping questions to have a solid hold on this fake thing. Birthdays, how they met, culturalbackgrounds, how they liked their coffee and tea, their shared vegetarianism, and their preferred level of affection. Merging fiction and fact.
Performing affection would be fun. And Celene showed it through flirting which totally flustered Skye. She’d gotten permission to act as she would in a real girlfriend situation. Celene chose to do better than that, since she and Quinn lost their playfulness months before everything went to shit. In return, Skye admitted to liking her partner to be attentive, to whisper sweet things to her. It’d be very easy to throw some of that in the mix, too.
“Celene, now, look at you.” Luce sprang up for her chair behind a patterned vendor table; her light scarf floated with every movement. “Did you finish the cobbler?”
“I did, thank you.”
Luce intercepted one of Celene’s runs, giving her no choice but to come by their house. Skye had been at the collective, so Celene was hit with the nostalgia of the Florentine household on her own. Structurally the same, now with art everywhere. She’d sat amongst racks of mosaic breads, lettuce leaves, tomatoes, and other stackable sculptures while Luce prepared them an afternoon lunch, ending in homemade peach cobbler. Between Skye and her grandmother, Celene would never need to buy dessert.
“There’s more where that came from.” Luce held Celene by her sides, over her smocked blouse. “Skye’s grabbing me a beer. I’m finishing up a big project for Walter’s favorite art magazine, and I can’t slow down. I should’ve asked her to buy me a six-pack.”
Celene lifted her wrist out of habit, finding bare skin. Out of character, she’d come to the Poconos without her watch and would have to adjust. She took in her surroundings instead.
Their booth’s personality reflected that of the store: harlequin with a lot of whimsy. Toast themes and Luce’s usual small pieces were strung up on the walls or propped onto hand-painted shelving. The mosaic sandwich ingredients were solid, yet delicate, and none looked exactly alike. A customer couple at the table stacked glassy slices of bacon, lettuce, and tomato between two wheat mosaic slices.
Still not Celene’s preferred style, but admittedly clever. One of Luce’s employees—a bespectacled lad in overalls named Zander—offered a portable card reader to the buyers, anddamn, that total. Celene appreciated this woman’s business acumen. She knew her worth and wouldn’t budge for anyone’s sticker shock.
“I tasted your bread pudding beer. It’s decent.”
She turned to Skye’s voice and god, convincing Luce they were an item wouldn’t be difficult. At all. Skye flat-ironed her hair, but Yielding’s humidity left strands of her bangs curly at the ends. Her breezy chambray top suited her habitual desire for long sleeves.
Celene took her time soaking in the questions in Skye’s wide eyes, purring a, “Happy Toast Day.”
“Happy Toast Day,” Skye returned, closing fingers around the necklace she always wore. She set an unopened beer next to Zander’s hand, giving him a grin. “For you.”
“Is this how you ladies do things?” Luce swigged from her bottle, exasperated like she’d failed somehow in raising Skye. “A hug. Where are the hugs?”
Taking the reins there, Celene tugged Skye by the hand. Skye’s honeysuckle scent amplified in a tame, if not slightly uncertain, embrace. “Do you prefer gorgeous or hot?” she whispered close to Skye’s ear, into dark hair tickling her nose.
“Gorgeous is fine,” Skye murmured.
“You’re absolutelygorgeous.” She raised her voice to coo out for Luce’s pleased laugh. It wasn’t a lie. Celene hooked her finger into the loop of Skye’s corduroy miniskirt. “Can I steal her? I want to look at all the bread things.”
“Go on, have fun.” Luce dug into her purse, retrieving a sparkling mini mosaic toast pin with their shop’s name. “Wear this, Celene. My free advertisement.”
Celene smiled at a similar pin secured to Skye’s blouse. “I’ll send anyone who asks to your booth.”
Luce glowed as brightly as the flower behind her ear. “I like her.”
Skye followed Celene, trailed by her captured belt loop, adding, “I do, too. Bye.”
They were putting on a show, yes. Celene let herself warm at that sentiment anyway.
Somewhere nearby,a vendor burned their bread. It’s what Skye focused on instead of Celene and the effort she’d put into looking extra, um, girlfriend-y. Celene untangled her pointer from Skye’s skirt and softly pushed her backwards onto an empty part of a bench. That didnothingto cool her off.
Celene fit herself on the bench, too, conscious not to bump into a group of college students. Pressed into Skye, close enough to state, “Dragonfruit.”
