Callie took a sip of wine and tried not to cry.
And they ate, shoulder to shoulder, plates of crumbs growing around them. They chatted, same as always.
When they were full, they leaned back against the tree. The afternoon had brought a cooling breeze that lifted a strand of Callie’s hair. Mae brushed it back without a thought. And they both looked at each other and laughed.
Something shifted.
‘Mae,’ Callie whispered. ‘Can I…?’ She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t dare.
‘Yes,’ Mae said. ‘You can.’
She should have just gone ahead, but she found herself not quite able to take the permission. ‘What if someone sees?’
Mae shrugged. ‘Let them.’
Callie kissed her. Not the desperation of the bakery. This was deliberate and gentle, soft and sexy. It was the beginning of something they’d both been moving toward for years.
Twenty-Seven
Now
Mae needed a minute. That was what she’d said.
But a minute wasn’t going to cut it. She needed a bloody straitjacket, if they still had those. If they didn’t, she thought they should bring them back because she clearly needed restraints. She was not in charge of herself anymore. She’d kissed Callie. Passionately and angrily and resentfully and sexily.
Mostly that last one. She’d forgotten what a good kisser Callie was. Perhaps because she couldn’t live with the knowledge after she was gone. You couldn’t reminisce about the taste of bacon if you had to be a vegetarian, could you? You’d have to lie to yourself that it wasn’t all that.
But Mae had just had a bite of a bacon sandwich. The time for lies was over.
Behind her, she could feel Callie not leaving. Just standing there, trying not to make noise. But Mae could hear every breath Callie took. And it made thinking impossible.
Mae’s lips still tingled. Her skin still felt too tight.
She’d spent more than a decade building a life aroundnot wanting Callie Price. Around burying it all. And in one moment, she’d undone every shovelful of effort. Why? Was she amasochist? Or was it she’d glimpsed something she’d loved? The same old Callie, still in there. Still magnetic.
‘Mae?’ Callie’s voice was cautious. ‘Do you want me to go?’
Part of Mae did want that. The part that was sane and liked things to be predictable and make sense. And a second part, a part that was still angry, was also on board.
But there was a third part.
Mae sat down on her couch. ‘Just… don’t move,’ Mae said, voice unsteady.
‘Can I not move while sitting? Because it feels weird with me standing over you like this.’
Mae nodded. Callie sat down, careful to position herself a cushion away from Mae.
And they sat there in a thick silence. Mae half hoped someone would fart, just to break the tension.
But no one did. Which meant Mae had to speak. ‘I’m not built for this.’
‘For what?’
‘For feeling like this again.’
‘Mae…’
‘Don’t,’ Mae said, voice barely above a breath. ‘Don’t say my name.’ What she didn’t add was that it was making that special brand of crazy rise up again.
