“Don’t make me say what we both know was about to happen,” Jordan said. “Don’t put that all on me.”
“No!” Astrid said, and this time, she did take Jordan’s hand. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant... yes, okay, I know what was about to happen. But I don’t understand why it can’t happen.”
Her intonation lifted at the end, like she was asking a question, and she nearly cringed at the needy sound of her voice. But another part of her didn’t care.
Jordan sighed. “Look, there’s clearly something between us. I’ll admit that. But this is all new for you, and while that’s not your fault, and I’m all about people figuring out their sexuality at any age and experimenting,Ican’t be your experiment. I’ve been there, done that, and I’m not in any kind of emotional place right now to be that person for you. I’m just not.”
Astrid dropped Jordan’s hand and took a step back.
“I want to kiss you,” Jordan went on. “Dammit, I really do, but if that’s ever going to happen, I need the same from you.”
Astrid shook her head. “What do you mean? I thought it was pretty obvious that I want—”
“No. You want to kiss a woman, and I happen to be the first one you find yourself really attracted to. I need you to want to kissme.”
Astrid could only blink, any sort of right words for this situation flying out of her head. Jordan watched her for a second, but then she nodded, stepped around her, and opened the door, leaving Astrid with nothing but her thoughts in the middle of a haunted blue room.
Chapter Nineteen
JORDAN BARELY SLEPTand was in her workshop by seven a.m. the next morning. Rain sluiced down the windows, hammered on the steel roof, mucked up the already ruined yard around the inn, which was just as well.
Rain felt right. Heavy rain felt even better.
The weather matched Jordan’s mood perfectly, the rhythm of her nail gun creating a constant barrage of noise to fit with all the thoughts in her head.
Thoughts about Astrid-fucking-Parker.
Thoughts about Astrid-fucking-Parker’s mouth.
Thoughts about the look on Astrid-fucking-Parker’s face when Jordan told her she wouldn’t kiss her.
What the hell had Jordan-fucking-Everwood been thinking?
Last night, her decree had felt like such a smart solution. Hell, it seemed as though even Alice Everwood hadn’t wanted them to kiss, what with the theatrical door-slamming and all. But now, after mulling that moment on the window seat over and over (and over), Jordan’s chest ached with that feeling she swore she’d never again letherself feel—that neediness of want, desire for the partnered life Meredith ended without even consulting Jordan.
She’d never forget the morning Meredith left. How she hadn’t even given her any warning. No discussions. No “Hey, I think we need to talk.” Just a set of suitcases by the door, “I have to leave” on Meredith’s lips.
She’d been in remission for two months.
That’s all Jordan got with her wife after the hell they’d both been through. And a month later, divorce papers arrived in the mail.
Jordan had signed them. Meredith pretty much gave Jordan everything—the house, Jordan’s truck, their cat—which Jordan assumed was supposed to be some sort of consolation for abandoning Jordan and every promise Meredith had ever made her.
“Well, fuck her,” Jordan said out loud now.
But the problem wasn’t Meredith. Not anymore. Jordan was no longer in love with her wife—she knew that. The problem was Jordan couldn’t shake the aftereffects. Those bombs Meredith had dropped, they left scars. Deep ones, carved into Jordan’s heart, lungs, brain, blood, and she’d spent nearly a year in therapy trying to heal them to no avail.
She pressed her nail gun to the right spot on a kitchen cabinet and fired.
Bam.
Bam.
Bam.
She continued until she ran out of nails. As she reloaded, her phone buzzed in her back pocket. She pulled it out, horrible, sticky hope rising in her chest without a single shred of permission. Astrid had her number. Granted, she’d never used it before, but she’d had it since the first day they met, when she bossily insisted Jordan hand over her contact information so Astrid could send her the dry cleaning bill for her stupid dress.
Jordan almost smiled at the memory now.
