Stephanie’s mouth parted, the straw slipping from her lips as she turned on the stool. “She cheated on you?”
The incredulity in her voice landed warm against Casey’s sternum. She gave a small nod, keeping her expression neutral even as something tender and unexpected pressed up behind her ribs.
“That’s incredibly hard to understand.” Stephanie set her glass down with more force than necessary, the base clacking against the wood. “Who would do that? You’re…” She gestured, the motion wide and slightly unsteady, taking in all of Casey with a sweep of her hand. “You’re the whole package.”
Heat climbed Casey’s throat. She ducked her head, letting her sun-streaked hair fall forward to hide the flush she could not quite suppress. The compliment sat in her chest like something alive, warm and slightly dangerous. She wanted to brush it off, make a joke about how Ash clearly had not agreed, but Stephanie was still talking, the words tumbling out faster now.
“I mean it. You’re smart and you’re kind and you’ve got this whole…” Stephanie waved her hand again, searching for the word, hazel eyes bright with the effort. “This thing. Where you make people feel like they matter. Like they’re the only person in the room. Gary never made me feel like that. Not once.”
Casey’s throat tightened. The honesty in Stephanie’s voice was too much, too unguarded. The rum had stripped away every filter she usually kept so carefully in place. Casey knew she should steer the conversation somewhere safer, make a self-deprecating comment, remind them both that Stephanie was only saying these things because the cocktails had loosened her tongue.
Instead she sat very still, letting the words wash over her, trying not to want them too much.
“Stephanie,” she said, voice quieter than she intended. “You’re very sweet. And also drunk.”
“Tipsy,” Stephanie corrected, pointing a finger that wavered only a little. “There’s a difference. Tipsy means I’m still telling the truth. Drunk means I’d regret it in the morning.”
“All right.” Casey kept her voice light, the way she might soothe a nervous diver on the boat. “Tipsy and telling the truth. I’ll take it.”
“You should. You should take it. I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
The certainty in her voice landed somewhere tender. Casey felt it press against the hollow of her throat, right where her pulse beat too fast. She wanted to believe every word. She wanted to lean into the warmth of Stephanie’s shoulder and let herself feel what she had been feeling since the moment this woman had appeared on the neighboring porch with coffee and careful composure.
But tipsy was not the same as interested.
Tipsy wasn’t the same as available.
None of it meant what Casey wished it meant.
She took another swallow of her drink, the pineapple and rum sliding sweet and heavy down her throat, and tried to ignore the way her body was already leaning slightly toward Stephanie’s without her permission.
The rule sat heavy in her chest: no more unavailable women. She had made it for a reason. She’d made it after too many mornings of waking up alone.
And still, Casey couldn’t seem to keep her eyes from lingering on Stephanie.
15
Stephanie stepped out into the warm night air and the bar door swung shut behind them, slicing off the steady beat of the music still drifting from inside Lola’s.
Casey walked beside her, hands in her pockets, moving with her usual easy confidence. Stephanie matched her pace. The rum had loosened her thoughts without affecting her balance.
Her mind kept returning to the bar. The way Casey had slid an arm around her waist when Ash appeared. The easy claim of it. The pretend story had been born of panic, yet Casey’s hand had stayed in hers all the way back to the stools.
Stephanie had felt every detail of that contact. The warmth of Casey’s palm. The way their fingers had settled together without awkwardness. Being near Casey felt uncomplicated in a way nothing had for years.
She stole another glance at her, unable to stop herself. Casey’s halter top left those strong, tanned shoulders completely bare, the faint gleam of salt-kissed skin catching the last of the streetlight as they walked. The sight settled low in Stephanie’s stomach, sending unfamiliar ripples through her.
She looked away just as quickly, fixing her eyes on the cracked sidewalk ahead, but it was too late. Her chest had gonetight again, that same low, insistent squeeze she had felt back at the bar when Casey had said, half laughing, that she might be exactly her type. The words had settled under her ribs then and refused to leave, warm and dangerous and far too welcome.
The rum was not helping. It had softened the edges of everything except this sharp awareness of the woman beside her. The faint brush of their arms every few steps. The quiet rhythm of Casey’s breathing that somehow matched her own. Stephanie’s pulse beat too hard against her throat.
Twenty years with Gary and her body had never responded like this. She had convinced herself that kind of restless heat belonged only in films or in other people’s lives. Now it hummed through her veins in the warm Key West night, stubborn and undeniable, all of it pointing toward Casey. Toward Casey, who had a rule about unavailable women. Toward Casey, who believed Stephanie was straight. Everyone believed that. Stephanie had believed it too, until tonight.
They would be home soon. The cottages were already visible up ahead, yellow porch lights glowing like small beacons. Hers and Casey’s, side by side, separated only by a low fence and the shared murmur of that courtyard pool. The memory returned, as it had all evening. That first night she had stood at the upstairs window with cool wine still sharp on her tongue, looking down into the lit blue water. The kiss she had watched without meaning to, without looking away fast enough.
Her steps slowed without her meaning them to. Each one dragged a little more against the worn pavement, as though her body had decided the night could stretch longer if they simply refused to arrive. Casey matched the new pace effortlessly. Her bare shoulder brushed the edge of Stephanie’s once, then not again.
The silence between them felt comfortable in a way that unsettled her more than any awkward small talk could have.Stephanie’s head swam gently, not from the drinks she had nursed at Lola’s but from the persistent buzz of awareness that had settled under her skin hours ago and refused to leave.
