Page 33 of Late Harvest

Unaware of Remy’s mental wanderings, Lila had kept up her casual chatter. Like Nell, Remy became the beneficiary of Lila’s special disarming magic. Within moments, Remy found herself focusing on the present, relaxing in the normalcy of three women getting to know each other. Remy’s own discomfort at this impromptu gathering slowly abated.

She’d never had two people over for anything—not her own people, that was. Before, in her previous life, Doug had expected her to wait on him and his cop friends on their poker nights. But no one ever came to see Remy. Not even Etta. He’d isolated her that much.

Remy fingered her E necklace, a soothing habit of long, lonely years. If only it were a magic necklace and she could rub it like a genie’s lamp, bringing Etta back.

If only.

Lila winked at Remy, pulling her out from the cold ice of her past. “Also, I talk a lot. Character flaw. If the nuns couldn’t scare it out of me in Catholic school, nothing was going to work—much to my parents’ chagrin. Anyhoooo, welcome to the Red Wine Supper Club. And you came prepared.” Lila motioned to Nell’s wine bottle. “Well done, you. You already fit in.”

“Red Wine Supper Club?” Nell cocked her head, a double-dimpled smile emerging. Only the slight trembling of her lips gave away residual nervousness, Lila’s skill with putting people at ease notwithstanding.

Remy took in Nell’s bashful smile–ugh. Bashful. Remy’s mind was too full of Bash right now.

What would it feel like to be actually full…of him? His cock sliding in her aching channel⁠—

“It’s what we call our get-togethers when we drink wine and talk about all the things.” Remy chimed in before her runaway Bash Thought Train ran her over and pulverized what was left of her once-impressive ability to compartmentalize.

“That’s fabulous. I love it.” Nell grinned at the women. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Since last night,” Lila replied with a giggle, her curls bouncing. “Now you can be one of the founding members with us.”

Nell bit her lip, her cheeks as bright as her hair. “That sounds fun.”

“It’s gonna be an experience. Especially tonight,” Remy added wryly. “Let’s get you a glass of wine, then plop yourself on a chair, and we’ll tell you the whole story.”

Literally sitting on the edge of her seat, Nell’s jaw had dropped open about one-quarter into the story. By the time Remy got to the twenty million dollars part and the marriage, she’d slumped back and was vigorously fanning herself with a magazine from the side table. Ginger strands of hair flapped in the self-generated breeze. “Sorry, but you just threw me into a hot flash with all that.”

Remy exchanged knowing glances with Lila as she jumped up to grab her bag. “Hang on a second. Let me get my rechargeable handheld fan.” Remy had offered it to Nell many times before at the shelter.

“Sorry,” Nell blushed, either from the flash or shyness. Or both. It was hard to say. “The flashes always seem to hit me harder when I’m nervous or upset. Or shocked. And you can absolutely color me shocked right now.”

Remy snickered, grateful for the reprieve. Retelling the devil-bargain story hadn’t inured her to its impact.

She was going to marry Bash Fucking Wheatley. Oh, shit. Would he expect her to have sex with him? To share a bed? Did he sleep naked? Was he a skilled lover who could make her scream with his mouth, fingers…and cock? Remy’s core tightened and a low pulse throbbed insistently between her legs at the thought. Her clit was clearly on board with that scenario.

“Earth to Remy,” Lila singsonged. “Where’d you go?”

“Oof…sorry—zoned out.” Remy’s ears were as hot with embarrassment as her lady garden was unusually damp. “I was just giving mental thanks for the non-hormonal prescription that’s worked miracles for me,” she lied, because she most definitely wasn’t sharing the smeggsy train her wayward thoughts had boarded. “Yep,” she continued her evasion, “the flash fuckers haven’t totally disappeared and returned to the bowels of hell from whence they surely originate, but at least they’ve been tamed.”

“Nate keeps haranguing me to try something, but I’m hoping they’ll just go away soon,” Nell offered, uncomfortably smoothing her shirt over her stomach and tugging her pants up over a roll.

“I keep thinking God must not like us if he saddled us with this fuckery,” Lila grumbled.

“Nah,” replied Nell with an impish smile. “God’s wiser than that. She does this to make us stronger, so we have the fortitude to deal with our men.”

Remy couldn't help the cackle that burst out. “I love that—though I’d prefer to get stronger in other ways…”

“Ha! True. Now, speaking of men—” Lila began.

“Must we?” Nell interrupted.

“I have the talking stick,” Lila declared, motioning to Chicane with her free hand. “I get to speak uninterrupted until I pass the stick.”

“Red Wine Supper Club is fierce,” Nell whispered out of the side of her mouth to Remy, who had returned to her spot next to Nell on the couch after retrieving the blessed, holy fan.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Remy spoke without moving her lips.

“You could be a freaking ventriloquist, Remy!” Nell’s eyes widened in admiration.