They made their way to the front of the cabin. Lindsey settled into one of the wooden rockers and took a bite of her sandwich. She pinched off a piece, handed it to Fred, and laughed as he opened his jaws wide and raked his tongue over the roof of his mouth, obviously trying to dislodge the peanut butter.
“Same old routine, Fred. These are the consequences of eating peanut butter.”
A breeze blew through the screened-in porch and cooled Lindsey’s skin. Her thoughts went back to Cloe as she continued eating. A part of her hoped Cloe would be the one to deliver next week’s groceries. Her more vulnerable side was afraid of any further contact.
* * *
For the next few weeks, Cloe continued delivering Lindsey’s groceries to her cabin. On the days that Lindsey didn’t greet her at the door, Cloe lingered, feeling a little foolish as one minute stretched into the next with no sign of Lindsey. Other days, she’d pull into the drive, and her heart would trip over at the sight of Lindsey sitting in a rocker on her front porch, Fred lying by her side. On those occasions, she tried not to overstay her welcome but enjoyed the conversations they shared.
And those limited encounters only made Cloe crave more of this fascinating, complex woman.
Chapter 2
“You’re attracted to her?” Paige Holland, Cloe’s best friend, dipped into her strawberry sundae and scooped out a spoonful. She hummed in appreciation as she watched Cloe. Her sharp, dark eyes held Cloe’s, waiting for her answer.
“Yeah, but it’s silly.” Cloe dug into her own sundae.
“It’s silly because?”
Damn it. She could never get away with anything with Paige. Not that she wanted to. They’d been through thick and thin since they were five. Paige’s family had moved next to Cloe’s, and they quickly struck up a conversation about a caterpillar Cloe held in the palm of her hand. They became fast friends that day.
“I’m twenty-six, and she seems hung up on her age. I don’t know why. She’s only ten years older.”
Paige pointed her spoon at Cloe. “Aha. You checked out her Wikipedia page. That says something.”
“It doesn’t say anything.” Cloe kept her head down as she swirled her spoon through the chocolate syrup of her sundae. When Paige didn’t speak, Cloe looked up.
Paige sat back in the booth.
“What?” Cloe asked.
“Cloe, hon, eventually you have to take the next step. You can’t stay a lesbian virgin forever.”
“Jesus,” Cloe hissed as she glanced around them. “Keep your voice down.”
“Oh, please. There’s no one in here.”
Cloe noted she was mostly right. Only an elderly couple, sharing a chocolate shake, sat at the counter, and they were out of earshot.
Paige leaned closer and whispered, “As a fellow lesbian who is not a virgin, I can tell you it’s high time you earned your wings.”
“You get wings?”
“You know. Like in the Air Force.” Paige swirled her spoon around in her sundae until she pulled out a strawberry. She grinned as she drew it to her mouth and licked off the ice scream. “Besides. You most definitely have the kissing part down pat.”
Cloe felt herself blush. She and Paige—who was certain about her sexual orientation since she was thirteen—decided to experiment a little in college. They got as far as kissing before breaking into giggles. It had been nice but not earth-shattering. From that day, they decided it never should happen again. Cloe dated briefly but nothing serious. She most definitely didn’t make it to the bedroom. Not one woman held her interest. Until now.
“Cloe, you could always fool around for the heck of it.”
“I’m not wired that way, and you know it.”
Paige’s eyes danced with mischief. “But it’s so fun.”
Cloe couldn’t help but laugh. Paige never shied away from saying how much she loved “sampling the flavors.” Though Cloe thought, one day, a woman would capture Paige’s heart.
“I’ve enjoyed myself with some women. You know that, Paige.”
“But you’ve never enjoyed yourself.”
Cloe rolled her eyes. “It’ll happen when it’s meant to happen.”
Paige sighed. Before Cloe could state her case further, Paige held up her hand. “All right. I’ll let this go.” She leaned forward. “At least don’t give up on the possibility with this Lindsey woman.”
“I’ve taken groceries out to her, not shared long, meaningful walks in the moonlight,” Cloe said with a touch of sarcasm. She took out her irritation with Paige by stirring the last of her sundae into a soupy concoction.
Paige stopped Cloe’s hand until she looked up. “I’m not trying to be a shit. I care about you.”
“I know.” Cloe dropped her spoon into her bowl and slumped back in the bench. “Who knows when I’ll be heading out to her cabin again? She ordered enough this last time to feed her through a zombie apocalypse.”
“You’re exaggerating. She has to run out of groceries eventually. Keep making sure you’re the one delivering them. It’s as simple as that.”
Cloe shook her head. “You’re too much.”
“But you love me.”
Seeing Paige’s gentle smile, Cloe smiled back. “Yeah, I really do.”
* * *
“Lindsey, it’s a children’s book, for Christ’s sake. You kill off the friggin’ dog? Why would you even think that was a good idea?” Sylvia’s voice rose with each word.
Lindsey slowed Fred to a stop as they walked on one of his favorite trails surrounding Lake Monroe. As long as he saw at least one chipmunk during his walk, he was a happy dog. They’d already encountered three, and Lindsey’s sore shoulder was proof of how hard she had to rein him in. He sat at her feet, seemingly content at the respite.
Listening to Sylvia’s exasperation, Lindsey had the answer about how dark her book was, at least the beginning.
“I don’t know why I thought it was a good idea,” Lindsey mumbled. She kicked at a stone in the path. Oh, she knew, all right.
“Lindsey.” Sylvia’s tone softened. “Did you take enough time away? Remember, I told you we could delay your next release.” Sylvia was aware of Lindsey’s struggle with depression.
“I know you gave me space, Sylvia.” Lindsey took a breath. “I appreciate it. Hell, maybe I should try some different kind of writing. Maybe I’m not able to write children’s books anymore.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. Let’s not go that far. You may only need a little more time.”
“I know you can’t wait long. We have a deadline. Dunham House won’t wait forever.”
“Let me handle that. I’ll talk with them.”
“I don’t want special treatment.”
“You need to get over it, because you deserve special treatment. You’re Dunham’s best children’s book author.”
When a couple approached on the path behind her, Lindsey moved out of their way and took a seat on a carved-log bench. Fred plopped down on her feet.
“I need to get my head on straight, Sylvia.”
Sylvia was quiet for a long moment. “Give yourself two weeks away from writing.”
“But—”
“Like I said, let me worry about Dunham. I have a good relationship with Lillian Tucker in production.”
“What am I supposed to do for two weeks?” Lindsey had a feeling of almost-panic over what she could do, afraid she’d dwell even more on her grief.
“You still have that boat?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Take it out, go fishing, swim. Hell, I don’t care what you do, Lindsey. Find things that will help you heal.”
Lindsey wasn’t sure such things existed.
“Don’t give up on your writing. That’s all I ask. You’re too talented, and you have a following.”
Lindsey didn’t respond right away.
“Lindsey?”
“Okay, okay. I’ll try it.”
“Good. I won’t bother you over these two weeks
. No calling me, either.”
“You know me too well.”
“Yes, I do.” Sylvia’s voice was gentle. “I care about you as a friend, Lindsey, not just as an author.”
“I know,” Lindsey said, touched by Sylvia’s kindness.
“Now take my advice and relax.”
* * *
Cloe trotted down the stairs from her apartment above her parents’ garage. She wasn’t a prototypical basement-dwelling kid at her childhood home, but it was as close as you could get. Still, she had her own space and independence. Her father built the carriage-house apartment while Cloe was a freshman at IU, already making a home for her should she choose to stay close when she graduated. Little did she know that she’d be living here at the age of twenty-six.
“Hey, Dad,” she said as she entered the kitchen, almost moaning in appreciation at the smell that greeted her. “Oh, my God. I love it when you fry bacon.”
“You say that every Sunday morning.”
Cloe snatched a piece and leaned against the counter. She smiled at her dad dressed in his “Real men fry it up hot” apron that her mom bought him several years ago. She munched on the bacon.
“Excellent as always, chef.”
“Why thank you, daughter.”
“Mom sleeping late?”
He turned the bacon. “I thought I’d let her rest while I got this ready. I felt bad going off fishing again this week.”
“You go fishing, what, every couple of weeks?” At his nod, she continued. “You both work hard. It’s okay to blow off some steam with the boys.” She paused as she took another bite. “Besides, Mom does the same with her girlfriends.” Fiona usually spent Tuesday afternoons driving into Bloomington for lunch with a few of her friends.
“You’re right.” He waved his fork at the stainless-steel bowl beside him that held eggs and butter. “Can you whip up those eggs, honey?”
Cloe pulled out a whisk from a cabinet drawer and went to work. She poured the mix into a frying pan and folded it over and over until she created fluffy scrambled eggs.
Her dad nodded at her. “Looks about right. Put that on a plate, and see if you can rouse your mom.”
“No need,” Fiona said from behind them. “The smell of bacon woke me up.”
Cloe turned to her mother who was tightening the belt on her worn terrycloth robe. “Hi, Mom.”
“Sweetheart.” Fiona kissed her cheek.
Her dad tapped his cheek as Fiona peered over his shoulder. “Where’s mine?”
“You know better than to just offer a cheek.” Fiona pressed her lips to his. “Good morning, Chuck,” she murmured.
Her parents shared a look that spoke volumes about the night they’d spent together. Cloe should’ve felt embarrassed at the unabashed gaze. Instead, she felt a stab of longing for something she’d yet to experience.
Fiona helped her set the table, while Chuck carried over the plate of eggs and bacon.
“Almost forgot the biscuits. Cloe, can you take those out of the oven.”
Cloe grabbed an oven mitt and pulled the pan of golden biscuits from the oven. She set the pan onto a towel on the table. Without preamble, they passed around the food and quickly tucked into the meal.
A few minutes passed with the scraping of utensils against plates the only sound. Fiona finally spoke.
“What are your plans today, honey?” she asked Cloe.
Sunday, the one day of the week the store closed, was often the day Cloe did something fun. She shrugged. “I haven’t really thought about it. I have some sketches I’m working on that I’d like to finish.”
“It’s such a beautiful day. Why don’t you call Paige and go down to the lake for a swim? You can work on your drawing later this evening.”
“What are you and Dad going to do?”
There was that look shared with her father again.
“Don’t tell me.” Cloe covered her ears. “Lalalala.”
Her dad laughed. “You’re an adult now.”
“Yeah, but my parents only had s-s-sex once as far as I’m concerned.”
Fiona smirked. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Cloe stood and picked up her plate and glass. “On that note, I’m going to call Paige.” She deposited her dishes into the dishwasher, approached her mom, and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Love you.” She went to her dad and kissed his cheek, as well. “Love you, too.”
As she was leaving, she turned back and looked at her parents. Really looked at them. Her dad’s once-dark hair was now mostly gray at fifty-four. She and her mother shared the same light-brown hair, although Fiona had the help of a stylist and coloring. But her parents were a striking couple. They always had been.
Chuck smiled at her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. You guys look good together. I hope I have what you have someday.”
Fiona stood up and hugged her. “You will, sweetie,” she whispered in Cloe’s ear. “Give it time.”
Cloe bit her lip from saying, “How much freaking time are we talking here?” Instead, she headed out the back door. She trudged up the stairs to her apartment. She grabbed her cell phone from the coffee table and flopped onto the couch.
“Hey, hey, Cloe Mae. What’s shaking today?”
Paige invented that nickname when they were growing up, and she never let it go.
“You know I hate my middle name. Why do you do that?”
“Gee. I don’t know. Because it annoys you?”
“There’s always that. Whatcha up to?”
“Same five-foot-three I was yesterday.”
“You’re a riot this morning. Seriously, do you have plans?”
Paige crunched down on something.
Cloe held the phone away from her ear for a second. “What the hell are you eating?”
“Kettle chips.”
“For breakfast?”
“Hey, not all of us have parents fixing killer breakfasts who only live a few yards away from home.”
“You’re always welcome to join us.” Since Paige’s parents moved south two years ago, she often told Cloe she felt like an orphan.
“Eh, I’d rather bitch about it.” Paige crunched a few more chips. “I don’t have plans, unless you count doing laundry, which I’m not looking forward to by the way.”
“Want to join me for a swim at our secret swimming hole?”
Paige laughed. “I don’t think it’s so secret anymore.”
“True. But not that many go there. They hang out at the main beach.” Especially the college kids, she added silently.
“I’m up for a dip. Give me time to change into my swimsuit and slather myself with as much sun screen as is humanly possible.”
“The good thing is our swimming hole has shade.”
“Still, my pale skin burns even when it’s cloudy.”
“You’re such an exaggerator.”
“You mock me, but you’ve seen the results.”
Cloe got up and walked back to her bedroom to grab her swimsuit. “I’ll get dressed and swing by to pick you up. I’ll even pack us a lunch. How does that sound?”
“Hmm. I don’t know. Did you cook something? I mean, I value my digestive system.”
“Ha-ha. If it makes you feel better, it’s leftover fried chicken from last night’s dinner.”
“Perfect. I love your mom’s fried chicken. I’ll be ready by the time you’re here.”
“Cool. See you in a few.”
Cloe ended the call. She pulled off her clothes and stepped into her suit. Gazing at her reflection in the full-length mirror, she smoothed her hand down her stomach. She could stand to lose a few pounds, but the suit still fit her fine. An image of Lindsey Marist in a bikini flashed unbidden into her mind. Her pulse quickened.
“Where the hell did that come from?” she muttered as she slipped on an over-sized T-shirt. She stuffed a towel and suntan lotion into a bag then walked to the kitchen, trying to focus on something other than sunlight shining on Lindsey�
��s long legs dripping with lotion. She filled a cooler with the chicken, some fruit, a few sodas, and bottled waters. For good measure, she grabbed a cold bottle of water and downed half of it.
It didn’t wash away Lindsey’s bikini-clad image, but at least it quenched Cloe’s dry throat.
Chapter 3
Cloe grabbed the rope attached to the tree branch that hung out over the lake. She and Paige rigged up the crude swing years ago when they were in middle school. Paige was the brave one who’d climbed the tree and ventured out over the water to tie the rope. Others probably used it when they weren’t there, but they didn’t care. They considered the rope and the swimming area their own.
Cloe let out a whoop as she flew high out over the water below. She landed with a big splash. The water was a little cool, but with the temperatures in the upper-eighties, it felt great. This heat wave had enveloped the area for the past three days. Another reason Cloe agreed with her mom that swimming sounded like a great idea.
She slicked her hair back. “Come on in slowpoke,” she yelled to Paige.
Paige grasped the rope and launched herself into the water next to Cloe.
“God, this feels good!” Paige immediately started a splash fight with Cloe. They kept it going for a couple of minutes then took turns diving below.
Cloe was the first to turn onto her back and simply enjoy the white, fluffy clouds drifting overhead. The only sound she heard was the water sloshing against her ears. She loved to float. Always had.
After a while, they left the water for their towels on the bank. Paige pulled out paper plates from her tote bag, and Cloe set two pieces of chicken on each plate.
Paige pointed at hers. “You always know to give me a leg and a thigh, just like I crave in my women.”
Just a Touch Away Page 2