by M. Ullrich
“Head straight back to the kitchen, and don’t worry. I was planning on a sandwich and ice cream.” Harper pointed Genevieve in the right direction. “Just give me a minute to change.” She signaled down to her gray sweatpants and navy blue T-shirt.
“Don’t,” Genevieve said a little too forcefully. She blushed. “This is your home. Stay comfortable.” Harper had no reason to change for a day spent at home, and Genevieve wanted to indulge in this version of Harper. Her boss’s hair was even without product, a few dark locks falling upon her forehead.
Harper smirked. “I’ll get the plates, then.”
They worked together in the kitchen, filling two plates with a sinful amount of food. Genevieve watched Harper out of the corner of her eye the whole time and soaked up the domestic feeling that enveloped her. She could blame the holiday or even Harper’s warm and welcoming personality, but Genevieve was overwhelmed with glee and comfort.
“What about your family?” Harper said.
“What about them?”
“I thought you were spending the day back in Pennsylvania.”
Genevieve shrugged. “That was the original plan, but I didn’t like the idea of you being alone.”
“Why? I’m used to being alone.”
“No one should be alone on Thanksgiving.” Especially not you, she thought.
“Thank you.” Harper’s face was blank, but her eyes were stormy with emotion. Genevieve knew she’d done the right thing. “And the good news is I have wine and craft beer.”
They ate a lot, and talked easily and openly, much like they usually did when they shared a meal. But Harper looked more comfortable at home. Genevieve apologized again as she cleaned the last bits of cranberry sauce from her plate.
“I really should’ve called first.”
“Genevieve, don’t apologize. This was a wonderful surprise.” Harper looked over her shoulder at the pumpkin pie. “I love edible surprises.”
Genevieve sat back in her seat, a smile of satisfaction lighting up her face, and looked at Harper, whose eyes were big with excitement as she eyed their dessert. She’s dreamy, Genevieve thought. Harper was so naturally beautiful, Genevieve caught herself wanting to tell her boss as much. She cleared her throat instead and stood to clear the table.
“Don’t you dare.” Harper reached out and gripped Genevieve’s wrist gently, her thumb tracing the delicate skin there for a moment. “Grab another beer and head to the couch. I’ll clean up quickly and meet you there with dessert.”
Genevieve did as she was told, sitting in Harper’s living room with a fresh beer and waiting for her host to join her. A flat-screen television hung on the wall above a modern glass fireplace. The sofa was a large, L-shaped piece in a light gray that accented the dark hardwood floors and white area rugs. Genevieve’s favorite part of the room was the orange throw pillows, the pop of color cheering the space up. The built-in bookcases that lined the wall were bursting with both hard- and soft-cover volumes, picture frames on the few empty shelves. Harper’s smiling face was in most, but they were all centered around a stunning portrait of her uncle. Genevieve’s heart ached when she thought of Harper dealing with such a loss.
“I should have offered you coffee or tea,” Harper called out from the kitchen. “Now it looks like I’m trying to liquor you up.”
“I already knew you were.” Genevieve took another sip of her lager. “I’m really okay with beer.” She settled back into the sofa after setting her drink on a glass coffee table, the plush cushions embracing her.
“You look comfortable,” Harper said from the edge of the room.
Genevieve placed her hand on the cushion beside her and ran her fingertips along the soft cloth. Her eyes were slightly hooded and the smile she shot Harper was pure ecstasy. “You bought this couch to seduce women,” she said. Harper blushed and stuttered. As cute as the sight was, Genevieve saved her. “Join me,” she said, patting the couch.
Harper sat and Genevieve didn’t do much to fight off gravity as she slid into Harper’s body. The contact was innocent, but intimate. Genevieve concentrated on the buzz traveling through her veins, up her arms, and settling in her chest.
“This has been one of the best Thanksgivings I’ve had,” Harper whispered. Her eyes were closed, and Genevieve took the opportunity to observe the lines on her boss’s slightly tanned face, a few faint freckles on the bridge of her nose. Harper’s lips were slightly parted and Genevieve wondered if they were as addicting when they were kissing as they were when they were smiling.
“What about you?” Harper said. She opened her eyes and looked at Genevieve. “I hope you’re not regretting your decision.”
“I’m definitely not.” Harper’s steely eyes were fixed on her mouth as well. Genevieve pulled back, putting space between them. She cleared her throat awkwardly. “So, uh, what do you usually watch now?”
“I usually put on whatever Christmas classic they’re airing prematurely.” Harper reached for the remote, clearly unshaken by the moment. Genevieve wondered if she had imagined it.
“Sounds perfect.” Genevieve burrowed deeper into the pillows, hoping her drowsiness would help calm her shaky nerves. God, she wanted to kiss Harper so badly, and when she saw Harper felt the same, she panicked.
Her career plan was unfolding wrong. She wasn’t supposed to end up in a budding romance with her female boss while posing as a lesbian. Every lie was so easy to forget with each passing day. Genevieve’s life in Asbury felt more like her truth the more she lived it. But an attraction? An honest-to-God attraction to someone’s mind, body, and soul? An attraction to everything about them? This was not in Genevieve’s plan.
“Do you want to stay here tonight?”
“What?” Genevieve sat straight up, startled by Harper’s question.
“You can spend the night if you’re getting tired.” Harper’s eyes started to widen as realization dawned. “I have a guest bedroom and bathroom,” she said. “I even have some clothes you can borrow.”
Genevieve weighed her options. The temptation to stay was great. She was sleepy, for sure, but would she be able to keep herself in check while spending a night under the same roof as Harper? No. For once, Genevieve was going to think things through before acting. Harper would not be another brash decision, another ridiculous story to add to Genevieve’s repertoire. Harper mattered, and that fact made Genevieve feel sick.
“Are you okay? Genevieve?” Harper reached over and placed her hand between Genevieve’s shoulder blades.
“I’m fine.” Genevieve stood a little too quickly. Her head spun slightly. “I think I’ll get going.”
“Can you drive?”
Genevieve’s heart was swelling and breaking all at once as she sank into the soft kindness in Harper’s eyes. “I’m good to drive, I promise.”
“If you say so.” Harper walked Genevieve to the door, pausing briefly before pulling Genevieve into a hug. Genevieve breathed in deeply, relishing Harper’s clean scent. “Text me when you get home so I know you’re okay,” she said directly into Genevieve’s ear.
“I will.” Genevieve released Harper slowly, reluctantly, before she opened the front door and stepped onto the stoop. Harper called her back suddenly.
“Thank you, for everything today. I really meant what I said.” Harper didn’t need to repeat herself. Genevieve knew exactly what she was referring to.
“I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed Thanksgiving this much,” Genevieve said. She stepped forward and hugged Harper again, this time leaving a small kiss on her cheek. Genevieve pulled back slightly. “You’re welcome, and thank you for your hospitality. Good night, Harper.”
“Good night, Genevieve.”
The distance between them was minimal, and every crackling feeling Genevieve thought she’d imagined before was surely a reality. She lowered her head before walking to her car. She buckled herself in and started the car, Harper still standing in her open doorway, watching her as she left. Genevieve gave
a tentative wave before pulling away from the curb. The moment she was gone, Genevieve started to cry.
Step Thirteen
Don’t Let Anything Get in Your Way
Genevieve spent the next lackluster weeks just going through the motions. She was in a near-emotionless daze. With so many warring emotions swirling around inside, she eventually shut down and decided to focus on work for the time being. Thankfully everyone became nearly robotic as the holidays approached, so Genevieve’s odd behavior went unnoticed.
Out Shore was abuzz as Christmas approached. Their annual year-end double issue was going into print, which led to a full week off to celebrate the holidays accordingly. Genevieve was dreading this time off, but she told herself it’d be a good time to concentrate on a new project or one of the many things she had put on the back burner. Genevieve planned to work on anything else but herself.
“Hey, Gen!” Matthew startled her while she was making coffee. She looked at him with annoyance. “Who are you going to bring to the party?”
Genevieve looked around, realizing she was in the middle of an office powwow. She was tired and irritated by the inclusion, but she didn’t want to be rude. “What party are we talking about?” She plastered on a stiff smile.
“The annual Christmas party,” Clarissa purred from behind her. “Everyone’s invitation is a plus one.” She looked at her manicure and said, “Even if you don’t have anyone.”
If only she was a snake like Clarissa, she’d be able to spit venom.
“It’s a great time,” Maxine said. She always seemed to speak right after Clarissa, as if she had to soothe Clarissa’s words. “Every year tops the year before, even when we think it’s impossible.”
“I met two soul mates last year,” Matthew said with a wistful smile. “I’m hoping for three this year.”
“If you’re hoping to meet three soul mates, who are you bringing as your plus one?” Genevieve said. She had stopped stirring her coffee and committed her full attention to the conversation.
“I go stag.”
“I have a few possibilities,” Clarissa said with an exaggerated flip of her red hair. “I just have to decide which one won’t bore me after a few hours.”
Genevieve ignored Clarissa. “Where is the party held?” she asked.
“Harper has it at her house every year,” Maxine said. “Keeps the cost down, the location convenient, and the partygoers safer.”
“Hmm.” Genevieve pictured Harper’s house full of guests and knew exactly how well it’d work out. She removed the spoon from her coffee. “She has enough space for it.”
Clarissa backed her chair away from the table with a scrape and stormed off, knocking the spoon out of Genevieve’s hand. It bounced to the floor and came to a stop just beside the break table. “Okay, seriously, what is her problem?” Genevieve snapped as she bent down to pick up her spoon. “Every time I talk or say something about Harper, she’s a total b—”
She smacked her face into the edge of the plastic chair Clarissa had vacated, stumbling back with her hands covering her right eye. Genevieve could feel the skin throb as it started to stretch and swell. “Holy shit,” she muttered.
“Gen! Are you okay?” Maxine was at her side. Matthew, predictably, grabbed his coffee and left the room.
“Yeah, I think so.” Genevieve started to move her hand away as Harper walked by the door.
“Genevieve?” Harper rushed to her. “Maxine? What happened?”
“She slammed her face into the chair!” Maxine tried her best to tamp down her amusement.
Harper stepped over and took a closer look at the chair, then at Genevieve, whose face was bright red. “There’s eyeshadow on the chair,” Harper said, pointing to the shimmering spot.
“I dropped my spoon…”
“I’ve got her, Maxine.” Harper nodded at the older woman, dismissing her gently. Maxine left with a quiet laugh. Harper glared at Genevieve. “What really happened?”
“Exactly what Maxine said,” Genevieve said with a shrug. One day Harper will finally believe that this is my life. “I dropped my spoon, and when I bent to pick it up, I hit the chair with my face.”
“Move your hand away.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Move your hand.”
Genevieve dropped her hand slowly. She could tell by Harper’s widening eyes and her slightly amused smile that she had done noticeable damage. “How bad is it?”
“On a scale of one to ten—one being a playground scuffle and ten being a heavyweight boxer—I’d say you’re about an eleven.”
“Oh no!” Genevieve covered her eye again and rushed to the bathroom. Once she was inside, she looked at her reflection and gasped. The skin of her upper eyelid was already purple, and she was bleeding from a small cut on the bone. She really was an eleven. Her eyes started to burn, but before she could start crying, Harper came through the door with an ice pack in hand.
“Hold still.” She leaned Genevieve against the counter and nearly pinned her there with her body. Harper placed the ice pack over her eye gently and held it. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Wrap me in bubble wrap?” Genevieve said cheekily before wincing in pain. A headache started to blossom behind her eyes. “Or just keep me away from Clarissa.”
“She did this?” Genevieve thought she looked confused at first, but when Harper’s nostrils flared, she realized it was anger.
“No, but she made me drop my spoon because she stormed out of the break room after I said that I could see you hosting a party at your house. She hates me, and I have no idea why.”
Harper pulled the ice pack away slowly and tilted Genevieve’s head to the side.
Genevieve’s head spun not only because of her injury but because Harper was so close. She could feel her breath against her mouth. Her hip bone pressed against Harper’s thigh.
“She doesn’t hate you, Genevieve.” Harper smiled reassuringly and tucked a strand of Genevieve’s hair behind her ear. “She hates that I like you.”
Every thought Genevieve had avoided over the past couple of weeks came flooding back and engulfed her heart like a tidal wave. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“Why do you call me Genevieve and not Gen like everyone else?”
“You don’t strike me as a Gen.” Harper touched the swollen skin by Genevieve’s protruding brow tenderly. “Genevieve fit you perfectly from the moment I met you.”
“Harper, I—”
The bathroom door swung open, and two chatty women entered, both nodding a polite hello to Harper. They were from advertising or finance or some department that rarely mingled with the writers. Genevieve grabbed the ice pack from Harper and left the bathroom with a meek thank you.
*
“Chloe.” Genevieve paced in front her bed. The plush carpeting tickled between her toes. “Chloe, I need your help,” she said, gripping her phone tightly. Thinking these words and saying them aloud were two different things. “Chloe, I need your help because I think…” She paused to take a deep breath. “I know I’m attracted to my boss, and it goes beyond physical.” Genevieve bit her lower lip. “Far beyond,” she mumbled to herself. She’d said the words, now she just had to say them to someone.
Genevieve dialed. After the first ring, Chloe answered with a characteristic giggle. “This is new.”
“What’s new?”
“You calling me first. I’m used to being spoiled with texts or waiting for you to return one of my five calls.”
“I’m sorry. Okay, I’m terrible and I know it, but that’s kind of why I’m calling.”
“Because you miss me and you hate yourself because of it?” Chloe laughed deeply. “Don’t be silly, just make it up to me with a wild night out when I come to visit you.” Genevieve didn’t respond. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to tell you something.”
“Okay?”
“Well, three things actually.”
; “Spill! You’re making me nervous!” Chloe shouted.
Genevieve shouted back. “I’m nervous!”
“Gen!”
“Fine!” Genevieve took two deep breaths and let them out slowly. “Chloe,” she started just as she had rehearsed. “I want you to be my date for my work Christmas party, I’m attracted to my boss, and I gave myself a black eye at work yesterday.”
“Oh my God, Genevieve Michelle Applegate!”
“I know.” Genevieve fell onto her mattress and covered her eyes gingerly with her hand.
“No way.”
“Yes way.”
“How did you give yourself a black eye?” Chloe said, a fit of laughter taking over as soon as the words were out. Genevieve removed her hand from her face and stared at her ceiling, unblinking.
“That’s all you heard?” Genevieve’s question was wrapped in a whine.
Chloe continued to chuckle. “No, my dear Gen, but it’s by far the most interesting part. I’m dying to know how you did it.”
“How in the hell is that the most interesting part?”
“Because.”
Genevieve pulled the phone away from her ear and frowned at the display. Chloe was so frustrating, she almost wanted to hang up on her, but Genevieve was desperate for her help.
Genevieve pinched the bridge of her nose and released a sigh. “Please elaborate.”
“You’ve broken three toes, your wrist, have had more rug burns than any other person I know, and lost a lock of hair to a power drill, but you’ve never walked away from an incident with a black eye. Self-inflicted or not.”
“Huh.” Genevieve rifled through her many injuries, and Chloe was right. “It involves Clarissa, a spoon, and a poorly placed chair.”
“Clarissa’s the one who has it out for you for no real reason, right?”
“She has a reason, and it goes with the more important part of why I called you. Now, can we focus?”
“She has a thing for your boss, too?”
“Enough about Clarissa, I want to talk about me.” Genevieve grew impatient. “Please.”