by Jae
It would take more effort to do it again, but she would manage somehow.
But this damn door needed a new coat of paint in a different color so it would stop reminding her of their kiss.
She closed it sharply behind herself, as if that would also close that chapter, and marched to the kitchen to see if she had any almonds and chocolate chips to bake chocolate biscotti. The yummy biscuits Regan’s grandmother had made for them when they’d been kids seemed like exactly the right snack for Regan’s long workday tomorrow.
Chapter 10
On Saturday afternoon, Denny’s two-story townhouse in Lents looked like the headquarters of the local women-loving women community. Ky didn’t even know all of the helpers, but most of them pinged her gaydar.
A tall woman in a Portland Police Bureau T-shirt was up on a ladder securing a new shelf to the wall. Her strawberry-blonde partner handed her a bracket. Eliza’s bosses—a lesbian couple—were putting up new curtains, while Denny and Eliza were carefully navigating a nightstand upstairs.
Ky deposited the box she was carrying on the kitchen counter, then stepped aside so Regan, who was following closely behind, could place hers next to it.
Regan groaned as she swung her box back to gather momentum.
Before Ky could take one side of the box to lift it up together, one of the only two male helpers walked over and tried to take the box from Regan. “Let me.”
“Thanks. I’ve got this.” Regan heaved her box up without his help.
Go Regan! Ky couldn’t help grinning proudly.
The guy blushed and held up both hands. “Sorry, that was…um…”
“Right out of the Sexist Moves 101 handbook,” Ky muttered.
Regan elbowed her. “Be nice.”
“I’m really sorry,” the man said. “I didn’t mean to imply… It’s just that I’m taller.”
Regan laughed. “Everyone’s taller than me. I appreciate the offer, but if I let my height—or lack of it—stop me from doing things, I’d never get anything done.”
Most of the time, Ky didn’t think of Regan as short, because her personality and her presence were larger than life.
Instead of being put off by Regan’s frank words, the guy smiled. “Fair enough. But if you would like some help with anything, let me know.”
“Don’t worry; I will. I’ve always been told that my mouth is bigger than the rest of me, so if I need help, you can be sure I’ll speak up.”
He hooked his thumbs into his front pockets and regarded her. “What if I need help?”
Ky narrowed her eyes at him. Was he flirting with Regan?
So what if he was? That was great, wasn’t it? One of them getting involved with someone else might actually be a good idea.
If he was indeed flirting, Regan apparently hadn’t noticed—or wasn’t interested. She measured him with a friendly, but not flirty look. “You don’t look like you’d be afraid to speak up either.”
“I’m not. So, to be honest, I could use some help with the dresser.” He pointed toward Denny’s former bedroom, which they wanted to convert into a sewing room for her. “I’m Oliver, by the way. Matt’s brother. Please call me Ollie.” He shook Regan’s hand, holding on too long for Ky’s liking.
Christ, what was he doing? Trying to decide her ring size by touch? She struggled not to glare at him.
Finally, Oliver let go of Regan’s hand and offered his to Ky too.
She reluctantly took it but couldn’t bring herself to return his smile.
He regarded her with a curious look. Then his eyes widened. “Wait… Oh, shit. Are you two…?” He let go of Ky’s hand to slap his own forehead. “Man, I’m so barking up the wrong tree, aren’t I? Again, I’m really sorry. I swear I’m not normally so obnoxious.”
Heather walked by with a lamp, the lampshade playfully perched on her head as if it were a hat. It wobbled precariously as she shook her head at Oliver. “Everybody thinks they’re a couple, but these two conducted a little study, and apparently, the results are just in. No chemistry. You could strip them buck naked and tie them together for the rest of the weekend, and nothing would happen.”
“Um, thanks for that mental image.” Oliver fanned himself with one hand.
Ky barely resisted the urge to do the same. She hurled a glare at Heather. Yeah, thank you so much. Some of us have a visual imagination, you know?
When neither of them commented, Heather pushed the lampshade off her forehead so she could see them better. “What? You’re the ones who always insist you’ve got zero chemistry. Right?”
“Right,” Ky and Regan said in unison.
“Wow.” Heather shook her head. “That sounded convincing.” She tipped the lampshade and walked past them to the new workroom.
“So.” Oliver looked back and forth between them before focusing on Regan. “Bedroom? Um, I mean, how about that dresser?”
“Lead the way.” As Regan followed him, she glanced back at Ky and playfully rolled her eyes.
Ky stared after them.
Denny joined her, and they stood silently for several moments. Except for her, Denny was the quietest person in their friend group, and Ky had always enjoyed her kind, unassuming personality.
Finally, Ky forced her attention away from the old bedroom and turned toward her. “Do you need my help with something?”
“Join me in the backyard for a second, will you?”
“Sure.” Ky followed her through the sliding glass door into the tiny, fenced-in backyard. She had expected to find some kind of project Denny needed help with, but except for some potted plants hanging down from the wooden fence, there was nothing to see. She sent Denny a questioning look.
“I, um, thought you might need a little timeout.”
“Why would I—?”
Denny nodded toward the house.
The old curtains had been removed so they could see directly into the bedroom, where Regan was talking to Oliver, waving a screwdriver and clearly giving him instructions.
“Denny, it’s not—”
“You and I, we haven’t been friends for that long, but have I ever mentioned that Eliza and I were just friends for some time when we met?”
Ky held back a grin. “You did.” With Regan, Heather, and Eliza being the chatty ones in the group, Denny didn’t say much, but when she did, she mostly talked about her girlfriend. It was cute, even though Ky didn’t quite understand it. Her relationships had never been her sole focus. But then again, maybe that was why she was single, while Denny was setting up house with the love of her life.
“I thought she was straight—and Eliza thought so too.”
Ky waited. Where was Denny going with this?
“She was the queen of disastrous first dates,” Denny continued. “We laughed at each one afterward, and I started to believe that it would always be like that. Just the two of us enjoying each other’s company, with no one to come between us. Until she met a guy who looked like Chris Hemsworth.”
Ky drilled her nails into her palms and stared through the window at Oliver. Was that what Denny thought would happen? That Mr. Let-me-carry-that-box-for-you would come between them?
Eliza stepped outside with a potted cactus. “He looked like Henry Cavill, not Chris Hemsworth.” She hung the prickly plant next to the others on the fence and brushed a soft kiss on Denny’s lips. Her hands came to rest on Denny’s love handles, and she stroked them tenderly. “And he had nothing on you, my love.”
Then she was gone again and closed the glass door between them.
Denny blinked as if she had trouble refocusing her eyes. She cleared her throat. “What was I saying?”
Ky laughed. “Eliza was completely straight and going out with Chris/Henry.”
“That’s what I thought. I was convinced a wonderful friendship was all we would ever have.”
Ah. So this was where this was going. “Denny, that’s different.” Eliza and Denny had been friends for only a few months, while she couldn’t even reme
mber a life without Regan. If she tried for more, she wouldn’t be merely risking one friendship among many; she’d be gambling everything she had, as her father had.
Denny didn’t listen. “So I tried to date someone else too. Did Heather ever tell you she and I went out once?”
Ky felt like a cartoon character whose eyes were popping out of its head. “You and Heather? I had no idea!”
“It won’t go down in history as the best date ever. I mean, Heather was her usual funny, beautiful self,” Denny added. “But—”
“There was no chemistry,” Ky finished the sentence for her.
“She wasn’t Eliza. And the guys Eliza went out with, they weren’t…” Denny ducked her head. Her cheeks went red, even as a happy smile formed. “Me.”
Ky wrapped her arms around herself, battling a vague feeling of nausea that threatened to rise. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“Have you ever thought that maybe your relationships never work out because your girlfriends aren’t Regan? Or that hers always fail because her partners aren’t you?”
A fist wrapped around Ky’s stomach and twisted. She hugged herself more tightly. “No. Denny, you…you’ve got it all wrong. I’m just shit at relationships. Always was, always will be. Like parents, like daughter, I guess. That wouldn’t suddenly change if Regan and I—”
The glass door slid open again, and Heather stuck her head out. “Ooh, what’s this? Secret Butch Club meeting? Is there beer?”
Normally, Ky would have protested because she didn’t apply any labels to herself. She was just Ky. But right now, she was Ky in an existential crisis, so she couldn’t care less about what Heather called her.
Heather’s grin faded away. “You okay, Kylie?”
Ky let go of her middle and tried for a casual stance. “Yeah, I’m—” Her phone rang. Phew. Saved by the proverbial bell. She pulled it out of her back pocket and slid her finger across the screen without bothering to check who it was. Even having to deal with telemarketers would be worth it if only she could escape this conversation. “Yeah?”
For several moments, only silence answered.
Had the connection cut out? Just as Ky was about to move the phone away from her ear to check, someone—a man—cleared his throat.
“Kylie, it’s me.” The voice hit her like a punch between the ribs, leaving her unable to breathe. “Your father.”
Chapter 11
Ky was a gold-medal-worthy champ at pretending to be fine when she wasn’t. Or maybe just silver-medal-worthy because Regan could usually tell.
Right now, Ky was not okay.
Regan kept glancing over at her as she drove them the three miles from Denny’s place to Ky’s apartment. “What’s going on?”
Ky’s head jerked up. “What? Nothing. I’m fine.”
Sure. Regan didn’t believe it for a second. What the hell had happened?
At first, Regan had put it down to the two of them having to find their footing with each other again. But Ky had joked around with her and Heather on the first few trips between the moving van and the house. Only later had she started to act withdrawn.
Had she been bothered by Ollie’s less-than-subtle flirting?
Why would she be? She had made it clear that she wanted their friendship to remain the way it was. No, that couldn’t be it. While Ky clearly wasn’t amused by Ollie, it had to be something else.
She had been more or less fine until she had disappeared to the backyard with Denny. Something must have happened out there because when she had stepped back inside, her emotions had seemed shut off, as if she’d pressed the emergency button due to emotional overload. She had barely even touched the pizza Denny and Eliza had ordered.
Regan had seen her like this only once, at her mother’s funeral, when Ky’s father had tried to talk to her afterward, chatting about the weather. He’d seemed to think they could just pick up where they’d left off before he’d gone to prison, without acknowledging Ky’s grief or admitting that his crime might have played a role in his ex-wife’s death.
Back then, Regan had taken her to Lake Oswego, where they had hid in their tree house for the rest of the afternoon.
But it was after eight and getting dark now—too late for a trip to the tree house.
When they approached the intersection where she would have to either continue straight ahead to Ky’s apartment or take a right to head to her own place, Regan looked over at Ky again. “Come home with me.”
That seemed to wrench Ky from the dark place she’d withdrawn to. She stared at Regan with almost comically wide eyes. “Um, what?”
Laughing, Regan slapped the side of Ky’s leg. “Not like that. Jeez, Wells! Although…” She took her gaze off the road for a second to bat her lashes at Ky. “I’m inviting you over for the most fun, relaxing thing two adults can do together.”
Now Ky seemed to catch on. A hint of a smile replaced the unmoving mask her face had become. “If you really can’t think of anything for two adults to do together that would be more fun than Netflix and chill—and I mean literally Netflix and chill—I think you need a lesson or two.”
“Are you offering?” Regan shot back before she could think about it.
Ky opened her mouth. For a second, heat flared in her eyes.
What are we doing? Are we…flirting? Okay, silly question. They clearly were. Dammit, focus on whatever’s going on with Ky.
Ky looked away. “No, of course not. Good old Ollie seemed interested, though.”
Regan squinted over at her. Maybe this was about Ollie after all. They definitely had to talk. She took a right onto SE 60th Avenue.
“Um, you missed my apartment.”
“No, I didn’t. You are coming home with me. I will make you a sandwich, we can watch some Netflix or Hulu if you want, and then you’ll tell me what’s going on.”
Ky folded her arms across the seat belt. “You aren’t even giving me a choice?”
“Remember all the times when we hid in the tree house so you didn’t have to go home because your parents were either screaming at the top of their lungs or giving each other the silent treatment?”
Ky’s face turned several shades lighter, as if all blood had drained from it. “Why are you bringing them up now of all times?”
“Because when we were in the tree house, we promised that we would never do what they were doing. We promised that we would always talk everything out. I’ve never broken a promise I made you, and I’m not about to start now.”
Ky let her head fall back to rest against the seat. She glanced out the window as they drove past Mount Tabor Park, then turned her head to look at Regan. “All right.” Despite her earlier protest, she actually sounded relieved. “But only because you promised to make sandwiches.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, Regan rummaged through her fridge, hoping she had enough stuff to make the promised sandwiches.
“Jeez, what kind of Italian are you?” Ky said from directly behind her. “Your fridge is practically empty!”
“The kind whose culinary skill is eating.” Ky’s presence—so close at her back that Regan thought she could feel her body heat—made her squirm. She resisted the temptation to turn around, very aware that this was the first time they were alone at her place since the kiss. “Why are you hovering? Take a seat.” Since when did Ky wait for an invitation as if she were a guest?
“Um, I’m all sweaty.”
“Then take a shower. You know where your stuff is.” Once the warmth at her back moved away, Regan could finally breathe.
The water started in the bathroom as Regan spread her meager bounty on the counter. She tried to focus on her attempts at preparing sandwiches, so she wouldn’t think about Ky undressing and stepping beneath the steamy spray.
Focus. On the sandwiches. What do we have? Exactly one tomato. A few slices of cheese. No bacon or ham. At least she had enough onions to feed a family of five.
She opened cupboards and drawers. Pasta.
Cornflakes. Pasta. Applesauce. More pasta. “See?” she muttered even though Ky couldn’t hear. “I’m perfectly Italian.”
Finally, she found two small cans of tuna. Ooh. Tuna melt sandwiches!
She worked quickly, draining the tuna, chopping dill pickles, an onion, and some parsley, and mixing it all with the last of her mayonnaise.
When the bathroom door swung open, she was buttering two slices of bread.
The sound of Ky padding barefoot through the hall toward her made Regan’s pulse quicken.
She threw a glance over her shoulder to show herself that it was just Ky. They had spent evenings like this a thousand times before, with Ky showering at her place and then preparing dinner together. But convincing herself this was nothing out of the ordinary, only her lifelong best friend, would have been a hell of a lot easier if Ky hadn’t looked so sexy with her sweatpants riding low on her hips, the Culinary superhero T-shirt sticking to her still-damp skin, and her wet hair combed back, revealing the gap in her eyebrow.
Regan bit her lip. Damn. It was as if someone had flipped a switch—or taken off a blindfold—and now she couldn’t look at her as just Ky anymore. “I need a cold shower. Um, I mean, I got a bit sweaty lugging around those moving boxes, so I need a shower too. Could you take over?” She gestured at the skillet that was heating on the stove.
“Sure.”
As Ky squeezed past her in the small kitchen, a whiff of her apricot-scented shower gel tickled Regan’s nostrils. Mmm. How strangely intimate it felt to have Ky use her shower gel—even though she had done it dozens of times before. It definitely smelled better on Ky than on her.
Regan hurried through her shower, not allowing her thoughts—or her hands—to linger on anything. After a minute, she turned off the water, reached for a towel, stepped out—and froze.
Oh shit. Apparently, she had been a little too successful at shutting off her brain. She had forgotten to bring a fresh set of clothes to the bathroom. Muttering every Neapolitan curse she knew, she looked around for something to wear.