Full English

by Rachel Spangler

  Maybe not nothing. She felt an affection for Victoria and a connection to her loneliness, but compared to the emotions Brogan’s kiss inspired in her, that didn’t feel like much, and she couldn’t help but compare. The first kiss with Brogan had been gentle, too, sweet and subdued, and yet it’d caused a warmth to spread through her chest, down her limbs, and all the way to her toes. Brogan’s kiss had awakened long-dormant parts of herself. Maybe that was why she’d let herself fall so easily into the next kiss, the one that had consumed and terrified her, the one that had sent her heart into overdrive and scrambled her brain to the point she had considered things she was in no position to consider yet, or ever, but Brogan had made her want to in ways Victoria didn’t.

  The reminder made her pull back.

  Biting her lip, she blinked open her eyes. When had Brogan’s kiss become the one she compared others to?

  Victoria’s blue eyes fluttered open as a flush spread through her checks. “I think I may have made a mistake.”

  “No,” Emma said quickly, not wanting to make either of them feel more awkward than she already did.

  “No?”

  “I mean, maybe. It wasn’t quite right, but not a mistake.”

  “It’s okay.” Victoria tried to fake a smile before turning away. “I make mistakes. A lot of them, actually.”

  “Something else we have in common,” Emma said, her heart breaking a little bit for each of them. “I understand.”

  “I know you do,” Victoria said. “It’s one more thing that drew me to you. I won’t lie. I’ve seen the papers.”

  It was Emma’s turn to blush.

  “I didn’t mean that to sound bad. I’m terrible at this.” Victoria rubbed her face with her hands. “I only meant we’ve been through some of the same things. We work with some of the same pressures, and we’ve both put our trust in people who couldn’t handle the realities of our lives or work. For what it’s worth, my mistake took the same escape route yours did, but he got to tell the world I wasn’t straight to begin with, so no one could blame him.”

  Emma winced. “A betrayal of trust is still a betrayal, and you faced two of them.”

  “I’ve wasted a couple of years wondering which hurt worse. In the meantime, I’ve grown lonely and tired, but I don’t trust anyone to see me for me, instead of who I was or who I might be.”

  “Vic.” Emma placed her hand on the sleeve of her jacket, feeling the heat and the uncertainty radiating off her. “It’s going to be okay. You aren’t alone. You aren’t even the only person on this blanket who feels that way.”

  Victoria smiled. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s just, the pressure can be a bit consuming sometimes. I wish I didn’t have to carry it all by myself.”

  “You don’t. I’m here to listen. I’d like to help. As you said, you’ve read the papers. I’m in no position to turn down friendships, but if you’re looking for something more, I’m willing to bet at least a thousand women in the UK would gladly murder me for the chance to be where I’m sitting right now.”

  “I won’t deny that,” Victoria said, without a hint of cockiness, “but I’d rather take you up on the offer of friendship, if you don’t mind.”

  “It’s not an either-or equation. You can have me as a friend, and have women throw themselves at you.”

  Victoria sighed. “It’s not everything it’s cracked up to be. The types of women who do that are always the ones who want all the trappings of my life with none of the realities, and the women who are smart enough and sensitive enough and poised enough to understand what they’d be signing up for aren’t the type of women who chase after flash and glitter. It takes a rare breed of woman to take on the total package.”

  Emma nodded, and pictured Brogan, the image of her so clear in her mind’s eye she had the urge to reach out and touch her, to anchor herself to Brogan’s steadiness, to her easy confidence, to the way she made Emma feel safe and exhilarated at the same time.

  “Worst of all,” Victoria continued, “I don’t trust myself to recognize a person of that caliber if I meet her. I’ve shown such poor judgement in that area in the past. How can I ever be sure again?”

  Emma nodded solemnly. She’d known that fear before. She’d felt it worm its way into her brain and temper even the beat of her heart, but as much as she could empathize with the uncertainty Victoria expressed, she no longer shared it. She had met exactly the type of woman Victoria was describing, and she’d pushed her away.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brogan wiped down the bar at the Raven for the second time. She was still almost an hour from closing time, but the last of the weekend tourists had paid their tab and moved slowly toward the door. Maybe she could clean up and cut out a little early tonight. Then again, it wasn’t as if she had anything to rush home to. She’d hardly made enough use of her empty bed lately to find any solace there. Her last week of nights had been restless and filled with frustrated dreams she’d had to work hard not to examine. And tonight, she’d have the added fuel for the fire that came from knowing Emma’s house was still dark when Brogan had walked to work at six. Brogan had assumed that meant the date with Lady Victoria had gone well enough to extend into the evening. Would she be tempted to check if Emma was home at eleven? There’d be no way not to notice if a light was on as she walked back to her own place, but would she tell herself Emma had simply gone to bed, or would she torture herself with the possibility of a castle sleepover? Either way, she’d likely have to wait until tomorrow to know for sure.

  Brogan gave the bar a little kick as a way of kicking herself. She wasn’t waiting for Emma. She couldn’t. Aside from the fact it would make her pathetic, she’d also drive herself mad.

  Thankfully the door swung open, interrupting thoughts she didn’t want to have. She was aware enough to realize that just a moment earlier she’d been hoping not to have any more customers, only to feel relieved when some arrived.

  “Good evening,” a woman called jovially, as she pushed through, followed by three more, all laughing and waving.

  “Good night out?” Brogan asked.

  “Indeed,” one of them called, causing all of them to laugh. “We’ve been up to a bonfire at Sugar Sands with some local blokes.”

  “Sounds fun,” Brogan said, without meaning it. She suspected the local guys would feel the same way, given that all four of the women were back to the inn before midnight.

  “Fecking freezing is what it was,” the last woman through the door admitted. Brogan racked her brain for the name she’d scribbled on the back of the receipt earlier in the week. Christine? Catherine? Caroline.

  “If you’d had more of the whiskey, you’d have stayed warmer.”

  “I had to drive you lot home.” She pushed a few strands of long, dark hair from across her forehead then rolled her eyes at them before casting a smile toward Brogan.

  “Then have one now, to catch up before you come up,” one of the other women said, as she bounded toward the stairs. The two others followed enthusiastically if not gracefully.

  “Like a bunch of drunk Labradors, the whole lot of them.” Caroline took a seat at the bar instead of following her friends. “I had to drag them up the dunes, or you’d have had to call the lifeboats out and search for them off the shore.”

  Brogan took a glass from overhead and set it upright on the bar between them. “Then this one’s on me, because I wouldn’t have had to make the call. I’d have been driving one of the boats.”

  Caroline’s smile turned sly as she shed her coat, revealing a deep purple sweater. “I suspected as much, which is why I did let Marla get a little close to the water a time or two. I wouldn’t have let her drown, mind you, just splash around enough to get you to ride in on that amazing sailboat I saw you commanding earlier today. Do I lose my free scotch for admitting to that, or do I get extra for not giving in to the fantasy?”

  Brogan’s heart beat a bit louder for a few seconds, as if trying to stir itself up again. It should be
easy. She wasn’t given just a little opening; Caroline had swung the barn doors open wide and asked her to sail inside. Brogan could say basically anything. She didn’t even have to be clever. A simple “yes, please” would likely suffice, and yet she merely took a bottle of scotch from the rack behind her and poured a healthy stream into the glass.

  Caroline seemed to get the message she wanted. Whether or not it was the one Brogan wanted to send might have been a different matter, but she didn’t resist, and Caroline said, “Drinking alone is the sign of a problem. You might have to join me.”

  Again, Brogan wordlessly poured another glass from the bottle already in her hand. Then she walked around the bar and flipped the closed sign over in the doorway. In for a penny, in for a pound. She sat down on the stool next to Caroline and clinked their glasses together. She’d done this before. She could do it again.

  “So, how are you enjoying your trip to Amberwick?” Okay, not her best come-on or conversation starter, but she’d managed to speak, and Caroline ran with it.

  “I’m having a blast. It’s funny to say, but I feel like I’ve got younger since I’ve been here. The weight of the city has lifted off my shoulders, or maybe the salt air is invigorating me somehow. Is that why you spend time on the water?”

  Brogan raised her eyebrows at the second allusion to her being affiliated with the ocean.

  “I’m not stalking you or anything,” Caroline quickly said, laying a hand lightly on Brogan’s arm for emphasis, or maybe to undercut her own statement. “I’ve seen you sailing in and out of the estuary two days in a row now when on walks along the beach. It’s hard not to stop and watch you work the riggings. You have an amazing presence out there, strong and confident.”

  Brogan took a sip of her scotch, its warmth spreading through her in ways the compliment hadn’t. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the ego boost, but she didn’t feel strong or confident anymore, and she didn’t know when that had changed, which wasn’t quite the same thing as not knowing why it had changed.

  “Have you been sailing long?”

  “All my life,” Brogan said, grateful for an easy question.

  Caroline smiled again, relaxed and carefree. “I like the image of a redheaded girl racing around the deck of a sailboat. Did you run barefoot on the beaches and scramble around the dunes, too?”

  “I did, indeed. Sometimes I still do.”

  “Sounds glorious,” Caroline said. “I work for an insurance adjuster in York, and before that I lived in Leicester.”

  “That’s pretty enough country.”

  “Yes, but there are no sailboats, no dunes, and no pirate women to run off with.”

  The comment made Brogan remember Emma’s character, the one who would cross the high seas, which of course made her think of Emma.

  Why couldn’t she stop? She’d never been the type to pine for something other than what she’d had in the moment, especially in moments when she’d had more than enough. Caroline wanted her. Caroline was interested in her. Caroline would never require more than Brogan could give. Well, maybe not never, but at least for the rest of the weekend, Brogan would be enough.

  And yet something was missing that hadn’t been in previous interactions. Maybe the sense of lacking came only from comparison to something better. Maybe comfort and ease simply paled when cast in the shadow of the spark she felt for Emma.

  Damn her. How dare Emma come in and ruin Brogan’s contented life by making her wish for more? Anger burned now where the scotch had been. She’d done enough moping and wavering and feeling sorry for herself. She might not be of Emma’s caliber, but she wasn’t helpless or worthless, and there was a vibrant, bright, attractive woman right in front of her, waiting for her to take what was being offered.

  With a surge of defiance, she leaned forward and captured Caroline’s mouth with her own. They collided with a suddenness and fervor neither of them seemed quite ready for. Lips pressed against teeth, but what the kiss lacked in grace, it made up for in gusto. Caroline took hold of Brogan’s face, running her fingertips into her hair. The touch was possessive, affirming, and laced with a need Brogan could fill for her. She grasped Caroline’s hips, pulling them forward, up off the stool until their bodies pressed flush. Desire radiated off the woman in her arms like heat shimmered off pavement. She parted her lips, urging Brogan onward with insistent strokes of her tongue. Brogan obliged, pressing herself into the physical sensations that had comforted and stimulated her so many times before.

  She fought to keep her mind on the steps, the basics, the tangible. Stealing a breath, she kissed along the corner of Caroline’s mouth, tasting the drink they’d now shared in more ways than one. She tried to lock onto the connection as her mind started to wander. Scotch, they both liked scotch, they both drank it to warm themselves, Caroline from the chill of the night, Brogan from the chill inside herself.

  No. She wasn’t going back there.

  Redoubling her efforts to stay present, she flattened her palm against Caroline’s back and tried to soak up the softness of her breasts as they pressed against her own. This woman’s body was every bit as supple as any who’d come before her, and responsive, too. She melded herself to Brogan, and Brogan tried to slip more fully into the oblivion that body offered. God, how she tried. Like a dancer who’d rehearsed the steps or an actor whose marks had been taped to the stage, why did it feel like she was ticking boxes on a list someone else had written for her?

  She swept her tongue along Caroline’s . . . again. She’d already done that. Not that deep kissing had a maximum quota. Normally she wouldn’t rush this stage, but tonight it felt like a bridge to somewhere else, somewhere she wasn’t sure she wanted to go. She hooked an index finger through a belt loop on Caroline’s jeans, tying herself to the present, to the woman in her arms. As Caroline’s hips rocked forward against her own, she knew the next step would be welcome, and if she tried harder to focus, she might be able to pull it off, but the harder she had to try, the worse she felt. Instead of heat or urgency building in her chest, an aching disquiet began to spread. She could still sleep with Caroline tonight, but she began to fear if she did, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself for a long time afterward.

  The thought jolted her back.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “What?” Caroline mumbled, kissing her again.

  Brogan’s lips moved against hers one more time, but she couldn’t go back. She might not be the person she’d been before, or the person Emma needed, but she wasn’t this person, either.

  Leaning back to open her eyes, she waited until Caroline’s eyes fluttered open as well before whispering, “I can’t.”

  She watched the bewilderment play across her features, as dark pupils narrowed. “Why not?”

  Brogan shook her head, slowly. Then as guilt and confusion mingled inside her, she turned her head away from Caroline’s eyes, and right into the baby blues of Emma Volant.

  Standing in the doorway, cheeks red, eyes wide, her lips parted as the lower one quivered, Emma shook her head slowly.

  Reaching out, the instinct to protect too strong to even allow complete thoughts to form, Brogan moved toward her. “Emma.”

  She shook her head more frantically now, so long strands of gold hair fell across her face. “No. I, um, I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

  Then she turned and fled, not even pulling the door closed as she went. Brogan took two steps before realizing one of her fingers was still hooked in Caroline’s belt loop. Glancing back at her for the first time, she saw confusion and embarrassment and hurt in her eyes, too. She sighed. What was she doing?

  Untangling herself more deliberately, she sat back down on the stool and exhaled a shaky breath. She needed to offer some sort of explanation. She owed Caroline at least that, but how could she even begin to put into words what she herself couldn’t understand? And if she did find a way, would admitting what she’d done make either of them feel any better?

 
Thankfully, Caroline spoke first. “So, is she your girlfriend?”

  Brogan snorted. “No.”

  “Maybe you should go fix that.”

  Her chest ached. If only she knew how. But she didn’t. That’s what had got them all into this mess to begin with, and nothing had changed. She rested her elbows on her knees and let her face fall into her hands. She couldn’t go after Emma without anything to say, without anything more to offer. Doing so would only perpetuate the cycle that had landed them here.

  Straightening up with a new resolve, she managed to at least meet Caroline’s eyes. “I’m sorry about tonight. I didn’t mean to mislead you.”

  “You didn’t. We didn’t really get far enough before you pulled back.” Caroline shrugged as if the fact didn’t bother her, but then she grabbed her scotch glass from the bar and downed the remains of the drink in a way that made Brogan suspect she’d had some practice at managing her expectations. “I appreciate you being honest with me before we did. But a word of unsolicited advice?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Maybe you should give her the same consideration.” Then, without waiting for a response, she grabbed her coat and headed upstairs.

  Brogan put her head on the bar. At least she didn’t feel any overwhelming need to chase after Caroline. She was right. The two of them hadn’t got far enough for Brogan to feel anything more than mild embarrassment, thank God. What would she have done if they’d slept together?

  She groaned as she realized that’s probably exactly what Emma thought was happening, and the longer Brogan sat here, the more that idea would entrench itself in Emma’s mind. Would she be upset? Hurt? Or more likely relieved, if she’d just got back from her date with Victoria.

  Brogan lifted her head to confirm the time was now past eleven. Past closing time and, unlike Cinderella, well past time that Emma should have returned from a castle if she’d had no intention of playing the role of princess, or rather duchess. Maybe that’s why she’d come up to the bar so late. She’d probably wanted to tell Brogan she’d had a great time, that she was sorry, but she’d fallen for Lady Victoria. Maybe she’d wanted to explain straight away, so Brogan wouldn’t get too attached. Her mind was running away with itself, but there was no mundane explanation at the ready. Introverts like Emma didn’t come to pubs so late unless they had a pretty compelling reason.