A Shot at Love

by T. B. Markinson

  “Love the robin’s-egg blue walls.” Josie stood in the middle of Harriet’s bedroom, surveying the quilted bed, chest of drawers, and black-and-white photos of the area.

  “Do you?” Harriet placed a finger on her chin. “I can’t tell if I like the color or not.”

  “Oh, it’s a like. A strong like.” Josie stared deeply into Harriet’s eyes. “Not what I was expecting at all.”

  “I can’t take the credit. This is my uncle’s place. He needed a caretaker, and I needed a place to live after the divorce.”

  “Good.” Josie smiled shyly. “I mean, you won’t paint them. I could get used to spending time here.”

  Harriet laughed nervously. What did Josie mean by that? Harriet did what she usually did during these situations. She rambled. “I’d love to buy a place. Have more control. Bigger. I’d like an extra room. Maybe two. As it is, Camilla’s always bunking in my office every other weekend, or so it seems.” So much for brevity.

  “Or sleeping with my uncle.”

  “Yes, there’s that.” Harriet shifted on her feet, unsure how to handle Josie’s American bluntness when it came to certain subjects. “Wine. You ready? We should go down. To the kitchen. Not…” Harriet’s voice died as the heat intensified in her cheeks. And other places. Damn. It should be illegal for women like Josie to wear dresses like this unless the intention was to get into Harriet’s bed. Which surely that wasn’t Josie’s goal. Josie was so out of Harriet’s league it was laughable to even think Josie put on the dress for any reason other than she needed an outfit to wear.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Yes, wine sounds good.” Josie began the trek back downstairs, or to earth rather. She struggled getting a read on Harry. There were flashes in Harry’s eyes that clearly indicated Harry was chomping at the bit. Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best way to put it, but the hot and cold were doing Josie’s head in. One minute, Harry seemed beyond interested. The next it morphed into indifference as if Josie wasn’t even in the room.

  Did Harriet follow a weird mantra like Keep Calm and Don’t Fornicate? Was that why she secreted herself in Upper Chewford? To avoid temptations of the female variety? If that were the case, how was Josie to penetrate Harry’s stiff upper lip reserve? And damn, Harry’s lips were so very tempting: pink and plump. As if waiting for Josie to press hers against them.

  Josie spied a notebook on the kitchen counter and glanced at Harry’s writing. “Chain stitches and Anne Frank’s house. That’s a curious pairing.”

  “Now who’s the nosy one? After all your cracks about journalists, here you are in my home, snooping.” Harry wore the most beautiful smile.

  “I wasn’t exactly prying. It’s right here out in the open.” Josie knew that was a weak defense. “Can I ask how the two are related?”

  “I was brainstorming ideas for the podcast. Do you know about chain stitches?”

  “Not at all.”

  “It’s a type of stitch that loops together, making it somewhat stronger, but if you pull a thread, it comes apart quickly. They use it on certain bags to close them, but also to make it easy for people to open.” Harry made a ripping motion with her hand.

  “Like pet food bags.”

  “Exactly. Whenever I think of how humans are connected, I think of chain stitches. We can feel connected, but when someone pulls a thread, like fomenting racism, we easily break apart.” Harry shrugged bashfully. “I was considering using that as the title of the podcast, but I’m not sure it would work.”

  “And the connection to Anne Frank’s house?” Josie had to admit she was curious where Harry would take this.

  “Don’t fear. I’m not considering that as a title. I was thinking of times when recordings and videos truly moved me. A few years ago, I was in Amsterdam and made myself go to the house. I’d avoided it in the past because, usually, I was there on holiday, and it’s not the most cheerful place.

  “But I’m glad I went. It’s one of those experiences that impacts your very being. What really hit me, though, wasn’t the house itself, but the museum portion. There were videos with testimonials, and some of them were hard to watch. I was there with Alice, who wasn’t the most compassionate, so I slipped into the bathroom for a quiet moment. In the stall, I heard others sniffling and blowing their noses. If only everyone could visit and be moved by Anne Frank’s story, I think humanity would be slightly better off. Momentarily, at least.”

  “Is that your goal?”

  “Saving humanity?” Harry laughed. “I’m not that ambitious or insane, but I do think it’s possible to get some people to see eye to eye. It’s worth a try.”

  “I know you’re on the fence about the podcast, but if you speak like that, you will move some people.” Josie placed her hand on Harry’s shoulder.

  “You think so?”

  “You moved me.”

  “Yes, but you’re receptive to my ideas.”

  What exactly did that mean? The usually inquisitive Josie clammed up at the worst possible time, and her hand fell from Harry.

  Harry stepped away and poured the wine she’d decanted. “I’ll serve yours with dinner. I promise.”

  Josie took the glass, wanting to get the playfulness back into the night. “Trying to get me drunk?”

  The color drained from Harry’s face, to the point Josie started to wonder if it were possible to kill a proper British woman with inappropriate American comments.

  “Hey. I was kidding. I promise.”

  “I…” Harriet looked to Josie’s bottle sitting on the kitchen counter. “I should have thought of that. You bringing a bottle.”

  “Please, Harry. Don’t give it a second thought. The worse thing that can happen is we wait for a nice evening for us to enjoy my bottle together.” Josie held her wineglass strategically between her breasts, delighting in Harry taking notice, before Josie finished the thought, “Outside.”

  “You’d have to put up with me again.”

  “Much worse things can happen in life. I can probably rattle off five that had already occurred in my life without much thought.”

  “Such as? As you know, I like to collect stories.” Harry seemed genuinely interested.

  “Let’s see. In grad school, I was stung by a bee on the back of my right hand.” Josie tapped the spot on her hand, in the middle of the fingers and wrist. “As it turned out, I’m allergic to bees. Not the best way to find out. After going to the health center on campus, where they placed a fizzy tablet on my tongue to immediately get into my bloodstream, they sent me home with the advice to get some rest.

  “Unfortunately, that weekend, I couldn’t take time off because I was in grad school.” Josie shrugged as if saying, American. “The pain was excruciating, so I kept an ice pack on it for the weekend, while I crammed for a test in one of my classes.” Josie pondered a second, studying the ceiling. “I can’t remember which class, which goes to show how important it was in the long run. Anyway, on Sunday morning, I decided not to use the ice bag because I was tired of the ice melting, getting my notes all wet.” Josie picked up on a flicker in Harry’s eyes at the mention of wet and had to wonder why. Surely, Harry’s mind hadn’t gone that route, imagining Josie turned on. “Good thing I did, because I noticed two red streaks moving up my arm.”

  Josie set her glass down on the table, held out her arm, palm up, and traced where the streaks had been. “Moving up from my wrist and, at the time, they were almost halfway to my elbow. I called my doctor, who instructed me to get to the hospital right away, before the streaks reached my lymph nodes, which if I remember correctly, would kick the infection into high gear, spreading rapidly throughout my body, requiring what could turn out to be a rather long hospital stay to get it under control.”

  “Wow. What happened?” Harry shifted on her feet. “I mean, I know you didn’t die”—she pointed to Josie—“but were you quite ill?”

  “For a few days, but I didn’t have to stay overnight in the hospital at all. I haven’t gotten to the b
ad part yet, though.”

  “What’s worse than having to rush to hospital?”

  “I love how you guys say to hospital, not to the hospital. Another one of those brevity things.” Josie glanced downward and then slowly raised her gaze to meet Harry’s. “On the way there, my girlfriend at the time had been staying at my apartment to take care of me.” Josie rolled her eyes. “However, when I really needed her to act, she didn’t drive directly to the hospital, instead stopping at Burger King since she was starving and assumed there’d be a long wait at the hospital.”

  Harriet’s eyes grew three times as large. “You’re joking.”

  “Nope. I started yelling at her as I watched the redness move, or so I imagined. We ended up having a screaming match in her car. She got so worked up, she four-wheeled over the curb out of the drive-through line, skidded to a stop at the entrance of the ER, and then drove off in a huff once I got out of the vehicle.”

  “I can’t believe that. Who does that?”

  “Andrea.”

  “Andrea doesn’t rank high in my book.”

  “Nor mine. She did come back hours later to pick me up.”

  “Hours after you were treated?”

  “Oh, no. It took that long in the ER. She’d been right about that part.”

  “Still doesn’t make it right. Did she offer an apology?” Harry’s expression continued to harden, making it clear what she truly thought of Andrea.

  “Yes. She was really great at apologies. It’s part of the reason why we lasted as long as we did.”

  “Which was how long, exactly?” Harry narrowed her eyes.

  “Two years.”

  Harry’s eyes bugged out yet again and not in a good way. Not like they did when Josie had shown off her ta-tas. This was more out of disgust. But was it contempt for Andrea or Josie? For both?

  “It’s kinda known by my friends and family that I have terrible luck in the female department,” Josie explained in a tiny voice, realizing her mistake. This was the type of story not to be shared, especially not with the likes of Harry, because Josie didn’t come across that well. Andrea had treated her abominably, and Josie had put up with it for too long. And to the best of Josie’s recollection, she hadn’t shared this one with anybody.

  “I see,” Harriet said in an uncomprehending tone.

  Josie wanted to give herself a swift kick in the ass, but failed when trying to think of a way to repair the damage. Another thought struck Josie. Did Harriet think Josie had already dumped her into the bad luck category? Or that Josie wasn’t interested and that was why she’d shared this story, because Josie wasn’t trying to impress Harry?

  “We should eat,” Harry turned her back to attend to the stove.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Would it be okay for me to powder my nose?” Josie asked.

  Harriet nodded. “The bathroom is to the right of my office. Just through the hallway.”

  Josie’s footfalls grew fainter, and the door closed.

  Harriet heaved a sigh, focusing on getting dinner on the plates. It was difficult to banish Eugenie’s words, echoed by Josie just now, that Josie had terrible taste in women. If Josie had been flirting with Harriet earlier, what opinion did Josie actually have of Harriet? If Josie thought Harriet had a bad-girl streak buried deep within, what would happen when Josie discovered she was so very wrong?

  Also, what did Josie’s taste in women say about her? That she allowed herself to be treated in such a way? Albeit, the bee sting incident occurred presumably when Josie was in her early twenties. Before the frontal lobe was fully developed. Yet, her grandfather’s words about people not changing, but becoming more like themselves over the years rang through her ears.

  There was also the possibility that Josie hadn’t been flirting with Harriet at all and shared the story because they were becoming mates and nothing more.

  How was it possible the Josie Harriet knew, the one who exuded strength and determination, had such a blind spot about women in her life? Harriet wanted to take Josie into her arms and tell her everything would be okay. It was okay to be vulnerable and to need a decent person by her side. Was it presumptuous to think Harriet could be the woman to bring Josie fully into her own? To give her the nudge to want it all? Because Harriet knew Josie was the one who could help Harriet reach happiness. Together they could have it all. Deep down, Harriet believed that.

  Harriet slipped on two extra-thick oven mitts. The chicken thighs were crisp on top, and the veg medley looked mouthwateringly good. “Perfect.” Harriet started to ease the tray out—

  “What can I help with?”

  Not expecting Josie back so soon, Harriet fumbled the dish.

  Josie reached out to save the meal from crashing to the floor. “Fuck, that’s hot!”

  Harriet dropped the tray, which somehow flipped over, upsetting the contents, some peas rolling here and there. “Are you okay?”

  Josie’s eyes were glued to the ruined dinner splattered on the braided-straw rug in the middle of the kitchen. “I’m fine. Dinner, not so much.” She pointed to the destruction.

  “Let me see your hand.” Harriet reached for Josie’s hand.

  “Really, Harry, it’s fine. I’m so sorry about your meal.”

  “It’s just food. You’re more important to me.”

  “But I ruined all of your hard work.” Josie’s voice quivered some.

  “Josie, please. Let me look at your hand,” Harriet spoke softly.

  Josie cradled it close to her stomach.

  Harriet tried to put Josie at ease by saying, “I’m not Andrea.”

  “What?” Josie scrunched her face.

  “Do you need a doctor? Shall I get my car?”

  Josie finally held out her hand. “I don’t think so. It burns, but I’m pretty sure it’s not hospital worthy.”

  Harriet inspected Josie’s singed fingertips. “Let me run cold water—no, I remember reading cool water is best.” Harriet’s brain stumbled as she tried to figure out what qualified as cold and cool.

  “But your beautiful dinner is all over the floor.” Josie’s gaze cast back to the disaster at their feet. “I ruined everything.”

  “No, you didn’t.” Harriet flipped on the water, testing it on herself. That didn’t seem too cold. “I don’t give a damn about the dinner. If you’re experiencing any pain or discomfort, let me take care of you. Please.”

  Josie allowed Harriet to guide her hand under the stream of water. “Oh, that does feel better. Why do burns have to—?”

  “Burn?” Harriet stared into Josie’s eyes.

  “Yes. That.” Josie stared back.

  “They’re annoying like that. Living up to their potential.” Now, why had Harriet said the last part? Wanting to avoid Josie’s penetrating gaze, Harriet consulted a webpage on her phone. “It says here to run cool water on it for twenty minutes.”

  “Twenty!”

  Harriet nodded, setting a timer on her phone. “Yes. Then we should wash it with mild soap and water.” Harriet glanced up. “What constitutes mild soap?”

  Josie shrugged.

  Harriet googled it. “Oh. My face wash falls into the category. I’ll be right back. Or do you want me to stay?” Harriet appraised the fingers again.

  Josie laughed. “I think I’ll survive.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Josie gave Harriet an odd expression that could be interpreted fifty different ways, causing Harriet’s brain to sputter with indecision.

  After a second too long, Harriet finally said, “As long as you’re sure.”

  Josie nodded, her expression deepening but not becoming clearer.

  Without another word, Harriet dashed to the bathroom in search of soap, antibiotic ointment, and a sterile bandage. All of which she had on hand.

  She was back in the kitchen within moments, only to discover Josie trying to clean up the mess. “What are you doing?”

  “Cleaning.” Josie had a chicken thigh skewered on a fork.
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  “No, you don’t.” Harriet took the fork from Josie and flipped the water back on. “I insist you let me take care of you.”

  “Are you always this nice?”

  Harriet cringed. One of Alice’s parting statements had been Harriet was too nice, and it had taken Alice years to realize nice girls lacked the passion needed to sustain a long-term relationship. Shoving this aside, Harriet replaced Josie’s hand under the water.

  Josie rested her head on Harriet’s shoulder. “Will you at least let me order something for dinner?”

  “That’s not necessary. I may have something in the freezer that’ll do.”

  “But—”

  “Josie, really. It’s not a big deal.” Harriet hadn’t meant to snap, but she couldn’t comprehend why Josie was fighting her about taking care of the burn.

  Josie pressed her lips together.

  Harriet wanted to bang her head against the wall.

  It wasn’t only the dinner that had been destroyed but everything.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Has it been twenty minutes yet?” Josie asked. Surprisingly, holding her hand under the water was becoming quite exhausting.

  “Not even five.” Harry tapped her phone and showed Josie the screen: 16:14. And counting down in mind-numbing slowness.

  “Seriously, my fingers are fine. Also, isn’t this wasteful.” Josie watched the water circle the drain.

  “You still have fifteen minutes, and right now, you’re my concern, not my environmental footprint.” Harry’s smile was sweet and sexy.

  Suppressing an I want you to jump my bones growl, Josie tried to focus her mind on something else. But, thoughts of the woman standing intoxicatingly close to her made it impossible. How could Harry come across as both sweet and sexy? Josie had always believed in an either/or world. Was it possible to have it all? Or would Harry’s true colors come to the fore at a trickle? Should Josie worry that she told the bee sting story to a journalist? She wanted to believe Harry wasn’t the type to betray her. Was she being too trusting? At the moment, with Harry standing so close, Josie could feel Harry’s body heat. “This is nice.”