by Harper Bliss
“I still have quite a few connections in New York.” I can’t suppress the smile on my face. “It was a pleasure to use them to this end.” I take another step closer and, very slowly and very briefly, bring my hand to her shoulder.
“Thank you so much.” Anna sounds as though something is stuck in her throat. “I appreciate this so much.”
Because I don’t want to ruin the moment, I keep myself from wishing her a Happy Valentine’s Day.
“What you got Hanya Yanagihara to write is so… beautiful.”
“It’s my absolute pleasure, Anna. Truly.”
I can almost see the cogs in her brain whirring as she tries to place being on the receiving end of, even if I do say so myself, such a thoughtful gift.
“I wasn’t sure about this.” Anna walks over to her reading chair and carefully places the book I gave her on top of the stack she keeps next to it. “But, um, follow me, will you?”
“Of course.” I follow her out of the kitchen into an adjacent room. She switches on the light. A spotlight is trained on a large canvas on a wooden easel close to the window. Wait. I recognize that face.
“Oh my God,” I half-shout. “That’s me.”
“Yeah.” Anna’s tone is so dry, so matter-of-fact, as if it’s the most logical thing in the universe for her to have painted me and to show it to me today, on Valentine’s Day.
“Oh my God, Anna.” I stand closer to the picture of myself. It’s so incredibly lifelike. Did she paint this from memory? The brush strokes are so fine. In the background, there’s even a stack of books of which I can make out the titles. I look closer. One of the books is Nights of Passion. I burst into a chuckle. What I really want to do is turn to her, take her face in my hands, and kiss her. But from the research I have done since our last chat, I’m pretty sure that’s not a good idea. “You are so talented. You do know that, don’t you?” I can’t tear my eyes away from the painting of myself. I don’t care if it makes me come across as self-absorbed, perhaps even a little bit in love with myself.
After the win of being able to give her that signed book and finding out that Anna painted me—especially after what her mother told me about the subjects she paints—I feel like a million bucks.
Anna just shrugs. “It’s what I do.”
“Where are you going to hang it?” I do look at her now.
“Oh… it’s for you. If you want it, of course.”
“If I want it? I think I want to marry it.” I look into her clear blue eyes. Her black hair is all over the place again, because she can never stop running her hand through it. “When did you paint this?”
“I started yesterday. Finished it this morning because I was meeting Sean and Jamie at Lenny’s last night so—”
“You did this in twenty-four hours?”
“Well, no, I slept. And I had a bit of work to catch up on this morning.”
“I’m truly touched that you painted this for me, Anna.” And then, I can’t stop myself. I reach for her hand and take it in mine.
“You’re cooking me dinner, so it’s the least I could do, really.” Her voice is but a whisper.
“I want to be understanding and gentle and all the things you need me to be.” I look her in the eye and she doesn’t look away. “But I would also really like to kiss you right now.”
She nods. “Yes, please,” she says, and brings her face closer to mine. “I would like that too.” She’s the one who bridges the last of the distance between us, and my heart leaps all the way into my throat. The kiss is unexpected but it’s also not. Like so many things with Anna, I never really know what to expect. Her lips open and she lets me in. I bring my hands to her cheeks and draw her nearer, closer to me.
When we break from the kiss, which I immediately want to resume, she smiles at me, and says, “How does it feel to have yourself looking over you when you’re kissing another woman?”
“I quite like it.” I’m already pulling her closer again. “In fact, I like it so much, I think I’ll do it again.” Our lips meet again and, this time, Anna curls her arms around my back and presses herself against me. My hands find their way to her hair, which feels soft and satiny, and then it’s not just her kisses I want anymore.
“All of this on Valentine’s Day,” she says, when we break from the kiss next. “How did you make this happen?”
“I didn’t do anything.” Our faces are so close, I can feel her breath on me when she speaks.
“Oh, but you did, Zoe. You really did.” Her hands are on the back of my neck and she pulls me toward her and as she does, I realize that toward Anna is the only direction I want to keep going.
23
Anna
Zoe’s kissing me. I’m kissing Zoe. Her hands are all over my hair. She’s pulling me to her and I let her. As our lips meet again and again, I keep thinking of the words she had Hanya Yanagihara write in the book she gave me—for Valentine’s Day, of all things.
To Anna,
It’s our differences that make us unique and beautiful.
I’m still at a loss for words because of it, so kissing Zoe some more seems like the best option right now. So I do. Because I really, really want to. One of the first things I noticed about her, were her shiny, glossy lips—and I can’t believe I’m kissing them now. That I get to press mine against them is more than a treat, more than something I perhaps dreamed of happening someday far away: it’s a revelation. That’s the only possible word for it. I revel in her kiss. It makes me forget myself, and all the usual hang-ups that go around and around in my mind, never letting up.
She tastes so good. Fruity and minty and earthy all at the same time. And then there’s the scent coming off her and the way her breasts press into mine. It’s a sensation overload and as much as I’m enjoying this very moment, I know that, pretty soon, it will be too much for my brain to process. I’m not wired for big, overwhelming sensations like this. And I certainly hadn’t expected to be kissing Zoe in my studio today.
Zoe grins at me when we break from the kiss next. Her lipstick is lightly smeared around her lips and she looks as though all she wants to do is smear it about her face some more.
“That’s not usually the reaction I get when I’ve painted someone,” I joke.
“I guess it depends on who you paint.” She comes for me again, but I pull away slightly.
“Can we, um, take a breather?”
“Oh.” Her limbs stiffen a bit. “Yes, of course.” She straightens her blouse. “I almost forgot I’m on cooking duty.” She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “Are you okay?” She lightly touches a finger against my hand.
“Oh, yes,” I say, decidedly. “Very, but… I need to take things slow.”
“Come on.” As if she’s the one who lives here, and she’s the one who asked for a break, she takes my hand, and guides me back into the kitchen. “It’s going to be a huge pleasure for me to cook in this kitchen. It’s so gorgeous.”
“I’m glad it’s being used.” I head to the refrigerator and take out a bottle of white wine. “For once.”
“You never cook?” Zoe asks, while she eyes the ingredients I’ve laid out on the table.
“I can make soup. And eggs. And smoothies. And nachos. Anything more complicated than that”—I point at my head—“and the old brain goes into overdrive.” I pour us both a glass of wine.
“Well, I love to cook and I’ve never had a kitchen like this at my disposal.” Despite what she has just said, she just stands there looking at the table, as though she’s wishing the ingredients would magically arrange themselves into an edible dish—which is often my state of mind when walking through the grocery store.
“You don’t have to cook if you don’t feel like it. I can order us a pizza.” I can’t help but snicker.
“I swear to you that I came here raring to go, but, um, well, I’ve been somewhat distracted, and I seem to have lost my drive for it… My momentum has veered into a distinctly different direction.” She sends me one
of her big, seductive smiles. “And it’s been quite a day.”
“Come.” I’m now the one who takes her hand in mine. I lead her into the living room and command her to sit. “Take off your shoes. Put your feet up. And relax.”
“I think I met at least half the population of Donovan Grove in the store today. You can feel what you want about it, Anna, but I’m learning that Valentine’s Day is a really big thing in these parts. People have not gotten the memo that it’s a put-upon overly commercial non-holiday.”
I chuckle as I sit next to her. “That’s all right. As long as they also buy a book at Bookends once in a while.”
“That’s the beauty of running a diversified bookstore. People come in to buy a Valentine’s Day gift and end up leaving with the new James Patterson.”
“Is that what you call it? A diversified bookstore?”
Zoe nods. “Yes. Selling only books is not a viable business plan anymore. I knew that when I came here.”
“You’re probably right.”
“If I’m not making my projected turnover by the third quarter, I can always add a coffee machine and sell coffee on the side. It’s all the rage these days.”
“In hindsight, it wasn’t a bad move to open the store a few weeks before Valentine’s Day.”
“Nor was it a bad idea to give you that book.” Zoe smiles again. Her cheeks must hurt after a day of smiling like that—or maybe she’s been reserving this particular kind of smile for me.
“Did you think I was going to swat it out of your hands?” I draw up my legs and sit cross-legged next to her, looking at her. I can’t get enough of looking at her.
“No, I wasn’t expecting that.” Her gaze is soft on me—and very easy to return. “But I also hadn’t expected the painting.”
“It’s just something I do.”
“Sure, but you have to understand that, to me, it’s kind of a big deal.”
I nod my understanding.
“Did you just paint my face from memory? It’s so accurate and detailed.”
“Yes.” I tap a finger against my temple. “It’s all stored in here.”
“That’s really amazing. So you just paint the image that’s in your head?”
“Pretty much. Although unexpected things pop up while I’m actually painting. Once I get started, I just go with the flow.”
“How about the book covers? How does that work?”
“Hm.” I need some time to align the different steps of my process in my head. “Once I get a feel for what the book is about, I like to immerse myself in the genre. Going to Bookends and just being around books has always helped a lot with that. I do that until I have the image and the colors, the entire concept basically, in my head, and then I just make it.” I pull up my shoulders. “It’s no big deal.”
Zoe chuckles. “Do you really believe that the incredibly creative things you do are no big deal?”
“They’re no big deal to me,” I say. Because I need them to function, I think, they’ve become an ingrained part of my routine. If I haven’t painted in a week, I get so antsy, I feel like climbing up the walls.
“Is that why you’ve never considered selling your paintings?”
“My paintings are personal. I sell covers and other graphic designs, that’s it.”
“Okay.” She sips from her wine and a silence falls between us.
“I—” she says.
“Jaden—” I start at the same time.
“You go first,” Zoe says.
Because I’ve always had trouble knowing when to speak in a conversation, I gladly take the opportunity Zoe has given me to continue my sentence.
“I hear Brooklyn and Jaden are on their own Valentine’s Day date tonight.”
“Oh, yes. My baby’s getting big. She’s been on sort-of dates before, but this seems different somehow. She’s really into Jaden. Like, really, really.” She narrows her eyes and looks intently at me again.
“Jamie tells me that Jaden feels very much the same way about her.” I shift in my chair. “Jamie also knew about you coming to dinner here tonight. From Jaden.”
“Oh, yes, I told Brooklyn. And she must have told Jaden. And he told Jamie. Is that a problem?”
“I’m not, um, really used to my brother knowing these things about me. I love him dearly and we get along just fine, but we don’t have that kind of relationship.” I pause. “I would sincerely appreciate it if he didn’t tell my entire family at lunch tomorrow that you and I kissed.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell Brooklyn about that.” Zoe smiles broadly at me again.
“Thanks.” I reach for her hand and run a finger over Zoe’s palm. “Look, I don’t know what your expectations are, but I meant what I said earlier. I need to go really slow. I can’t… open myself up to someone just like that.”
“Don’t worry, Anna. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I sure hope not.”
“I promise.”
“What were you going to say earlier? When I interrupted you?” I ask.
Zoe clasps her fingers around my hand. “I was going to say that I ordered the book you recommended. It should arrive on Monday.”
“Thanks for, um, making the effort.”
“Of course.” She holds on to my hand a little tighter. “Can I ask you a very personal question?”
I nod.
“Is this… sitting here with me, talking like this… Is that hard for you?”
“No.” I lift up her hand. “It’s a true delight, because I really, really like you as well.” And I was crazy to believe I would never want this again, I think. I lightly kiss her knuckle.
“Do you like me enough to change your mind about certain things?” Zoe sits up a bit.
“We’re on a date right now, so the answer can only be yes.” Even though I mean what I say—and I’m so smitten with Zoe that I most certainly want to try—I can’t tell her how afraid I am of doing this, even though I want it so much. I’m afraid of screwing things up again. Of not being the kind of person I believe Zoe should be with. Of setting a standard for myself that I can’t possibly reach.
Zoe smiles and I mellow even more. She’s impossible to resist, even for my anxious heart.
“I truly didn’t come here tonight with the intention of kissing you instead of cooking for you,” she says.
“Could have fooled me.” I bring a finger to her chin and turn her face toward me. Then I kiss her again.
* * *
TO BE CONTINUED…
Get Three Books FOR FREE
Building a relationship with my readers is the very best thing about writing.
I send a newsletter every two weeks, telling you all about new books, promotions, and my (writerly) life.
And if you sign up to my mailing list, I’ll also send you all this free stuff:
A copy of Few Hearts Survive, a Pink Bean Series novella that is ONLY available to my mailing list subscribers.
A free copy of Hired Help, my very first (and therefore very special to me) lesbian erotic romance story.
A free copy of my first ‘longer’ work, my highly romantic novella (35.000 words) Summer’s End, set on an exotic beach in Thailand.
You can get Few Hearts Survive (a Pink Bean Series novella), Hired Help (a spicy F/F novelette) and Summer’s End (a deeply romantic lesfic novella) for free by signing up at harperbliss.com/freebook/
Click here to get started: www.harperbliss.com/freebook/
About the Author
* * *
Harper Bliss is a best-selling lesbian romance author. Among her most-loved books are the highly dramatic French Kissing and the often thought-provoking Pink Bean series.
Harper lived in Hong Kong for 7 years, travelled the world for a bit, and has now settled in Brussels (Belgium) with her wife and photogenic cat, Dolly Purrton.
Together with her wife, she hosts a weekly podcast called Harper Bliss & Her Mrs.
Harper loves hearing from readers and you can reac
h her at the email address below.
www.harperbliss.com
[email protected]
Also by Harper Bliss
Next in Line for Love
A Lesson in Love
Life in Bits (with T.B. Markinson)
A Swing at Love (with Caroline Bliss)
No Greater Love than Mine
Once Upon a Princess (with Clare Lydon)
In the Distance There Is Light
The Road to You
Seasons of Love
Release the Stars
Once in a Lifetime
At the Water’s Edge
The French Kissing Series (Seasons 1-5)
High Rise (The Complete Collection)
* * *
the Pink Bean Series
More Than Words (Book 9)
Crazy for You (Book 8)
Love Without Limits (Book 7)
No Other Love (Book 6)
Water Under Bridges (Book 5)
This Foreign Affair (Book 4)
Everything Between Us (Book 3)
Beneath the Surface (Book 2)
No Strings Attached (Book 1)
* * *
For a complete list of all Harper Bliss titles, please visit harperbliss.com/books
Copyright © 2020 by Harper Bliss
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.