by Caitlyn Blue
“Um.” Her lips start tracking upward toward mine as she lifts onto her toes.
“Not um.” I dip my head, but hesitate before making contact. “Say yes.”
Her lashes flicker and then raise until we’re staring deep into each other’s eyes. It’s too dark to see much, but her breath isn’t all that steady as she asks, “Are you going to kiss me?”
“Do you want me to?” I can’t believe how badly I want her to give me the green light.
“I’ve thought about it so many times.” Her fingers touch my lips, tugging a bit on the lower one.
My chest tightens as impatience claws at me, but I remain unmoving. “Is that a yes?”
She nods and we stir at the same time, coming together cautiously. At first it’s just the barest wisp of a kiss. I take in her lavender scent and the sweetness of her lips yielding beneath mine. Heat builds as I graze my way slowly across her mouth, tasting the lingering fruit from the wine she drank.
Then her fingers burrow into my hair and her lips part. She gives the softest of moans and it’s as if I’ve touched an exposed wire. The shock that races through me awakens every cell in my body. I stop questing and take, sliding my mouth over hers, tracing the inner softness of her lip with my tongue before gliding past her teeth. She’s there to meet me. I groan. The noise rumbles through me and into her until she trembles.
I put my arm around her and pull her close. She responds by pressing into me. The angle of her head adjusts to allow our mouths to fuse and I’m happy to deepen the kiss. I’m not prepared for the shift occurring inside me and I’m cursing that I let our first kiss happen in the parking lot next to Gillies. This woman deserves champagne, violins, and all the sappy stuff of romance.
In the distance a pair of voices call goodnight, and with a long, low moan filled with longing and also protest, she pulls back. The chilly night air scours my overheated skin as curses swirl through my head. I keep my eyes closed as her hands withdraw from my hair and drift across my cheeks before falling away.
“Huh.”
Not exactly the accolade I was hoping for. “Huh, what?”
“I get it.”
Her vagueness is incredibly frustrating. I set my forehead against hers. “What do you get?”
“The panty-dropping hotness.”
“What?” I jerk back in surprise and she gives me a sassy grin before slipping from my grasp. “Panty dropping?”
She nibbles her lower lip for a second, before meeting my gaze. There’s a hint of challenge in her voice as she says, “You have a reputation.”
I do not like the sound of that. “What sort of reputation?”
“For being panty-dropping hot.” Her gaze slides over me with unhurried purpose and I feel a little objectified. “You are one hell of a kisser. I imagine you’re good at all sorts of things.”
Here I was thinking romantic thoughts about Emma and she’s fixated on sex? Not that this is a bad thing. I want nothing more than to peel off that fucking smoking hot dress she’s wearing and put my mouth on her every curve.
“I am great at all sorts of things.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her if she wants to go back to my place and find out just how great. Instead, I send my fingers raking through my hair and puff out a frustrated breath. “If you play your cards right, some day you might find out.”
She laughs. “I think you’re too hot for me.”
No, I’m not. Really, I’m not. “I’m the perfect amount of hot for you.”
With another one of those sweet chuckles, she dusts my cheek with a quick kiss and opens her car door. “Thanks for the drink.”
And before I can beg her not to go, she’s behind the wheel with the door closed. Ten seconds later I’m waving goodbye to her taillights.
“Fuck.”
There’s not much more I can say.
5
Emma
Tossing my “Brunch Squad” sweatshirt over my pajamas, I head down to the kitchen to start breakfast for my cousins. As usually happens on a weekend morning, I’m the first one up and moving. Even if last night’s kiss hadn’t kept me up half the night, I manage on a lot less sleep than the average person. Plus, dawn is the best part of the day. The sunlight is softer and I always wake up feeling optimistic.
Sundays are my favorite. We don’t open the store until noon so I get to be lazy until then. Growing up, Sundays were always a big deal in our house. With Julie active in dance and track, my dad traveling for his job during the week, and my mom busy with the antique store, Sundays were the only day we managed to spend time together as a family.
Mom would make breakfast while Julie and I negotiated with our dad for sections of the newspaper. He’s an old-fashioned type who likes to get his news the old-fashioned way. He often complains that he doesn’t want to read articles on his phone or the computer. He likes the feel of the paper in his hands, the smell of the ink, and the ability to cut out stories or comics and plaster them on the refrigerator.
And then there were the times when I would open a textbook in class and find an article on teen pregnancy or underage drinking. Once I wasn’t quick enough to catch a clipping before it fell to the floor. The huge bolded headline had read: STDS ON THE RISE IN TEENAGERS. At the time I’d been in English class and sitting next to the hottest boy in our grade. He scooped up the article before I could reach it and I’m pretty sure I didn’t stop blushing for a week.
“I smell coffee,” Sarah says, stepping lightly into the kitchen, wearing an R2D2 sleep shirt, Darth Vader pajama bottoms, and Yoda slippers. Like me, she’s a morning person and her green eyes are lively as she takes in my breakfast preparations. “Yum, waffles.”
“And bacon. Where did you get off to last night?”
Sarah headed out the same time I did. When I got back, her car was already parked on the street in front of the house. Because she works such late hours, Gabby pays extra rent so she can always park in the garage. The rest of us rotate. It was Brynn’s turn for the second garage stall, and she’d planned to stay in. Since her engagement ended, Brynn has three places she goes: work, gym, home. Gabby, Sarah, and I are worried about her, but she gets surly when we try talking about it. This is something she needs to work through and she knows we’re here if she needs us.
“Reed and I went to a gallery showing featuring this photographer he’s really into.”
Reed Barron is an AP Chemistry teacher at the private school in Evanston where Sarah teaches drama. She’s whimsical and visionary. He’s brilliant and serious. Two more different people could not exist.
“So what’s going on with you two?” I ask. “Are you dating this guy or not?”
“We’re just friends.” But Sarah’s cheeks are a rosy pink and she’s avoiding my gaze.
Reed started teaching at Harrison Academy this past fall and Sarah developed a major crush on him from the moment they were introduced. They go out fairly often to a movie or a museum. Sometimes the theater. And now, apparently a gallery. Despite the amount of time they spend together, they’ve never stepped across the line and become romantically involved.
“Do you want to date him?”
“I haven’t really thought about it.”
Sarah and I are totally different when it comes to guys. She likes to date a lot, but never gets serious. I don’t date often, but when I do, I tend to go all in. A couple years ago I took the plunge into a serious relationship. Granted, it didn’t turn out the way I’d hoped, but it helped me gain confidence where men and sex are concerned. The romance stuff I’m still trying to figure out.
“You are such a bad liar,” I say. “Why don’t you take the plunge with him?”
“Besides the fact that he had a bad experience with a former coworker and refuses to date a fellow teacher?” She makes a face. “Besides, he’s so smart. I don’t know that I could keep up with him intellectually.”
“You’re smart, too.” As well as beautiful, kind, and funny.
“You’re my family. Y
ou have to say nice things like that.” But she gives me a grateful look. “He’s really, really smart. And I don’t think he’s attracted to me.”
Now we’ve come to the crux of the problem. Sarah has an understated beauty that a lot of guys overlook. Plus she’s funny and quirky, and dresses for comfort rather than to be noticed. It’s going to take the right man to appreciate what a gem she is.
Or she could…
“Borrow one of Gabby’s dresses,” I suggest. This had certainly worked for me last night. “I’m sure he’ll see you in a whole new light.”
“I can’t fill it out the way you do.” Sarah sighs wistfully. “And speaking of Gabby’s dress, you were in pretty late last night. Was the outfit a hit?”
In Gabby’s dress, Brynn’s boots, and Sarah’s black moto jacket, I’d felt like Sandy from the movie Grease. All dressed up like a hot chick with no idea how to behave. The look in his eyes though, when I took off the jacket and flashed my cleavage. was pretty priceless. But I’m not going to give either of these two the satisfaction of knowing that his appreciative leering had turned me on.
“I guess.” My abbreviated response causes her eyes to brighten.
“You guess?” Sarah fills a mug with coffee and adds a generous shot of caramel flavored creamer. “Come on. You looked smoking hot. And he’s already way into you.”
“I don’t know about that.” It could be that I’m just a pair of boobs and a nice ass. Still, I can’t help but think about that kiss. Damn. The guy has skills.
Something must have shown in my expression because Sarah gasps. “Did you sleep with him? Ohmygod.” Her squeal is loud enough to penetrate several layers of wood and carpet and I worry she’ll wake up Brynn and Gabby. “Was he as good as everyone says?”
“I did not sleep with him,” I say tartly, turning my attention to the 3x5 card that contains my famous waffle recipe. “Can you get the champagne and orange juice out of the refrigerator?”
“Champagne?” Sarah’s eager curiosity crowds me as she leans close to peer at my expression. “Are we celebrating?”
“What are we celebrating?” Brynn demands, shuffling into the room. She goes straight to the coffee pot and pours herself a cup.
“Emma got some last night.”
“I did not.” My aggrieved tone isn’t having any impact. “Orange juice and champagne, please.”
“Was he good?” Brynn asks, moving toward the refrigerator.
“Brynn, would you get the eggs out as well?” I doubt my attempts to redirect the conversation will be effective, but I have to try. “Sarah, would you mind whisking the egg whites?”
“Of course he was good,” Sarah says. “She’s blushing.”
Annunciating each syllable carefully, I say, “I did not sleep with Zach.”
“Did you at least fool around?” Brynn fetches the mimosa ingredients and brings them to the counter where four flutes wait. She hands the eggs to Sarah.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” I’m not very good at lying so I turn toward the stove and begin to layer a pan with bacon.
“Nothing?” Sarah moans. “All that work and you came home empty-handed?”
“I’m not sure I want anything to happen with Zach.”
“Why not? He’s…”
“Panty-dropping hot.” We all say it at the same time and start laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Gabby asks as she makes an appearance. Unlike Sarah, Brynn, and me, Gabby is showered and dressed in jeans and a chunky gray sweater.
“We are talking about Zach and his panty-dropping hotness,” Sarah says as she separates several eggs, putting the whites into a bowl to whisk.
“Are you up for mimosas?” Brynn pours orange juice into the fourth flute and tops it off with champagne.
“Sure.” Gabby takes one of the flutes and sits at the kitchen table with a contented sigh. “How’d your date go last night?”
Now that it’s three against one, I’m crumbling under the pressure. “It wasn’t a date.”
“She struck out,” Brynn says, taking the last of the coffee. She gets less than half a cup and scowls at the slim pickings.
Instead of taking the empty pot to the sink to fill with water, she sets it back on the burner. I let loose an exasperated sigh that no one notices. Every now and then I let myself hope that someone else will take it upon themselves to make coffee when it’s obviously running low. I can only blame myself for the way I’ve spoiled my housemates. They are accustomed to fresh coffee every morning because I set up the pot on a timer before I go to bed each night.
“I didn’t strike out,” I say.
And before I can explain that I wasn’t even up to bat, Sarah jumps in, “Well, you didn’t score a home run.”
It’s all too much. “I might have gotten to first base.”
“I knew it.”
“Is he a good kisser?”
Without saying another word, I bestow a smug smile on all assembled and then refocus on putting fresh grounds in the coffee maker. While my cousins speculate on my future sex life with Zach, I keep my attention on the waffle batter.
My specialties are cinnamon French toast and light fluffy waffles. For the latter, it’s all about beating the egg whites before they are carefully folded into the rest of the ingredients. When it comes to Sunday breakfast, I believe in real butter, organic maple syrup, and the company of the people I love.
Twenty minutes later, Sarah sets the kitchen table and Gabby fetches the finished waffles and bacon warming in the oven. I start another waffle cooking before sitting down with my cousins.
Brynn kicks off the next round of grilling. “Okay, so Emma had to settle for a kiss last night and Sarah came home as pure as the driven snow.” She ignores her sister’s cry of protest as she turns her bright brown eyes on Gabby. “You at least are in a relationship. Tell me you got some.”
Gabby shakes her head. “By the time we closed, I was too tired.”
“You’re always tired these days,” Sarah says, displaying lively interest. “Maybe you should take Evan away for a romantic getaway. Do it during the week. I’m sure Sam could handle the restaurant by himself for a couple days.”
“Even if I wanted to, I can’t. I’ve got so much to do with Izzy and Moe.” This is nothing but a big excuse. Everything is perfectly on track for the speakeasy’s opening after the wedding in late June.
“We’re talking a couple days. You can’t tell me you don’t have vacation time saved up at Coastal Vibe. Have you taken any time off in the last year?”
“It’s not just me. Evan’s really busy, too.” Gabby’s attention is fixed on her plate. Something is going on with her. She’s been really subdued lately.
“Are things between you and Evan okay?”
“I don’t know really. It’s just gotten…” She extends her hands palms up in a gesture of helpless confusion. “We don’t talk about things the way we used to.”
“You two have been dating for over three years. It’s kind of at that point where you either need to get engaged or break up.” Brynn might think she’s being helpful, but from Gabby’s horrified expression, I can tell she isn’t ready for either of those two options.
“Have you hinted that you’d like to get married?” Sarah asks.
Gabby sighs. “I don’t want to pressure him.”
“Why not?” Brynn snags the last piece of bacon. “You love him, don’t you?”
“I wouldn’t have stayed with him for three years if I didn’t.”
“She says with enthusiasm,” I joke, but in truth I’m worried. She and Evan have gone through ups and downs, and she’s been so focused on opening Izzy and Moe for the last year that I think their relationship has suffered. “Has he mentioned marriage or given you any idea what he wants for the future?”
“He’s pretty happy with the way things are. In fact, he’s up for promotion to sous chef.”
“Maybe that’s what he’s waiting for,” Sarah says. “A promotion would mean more
money. More money would mean you could start thinking about a house. A house means kids.”
“Whoa, slow down there,” Brynn jumps in. When it comes to love she’s a lot more skeptical these days. “What makes you think she wants a house and kids? She’s poised to get her business started. That’s going to take all her time and energy.”
“She can’t put her life on hold because of work,” Sarah counters. “Evan could be ready. What do you think?” She turns to me.
“I saw something different about him at Christmas,” I say. “He’s always been uncomfortable around our family, but this year he kinda got into it. I thought maybe he was starting to look at you and look at us and think maybe he wanted to be a part of our family.”
We are all staring at Gabby, each wearing an assortment of expressions from hopeful to doubting.
“How do you feel?” I ask. “Is Evan thinking about you guys as a family?”
“Maybe.” Gabby’s pale face doesn’t show as much excitement about this as I thought it would. “I’ll have to think about it some more. Meanwhile,” she says, looking at Sarah. “How did your evening with Reed go?”
“Amazing.” Sarah sighs. “We went to this gallery and saw the most amazing photographs.”
“Has he figured out yet that you’re so amazingly into him?” Brynn asks dryly.
Sarah’s joy pops like a soap bubble. “Thou churlish, fen-sucked dewberry.”
I don’t think it’s an actual Shakespearean insult, but it gets her point across nonetheless. While the siblings glare at each other, my phone buzzes, indicating a text. I ignore it, but I can feel my cheeks heat. It’s probably not even from Zach, but the fact that I’m hoping it is worries me. I can’t think about him like that. He’s not interested in anything serious and I’m not really a casual sort of girl. But my pulse is racing and I’m finding it hard to keep my gaze off my phone.
Gabby picks up on my distraction. “Are you going to see who’s texting you?”
“It’s probably just Mom double checking that I’m opening the store today.”
“Or maybe it’s Zach telling you what a great time he had last night,” Sarah suggests.