Fugitives of Love

by Lisa Girolami

  She looked at Sinclair with an expression that seemed so vulnerable, like a small child would look if susceptible to exposure.

  Sinclair pulled her into a bear hug. Brenna hugged back and they remained silent for a while, as the sounds of the city reverberated on the walls around them. Sinclair knew she was falling for her. She let her heart absorb this moment, knowing that incredible things might happen between them. Brenna was real and true and humbly magnificent. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “I’d say thank you for not running away from me, but you don’t know how to get back to your car at the gallery.”

  Sinclair pushed her playfully and Brenna wrapped her arm around her, turning her toward the elevator.

  “Come on, dinner awaits.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Brenna continued her role as tour guide, pointing out interesting places to Sinclair as they traveled to Hell’s Kitchen to meet Beanie and her boyfriend for dinner. Sinclair had never eaten Thai food before, so when they walked into Pam Real Thai, eccentric aromas hit her nose. She detected a mix of onion, lemongrass, and garlic, but also wafts of some type of chili sauce or other peppers that made her stomach grumble for attention.

  They sat in the back room, under a large portrait of a woman who was the restaurant’s namesake as well as the same person that greeted them at the door. The place wasn’t fancy—more like a cafeteria with a tile floor and no-nonsense chair and tables. The décor was Asian in style with a hodgepodge of pictures decorated with old Christmas ornaments.

  Beanie and her boyfriend came in just after they sat, and Brenna hugged them both and turned to Sinclair. “You remember Beanie and this is Pete.”

  She shook his hand and noticed that it was very soft for a guy. She was used to the rough, callused hands of fishermen when she went to the docks to get a fresh catch for dinner.

  “Okay,” Brenna said when they all sat down. “This is Sinclair’s first time to eat Thai.”

  “How fun!” Beanie opened her menu. “Some people describe it as being similar to Chinese food but with a sting, though it depends on what you order.”

  “I’ll let you order for me, then,” Sinclair said as she looked through her menu and perused dishes like Fried Taro Dumpling and Tom Yum Soup. “It all looks pretty exotic.”

  Brenna placed her hand on Sinclair’s thigh and squeezed. “You’re a trooper.”

  “I suppose Thai food is known most for balancing sour, sweet, and salty flavors, and then throwing in a little heat,” Pete said. “It’s as complex or as simple as you want.”

  Brenna and Beanie ordered for the table, and when the dishes arrived, everything looked delectable. She tried glass noodle soup, green curry, something called larb, and an interesting noodle dish called Pad Key Mao, that mixed the flavors of basil, onion, and chili.

  They talked through dinner about life in New York, how Beanie met Pete, what their parents were doing for their vacation, and other wonderfully mundane family topics. It was nice to watch Brenna and Beanie interact with the familiarity developed while growing up together. The loving trust and history between them seemed solid and enviably strong. Sinclair could tell Pete had probably already come to the same conclusion because he smiled warmly and remained very attentive to Beanie.

  “Where did you get the name Beanie?” Sinclair asked when the waiter came for their plates.

  Brenna loved the way Sinclair both listened and joined the talk, even though a lot of it dealt with tales of the Wright family. Her profile was exquisite, and watching her as she talked to Beanie and Pete allowed Brenna time to take in her beautiful smile and perfect nose.

  “My nickname? Oh, it was from an unfortunate occurrence when I was three. I found a bag of Mom’s lima beans in the cabinet and decided to eat them.”

  “But what she didn’t know,” Brenna said, “was they were raw, which made them poisonous.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Mom found her right away and got the mush out of her mouth but didn’t know how much she’d swallowed. She had to take her to the emergency room to get her stomach pumped.”

  Pete nodded casually. “Nice.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “What was really bad,” Brenna said, “was that after they went through all that, they found out she hadn’t swallowed anything.”

  Beanie shook her head. “I was three, what did I know?”

  “So after that, when she got close to the cabinet, I’d always hear mom saying to her, ‘No beans, honey, no beans.’”

  “And Brenna decided to call me Beanie.”

  “What’s your real name?”

  “Ivory.”

  “I like Beanie better,” Pete said.

  Beanie laughed. “So do I.”

  Pete’s cell phone chirped. He read the text and said, “I’ve gotta get going.” He jumped up and fished some money out of his wallet. Giving it to Beanie, he kissed her and said, “I’ll call you later, babe.”

  He took Sinclair’s hand, “It was really nice meeting you. I can see you’re very special. Brenna doesn’t let us meet her dates very often.” He winked at her and left.

  “Pete’s a resident in anesthesiology at New York Presbyterian.”

  That explained the soft hands. “He seems very sweet.”

  “He is,” Brenna said. “Otherwise, I’d kill him.” Beanie laughed but Sinclair looked as if she’d bitten into a chili pepper. She winced, then recovered with a thin smile.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Sinclair said, then turned to Beanie. “He’s very nice. And so are you. You have a lovely family.”

  “I haven’t seen Brenna this giddy since her high-school prom.”

  “I wasn’t giddy,” Brenna said. “I was drunk.” She turned to Sinclair. “But I am truly happy right now.”

  It seemed that she had said something wrong because even though Sinclair had said she was all right, her mood had shifted. Her body had tensed in that barely discernible way someone would if they had just gotten a chill.

  She turned to her a few times, looking into her eyes, inviting an openness that said, “If you want to talk about it, I’m right here.” But Sinclair just squeezed her hand or smiled before returning to the conversation at hand.

  They paid their tab and bid Beanie good-bye before hailing a taxi back to Brenna’s place.

  Chapter Sixteen

  At the large bedroom window, Sinclair stood in nothing but a T-shirt and underwear, watching the nighttime rhythm of the city below. With the lights out in the bedroom, the view was crisp and almost surreal. Vehicles moved north and south like red and white blood cells as they pulsed through each traffic light. Signs glowed along the streets and boulevards, some blinking on and off as if ticking off the minutes until dawn when they would shut off and rest. Rooftops below were too obscure in the night for her to see many details of them, and most of the windows of other apartments were either shaded or dark. Some flickered from what was probably a television, but otherwise the tenants seemed to be sleeping or were out for the night.

  She heard Brenna come out of the bathroom and closed her eyes in anticipation. When she felt arms envelop her, she let her head rest on Brenna’s shoulder.

  As Brenna kissed her ear, Sinclair luxuriated in the lips that she was beginning to covet. Brenna moved down to her neck, and she raised her head off Brenna and dropped her chin toward her chest. Brenna kissed and licked the back of her neck along the line of her T-shirt and moved her hands lightly up toward her breasts and then down, all the way to her thighs. When she felt the firm, commanding grip of Brenna’s hands on her hips, she erupted in tingles.

  Sinclair reached out with both hands, placing them on the window for support, and as she leaned forward, Brenna’s body molded into hers.

  Brenna’s hands and lips were so languid and deliberate, Sinclair felt extremely sexy and desirable. Like a relaxing dream that comes slowly and wonderfully, she fell into the sensations Brenna stirred within and
welcomed the light-headed feeling of pleasure. For a long while, Brenna explored her body and massaged, stroked, and tended to everything she could reach from where they stood spooning.

  At one point, Brenna balanced herself by reaching out for the window and placing her palm close to Sinclair’s hand. She watched Brenna’s arm muscles flex. The mermaid tattoo undulated slightly, which was so sexy she couldn’t help the desire that burned inside her. She needed for this hot, assertive woman to take her over.

  Brenna ran her other hand under her T-shirt and Sinclair allowed her to lift it off. As soon as her shirt dropped to the floor, the tattooed arm withdrew and she felt more than saw Brenna remove her shirt as well. She gasped as she felt warm flesh return, hugging her back.

  Soon, both pairs of underwear were off and Sinclair was still leaning against the window with her hands up against it again for support. She was partially aware that though the lights were off, someone might be able to see them up against the window, but the rest of the world seemed miles away. The movement of the traffic and the blinking lights seemed like a pretend city with toy buildings and little plastic people.

  She didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything but Brenna.

  Brenna’s breasts pressed against her back and felt hot and alive. Brenna stroked the front of her thigh then cupped her breast. And when Brenna inched her hand down, over Sinclair’s stomach and then between her legs, she opened wider, as though being frisked.

  She took one hand from the glass and wrapped it behind her to grip Brenna’s ass just as strong fingers slid inside her.

  She gasped and Brenna replied with a moan.

  Sinclair was high, tumbling into the kind of full-tilt drunken stupor that only came from being filled up with the slowly plunging fingers of a woman.

  They moved together to the cadence of Brenna’s hand. Sinclair met each thrust, taking Brenna as deeply as she could, and they rocked back and forth until Sinclair felt the tingling precursor of an orgasm.

  It began at the base of her spine, a swirling sensation that traveled simultaneously up her legs and down her back. The slurping noise her wetness made against Brenna’s hand and the feel of Brenna’s hot, straining fingers made her orgasm grow slowly but forcefully until all her senses converged on the point between her legs.

  Brenna’s fingers relentlessly coaxed her on. Sinclair needed to shift position, to get off her trembling legs, but she couldn’t. She was pinned there, unable to move. Her lungs were barely able to function in a struggle to get oxygen. And finally, even they froze as she took in one gulp of air and held it. The room went silent for a nanosecond, then her orgasm crashed upon her as she screamed Brenna’s name.

  *

  Light, loving lips gently kissed Sinclair’s eyes and she opened them to the sight of Brenna snuggled close in bed. Morning sun streamed into the flat, and the constant drone of the urban traffic below them reminded her of the lulling sound of country crickets.

  “Good morning,” Sinclair said.

  “I’ve been lying here feeling more comfortable than I can remember.”

  “You have?”

  “Mmm,” Brenna said. “You like to wrap your legs around your sleeping partner, did you know that?”

  “I can’t say that I did. I hope I didn’t snore or talk in my sleep.”

  “I’ll never tell.”

  “This does feel good, being here with you.” Sinclair’s heart felt light knowing that her life could be changing forever. She fit so well with Brenna.

  “We have two days left,” Brenna said. “Today I’d like to take you through the gallery and really show you around and sign some exhibit paperwork. After that, I plan to take the rest of the time off to be with you. What would you like to do?”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “We could travel up the Hudson, to upstate New York. It’s a beautiful drive. Or we could hang out in the city, maybe see a show or walk around some other boroughs. Of course, there’s always eating. We could eat our way through the best tourist stops, if you’d like.”

  “It all sounds fun.” Sinclair looked forward to seeing more of New York through Brenna’s eyes. She was the perfect host and an even better lover. “Maybe we could spend some more time right here.”

  Brenna kissed her. “I admit, that’s at the top of my list.”

  Two more days and she’d be going home. After that, the exhibition would give them the opportunity to see each other again, but then what? Would this relationship be too geographically challenged?

  “If you’d asked me a few weeks ago, I never would have thought I’d be saying this, but I don’t look forward to going home.”

  “I don’t want you to leave.”

  “What about the distance between our homes?”

  Brenna sat up in bed, crossing her legs. The covers fell around her hips, and sudden desire from the sight of her broad shoulders and shapely breasts made Sinclair inhale sharply.

  “Nothing’s insurmountable, is it?”

  Sinclair felt the familiar twinge of caution about matters she wasn’t completely in control of. “We’ll see.”

  “That sounds a bit cryptic.”

  It was true but maybe she shouldn’t have said it. She tried her best to smile through her sudden trepidation. “What do you expect from a difficult artist?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  They arrived at L’Art de Vie after a breakfast at Daniel’s Bagels on 3rd Avenue. Brenna had taken her there because they had the best bagels in New York. She watched with delight as Sinclair tried the dense, chewy jewels and beamed when Sinclair swore she’d never forget the taste.

  Brenna paid the taxi driver and they stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of her gallery. “I know I whisked you away the other day, so now we can spend some time looking at the gallery and talking about your exhibition.” She took her hand as they walked in.

  Lucy looked up from the front desk and smiled. “Hey, you two. I was beginning to wonder when you’d surface again.”

  “Brenna’s been showing me the city.”

  “And how do you like it?”

  “It’s big and fantastic and has some of the best food I’ve ever eaten.”

  “Well,” Lucy said, “we can’t rival your lobsters, I’m sure, but we do well with about a million different ethnic cuisines.”

  Carl glided up. “Now this is the way to add beauty to your gallery, Brenna. Sinclair looks absolutely magnificent.”

  Sinclair seemed to brighten behind the immediate blush that colored her cheeks. “Thank you.”

  “It looks like you two are good for each other. Even Brenna looks different.” He made a show of walking around her and scrutinizing her, then pointed a finger in the air. “It’s love, I believe.”

  Sinclair’s smile looked as happy as Brenna felt inside.

  “What’s this I hear about love?”

  Brenna turned to see Nina Leone standing behind her.

  “Nina,” Lucy said. “Have you come to see your paintings? They’re all hung, darling.”

  “Actually, I came to see Brenna, but I might have shown up too late.” Nina looked directly at Sinclair’s hand, which was still holding Brenna’s. Her eyes traveled up Sinclair’s arm, her body, and stopped to stare at her face.

  Brenna moved her hand from Sinclair’s and put it protectively around her shoulder. “Nina, I’d like you to meet Sinclair. Sinclair, this is Nina. Some of her pieces are in our next show.”

  Nina nodded and, to Brenna’s amusement, Sinclair nodded back.

  “Sinclair is an artist as well, Nina. You own one of her pieces.”

  Nina’s eyes flickered, her brows lowering momentarily, and then she said, “Sinclair Grady. From Maine.”

  “Was it Nina’s place you took me by yesterday?”

  Brenna was about to answer but Nina spoke up. “You were that close and didn’t stop in? As you remember, we never had our second drink.”

  “Thank you for buying it,” Sinclair said. “It was a
thrill to see it in your window,”

  “It’s beautiful. And so is the artist.” Nina looked at Brenna. “But I see Brenna’s already figured that out.”

  “Carl,” Brenna said, “would you take care of Nina?” She didn’t need her kicking up any more dust. “Nina, will you excuse us?”

  Brenna took Sinclair into the next room, and when she turned to talk to her, Sinclair was almost laughing.

  “She’s got it bad for you.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “Is she your ex?”

  “No. We do business together, but I’ve avoided anything personal.”

  “So, what if I’ve got it bad for you?”

  Brenna stepped closer. “I’d ask you to remind me more often.”

  Their kiss was tender and then Brenna hugged Sinclair. “Sorry about that. No one can control her.”

  “She’s an artist, after all.”

  “But light years different from you.”

  Brenna showed her the rest of the space and they talked about how to display Sinclair’s glass pieces. She wanted to fill the windows with them to capitalize on the sun. They would also install window boxes with lighting behind the pieces that mounted to the walls to allow those glass colors to be illuminated as well.

  Nina remained with Carl but kept her eye on the two of them. Brenna didn’t like the feeling of her stares, and while Carl would normally relish the drama of a situation such as this, she was relieved that he seemed to try to keep Nina away from them.

  They had gone through the entire gallery when Lucy found them in the back room. “Brenna, the transporters are here to unload the Wellington pieces. They need you to inspect the truck contents and sign off before they unload.”

  “Okay.”

  “Unfortunately, they’re around the block on 76th Street because they couldn’t double-park out front.”

  “I’ll be back soon,” Brenna said to Sinclair. “Lucy, would you get her a cup of coffee or wine, please?”

  “We have white and red,” Lucy said as Sinclair followed her to the front desk and pointed to a wine cooler under it. “And coffee or tea.”