Always a Love Song

by Charley Clarke

  Shaking her head, Bridget said, “If you’re sure,” and hopped onto Alex’s back. She hooked her legs around Alex’s waist. If things like this kept happening, she wasn’t going to be able to keep her promise not to think about the past, either.

  But they’d already broken that one anyway, hadn’t they? And since that was the case, maybe Alex would let them keep breaking the rules.

  “Come on, Bridge. Reach!” Alex said.

  Bridget did, and her fingers closed around a deliciously ripe apple.

  “So…” Bridget said.

  Alex tapped her fingers against the steering wheel as they pulled away from the farm. It used to be there would be no question that the date would continue. They’d hang out at the diner or the library or one of their parents’ houses. Now, Bridget was fishing for an answer to the question they never used to need to ask.

  “Well,” Alex said, “I know it’s kind of silly, but I was thinking we could take the apples back to my place and make a pie. And while it’s baking, I could cook us dinner.”

  “That’s not silly. That sounds great.”

  “Good.” Alex’s breath hitched in her throat. She’d been worried about planning this date. After all, Bridget was a big-city girl now. What if her fame had changed her and she expected something fancier than this?

  But in fact, the whole afternoon had been lovely. The problem was, Alex couldn’t seem to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. This was what she did. She got in her own head and couldn’t let herself enjoy anything.

  She forced that train of thought to a screeching halt. To take her mind off it, she used a technique Lu had taught her shortly after the breakup. She tapped into her senses in order to drop into the present moment and not dwell on what could be. Bridget had turned the radio to the ‘90s channel, and the song drifting out of the speakers was something upbeat by a boy band she’d never cared for. She felt the smooth vinyl of the steering wheel against her hands.

  She chanced a glance at Bridget, who was humming under her breath and bopping her head to the music, and she calmed.

  Until she pulled into her own driveway, that was.

  The last time Bridget had stepped foot inside the house, it had still belonged to Alex’s dad. What would she think of the things Alex had changed? The things she hadn’t changed?

  Benny greeted them with kisses as they walked through the front door, and Bridget sank to her haunches to pet him. “Hey, buddy. How you doing? I miss you, too. I miss you so much.”

  Alex deposited the bushel of apples on the kitchen island. She was opening two bottles of beer when Bridget padded into the kitchen, Benny on her heels.

  Bridget gulped hers as soon as Alex handed it to her. “You know I haven’t baked in forever, right? I’m going to be terrible at this.”

  “It’s a pie, not rocket science,” Alex said. “You skin the apples and cut them up.”

  For someone who appeared so confident, and had ample reason to be so, Bridget doubted herself a lot. Was it bad that Alex hoped it was because of her? Hoped that she, a small-town girl with not a lot going for her, could knock a Grammy Award winner off her game? Just a little bit?

  “But the crust,” Bridget said. “Beyond me. My grandma is so disappointed.”

  Alex chuckled, picturing Grandma Callahan’s stern face. “That’s why the person who’s not going to substitute salt for sugar is on crust duty.”

  “No promises, but I’ll do my best to cut these apples in a way that would make Granny proud. Aprons?”

  “Middle drawer over there, but I’m not wearing one.”

  “Oh, yeah? Why not? Bridget grabbed two aprons from the drawer and tied one around herself.

  “I’m not scared of flour like someone is,” Alex murmured, a satisfied smirk on her lips.

  Bridget’s mouth dropped open. She snatched a towel hanging on the oven and swatted Alex’s shoulder. “We were seven! You knew I was afraid of ghosts!”

  Alex bit her bottom lip as she laughed. “Okay, okay. I’ll wear the apron on as my penance. How’s that?”

  “I’m satisfied.”

  “Good. Can we please make a pie now?”

  In response, Bridget set about washing the apples and placing them on a cutting board.

  Alex retrieved ingredients for the crust, glancing at Bridget while trying not to be too obvious about it.

  Bridget watched while trying to make it seem like she wasn’t. She was captivated by the way Alex’s T-shirt rode up when she reached for a bowl, the way the muscles in her forearm jumped as she mixed the dough.

  Alex had both changed and not changed in the five years they’d been apart. Her features had matured, and she’d put muscle on her frame, but the way she moved was as familiar to Bridget as if they’d shared an apartment only yesterday.

  Bridget licked her lips, which were suddenly dry.

  They worked in a comfortable quiet until she finished washing the apples, took out her phone, and turned on some music.

  As Bridget cut up the first apple, Alex said, “You should put them in water so they don’t brown while you’re cutting the rest.”

  “Right.” Bridget slid around Alex to reach into the top cabinet above the dishwasher. She pulled out a bowl and filled it partway with water. It was only when she brought it to the island that she realized Alex was staring. “What?”

  Blinking, Alex looked away. She kneaded her knuckles into the dough. “Nothing. It’s just… I left everything where it was. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “I haven’t forgotten anything,” Bridget said quietly. “About this town, about this house.”

  About you, she wanted to say, but feared Alex wouldn’t take it well.

  Alex cleared her throat and placed half the dough on the island to roll out.

  Once the pie was in the oven, Alex ushered Bridget onto a stool at the island and served her another beer. Instead of getting another herself, she poured a glass of water. Better not to let herself get too loose.

  “You’re really not going to let me help?” Bridget asked.

  “We don’t want a repeat of Thanksgiving, do we?”

  Bridget hung her head in her hands, but her shoulders shook with laughter. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

  “Considering it was the first holiday we hosted in our apartment and it ended in getting pizza delivered, I’m going to say nope.”

  “I swear I’m a little bit better than that now.”

  “A little bit? Way to inspire confidence.”

  “Fine,” Bridget said with a perfect eye roll. “I admit you’re right—probably—to keep me out of dinner preparations.”

  Alex swept a bow. “Thank you. And with that, I’ll get on with it.”

  As she took out ingredients for chicken parmesan, she held her breath, waiting for Bridget to comment. Because it was Bridget’s favorite dish.

  Bridget, thankfully, didn’t comment. Instead, she said, “So, tell me about the bar.”

  Alex put water on the stove to boil and measured out the spaghetti. “What about the bar?”

  Bridget shrugged. “Why’d you decide to open it?”

  “Well, I liked being in the café. When I was there, I liked that it still felt like my dad was with me. So after a year went by, and I realized I probably wasn’t going to sell, probably wasn’t going to move, I started thinking about how I could make it my own. When the bar next door went up for sale, I bought it with the life insurance money.” She shrugged. “I just wanted to leave my mark.”

  Bridget smiled. “You’ve certainly done that. I hear nothing but rave reviews.”

  “Thanks.” Alex brushed her hands on her apron. Not that she needed Bridget’s approval.

  “And the brewery?”

  “Well, when you own a bar and want to expand… It seemed like a natural s
tep.”

  “Are you using your degree at all?” Bridget asked, a hint of wistfulness in her voice.

  Alex paused as she shredded the cheese. She cleared her throat. “Not really.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  Did she? She missed being conversational in more than just English, missed the way she used to seek out movies and books in other languages. Nowadays, when she wasn’t working, she was usually too tired to tax her brain with foreign languages. And she always had wanted to travel. “I miss aspects, I guess. My life’s turned out differently than I thought it would, but…not badly. I’m okay with the direction it’s taken.”

  “Good,” Bridget said. “I’m glad.”

  And Alex smiled because although she didn’t need Bridget’s approval, she liked it all the same.

  Bridget leaned back in her chair, hands on her full and very happy belly. “That was incredible. I had no idea you could cook that well.”

  Alex shrugged. “Maybe you’re just so used to your own cooking that anything more than microwavable meals tastes exceptional.”

  “Are you ever going to stop teasing me about my cooking skills?”

  “Or lack thereof? No, I don’t think so.”

  That was fine with Bridget, especially if the ‘ever’ implied what she hadn’t meant to imply at all.

  Alex set her napkin on the table next to her plate. “Well, are you ready for the pie?”

  “Of course!” Bridget followed Alex into the kitchen, taking out her phone as she went. As Alex held a knife over it, she said, “Wait! I want to get a picture of this.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because we made a pie together! How exciting is that?” Bridget snapped a few photos in quick succession.

  “Are you going to post it?” Alex asked as she cut into the pie. “Your followers would go crazy.”

  “Can I?” Bridget asked, self-conscious. Alex didn’t love social media, and Bridget didn’t want to give the impression she was using Alex for likes or to boost her image.

  “Sure.” Alex cut two pieces, plated them, and added a dollop of vanilla ice cream to each.

  Bridget cropped one of the photos so Alex’s face wasn’t visible, just her arms and part of her flannel. She tapped her thumbs against the phone case. “How should I caption it?” Usually, she went for upbeat and grateful, but she didn’t want to seem too sappy, and she definitely didn’t want to write anything Alex would regret—even if no one but their closest friends and family would know she was the person in the picture.

  She wrote: Thanks to Sunberry Farms for the apple-picking experience! I’ve never been known for my skills in the kitchen, but I can’t wait to taste this pie.

  She had her account set so that the only notifications she would get were from the few people she followed, like friends and family. Still, she switched her phone to silent mode and set it on the island before picking up her plate and following Alex into the living room. No distractions.

  Benny trotted behind them and settled himself at their feet. Alex fed him a piece of crust.

  “Delicious,” Bridget said a few minutes later as she put her empty plate on the coffee table.

  “We make a pretty good team,” Alex said quietly.

  “We do,” Bridget agreed.

  They were close now, close enough that Bridget’s body instinctively responded to the proximity. Her breath came sharp and deep, and her heart thudded fast. There was nothing she wanted more in this moment than to kiss Alex.

  A thousand thoughts rushed through her mind. Would Alex push her away? Did Alex want it, too? This was a date, so a kiss wouldn’t be entirely unexpected, would it?

  She leaned forward, the movement slow and subtle. And then she held her breath and waited.

  Alex’s gaze drifted between Bridget’s eyes and lips and then back again. Bridget’s pupils were blown, the desire clear, as were her intentions. Yet she stayed where she was, mere inches away.

  It was Alex’s choice to pull away or not.

  Alex’s choice to move forward or keep running from their past.

  There’s only today.

  Shouldn’t they make the most of it?

  Alex slid her palm to Bridget’s cheek. Bridget closed her eyes and sighed like she’d come home. Maybe she had. Maybe they both had.

  Alex didn’t need to think about the past. She didn’t need to think about the future, either. All she needed was here and now. She could worry about the rest later.

  For once, she stopped thinking and just started feeling. Felt Bridget’s lips against hers. Felt Bridget’s fingertips skating across her cheeks, her neck, curling into her hair. Felt the press of Bridget’s curves against her body.

  Felt the seed of ache in her heart blossoming into something tender and gentle and perfect.

  Chapter Twelve

  Then

  The chatter of the bar provided a pleasant soundtrack as Bridget packed up her guitar and keyboard. The show had gone well enough, and she’d tried out a couple new songs that had been well received. Or as well received as they could be when she was just a local singer, and the bar patrons were more interested in their drinks than the background music.

  Except for her friends. Lu, Jordan, and Owen were there to support her. The person she wanted there the most, though, was a no-show.

  “Hey!” Lu’s voice was bright as she approached the small corner stage. “What can I do to help?”

  Bridget wiped her sweaty bangs off her forehead and shook her head. “No, that’s okay.” She was particular enough about her equipment that she liked to do everything herself.

  “I’ll get you a drink, then.”

  “I think I’m going to head home once I get all this packed up, actually.”

  “Oh. Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m just tired,” Bridget said as she rolled up a cord.

  “Do you need a ride?”

  Before she could answer, the opening of the door caught her eye, and she froze.

  Alex.

  Bridget cleared her throat and continued wrapping the cord. The sight of her girlfriend used to send her heart soaring. Now, frustration overrode any happiness it sparked. They were just going through a rough patch. It wouldn’t—couldn’t—last forever.

  Right?

  By the time Alex had greeted their friends and exchanged polite small talk, Bridget had finished up.

  “Ready?” Alex asked.

  Bridget nodded. She bid her friends good-bye, and Alex helped her carry her equipment out to the car. The late summer night was hot, and once she hopped into the passenger’s seat, she cranked up the air conditioning, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes.

  “Tired?” Alex asked.

  “Mm-hmm.” She’d had the early shift at the coffee shop today and had another tomorrow. Maybe one day, her passion would pay off. Right now, the only thing it was doing was exhausting her.

  She breathed deeply and let the car’s rumble relax her.

  A few minutes later, over the hum of the engine, Alex asked, “Are you mad I missed the show?”

  Bridget opened her eyes. “I’m not mad. I’m upset. There’s a difference.”

  Alex’s jaw jumped, and her hands tightened on the wheel. After a long beat, she said, “You’ve played lots of shows. I’ve been to ninety-nine percent of them. I don’t see why this one is an issue.”

  Bridget’s first instinct was to scoff. Alex was so wrapped up in her own grief that she barely saw Bridget at all anymore.

  Bridget didn’t scoff, though. She couldn’t. Her throat was too tight and her eyes were burning. She swallowed it down. “I know you’ve been busy, Alex. I know you’ve been…” Sad and devastated and all those messy emotions that accompanied a parent’s death that were different for everyone.

  When her dad had died, Bridget had need
ed Alex. She’d needed her best friend, and her best friend had been there for her—through long days when Bridget couldn’t find any words at all, through long nights when Alex’s sturdy embrace was the only thing that could calm Bridget. Alex had been there for Bridget, so why couldn’t she let Bridget be there for her?

  “I wrote a song for your dad,” Bridget said. She’d saved it for last, had hoped Alex would be there by that point. “I know you miss him. I do, too. And I’ve tried to be patient, but you can’t just keep shutting me out.”

  “I’m not shutting you out. I need to be at the café.”

  “All day every day? You said your schedule would get easier. You said you’d make time for me.”

  “It’s complicated, Bridget.” Even in the dark, even in profile, Alex’s frown was visible.

  “Then tell me.” Bridget reached over to put her hand on Alex’s thigh. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “It’s all I’ve got left,” Alex said softly.

  Bridget squeezed gently. “That’s not true. I’ve been trying to tell you that.”

  Alex didn’t respond as she pulled into the parking lot of their building. As they climbed out and approached the door, she said, “Can we just drop it for the night?”

  “Sure.”

  After all, that was what they always did.

  When Bridget had put away her equipment, showered, and changed into soft pajamas, she slid into bed and pulled the covers up. Alex wasn’t in bed yet. She was probably still in the living room, on her laptop, going over the books for the café and weighing renovation plans against potential price points and all the businessy things Bridget didn’t care for.

  So Bridget closed her eyes.

  Later, in the middle of the night, when Alex finally came to bed, Bridget stirred awake. She curled into her girlfriend, grateful for the warmth but also craving her presence. The truth was she missed Alex. As much as it was possible to miss a person who was in the same room, a person who was supposed to her everything.