“Okay.” Greene chuckled to herself as she started mixing.
“Can I help with anything?” Joanna asked after a moment of shared silence.
“No, I’m good. It’s not exactly built for two cooks.”
“I like your apartment,” Joanna returned. “It’s you.”
“What’s that mean?” Greene asked after breaking the last of the eggs and getting the stove turned on.
“I don’t know. It just suits you.” Joanna’s voice sounded much closer than before.
Greene turned to find her leaning against the open entry of the kitchen with outstretched hands.
“Come on. I can do something. I’m not a terrible cook.”
“That’s not…” Greene wanted to say that wasn’t why she didn’t want her in the kitchen. She didn’t want her in the kitchen because it was small and harder to work around another person, but also because the closer she got to Joanna physically, the more she started to consider that maybe Keira had been right. “Never mind; you can be in charge of the stove. Grab the pans. That kind of a thing.”
Joanna walked past her spot at the counter to the cabinet next to the stove where she knew Greene stored the pans. Greene watched as she moved to pull out the skillet needed for the eggs and then a smaller one for the bacon. She placed them on the burners and made sure they were turned to the appropriate level of heat while Greene worked in silence, slicing the peppers and onions, and adding them to the mix along with the cheese and other ingredients. By the time Greene was done, the stove was ready. She brought the bowl with her and stood next to Joanna. The stove butted up against the wall at the end of the kitchen tunnel. There was nowhere for her to go except next to her.
“I’m in charge of the stove. Hand it over.” Joanna held out her hands to take the bowl from Greene.
“You’re cooking now? Good. I can go sit.”
“Walk me through it. You make this stuff so much better than I do.” Joanna took the bowl from her and met her eyes.
“Bacon literally requires no work. Place it in the pan.” She laughed. “And these are mixed. Just add half of that to the pan. We’ll do the other one after.”
“You say it like it’s so easy.” Joanna moved over to be in front of the skillet, forcing Greene to take a couple of steps back behind her. “If I dump this, it’s all going in.”
Greene shook her head in silent laughter and moved a step into her. She felt it then: the pull she’d possibly experienced all along to this woman. She recalled the day they’d met. It had been in Keira’s old apartment. They’d been drafted to help her with a last-minute wedding before Worthy Bash had really taken off. Greene and Joanna had ended up next to one another on the sofa while Keira went over every detail. At that time, Greene only knew that Joanna worked in Emma’s office.
She’d never been one to conform to those lesbian stereotypes, but even using them in her initial impression of Joanna, Greene hadn’t been able to tell if she was straight or not. Joanna had caused her to take a step back that day, because she was gorgeous. That was easy to see instantly, but the woman was also funny and smart. She was someone Greene liked talking to that day. The next day, at the wedding, they’d spent more time together. Once Keira had moved into her new office, they’d cemented their friendship by helping her move in. Greene loved spending time with Joanna. Joanna, though, was straight as she later discovered and had been reminded by Keira the day before.
“Have you ever made an omelet before?”
Greene wrapped her arms around Joanna to grip the bowl with her and encourage her to tip it forward slightly. She allowed enough of their omelet mixture to sizzle into the pan before lifting the bowl back up, leaving enough for a second omelet.
“No,” Joanna replied.
Greene gulped at Joanna’s perfume. She’d put perfume on to come to Greene’s apartment? It was maybe something like sandalwood, and it didn’t seem like lotion or shampoo to her. It seemed like perfume. The scent was more distinct behind the woman’s ears and at the base of her neck. It smelled like Joanna to her. She wanted to stand there longer, breathing it in, but she let go of the bowl and took a step back.
“No?” she asked.
“I’ve never made an omelet for two people before. It’s different. The quantities are different. Then, there’s the pouring you just demonstrated. I have a problem where I drop things. You know that.”
“You’ve never made an omelet for a guy you dated?”
“No. With some of them I was in high school. Then, in college, my boyfriends seemed to live off Red Bull, booze, and pizza. After that, I had one that was allergic to eggs, one that just didn’t like them, and the rest liked them differently, I guess: over easy or hard-boiled or something.”
“Bacon time.”
“Oh, right.” Joanna turned back to the stove, placed the bowl on the counter, and began removing strips of bacon, adding them to the pan. “Are you planning on telling me about what happened with Keira yesterday?”
“No plans to, no.”
Greene stood back further, needing to be as far away as she could from Joanna as the woman stood in her kitchen, in front of her stove, wearing jeans that were capris and tight to her body along with a light knit sweater in a shade of pink that looked so good against her much paler skin.
“You can tell me anything. You know that, right?” She turned her head back to Greene. “And get back here, to tell me when to flip this in that half-moon thing you do.” She motioned with one hand folding onto the other as she turned around to face her.
Greene couldn’t resist smiling at that movement and at how Joanna’s eyes looked with the fluorescent light in the middle of the kitchen ceiling, creating a glow in their blue depths. She swallowed and inhaled deeply before moving toward Joanna. She gripped the woman’s hips and hesitated only an instant before she moved her to the right and let go. She picked up the spatula and began inspecting the omelet.
CHAPTER 5
Joanna stood next to Macon, who was flipping the omelet. She faced away from the stove because Macon’s hands had just been on her hips and she’d moved her over. That was it. She’d moved her to the side in order to get to work. But that touch, and the look in Macon’s eyes as she’d made it, had Joanna warm and wondering. They’d touched one another before; hands and arms mostly, along with the occasional pat to the thigh. But it had always been brief and innocent. This wasn’t that. Joanna could feel Macon’s grip through her sweater. She could sense more, too. She wasn’t sure what it was, but as she heard crackling behind her, she turned to discover she’d nearly burned the bacon.
“Shit!” She grabbed Macon’s spatula to flip the strips over and turn off the stove.
“You’re an amazing cook. Don’t let anyone ever tell you any different.” Macon offered her a cocky smile and stole the spatula back.
That was it, what she was sensing. It was raw sexuality. It was the look she’d observed Macon give women when they went out. She’d talk to some of them briefly, but the ones she was more interested in, she’d look at them like that. She oozed sex. Those eyes and lips only made it even more obvious what she was doing with them. But she’d just done that to Joanna. Joanna moved back to grab the plates, deciding she’d seen that wrong. Macon began the other omelet as she slid the first onto the plate Joanna had provided. Joanna stood back and watched her work from behind. Macon was beautiful; Joanna had always known that. She had no problem saying when a woman was attractive.
She started to think about Macon and herself. Macon was more than attractive. She was stunning. The dark skin she’d inherited due to her part Italian ancestry mixed so well with that dark hair and those bright eyes. It was easy to see why women fawned over her. On top of that, the woman was toned everywhere, if Joanna had to guess. She knew Macon worked out often and that walking around a lot in the city made her calves strong and toned. Joanna stared at them for a moment as they were visible because Macon was wearing short sleep shorts. Her eyes moved up to the back of Macon’s toned thig
hs and then higher to where the shorts covered her ass. Why was she staring at Macon’s ass? Her eyes lifted but only ended up on Macon’s lower back, because the woman had her hand under her shirt, scratching a spot there. She then removed it, straightening her shirt as she did, and returned to the cooking.
Joanna moved beside her again to get the bacon out of the pan and onto a paper towel. Her shoulder bumped gently into Macon’s, who ignored the touch. Joanna felt the toned muscles in her arms maybe for the first time. She managed to get the bacon from the towel to her plate and slid two strips onto Macon’s with a hopeful expression. Macon just shook her head but didn’t turn down the offered bacon.
“What are you up to today?” Joanna asked as she bit into an extra crunchy piece.
“Rehearse here on my own. I have a meeting with the conductor. I’ll head over there at around 10:30. Lessons after that until 5.”
“What’s the meeting with the conductor about?” she asked and finished the bacon as the omelet slid from pan to plate.
“I don’t know. He just set it up through his assistant. I guess I could be fired. Or, it could just be that he wants to talk to me about my playing.”
“You think you could get fired?” Joanna asked with instant concern.
“No.” Macon laughed and carried both plates to the coffee table. “You should make yourself some of that fancy coffee.”
“I’m good with water.”
“Grab one.”
Joanna moved to the fridge where she removed a bottle of water and grabbed silverware and paper towels for their impromptu breakfast.
“And why are you so confident about not getting fired?” She passed Macon her fork and knife, placing the roll of paper towels between them and sitting down.
“Because I’m good.” Macon sliced at her omelet.
“Cocky, aren’t you?” Joanna laughed.
“No, I’m not.” Macon turned to her. “I’m very good.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you play. I was supposed to go to that performance, but my mom went to the hospital, remember?”
“Yeah.”
“I need to see you play.”
“Okay.”
“We hang out all the time. How have you never played for me before?”
“I don’t play for people.” Macon took a large bite of her omelet.
“So, I shouldn’t be offended?”
Macon placed her fork and knife on the table next to her plate. She turned her entire body to Joanna, who felt suddenly nervous at the focused attention.
“You know how some violinists have solo careers? There’s Nicola Benedetti, Joshua Bell, and, of course, Itzhak Perlman. There are more. They’re known worldwide and are amazing violinists.”
“I haven’t heard of the other two, but I’ve heard of Itzhak Perlman,” Joanna replied.
“I picked up the violin when I was two. My uncle played. When he ran to stop me from dropping the thing, he didn’t make it in time. And I’d seen him play, so I put it to my shoulder. Everyone else just sat there and waited to see what I’d do. I ran the bow along the strings, and I was hooked. I started lessons at three and picked it up very quickly. I was reading music before I was reading words. It took off from there.” She paused for a moment. “I am very good,” she said. “I’ve chosen to stay in the orchestra and not to pursue the solo tour thing. If I wanted it, I could have it. At Berklee, all the teachers wanted me to perform on my own or take on more solos than I wanted. I wasn’t interested.”
“Why not?”
“I like the orchestra. I love how it all sounds when we’re playing together. I like the people I play with. When you’re on tour, it gets lonely. There’s this pressure that I’ve never wanted. People want you to record albums or do special performances. Then, they start wondering about when you’ll transition.”
“Transition?” Joanna still hadn’t touched her breakfast.
“Into composing or conducting. I don’t know about either of those things yet, but I knew in school like I know now: I don’t want the soloist life. I’m content doing what I’m doing.”
“When can I hear you play?” she asked.
“Come to a performance.” Macon turned back to the table and her plate.
“Your violin is three feet away.” Joanna laughed.
“I’m eating breakfast.”
Joanna stared at her with that obvious deflection and considered what to say next.
“Have you played in front of Keira or Hillary before?”
“No,” she answered immediately. “Well, they’ve been to performances, so… yes, I guess.”
“Never just here?”
“No.”
“Hey, Make?”
“Huh?” Macon turned and slid another bite into her mouth.
“Why don’t you play in front of people?”
“I play in front of people every day, Jo.” She bit into the bacon. “This is terrible.” She laughed and put it back on the plate.
“But alone?”
“Alone?”
“Macon, do you ever just play for someone when it’s you and them, and that’s it?”
“No, I guess not. Sometimes, I had to play with just me and a teacher or just me and the conductor.”
“But not a spectator? Only in front of the orchestra?”
“No, and yes.”
“So, you’re a violin prodigy that could have an amazing solo career and have worldwide fame, but you don’t play for anyone and avoid some of the solos you’re offered in the orchestra?”
“Yes. Why is this a thing we’re talking about?” She laughed and turned to the coffee. “This is getting cold. Any chance I can convince you to make me another one and do that scorpion this time?” Macon smiled at her.
“I’d have to wiggle the milk,” she replied and wiggled her eyebrows with her smile.
Macon laughed hard and nearly spilled her coffee over the gray carpet. Joanna just watched her gracefully recover and put it down before shaking her head in disbelief.
◆◆◆
Joanna went to Clarion Alley, one of her favorite parts of the city, because it changed often. Clarion Alley was a set of streets that allowed graffiti artist to tag the buildings. The work was always colorful and, sometimes, remarkable. She enjoyed all of it and loved photographing the work. There were different sections painted nearly every time she stopped by. After spending a couple of hours walking and taking pictures, she decided to have lunch and go home to edit what she’d taken. As she sat on her sofa and ate, she stared blankly at the television she had connected to the Wi-Fi. She’d loaded the pictures onto her computer as soon as she got home. The TV was currently running a slideshow for her, which allowed her to see the images much larger and decide which were worth keeping to work on and which weren’t. She was staring blankly, though, because she couldn’t stop thinking about two things.
Mason had thrown her a curveball by suggesting that Macon liked her as more than a friend. She hadn’t thought it possible. This morning, she’d stopped by to be a good friend and try to uncover what had made Macon so upset the day before. She’d ended up staring into Macon’s sexy gaze. She’d gotten grabbed at the hips and moved out of the way. She’d never been touched that way by a woman. She hadn’t actually been touched. Macon, technically, had only touched her sweater and her jeans. But there was something about that moment that made Joanna return to it constantly throughout her entire day. Her phone rang as she forced herself not to think about Macon’s hands on her. She grabbed at it quickly, nearly knocking over her plate in the process.
“Hey, Emma,” she greeted.
“Hi. Key and I are going to catch a movie tonight. I thought I’d invite you and Macon.”
“So, you’re calling to invite both of us?”
“Yeah, is that okay?”
“I don’t know what her plans are. I think she mentioned something about wanting to be alone tonight.”
“No worries. What about you?” Emma asked.
“We’re not going to be making out in the theater, Jo. We’re grabbing dinner after, if you’re interested.”
“I think I’ll hang out on my own tonight, too. I’m kind of tired, honestly. I have some more editing to do.”
“Sure. Some other time,” Emma offered.
“Yeah.”
Joanna hung up the phone and stared down at it. She and Macon hadn’t discussed the night during their breakfast. Macon had expressed yesterday that she would think about joining her at 7Ups, but Joanna hadn’t brought it back up while they ate before she had to leave. She’d meant to ask her, but then she’d gotten sidetracked with breakfast and cleaning up next to Macon in that tiny kitchen. They’d washed and dried in silence, and it felt different today. They’d done dishes together after a meal once or twice, but the activity had never felt like this. Joanna unlocked her phone and entered the message app. She typed out her question to Macon and then moved into her bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes and get to work in her office. About thirty minutes later, she had a response from Macon.
◆◆◆
“You are a sore loser,” Macon said after Joanna’s second loss to her at Skee-Ball.
“I am not.” She rolled her eyes. “You cheat.”
“How can I cheat at this?” Macon laughed and handed her the card they shared. “You want to throw the balls at the scary clown faces?”
“You’re resourceful. I bet you found a way to cheat,” Joanna replied. “And you love that damn game.”
“I do. I’m good at it.” Macon smiled at her as they headed toward two games, side-by-side, where there were three rows of clown heads and baseball-size rubber balls. They’d be throwing at those heads to knock them down. The more they knocked down, the higher their score would be. “And I’m unsure how I’d use any kind of resourcefulness to cheat at Skee-Ball. You roll the ball and either score high or score low. “
“I’m sure you charmed one of the female employees to weight the balls differently or something.”
San Francisco Series- Complete Edition Page 41