Page 29 of Say You Want Me
She was completely, hopelessly in love, and for once in her life, she didn’t feel the need to guard against it.
Christmas had been three days ago, and Taylor still couldn’t quite convince herself it had really happened. Holidays were usually something she just had to get through. Her mother had been gone four years now, and she’d never known her father, so most years she spent December twenty-fifth on her couch with a normal meal, or sitting on the edge of a friend’s crowded living room feeling like an extra piece of furniture.
Charlotte’s Christmases had always been precise, elegant affairs with Diane’s family, so this was a change for her too.
They hadn’t made a big deal out of it. They exchanged tiny, deliberate gifts—Taylor had given Charlotte a rare first edition of an essay collection she’d spent three weeks tracking down online, and Charlotte had given Taylor a brass slide for her acoustic guitar, hand-polished and engraved with Taylor’s initials on the inside rim.
Then they’d spent a few hours in this exact kitchen prepping for dinner and roasting a chicken.
The kettle gave a sharp, high whistle. Taylor turned off the flame, the sudden drop in noise letting the quiet roll back over the room. She poured the boiling water over the tea bags, watching the clear liquid cloud into a soft golden amber. She grabbed both mugs by their thick handles, letting the heat sink into her palms.
She walked out of the kitchen, her socks sliding softly over the hardwood floor into the living room.
Charlotte was already tucked into the corner of the sofa, wrapped in a dark green throw, her reading glasses pushed up into her loose blonde hair, her book left on the table beside her. The television screen cast a low blue glow across the room.
She set Charlotte’s mug down on the wooden coaster next to the lamp, then set her own beside it. Without asking, she unpinned the blanket from Charlotte’s shoulder and slipped intothe warm space beside her, sliding her legs up onto the cushions so her back pressed flush against Charlotte’s chest.
Charlotte’s arms immediately wound around Taylor’s waist, her chin resting right in the notch of Taylor’s neck. Charlotte breathed in deep, her warm breath fanning across Taylor’s skin.
So this was what it felt like to be truly happy.
23
Taylor lay naked across her, one leg hooked over Charlotte’s thigh, her cheek pressed to the soft swell of Charlotte’s breast. The sheets had fallen to their waists at some point during the night. Charlotte’s body felt loose, every muscle warmed through and slack. Happiness sat heavy in her chest, pressing outward until her ribs ached with it. The stress of sneaking around had vanished this week. They’d lived inside their own sealed bubble, forgetting all about the outside world.
Christmas had been nothing like the ones she once endured with Diane’s family. Those events had glittered with expensive crystal and careful conversation, the kind of elegance that always left Charlotte feeling slightly scuffed at the edges. Diane’s parents had been kind, yes, but their wealth created a distance Charlotte never quite bridged. Since the divorce she had dreaded the holiday, certain the house would echo with her solitude. Both her parents had died when she was in her thirties, so this time of year was always hard for her, and something that she wasn’t looking forward to.
She had been wrong. So wrong.
They had rung in the new year last night with a bottle of champagne. The memory pulled her under now, so vivid in her mind.
The fire had burned low, throwing gold across the living room walls. They had stood by the tall window, glasses raised. Taylor’s voice had come out low and certain.
‘To us. To the ridiculous luck of finding each other again on that beach. To second chances that shouldn’t exist but somehow do.’
Charlotte had looked at Taylor’s face, flushed from the fire and the champagne. She had set her glass on the windowsill, taken Taylor’s away too, and pulled her close until their bodies aligned. Taylor’s breathing stuttered when Charlotte slid her hands beneath the fabric of Taylor’s sweater to grip the warm curve of her hips.
They had kissed like the year itself depended on it—mouths open and slow, tongues meeting in wet drags that left Charlotte dizzy. Taylor had made a small sound against her lips, almost a whimper, and Charlotte had backed her toward the couch without breaking contact. The sweater had slipped from one shoulder, exposing the slope of Taylor’s shoulder. Charlotte lifted it over Taylor’s head, and tugged down the cup of Taylor’s bra. Charlotte had bent and taken her nipple between her lips, sucking until it pebbled tight against her tongue. Taylor’s fingers had twisted in Charlotte’s hair, not guiding, just holding on.
When Taylor had come later, it was with Charlotte’s fingers buried inside her, and Charlotte’s mouth on her throat. The new year had ticked over while Taylor shook and clenched, her inner walls pulsing hot and slick around Charlotte’s knuckles. Charlotte had felt every flutter, every involuntary squeeze.
The memory lingered even now that it was morning. She traced lazy circles along the bare skin of Taylor’s back, savoring the way the younger woman’s breathing stayed deep and even.
Taylor stirred, lashes fluttering against Charlotte’s skin. “Hmm. Happy new year.”
Charlotte smiled and tucked a stray piece of chestnut hair behind Taylor’s ear. The strands felt cool compared to the heat radiating from Taylor’s scalp. “Happy new year.”
Taylor’s stomach gave a loud, unmistakable growl.
The sound shattered the softness between them. Both women laughed at the same moment, and Charlotte felt the vibration of it move through Taylor’s ribs and into her own body.
“On that note,” Charlotte said, still smiling, “I’ll make us some breakfast.”
She leaned down and gave Taylor a quick kiss, tasting sleep and last night’s champagne on her lips. Then she rolled out from under the warm weight of Taylor’s body and stood. Cool air raised gooseflesh along her arms and thighs. She reached for the plush cream robe hanging on the bedpost and slipped it on.
Taylor propped herself on one elbow, sheets pooling around her knees. Her eyes tracked the movement of Charlotte’s hands with open hunger. “That would be amazing. I’m going to have a quick shower.”
Charlotte nodded and headed downstairs, bare feet silent on the wooden steps. In the kitchen she pulled eggs and bacon out of the fridge and cut a few slices off a loaf of sourdough.
