by Robin Hale
The body I pressed against the wall stiffened, still where she’d been liquid and slow in my arms. Amber turned, gaining a little distance when I had to back up to let her move, and leaned back against the wall to look me in the eye. She looked…apologetic.
My stomach lurched.
“No,” she said slowly, then caught her lower lip between her teeth.
I wanted to pull back, but her hands were on my hips before I could.
“I want to,” she insisted. “Someday, I want to. But not yet.” Her brown eyes — deep and dark and painted in every shade of teak and mahogany and cocoa and amber — searched my face. Looking for a sign that she hadn’t hurt me, no doubt. “I — I know it sounds silly.”
If I did nothing else with the rest of my life, I’d settle for removing ‘self-deprecating’ as a qualifier from anything Amber Kowalczyk ever did again. “Go on,” I murmured. I didn’t want to rush her. Didn’t want to assume. She’d said she loved me and I believed her. At the very least, I owed her my patience. I knew my only speeds were ‘standing still’ and ‘full steam ahead’, but that didn’t mean they had to be hers.
“I want to take my time, you know?” Her face was open and earnest, vulnerable in a way I wasn’t used to having someone show me.
Mostly, people didn’t trust me with their soft places. I was addicted to the fact that Amber did.
“I want to enjoy getting to date you — for real, this time.” She huffed a soft laugh. “I want to look forward to coming over to see you, to having you show up at my place. I want to look forward to text messages. Emails. Selfies,” she teased. Amber’s smile was achingly fond, so obviously full of love it took my breath away. “I want to savor all of it.” A shadow flickered over her eyes. “And I’m worried.”
My heart clenched. “What are you worried about?”
Her eyelids slid shut and she tipped her head back against the wall. “I’m worried that if we’re starting Nanofiche together, if we’re working together and living together and spending all of our time together…” she hesitated, gnawed the edge of her lip and I drove the point of a canine into my cheek to keep from hurrying her along. “I’m worried that I’ll let myself disappear into you.”
I sure as hell didn’t want that. I didn’t want a meek partner confined to my shadow. I didn’t want someone whose only goals involved being near me. I wanted her as she was: committed to video games, interested in everyone under the sun, plugged into the world in a way I’d never been. A way I had no desire to be.
I loved that she saw my ambition and chose to be part of it. I also loved that she loved things that had nothing to do with me. Karaoke notwithstanding.
“I don’t want you to disappear,” I said with a kiss to the underside of her jaw. “I want you to have anything, everything you’ve ever wanted. As long as I’m allowed to be in love with you.”
And it was true. I’d give her anything that was in my power to give. Anything my money, my name, my influence could grant her. Anything I could steal. Anything that wasn’t nailed down. Several things that were. As long as I was allowed to love her, I didn’t care about the price.
Amber’s eyes opened and she ducked to hide her face against my neck. “For as long as you’ll have me,” she promised.
“Forever, then.” I pressed a kiss into her hair and pulled her tight against me, wrapping my arms around her, pretending I could keep her there.
It should have been terrifying to promise her forever. But it wasn’t. I’d never been so sure of anything, and no one had accused me of being wracked with indecision. I had a life to look forward to.
So many worlds to conquer and the only one that mattered was the one we made together. The one with Amber in my arms.
EPILOGUE
CARRIE
Six Months Later
The contents of Ms. Spark’s public-facing inbox filled my phone’s screen. In the early days of the newest venture, the contents of the box skewed firmly toward spam emails, scam attempts, and gawking inquiries from members of the public who didn’t quite believe that ‘iris@nanofiche’ genuinely went to that Iris Spark.
I could mark Nanofiche’s progress by how many Nigerian princes sent imploring missives vs the number of enterprising podcasters begging for an interview. They were flagged with a custom three-finger gesture to be handled during the marketing meeting Ms. Kowalczyk headed on a bi-weekly basis. Print media had a different flag in the same file, broadcast were up-leveled to a different folder. The offers from investors were marked with a different gesture — anything not bearing Ms. Vogle’s name was flagged for deletion immediately.
Inbox triage was the usual three PM ritual as I waited for a hazelnut latte, a distressingly milky americano, and a flat white. The Coffee Spot had adjusted to the routine admirably, often having the drinks ready and waiting as soon as I stepped inside the door, but the shop was busier than I’d seen it in a while.
“Carrie?” The barista called and smiled at me as I picked up the drink carrier.
Fifteen steps carried me from the counter to a door that opened with a tilt of my hip at the badge-reader, revealing a corridor with a narrow staircase.
When Ms. Spark had told me the location of Nanofiche’s first offices, I’d scarcely been able to hide my amusement. She’d never been much for romantic gestures, but not even she could escape that she’d picked an office space directly above the shop where she’d met Ms. Kowalczyk.
‘That isn’t it at all,’ Ms. Spark had said. ‘It’s a well-positioned location. Near transit. Affordable rent.’
As if she’d ever cared about the price of rent in the years I’d known her.
I opened the door at the top of the stairs to see the first of the small set of rooms bustling with activity. It was strange to see the office so full — dozens now worked in a space first occupied by only three. More were moving into the office opening on the peninsula.
I worked my way through the open bullpen, around desks stacked with notebooks and tablets running simulations against test data that had been gathered from one of Ms. Spark’s pet web crawler algorithms, and made it to the closed door of the shared executive office.
‘Executive office’ was a polite name for it, given that it was nominally in a corner of the building, had its own supply cabinet, and housed the pair of desks that Ms. Spark and Ms. Kowalczyk used for their work.
The founders of Nanofiche stood near the window, focused on separate tasks, handing off tablets and printouts with barely a word spoken between them. I admired them from the corner of my eye as I set their coffees down within close reach, earning a nod from the blonde and a thankful smile from the tousled brunette. They worked in perfect tandem, dancers who had moved together for decades. They could do it in near silence and often did, except when they debated the finer details of some plan or other. Then it was rapid-fire point and counterpoint until one of them grinned at the other and the whole thing came tumbling apart for at least five minutes.
The flat white slid over my tongue in a comforting rush of creamy bitterness as I watched Ms. Kowalczyk reach out to tuck a strand of hair behind Ms. Spark’s ear. The afternoon sunlight glinted off the ring on her left hand, a fine ruby solitaire that didn’t match the ring Ms. Spark wore but coordinated with it. Of course, it was unlikely that there was a piece of jewelry that couldn’t sit next to Ms. Spark’s band of meteorite.
“Carrie, have we heard back from the Lovelace’s organizing committee about the East Palo Alto coding club?” The brunette turned from the window to face me, brown eyes soft and kind as they always were around Ms. Spark.
“I confirmed a meeting for tomorrow at 10:30, if that suits,” I responded. “I tried to push for earlier, but…” I drifted off meaningfully.
Ms. Spark’s amused snort filled in the gap. “For a committee that Dahlia chairs? Good luck.”
I allowed myself a small smile as Ms. Kowalczyk laughed.
It would be soon, by my accounting. Before another year passed, certa
inly. I’d updated the human resource records four months prior when Ms. Kowalczyk’s address merged with Ms. Spark’s. It wouldn’t be much longer before Ms. Spark would tell me that she needed the tuxedo I’d kept freshly laundered and neatly hung in the office’s little wardrobe. Whether they would rush off to city hall and marry beneath the rotunda or they’d host the event of the season, I couldn’t guess.
But it wouldn’t be long.
I turned my back to the pair at the window and indulged in a grin. Silicon Valley was a strange place, certainly. But it was a beautiful day, starting to warm into the city’s late summer, and I worked for the only founders I’d ever met who were more in love with each other than the company they were building.
It was a beautiful day.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robin Hale is an independent author of sapphic romance, and looks forward to telling many stories of incredible women falling in love with other women.
When not writing, you can find Robin hosting vintage cocktail parties, planning elaborate costumes, and desperately trying to turn every video game into a dating sim.
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Contents
1. Iris
2. Amber
3. Iris
4. Amber
5. Iris
6. Amber
7. Iris
8. Amber
9. Iris
10. Amber
11. Iris
12. Amber
13. Iris
14. Amber
15. Iris
16. Amber
17. Iris
18. Amber
19. Iris
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Robin Hale
