Far from the World We Know: A Lesbian Romance Novel

by Harper Bliss

  “I don’t care if we have takeaway pizza. I didn’t come here for the food.” My heart’s already thudding in my chest, and the evening has just begun. I don’t feel the slightest pang of hunger—except for Laura. Though I’m getting way ahead of myself again.

  “I’m truly relieved you have such low gastronomical expectations.” Laura manages a smile. “I’m not exactly a domestic goddess.”

  “My mother still cooks most of my meals,” I say with a giggle.

  “She could have cooked for us,” Laura jokes.

  “She would have in a heartbeat if you’d asked her.”

  “But we’d have a chaperone.”

  “And we’re a little too advanced in age for that.” The moment of banter brings a smile to both our faces. “I’m really happy to be here, Laura.” I broaden my smile, hoping to convey the warmth I feel inside.

  “I took the leap,” she says cryptically. “Aunt Milly made me do it.”

  “Aunt Milly?” Is she seeing ghosts now?

  “She left me a letter. It got delivered two days ago. The first thing I did after reading it was call you.”

  “Must have been some letter.”

  “Short, but very powerful.”

  “It was Aunt Milly who brought you here and now she got you to ‘take the leap’ so to speak. Looks like I owe your aunt a lot.”

  “You and me both. Who knows where I would have ended up if not in Nelson?”

  “Maybe in cowgirl Sherry’s claws somewhere. She’d be reading you poetry under the stars.”

  “Are you sad she never got to perform a private poetry slam for you?” Laura asks.

  “Is that a euphemism?” I ask, snickering, as I feel the nerves drain out of me.

  “No.” Laura shakes her head. “Or I guess it could be.”

  “I’m not the slightest bit sad, Laura.” She seems more relaxed as well.

  “I was jealous, you know? I practically pushed you into her arms, but I was so jealous.”

  Confession time already. I like what I’m hearing very much. “That’s interesting.” I can’t keep the glee out of my voice.

  Laura pauses, then speaks. “So, as this is our first real date, we should get to know each other better.” She sounds very official all of a sudden. “We should tell each other things we don’t know about each other yet.”

  “Okay… But that sounded as though you were reading it from a piece of paper and, unsuccessfully I might add, rehearsed that line in front of the mirror all afternoon.”

  “I haven’t dated in a long time. I don’t really know what to do.”

  I suppress the urge to rush to her for a hug. “You don’t have to do anything. You’ve done the hard work already. You picked up the phone and called me. From here on out, it’ll be a walk in the park.”

  She takes a deep breath. “Let’s start again. We can begin by you giving me a hand in the kitchen, for example. But, I do have one rule. I absolutely do want us to get to know each other better, but no heavy subjects tonight. I don’t want to talk about my parents or about Tracy. This is a new beginning for me and I don’t want to look back.”

  “Deal. So… what should I expect when I follow you into the kitchen?”

  “A battlefield,” Laura says and gets up to show me.

  ✶ ✶ ✶

  We’ve moved to the sofa where, after dinner, Socks has taken up residence on Laura’s lap. I crave for her fingers to stroke me the way they do him. But, truth be told, I’m already so elated just to be sitting here with her.

  “Tell me your happiest memory,” she asks then. The top button of her blouse has come loose a while ago, but I haven’t told her.

  “Oh no,” I groan. “Ask me a less philosophical question.”

  “Okay.” Her eyes glint with mischief. “As you can see I’m trapped under something tiny and I’m in the mood for a small glass of wine. Would you pour me one, please?”

  “The lady shall be served pronto.” I know where she keeps the wine glasses, so I get her one and fill it halfway.

  “Here you go.” When I pass her the glass, I linger in her personal space, and gaze deep into her blue eyes. “At your service.”

  “Thanks.” She shuffles her weight around enough for Socks to lift his head and utter an offended high-pitched meow. “Apologies, my lord,” she says. “Just trying to get comfortable under your crushing weight.”

  “He’s really taken to you.” I sit back down. I’ll have to wait for my moment, and it may not happen tonight, but I want that kiss she instigated a few weeks ago. “I can see why.”

  She draws her lips into a slow smile, takes a sip, looks at me, and asks, “Why do you like me so much, Tess?”

  “Quite frankly, because you’re the only other single lesbian in Nelson and I’m sick and tired of being alone.” Goodness me. Why did I ruin this moment with a stupid joke? It was going so well. God knows what it took Laura to ask me that question.

  But she seems unfazed by my silliness and just says, “Exactly what I thought.”

  “I can spell it out for you, if you’d like.” I look at her while she sips from her wine.

  She shakes her head. “No need. I’m not that insecure.” She sits up, takes another sip and puts her glass down. “Sorry, Mister, I’m going to put you here for a bit.” She moves Socks off her lap and puts him on a pillow next to her. Then she shuffles to the edge of the couch, looks at her hands for an instant, before reaching for mine.

  “You’re a country girl,” she says, “how come your hands are so impossibly soft?”

  My heart is thudding wildly. There’s a question I hadn’t expected. “Gloves, I guess,” I mutter, while moving as close to Laura as I can without our knees touching.

  She lifts my hands to her face and stares at them, as though considering my response, then presses a kiss to the back of each one. “Thank you for waiting,” she whispers.

  My throat has gone very dry, but I need to say this. “It didn’t feel like waiting. When you know, you know.”

  This brings a smile to her face. “When did you know?”

  When I accidentally cornered you in the supermarket, I want to say, but this is no time for more silliness. “A long time ago.” It’s hard to pinpoint the exact moment. Like so many things in life, it was a gradual process. In the beginning, it manifested itself as the unshakable desire to spend as much time with her as possible. Then the flirting started, followed by Laura Baker becoming a permanent fixture in my mind.

  “Well then.” Laura bites her bottom lip, sucks it into her mouth. “Time to finish what I started two weeks ago.” She doesn’t close her eyes when she leans in, slants her head, and brings her lips to mine.

  I taste wine and smell her flowery perfume. Our hands are still intertwined. Our lips are barely touching, but my whole body is coming alive—as though it’s cheering for me. I try to let Laura set the pace for as long as I can control myself. Her lips linger longer, are starting to open more and then the tip of her tongue slips in. Our hands are clasped together and our mouths are exploring each other and my heart is about to burst out of my chest. I feel the kiss everywhere, I feel my ears glow red and my cheeks flush and my toes curl with anticipation, but it’s so much more than just an added physical connection. I know what Laura had to overcome to do this—though, I suspect, I don’t know half of it yet—and if Aunt Milly were still alive, I’d be writing her a thank-you letter first thing in the morning.

  Laura lets my hands slip from hers and grabs me by the back of the neck, pulling me closer. Our tongues venture farther, deeper, and the goosebumps that the initial, careful pecks instigated turn into a red hot flame licking over my skin. I haven’t been touched in a long time and my unmet desires are starting to catch up with me.

  I push her down onto the sofa, our chests meeting in a soft crash, her hands all tangled up in my hair. When we finally break from the kiss, I need to catch my breath because of the emotional intensity of it.

  Our eyes meet. My lipstick has b
een smeared all over Laura’s lips and another button of her blouse has come undone.

  In a flash, she pulls me close again, on top of her this time, and we kiss again and again, our tongues now freely dancing in each other’s mouths. She sucks my bottom lip into her mouth, and I latch onto hers with my teeth. It’s glorious and beautiful and, surely, the gateway to all the things I want to do with Laura, but I pace myself—I really try—and let her control what happens next.

  The only noise around us is the sound of our lips coming together or apart, though I may also hear my heart beat in my ears, and feel the wetness gathering between my legs. This time, when we break from our kiss, I let my lips trail down her chin to her neck, and kiss her there. And I must have lost myself for a few seconds, because next thing I know I’m kissing the hollow of her neck and am peppering kisses where her blouse has come open.

  “Tess, Tess, please.” Laura’s hands are on the side of my head, breaking the spell I was under. “Come here for a minute.”

  I crawl upward while my skin sings with desire. “Too much, too soon?” I ask.

  “I want you, Tess. I need you to know that. But we’re going to have to take this slow.”

  “No problem.” I hope my smile is understanding and not too leery.

  “We can kiss all you like, though.” Laura doesn’t seem worried, and she surely has a sparkle in her eyes.

  I push myself up more, until I’m on my knees next to her. I plant my hands behind her shoulders and slip one knee over her lap. “Kissing it is.” I look down at her, at that smile that’s becoming more confident by the minute. “And remember what I told you a while ago,” I say, before bowing down to kiss her again. “I’m not one to put out on the first date, anyway.”

  We both burst out into a giggle and when our lips meet this time, there’s still desire running through my veins, saturating every cell of my being, but it’s accompanied by a happiness, a deeply satisfying sense of contentment, that I haven’t encountered in years.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  LAURA

  I see no way of telling Tess that the sex Tracy and I had was most likely one of the main reasons I couldn’t bear to walk away from her. Not even after I had to spend three nights in the hospital with a broken rib and a punctured lung.

  “She fell down the stairs,” Tracy told her family and our friends who came to visit, “you know how clumsy Laura can be.” Then she’d sit by the side of my bed and hold my hand while she looked into my eyes with such sorrow, sporting such a genuine display of regret that, even though my broken bones had only just begun to heal, I was ready to forgive her already. Because she had made a mistake. An unfortunate, inexcusable mistake in a fit of rage that was uncharacteristic for her. She didn’t know what had come over her. It would surely never happen again, because she loved me so much and how could she deliberately want to hurt the person she loved most in the world? She would see a therapist, get that crooked wiring in her brain fixed as soon as possible.

  At first, I believed her. Because that really wasn’t the Tracy I knew, the Tracy who looked into my eyes and didn’t even need to say anything because I could see in her fierce, strong glance how much she adored me. The woman whose face had contorted into an angry grimace when she shoved me onto the floor and let her shoe land against my ribcage, was not the deliriously happy smiling woman I had married two short months earlier. This was surely someone else.

  When I was released from the hospital, Tracy waited on me hand and foot. She was tall and strong and carried me from the bed to the sofa, made me endless cups of tea and prepared me a home-cooked dinner every night. As soon as the pain started to recede and I was up to it, she lay next to me in bed and ran her fingers over my skin—those fingers that could ball into a fist in a split second—while she had that glint in her eyes which I couldn’t resist. And when she spread my legs and went down on me, I always—even then—came with such obliterating force that, for a moment, I could forget the ugly version of her that existed. Because sex with Tracy was my weakness and the chemistry between us was palpable in the air. It consumed me so much that I lost my perspective—that I believed her when she said she would rather take her own life than ever hurt me again. Until she did.

  Near the end, I could so easily predict when the cycle of inflicting pain, extreme care and bottomless apologies had come full circle again. I could see it in her glance as well. And still, I didn’t leave. It’s the not being able to walk away part that I can’t forgive myself for. If I had, she’d still be alive. I wouldn’t have the blood of another human being on my hands.

  I stand in front of the mirror, getting ready for my fourth ‘official’ date with Tess and ask myself whether I’m ready for this. But it’s the same woman staring back at me as when I first arrived, as when Tess came over for the first date, the second, and the third. I guess I won’t know until I actually try, even though I don’t know how I can allow another person to touch me like that. Because, with Tracy, there was always a price to pay in the end. Even though I know that Tess is not Tracy, some thought patterns are so persistent not even time and distance can erase them.

  When the bell rings, I take a deep breath. Tess and I have kissed, and fondled, and whispered sweet nothings in each other’s ear, but every time the tension was about to rise to boiling point, I had to stop her. I tried not to so very hard, but as soon as my brain—and my fear—started to take over, I knew I had to step in. I knew I wasn’t ready.

  But I can’t keep on blowing her off like that, not because I think her patience will run out, but because I want to break the pattern, I want to bust through my defenses and give myself to Tess, I want to undo Tracy’s grasp on me. It’s time.

  “Hey,” Tess says. She’s wearing the same dress she wore when she took me to her land on the outskirts of Nelson, and she’s holding up a bunch of flowers. “Happy fourth date.” She hands me the flowers and I melt a little inside. On our first date, when I asked her why she liked me so much and she blew me off with a quick quip, I had really wanted her to tell me, though I know that some things don’t need to be said. Some things are just obvious.

  “Thank you.” I take the flowers and hold them in one hand while I pull her inside with the other. As usual, Socks is mewling with excitement at our feet.

  As has become the habit, a gentle peck swiftly turns into a frenzied lip-lock and, before I know it, Tess has me gasping for air again. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, the thoughts slam back into my brain with unstoppable force. What do you think you’re doing? Have you lost your mind? Remember last time you let someone kiss you like that?

  I try to ignore them, hold them at bay as best I can, but it’s not working, and my lips stiffen on Tess’s mouth. “We should talk,” I say, because, again, I realize this is not just something we can kiss away. This is something we’re going to have to deal with together.

  “I like what you’ve had to say so far.” Tess gives me a crooked grin and pulls me close again.

  Before she can shut me up with her lips on mine, I say, “No, we should really talk. I need to tell you something.”

  “Okay.” If Tess is disappointed, no signs of it show on her face. “Of course.” Every time I do this to her, I can’t help but wonder when I will reach the bottom of her well of patience.

  We go into the living room and sit. The ceiling fan is whirring. I pour us both a glass of red wine from a bottle I opened an hour ago.

  We chit-chat for a while, which is always easy for us to do. She tells me about the prospective buyer who came to check out the last of the ranch’s livestock today, and couldn’t believe he’d have to do business with a woman. I tell her about a big job I landed today with the county—all thanks to my re-design of The Nelson Ledger.

  “How’s your drawing arm?” she asks, and runs a finger over it as though she can examine it that way.

  “Almost as good as new.” Although Tracy was way too smart to ever injure my ‘money arm’ as she called it, it’s ironic th
at the body part she never hurt acted up the most after she was gone.

  “I’m so happy to hear that.” I can hear in Tess’s voice how happy she is for me and I can’t wait to make a morning-after drawing of her. Tess Douglas in my bed after a night of love. It’s all I want. I can see how it would start, and I yearn for that post-orgasmic haze, but it’s the middle part—the action bit—that I have problems with.

  “Look, er, Tess,” I begin, my voice already shaky. “You might wonder whether Tracy ever hurt me in, er, the bedroom.” I avoid Tess’s glance, stare at my hands instead. “She didn’t. On the contrary. In bed is where we made up.” I draw in a deep breath, exhale slowly. “I guess that’s what screws with my head the most. Why taking the next step with you is so hard. Because it reminds me of what it used to mean to me and how, at the same time, it made me feel like the weakest person in the world, but also the most hopeful.” I glance up. Tess nods thoughtfully. “I’m by no means saying that we stayed together because the sex was so good.” I feel utterly mortified but, strangely, at the same time, relief sets in. “But it was a big part of our dynamic and I just, er, want to warn you that… I don’t know. I guess that sums it up. I don’t know what it’s going to do to me to land in bed with you. For a long time, sex meant something very different to me than it’s supposed to mean. Not that there’s one true definition or anything.” Entering rambling mode, a voice in the back of my mind shouts, but I can’t stop. As though as long as words are coming from my mouth, I’ll be safe. “It’s just that, for me, it might not stand for the same beautiful thing that you think it is. I mean, for me right now, as I sit here wanting you so badly, I swear to you, Tess, I want you so much, but I’m so scared right now that it feels more like something I need to get through… if that makes any sense at all.”

  Tess nods and scrunches her lips together. “First of all, I’m really glad you told me that, because that must have been so hard.” She takes my hands in hers. “Second, as long as you feel this way, nothing will happen between us.”