by Julie Cannon
She was about ten yards away when the woman looked up and their eyes locked. A tingle Colby hadn’t recognized in years started in the pit of her stomach as the woman held her gaze confidently. Colby quickly assumed that the woman was self-assured and didn’t shy away from a challenge. She also knew immediately she was a lesbian.
One night after far too many drinks Colby had sat in her apartment alone and contemplated how lesbians reacted to each other. She had noticed it often in her previous life as she walked down the street, at the shopping center, or any other place, for that matter. When lesbians approached each other, they acknowledged each other in a more subtle way than straight women did. Never overly demonstrative, they merely nodded, with a certain straightforward look in the eye when they said hello that signaled who and what they were. The woman in front of her was speaking loud and clear.
“Have a good evening,” Colby said as she walked by. She didn’t stop, slow down, or break stride. After several paces she felt the woman’s eyes on her back and gave in to the unfamiliar desire to turn around and look. She grinned at woman’s expression of complete surprise.
Elizabeth’s heart jumped when she realized the good-looking surfer was a woman and was walking directly toward her. What the fuck? Suddenly she became more nervous than she ever remembered. Her hands were sweaty, and it wasn’t due to the humidity. Her throat was dry, which made absolutely no sense considering the amount of alcohol she’d consumed that evening. Rarely, if ever, had she felt like this by simply seeing another woman. This was more than normal attraction, or at least any attraction she’d ever experienced. She was definitely out of sorts and it had happened instantly.
The woman moved smoothly through the sand as if she were strolling in the park. Earlier that afternoon when Elizabeth was on the beach, even walking in the hard-packed sand was awkward, making her stumble more than once. But this woman came toward her like she was walking on air. She was much taller than average; however, from her viewpoint on the lounge chair, it was difficult to see exactly how tall. As she grew closer Elizabeth fixated on her face. The woman looked Hawaiian, with skin the right color, her hair jet black and spiky from the water flying in all directions.
The woman finally looked up as she stepped closer, and the brilliance of her eyes made Elizabeth’s stomach drop. She held her gaze and Elizabeth couldn’t drag herself away from the blistering black eyes looking back at her. A fine thread seemed to connect her with this stranger.
When the woman spoke, her voice was as soft and smooth as she looked. A twinkle in her eye told Elizabeth she knew she had been watching her. Instead of feeling embarrassed at being busted over her voyeurism, she felt more like, “Yes, I was looking at you too and I like what I see.” All that and much more was conveyed in that moment before the woman passed. Knowing that she probably would be caught, Elizabeth turned around and watched the woman walk away. She had the same easy strides, the same languid movement as she rounded the corner and disappeared.
Elizabeth forgot about her drink, picked up her flip-flops, and stood. Walking in the direction the woman had, Elizabeth followed her until she reached the same corner. It was dark, and Elizabeth could see nothing more than an empty parking lot.
“Get a grip,” she said into the darkness, shaking her head. What the hell would she have done if the woman had been waiting for her? Uncharacteristically she was attracted to her, but what did she intend to do, have stranger vacation sex? Or would she simply be humiliated at being caught? Both those scenarios made her shudder, and she spun around and headed to her villa.
She slid her card key into the lock for villa 1104. The red light turned green, the latch clicked, and she entered the foyer of her home for the summer. A colleague at another college had offered her the place for an unreasonably low price and she jumped at it. She hadn’t wanted to stay in a hotel but didn’t want to spend a fortune for a private residence. Her colleague assured her their villa would have been vacant the entire summer if she hadn’t agreed to rent it.
Kicking her shoes off, she set the keys to her rental car and the card key for the door on a narrow table and walked into the living room. It had to be at least forty feet square, with a large plush sofa to her left. Her reflection shot back at her in the gleaming black screen of what had to be at least a sixty-inch flat-screen TV.
She wasn’t much of a TV watcher except for anything on the Learning Channel, Discovery, or any cooking show. Since she wasn’t a fan of evening sitcoms she had nothing to contribute to the plot lines her students and fellow teachers talked about every day. She couldn’t tell you if Friends had gone into syndication or who the next American Idol would be, let alone who the last one was. She passed a bentwood rocker and made her way toward the large glass doors that led outside.
The entire wall of the unit was glass, the doors opening onto a patio. A sturdy click of the lock on the doors was the only sound as they slid effortlessly along the track. The hum of the ocean and the crashing waves immediately flooded the room. The unit was on the ground floor, the ocean no farther than twenty yards away, with a wide patio surrounded by waist-high hibiscus. A small opening tucked away in one corner provided access to the beach. Past the patio was nothing but sand and surf. She chuckled. More than likely she had passed her own villa when she was walking down the beach earlier that afternoon.
The ocean breeze blew the wayward strands that had fallen out of the clip in her hair. She had taken extra care to secure it when she put the top down on the car, but between the convertible and her stroll along the beach, more than a little had escaped. She opened the clasp and set her hair free to fall across her shoulders.
She stepped onto the patio and stopped just short of the decorative fence. A few people were on the beach in front of her room, but her patio was at a slightly higher elevation than the beach itself. This assured her that sunbathers wouldn’t be on her patio or, worse yet, peeking into her villa.
Taking another deep breath of fresh air, she closed her eyes and an odd sensation pulsed in her. She seemed to be humming with a combination of peace, excitement, and something she couldn’t put her finger on.
Returning inside, she retraced her steps through the living room toward the kitchen. She was more than an average cook and had outfitted her kitchen back in New Hampshire with better-than-average appliances and cookware, all of which she used as often as possible. Unfortunately, her ancillary duties as president of a private college took up most of her free time, so she hadn’t had anyone over for dinner in months.
The stainless-steel appliances and spacious marble countertops here drew Elizabeth farther into the brightly lit work space. She opened drawers and cabinets, deciding what she needed to buy at the grocery store tomorrow and all the possible meals she could create for herself these next weeks. She didn’t especially want to dine on her creative concoctions alone, but at this point she didn’t have many options.
Several of her friends had joked about coming along, either to carry her bags or simply keep her company. A college professor that she had dated three or four times had joked that all work and no play in paradise would make her a very dull girl. More than once she had mentioned that she wasn’t working all summer and made several not-so-subtle offers to rub sunscreen on Elizabeth’s back. She would rather rub certain other parts of her body, and Elizabeth just wasn’t interested. At least not in her.
Going back to where she first entered the villa, she approached the bedroom. A king-size bed sat on a pedestal on the far wall, and she had a quick image of running across the room and leaping onto the bed. Covered in a dark plum-colored bedspread with six pillows in accenting colors, it dominated the room. An overstuffed chair, ottoman, and side table filled the sitting area in front of a bay window to her right. The bellman had placed her suitcases on top of the padded cedar chest nestled at the foot of the bed. The matching mirror and chest of drawers were on her left, a large bouquet of orchids sitting prominently on top of a large dresser. Nightstands flanked t
he big bed with a tasteful lamp centered on each. Covering the smoky gray walls were several paintings of the ocean in a style similar to the one in the living room. The only word to describe the room was sensuous.
Wanting to get settled, she quickly unzipped her two suitcases and unpacked. Then she grabbed her toiletries and went to take a quick shower before she turned in. She stopped as she stepped inside the bathroom. “Holy crap.” Her voice echoed. It was bigger than the guest room in her home. Farther in was a whirlpool tub under another large bay window. The drapes were open and she was sure she’d have another stunning view of the ocean in the morning.
The variegated blue tile of the shower set off the chrome fixtures and clear glass door. Dual shower heads were mounted high on opposite walls, with a large seat on one end. Too bad, she mused. A shower built for two would be wasted on only one this trip.
As she washed off the fine film of salt that had accumulated on her skin and got ready for bed, her thoughts kept drifting to the surfer. Not long after her head touched the pillow a woman who was gliding along, floating in the clouds and standing on the shimmering water, filled her dreams.
Chapter Three
Colby grabbed the shopping cart out of the neat row and headed down the produce aisle. She hated shopping. She’d rather go to the gynecologist than the grocery store and put off both until she had no choice. Her cupboards were bare; the refrigerator shelves contained little else than a couple of six-packs of beer, four half-empty takeout cartons, and assorted condiments. She didn’t cook, she made things, and there was a big difference. When other women followed a recipe or transformed leftovers into a three-course meal, she simply boiled water and added macaroni and spaghetti sauce from a jar. Occasionally she grilled a burger, but more often than not she pulled a box or can off the shelf and opened it. If her microwave ever went on the fritz, she’d probably starve.
In her previous life she never had to cook. She never had to shop, for that matter. First she lived at her parents’ house, then went to college and ate in the cafeteria or grabbed a bite where she could. Then came Gretchen, who shopped and cooked and did all the other household duties, which freed Colby to concentrate on her career. When she came home, dinner was miraculously on the table. She had no idea what it took to get it there, but she certainly enjoyed the result.
Now, however, she had to cook, and she didn’t know if she didn’t like it because she wasn’t any good at it or if she was no good at it because she didn’t like it. And postponing shopping until absolutely necessary more than likely added to her dislike of the event. She had tried several times to make a list but gave up and now simply trolled, grabbing whatever caught her eye.
She filled clear produce bags with half a dozen apples and twice as many oranges, and grabbed a pre-wrapped carton of six tomatoes. Seeing nothing else that enticed her, she moved to the next aisle, tossing a couple loaves of bread and a package of English muffins and one of tortillas into her cart. At least they were whole wheat. Wanting to get out of the crowded store, she moved at a rapid pace up and down each aisle. Chips, beer, cans of soup. God, she ate like this in college and here she was twenty years later, eating like she was nineteen again. She grabbed two gallons of milk, rounded the next corner, and ran right into the cart of a shopper approaching from the opposite direction.
“Shit,” she murmured, and looked into the same eyes she had seen just twelve hours earlier. But more important, those eyes looked back at her in recognition. Under the bright fluorescent lights she had the chance to see the woman much more clearly than she had last night on the beach. She was a little shorter than Colby’s five foot ten inches, her hair tied back in a ponytail high on the top of her head. A white tank top over pale blue shorts did little to hide long, firm legs from Colby’s appreciative eyes. When she retraced a path up the woman’s body, she was momentarily stunned by her beauty. Her face was free of any makeup and clear green eyes sparkled in amusement.
Should she apologize for blatantly cruising the woman in front of the peanut-butter-and-jelly display in aisle nine? No. The woman had done the same to her last night when she walked across the sand, and as an attractive woman she should expect it.
Elizabeth was frozen to the spot, oblivious to the other shoppers jockeying around her as the surfer from last night slowly ran her eyes up and down her body. She flushed all over, as if the woman was caressing her with her hands instead of those black eyes staring at her now. The surfer should say something, apologize, or at least acknowledge that she had run into her.
In the few seconds they both stood there, Elizabeth glanced at the contents of the woman’s cart. Everything was either frozen, prepackaged, or in a jar. Her own cart was filled with fresh fruit, veggies, and spices—everything she needed to fix herself several meals during the next few weeks. Not only were they a different height, build, and hair color, but chose very different food. How could the woman have such a fabulous figure with all the carbohydrates, fats, sugars, and sodium she had loaded in her cart?
If she asks me to dinner I’m definitely cooking or we’re going out. The thought came out of nowhere and shook Elizabeth out of her stupor. The woman was looking at her, clearly waiting for a reply.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I said sorry. For running into you.” The voice was as smooth as Elizabeth remembered. The woman handed her the grocery list she had dropped during the collision.
Her voice wouldn’t come. She swallowed a few times and cleared her throat and was finally able to reply.
“It’s okay. No problem. I wasn’t watching where I was going either.” The woman didn’t say anything more but smiled at her, maintaining eye contact even after she was almost behind her. A warm pulse tickled down Elizabeth’s spine.
After fixing a light lunch, Elizabeth changed into her swimsuit, grabbed a towel, sunscreen, and the latest bestseller, and headed to the beach. Other than her trip to the grocery store that morning she had nothing exciting on her agenda today except soaking up the sun.
Settling into a lounge chair and making sure every exposed inch of flesh was covered with SPF 30, she let her mind drift back to the surfer in Safeway. Her eyes were bold, almost brazen, as if saying, “I know you are and you know I am, so do we intend to do anything about it?” Elizabeth had remained where she was for several more seconds before another shopper jostled her and she moved to finish her shopping. As much as she tried, she couldn’t stop thinking about the woman, her athletic body, and the confidence that filled the air around her. Elizabeth was completely attracted to her. Interesting.
The sun was high in the sky and she adjusted her sunglasses. She wasn’t paying much attention to the people around her, but a group of kids in the water with surfboards caught her eye. They were obviously having a lesson, the instructor’s back to her. Even thirty yards away she knew it was the same woman. The one from last night and again in the grocery store today. It was a small island and simply coincidence that they kept running into each other. But her skin tingled.
The woman spent an equal amount of time with each child with what appeared like words of encouragement and instruction, as well as heaps of praise when they accomplished what they had set out to do. The woman had more patience than she would in a similar situation, the lack thereof typically getting her into trouble. Patience with children was definitely not one of her strong suits.
Throughout grade school, college, graduate studies, and her PhD exams and dissertation, she planned and accomplished each phase with complete determination. She thought out every step of the way almost ad nauseam before she took the next one. As a result, she was a nationally known scholar in seventeenth-century history, and she frequently received calls from other universities inquiring about her interest in joining their academic institutions.
In the beginning she was flattered that people were seeking her out. In her typical methodical way she outlined the pros and cons of each offer, and several times went as far as visiting the campus
and the surrounding area. Most of the times her decision to stay at Embers College was easy, but several times the pros almost outweighed the cons. Those decisions were the difficult ones. Her analytical brain told her one thing but her gut said something different.
She liked living in Essington, a small town in eastern New Hampshire. She loved her job, the energy of the students almost palpable whenever she walked down the hall. She had a few good friends and many acquaintances, and she had worked hard to build what she considered a pleasant life.
Sometimes when she saw a couple holding hands or sharing a coffee over breakfast at the corner café, she wondered if she was missing the desire gene or passion vein or whatever drove someone to be totally infatuated with another human being. As an academic she studied people and intellectually knew the body’s reaction and chemical reaction to someone. But she hadn’t really experienced it. She had been attracted to someone and had acted on it often, but she had never been totally consumed by a woman, experienced an overwhelming need to be with her, know everything about her, breathe her air.
She had to have a much lower sex drive than her friends, at least according to the stories they told over their Sunday brunches. She could take or leave sex. Well, she’d rather take it than leave it, but it was normal for her to go months, if not years, between liaisons. Though it might be a bit odd, that was just the way she was.
Every few months she would drive to South Humbolt, where she would spend the weekend with friends, then drive back in the wee hours to be in her office by eight o’clock Monday morning. She didn’t regret any of her decisions or how she chose to live her life. But the tingling between her legs as she watched the surf instructor was new and uncomfortable. She needed another drink and needed it bad.
