by Jove Belle
George, she’d decided, was her soul mate. Not her perfect lover kind of soul mate. Rather, he was her guy, the friend she was meant to have. More importantly, he seemed to think so, too. But he didn’t need to say it or need her to say it. They just understood each other.
“Do you want to stay?” She whispered the question in Rampart’s ear, half afraid that saying the words would make the comfortable feeling flee.
“Beth’s pregnant, you know. We haven’t talked about it, but that’s a big deal. If we make this our home, I won’t be able to stay away from Sam, and I’m not sure I’m ready to be responsible, even peripherally, for a baby.” She stroked his fur.
“Jesus, I learned about parenting from Linda, who sucked at it. That’s the kind of influence that can totally fuck up a kid. But maybe it’ll be different here. Sam is good, you know? She’ll help and be good to Beth and the baby. I might like being a part of that. If Beth keeps it, that is. I don’t know what I would do if I were her. Not that Linda would have given me a choice. She would have married me off to some sweaty middle-aged dude who owned a car lot or something.”
Rampart whimpered and she patted him reassuringly.
“Don’t worry. She can’t do that anymore.” She hugged him. “One thing is for sure, staying or going, I need to get Gen out of this town.”
∞
Driving away from the Queen filled Olly with a weird, unfamiliar burning in her chest—heartburn or deep longing. It could go either way. She was used to the tightening bands of tension pushing her to keep moving, but this was something else entirely.
Rather than heading home right away, she drove. She let the miles disappear under her tires, drawing comfort from the familiar growl of her engine. She needed to get back, to talk with Gen, but odds were she wasn’t there. That thought allowed her to justify going just a little farther, and a little farther, until an hour and then two had passed.
Her thoughts stretched and relaxed, lining the road with neat precision rather than the jumble she’d grown used to. The road was her friend, her confidant, her therapist. In the past, all she’d needed was a long strip of blacktop with Rampart as a travelling companion. Today, however, as the sun dropped in the sky and the shadows lengthened, she found a primal, undeniable truth. The road would be here for her if she needed it. She could follow it, so long as she remembered to turn around and drive back home.
She didn’t have to constantly chase the next town. She could stay in Bitterroot, at George’s. She could let whatever was happening with Sam happen, baby and all if necessary. And she could be okay with all of it. It didn’t need to terrify her into motion. She could, for the first time, trust the stillness.
With that moment of clarity, she turned around and headed back to Bitterroot.
As she drew closer to Randolf Farms—a place she’d been thinking of as home more and more recently—a red truck that looked an awful lot like George’s pulled onto the highway in front of her. It had the same rust spots on the tailgate, the same wooden sides, and the same handmade wooden boxes that George used to keep his produce under control on the way to the farmers’ market.
But George hadn’t mentioned any errands, something he liked to keep Olly apprised of, and he generally drove much slower. Olly hit the accelerator and closed the gap between her and the truck. Maybe everything was okay, but there were enough anomalies to make her worry. She squinted, trying to get a better view of the driver. George normally wore a beat-up snapback cap similar to Olly’s. Not now, however, and his hair was a lot darker. And thicker. And he looked slimmer, more delicate—
“Oh, shit.”
Gen was driving George’s truck.
Olly eased off the accelerator. There was no reason to follow so closely now. She needed the few extra seconds it took for her to pull into George’s long driveway behind Gen. As she came to a stop, Gen slipped the keys—George’s spare set—into the space between the visor and the ceiling of the cab and climbed out of the truck, whistling all the while.
“Did you have a good night out?” Olly started talking before she even had the door fully open. In a graceless, angry stop-and-start motion, she muscled the door open and rushed to cut Gen off before she made it to the barn. Rampart barked and hopped out behind her.
“Oh, hey, there.” Gen spun on her heels to face Olly. A flash of surprise and guilt were quickly replaced by the cool gambler’s facade that Linda had taught them both long ago. “I didn’t expect you back this early.”
“Did you ask George before you borrowed his truck?” Olly overemphasized borrowed.
“What? Oh, sure, yeah, of course.” Gen tried to sidestep her.
Olly gripped Gen’s arms and held her in place. “And George will say the same thing when I ask him?”
“Olly, have a little trust. I’m your big sister, after all.”
“That’s exactly why I don’t have trust. You know better than to ask me to do it.” She didn’t mention how hurt she was by the lie. She’d thought, if nothing else, she could count on Gen to be essentially truthful with her. Small white lies didn’t count. Grand theft auto, on the other hand, was not small. Instead, Olly added the hurt to the pile of bruises and scrapes she’d accumulated since Gen had shown up in Bitterroot. “Tell me the truth. Because George will.”
Gen’s face fell. “Okay, no. I didn’t. But, come on, it was just sitting there. He didn’t even notice I was gone.”
“It’s time for you to leave.” Olly spoke softly, each word clipped with precision.
“Come on. That’s not necessary.”
“It is. It’s long overdue, actually. I like it here. I want to stay, make a life. I can’t do that with you here. Not like this.”
“Like this?”
“Stop working marks and we can talk about it.”
“I’ll stop. Done. I’ll be good, quiet as a mouse. You won’t even know I’m here.” Gen’s voice returned to something close to the soothing tone Olly associated specifically to setting up a grift.
Olly shook her head. She loved Gen, would love to share more of a connection with her, but not now. Not under these circumstances. “That’s great, but you’re going to do it somewhere that’s not here.”
“But you said—”
“You have to prove it before I can trust your word on the matter. Call me in two years.”
“Two years? What the hell?”
“Two years. Not a minute earlier. Then, if you can convince me you’ve changed, you can return. I might even help you move.” Olly didn’t mention that her original instinct was five years, not two. Frankly, it didn’t matter. Gen wouldn’t last two weeks. Two or five, they were both completely unattainable goals.
“Where will I go?”
“I don’t know. Don’t care, either. I’ll take you as far as the bus stop. Or train station. You choose.”
“Olly, come on.” Gen’s shoulders slumped.
“You can pack or not. Either way, I’m taking you tonight.”
“Fucking nice way to treat family.” Gen started toward the barn.
Olly trailed behind. She didn’t care about any of the things she had in the loft, but George’s stuff was another story, and Olly didn’t trust her not to pick up something else of his on her way out.
Gen packed quickly, stuffing her clothes in her bag with stiff, jerky movements. She helped herself to two new packages of beef jerky and a handful of protein bars, pulled a two-inch-thick roll of cash from her hiding place behind Olly’s laundry detergent, and stomped down the stairs.
When they came to the Scout, Gen tossed her bag in the back and started for the passenger door.
“Wait. We need to go inside first.”
“What the hell? If you want me gone so badly, let’s leave already.”
“It’ll only take a minute.” Olly signaled for Rampart to wait and turned toward the house. Gen would follow or she wouldn’t. Either way, George deserved to know that his truck had gone out without him.
Hopefully, he
would let her stay, but she’d understand if he wanted her to leave. It wasn’t every day a man had his truck stolen, after all.
She found George relaxing in front of his TV, recliner pushed back all the way with a big bowl of popcorn resting on his belly. Some news program played at a low volume and he muted it completely when he realized she was standing there.
“Olly. I didn’t figure you’d be out tonight when you missed dinner.”
“Sorry. I had to sort some stuff out.”
“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what brings you by?”
“Right.” Olly took a deep breath. “I just wanted to let you know that Gen is leaving tonight.”
George nodded and said, “Any particular reason why?”
“Gen took your truck out earlier. It’s back now, undamaged, but that is not okay.” She heard a movement behind her and knew it was Gen, in the kitchen.
“Did she?” George looked surprisingly calm, as if this news wasn’t news at all.
Gen remained behind Olly, partially hidden in the shadows of the kitchen. Olly paused half a beat to see if Gen would respond. When she didn’t, Olly said, “Yeah. She drove it to the casino.”
“Ah.”
Olly waited. She needed more from George than a two-letter sound that wasn’t even a word. Like Gen, he said nothing else.
“I’ll understand if you want me to go.”
“You?” George looked concerned for the first time since the conversation started. “Why would I want that?”
“This wouldn’t have happened if I weren’t staying here.”
“True. But a lot of other things wouldn’t have happened either, like all the work you’ve been doing on my barn.”
“Does that mean I can stay?” Olly asked.
“You’d better.”
Olly almost hugged him. It was a gesture that he was less comfortable with than she was, she knew instinctively, but the urge was still there, sharp and bright like a summer apple. Holding back, however, didn’t stop the rush of tears from blurring her vision. She blinked a couple of times until it passed.
“But I’m still taking Gen to the train.”
“If you’re sure that’s what’s best.” George nodded, his expression once again neutral. He hit the button to restore the volume and resumed watching his show.
Olly paused at the break between living room and kitchen. “I’m really sorry about the truck, George. I never should have let that happen.”
Gen snorted, a derisive, judgmental sound that made Olly wonder if she’d ever be able to trust her sister.
“You’re not your sister’s keeper, Olly.” George didn’t turn to look at her.
Olly made her way outside. “Thank God for that. I’m a total failure at it,” she mumbled under her breath as she turned. “Did you pack everything?” Olly asked, more to have something to say than because she needed the answer. Gen always got hers and often Olly’s as well.
Gen nodded tightly and moved to the door. Olly sighed and got into the driver’s seat. Rampart jumped in, and they made the drive to the train station in silence. When they arrived, Olly didn’t get out of the vehicle. Gen grabbed her bag and marched up the steps, back stiff, shoulders squared.
And just like that, Gen was gone as quickly as she’d arrived.
Chapter Twenty-Four
When Olly arrived at the Queen the next morning, she felt light. Free. Unencumbered. It was nothing short of a miracle. And instead of pushing aside her attraction to Sam, she let it build. By the time she made it inside to Sam, all the negative voices that swore she was unworthy of happiness faded into static white noise in the background of her consciousness, replaced by an intense desire to get to know Sam better, to take her in her arms, to feel the warmth and energy of her skin.
She went into the lobby, surprised to see Sam standing at the counter, sipping from a cup.
“Hey,” Sam said, eyes lighting up. “I wasn’t sure what time you’d get here.”
Olly stood, staring at her, and something sparked in Sam’s eyes. Slowly, deliberately, she put the cup down, and Olly closed the distance between them, following her instincts.
She stopped inches away from Sam, heart hammering. Sam glanced at Olly’s lips then back to her eyes. She inhaled, a slight hitch in her breath, and exhaled in the moment before Olly kissed her. It was a simple light brush of her lips against Sam’s, an introduction and tentative exploration. It was soft and gentle and possibly the best kiss of Olly’s life. At the moment of contact, a thrill shot through her, along with a sense of wonder and belonging. It was perfect.
Long before she was ready to relinquish the beautiful whisper of a kiss, Olly regained control and just like that, the kiss ended. She pulled away slightly, but stayed close enough to rest her forehead against Sam’s, eyes shut, and just breathed her in. She needed a moment to calm the pounding of her heart.
“Wow,” Olly finally said, a little breathless.
“Definitely wow.” Sam touched Olly’s face, her fingers a light caress that charged Olly with a purpose so clear and precise she couldn’t understand how she’d missed it until now.
Olly opened her eyes and took a step back. She met Sam’s gaze, uncertain what to say next.
“Uh, hi,” Olly managed, the picture of eloquence.
Sam looped her arms around Olly’s neck and smiled. “Hi.”
Panic lapped at the edges of Olly’s mind, but it didn’t sweep in as it had in the past. Instead, it gradually receded. Olly focused on the moment in front of her. No matter what else happened, she really liked that kiss and wouldn’t mind another, but rather than fall head first into the moment, she pulled herself together.
“Okay, so I, um—I’ll get to work.” She gently extricated herself from Sam’s arms, though it was really hard to do. “And I guess...later. We can talk. I mean, if you want to. About this. Or whatever.” Jesus. She sounded like a teenager.
Sam laughed and leaned in so she could kiss her lightly on the cheek. “Okay.” She picked up her cup and Olly turned to leave.
“I'm holding you to that conversation,” Sam said. “And a lot more.”
Olly’s face flushed with heat, and she tripped over her own feet on her way out the door. She was a true charmer, no doubt.
Throughout her workday, every time she remembered the feel of Sam’s lips against hers, she stopped and stared stupidly at whatever she was doing, a huge grin on her face.
After far too long, she finished with the floors in the first five rooms. She’d been working on them in chunks, cleaning, painting, refinishing, restoring five in a group. After this second coat of polyurethane dried, she’d start moving furniture in. Assuming, of course, that the order Sam had placed arrived on time. If not, she’d start on the next block of five rooms.
Finally, satisfied that she’d worked hard enough to deserve a break, she went back to the lobby. And Sam. She hoped.
The kiss they’d shared had been simple and perfect and overwhelming and beautiful and terrifying. She wanted to do it again, over and over, for the rest of forever, and that thought didn’t scare her nearly as much as it should have. They needed to talk, she and Sam, but where would she find the words? What if Sam simply thought that she was a nice—but ultimately expendable— distraction?
As the lobby door closed behind her, Sam appeared in the doorway that separated the lobby from her apartment. She smiled and waited.
On autopilot, Olly closed the distance between them.
“Hi again,” Sam said simply and leaned in to kiss her.
Like before, the kiss was soft and easy and sent tingles of electricity all the way through her body, from her head down to her toes. She made a happy humming sound in the back of her throat and threaded her fingers through the hair at the base of Sam’s head. She forced herself to move slowly, to be gentle, to not assume, but God, Sam’s lips felt so good against hers, a simple truth she’d been searching for her entire life.
When Sam ended the kiss, Olly cha
sed after her with a whimper. A full-on, loss-of-control, pathetically needy whimper. Jesus. She closed her eyes and tried to collect herself.
“I’m glad you came back.” Sam smoothed her thumb over Olly’s cheek, and Olly pressed into the touch.
“Of course I did. I was just a few doors down.”
Sam laughed, and it filled Olly’s chest with a light, fizzy energy that made her feel like she could float to the sky and beyond. “Yes, but you looked terrified when you left.”
Olly got caught up in the moment, in the dark flecks that peppered Sam’s eyes, and somewhere between the lobby and the apartment, Olly’s hand found its way into Sam’s. Her skin was warm and soft and their fingers laced together perfectly, and Sam pulled her into the kitchen. Once inside, Sam led her toward the bedroom, but Olly stopped and tugged gently until Sam turned to face her, and then she cupped Sam’s hand between both of hers.
“I really want to follow you into your room and do everything with you. But, um, I think we need to talk about what this means before that happens.” Olly’s voice shook as she spoke, and she took a deep, calming breath. “Because I have no idea what you’re thinking.”
“You don’t know what I’m thinking?” Sam’s voice rose, along with her eyebrows.
Sam pushed Olly back until she bumped up against the island that separated the kitchen from the living room. She pressed her body tight against Olly’s and cupped her cheek with her hand, fingers barely touching as she brought wave after wave of excitement to the surface of Olly’s skin. She tilted her head and kissed Olly hard and fast and demanding, a complete counterpoint to their earlier kisses. Olly slumped against the counter, her knees instant liquid, incapable of holding her up.
“That’s what I’m thinking. That’s all I’ve been thinking since you kissed me this morning.”
∞
Sam clung defiantly to the sexy, flirty vibe she had going with Olly. Sure, they needed to talk about it at some point, but that didn’t mean they needed to do it right now. Kissing Olly was fun, way better than kissing anyone else. The instant Olly’s lips touched hers, it was as if a switch had been flipped. Her insides quaked and pulsed. The idea that she’d been satisfied with her hookups with Karen was laughable in comparison. If kissing felt this good, sex would be of the life-changing variety.
