Two on the Aisle

by Robbi McCoy

  “Oh, it’s like that. Make-out places.”

  Sophie’s expression was slightly embarrassed. “Mostly, yeah.”

  They passed a small duck pond where a young couple sat on a bench on the far side, kissing. Wren wondered if Sophie had brought her here to suggest romance. Or was this just her shortcut to the hot dog place? Sophie wasn’t easy to read.

  A few minutes after emerging from the park, they were seated at a small round table with sheets of waxed paper for plates and two regular hot dogs with mustard. The lemonade was freshly squeezed and surprisingly good. The hot dogs were also good and just right for the occasion. Wren and Sophie sat smiling at one another across the table.

  She seems strangely tense, Wren thought, as if she knows I’m wondering what it would be like to kiss her.

  A streak of mustard squirted out of Sophie’s bun as she took a bite, smearing yellow along the side of her mouth. She put down the hot dog and wiped her face with her napkin, laughing nervously. “What are you doing in Ashland?” she asked, wadding the napkin in her hand.

  “Visiting my brother. Came to cheer him on. I live in San Francisco.”

  “Oh. That’s a beautiful city. I’ve been there a few times on business.” Sophie wrapped her long fingers around her lemonade glass. “I used to live in L.A. Worked at putting other people’s money to work. I moved back here two years ago. Not here in Ashland, but nearby. On a farm, a dairy of sorts.”

  “A farm? Cool. I’ve always lived in the city, but I’ve always thought I had a farm girl in me somewhere. Really satisfying kind of life, I imagine.”

  Wren took a sip of lemonade, amused by Sophie’s apparent discomfort. She fidgeted with her napkin, tearing the edge of it between her thumb and forefinger. Wren took this as a good sign. If Sophie was nervous, she must be interested. Wren was unquestionably interested. She wasn’t thinking beyond that. She just knew she liked to look at Sophie and listen to her voice. She liked her face and the way her mouth went completely thin and straight when she was contemplating a thought. Her lips were expressive, especially when she wasn’t speaking. They had a multitude of postures. Wren was certain she hadn’t yet seen them all. Sophie wasn’t a chatterer by any means. Wren had to prompt her with questions. She seemed contemplative and naturally reticent.

  “What drove you to come back?” Wren asked.

  “It just all got to be too much. Too much pressure. Too much hypocrisy. Just a lot of bullshit, really.”

  Wren decided there was a heartbreak in there somewhere.

  “No bullshit on the farm?” she asked, suppressing a smile.

  “No.” Sophie’s look of appreciation proved that she got the joke. “No bulls or even cows. It’s not that kind of dairy. Goats. There are six producing does and one kid. I make goat cheese.”

  “No kidding! Commercially?”

  “Yes.” Sophie laughed lightly in a self-deprecating way. “Just small batches by hand. Handcrafted as they say on the menus. I sell it to restaurants. Sprouts, for instance.”

  “You just get more and more interesting,” Wren said with honest admiration. “A goat farmer.”

  With that thought, an image of Little Bo Peep entered Wren’s mind and she nearly choked on the last bite of her hot dog. She took a drink of lemonade, trying to wash away the image. Sophie looked nothing like Bo Peep. She was an attractive, smart, interesting…goatherd. The phrase “freaky flakes” entered her mind. Not fair, she thought. There was nothing freaky or flaky about a goat farm. Artisan cheese was a big business these days. Perfectly legitimate.

  Wren anchored her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her hand, adopting what she hoped was a dreamy expression. “‘I should leave grazing, were I of your flock, and only live by gazing.’”

  Sophie giggled and blushed, a reaction that delighted Wren, but she quickly adopted a sterner expression and quipped, “Then you’d starve to death. And, frankly, you seem to have a healthy appetite.”

  Wren smiled and stirred her lemonade with her straw. “What kind of living does a goatherd make these days? Is it profitable with such a small herd?”

  “It’s just a hobby right now. I made some good investments before and that’s enough to live on. Cheesemaking is still new. But I’m having fun with it. The goats are so cute and playful. And the cheese, it’s a science and an art. It gives me a creative outlet.”

  “What kind do you make?” Wren leaned back and crossed her legs, watching Sophie’s embarrassed smile, an entirely charming expression.

  “French style. I haven’t gotten into the aged cheeses at all. Maybe, eventually, I’ll try feta. I’m still experimenting. I don’t even have a label yet.”

  “But you’re going to keep at it?”

  “I think so, yes.”

  “What type of goats do you have?”

  “Nubians.”

  Wren nodded. “Their milk has a higher butterfat content than most other dairy goats. Makes a rich cheese.” She drained the last of the lemonade in her cup. “Do you use bovine rennet or a vegetable enzyme?”

  Sophie looked so surprised that she balked for a second before answering. “Vegetable enzyme. Ellie would insist on that, even if I didn’t. No added animal protein.”

  Wren realized that in her enthusiasm for the subject, she had gotten a little close to revealing her own expertise.

  “How do you know so much about cheese?” Sophie asked.

  Wren laughed, trying to sound nonchalant. “Oh, I love cheese! I’ve even tried making mozzarella a couple of times. Just for fun, you know. Nothing serious.”

  Sophie watched Wren silently before asking, “What do you do?”

  Wren fell back on her standard cover story, something that usually didn’t generate much interest and worked well for her because in reality it was her sister Robin’s job. “I’m a real estate agent with the Touchstone Agency.”

  “In San Francisco?”

  “Yes. Things have been slow the last few years. It’s not as good a job as it once was.”

  “I can imagine. Do you like it?”

  “Sometimes more than others. It has its moments.”

  Wren didn’t enjoy lying to Sophie, but they were strangers and she was an unknown factor. The effectiveness of her job depended on its secrecy. It was just the way things were. Over the past few years, there had been many times she’d thanked herself for keeping this secret from a date.

  “Summer isn’t the best time to take a vacation from real estate, is it?” Sophie asked.

  “No, you’re right. It’s the busy season, but this was such a special thing. Raven’s big break, you know. I wanted to be here for him.”

  “You two are close, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. We are. Always have been.”

  “Is it true what they say, that twins have some kind of psychic connection? Like you can read each other’s minds?”

  “Totally true. If I focus hard, I can see what he’s up to in my mind. For instance, right now—” She squinted in a show of serious concentration. “He’s half drunk on merlot, eating mini tacos, and singing a round of ‘Sigh no more, ladies’ with his actor chums.”

  “You can see that?” Sophie’s mouth fell open in astonishment.

  Wren chuckled. “I’m kidding.”

  “Good! I’d hate to think he could also see everything you’re doing.” She reddened a little. “I mean, like, uh...”

  Wren laughed and decided to rescue her from completing her sentence. “You mentioned a sister. Does she live around here?”

  “Arizona. She’s divorced and living with a guy named Hank who milks rattlesnakes to supplement his disability check.” Sophie rolled her eyes. “He’s got some kind of back problem.”

  “You don’t like him?”

  “Honestly, I’ve never met the dude. I haven’t even seen Dena for two years. We don’t have that much in common.”

  Sophie looked irritated with herself as she wadded up her shredded napkin and tucked it deliberately under the edge of he
r waxed paper as if to put it out of reach of her nervous fingers. Then she let her hand rest on the table and gazed at Wren, her face assuming an expression of satisfaction, her blue-gray eyes lingering on Wren’s mouth.

  Wren slid her hand on top of Sophie’s where it lay on the table, clasping their fingers together. They looked into one another’s eyes silently, communicating their mutual attraction. Wren then noticed the clerk leaning against a wall, looking impatient, and realized they were the only patrons left in the place. She took her hand back and nodded toward the teenage boy.

  “I think he’s waiting for us to leave,” she said.

  A few moments later, they were on the sidewalk in the cool night air. It was late and silent except for the muffled sounds of a television from a nearby bar.

  “My hotel’s right there,” Sophie said, pointing across the street.

  “Your hotel? How far away is this goat farm?”

  “Not far. I’ve got a delivery in the morning, so I decided to stay and have a mini-vacation. I’m glad I did. I had a great time tonight.”

  Wren looked deep into Sophie’s eyes. “Me too.”

  “How will you get home? Should I drive you?”

  “I’ll walk over to the theater. Raven will still be there. Opening night party. He won’t be ready to go home for a while yet.”

  Sophie nodded. “All right. Thanks for the company.”

  “Sure.” Wren felt nervous now too, but summoned her courage. “Do you think I could see you again? Can I have your phone number or something?”

  They stood facing one another on the abandoned sidewalk. Sophie’s expression was unreadable, passive. For a moment Wren thought she’d made a blunder. She realized she’d never even asked Sophie if she was gay and she’d never told her she was either. Maybe her request for a second date had been a surprise. But that wasn’t possible, Wren told herself, not after the sexual tension evident between them all evening. No way she wasn’t both gay and interested. But there were all kinds of possible unknowns here. Sophie could have a hundred reasons for not wanting to see her again. Maybe she was seeing someone else and a flirtatious chat over a hot dog was all she could allow herself.

  “I know we just met,” Wren said, trying to overcome the awkward silence, “but I feel…something. I’ve been feeling it all day. I thought you might be feeling it too and maybe you’d like to see where it takes us.”

  Wren was taken off guard as Sophie put a hand to her face, curling her long fingers behind her ear, then leaned in and kissed her. Suddenly her very expressive mouth was taking possession of Wren’s, sending desire coursing through her. Wren wrapped her arms around Sophie’s neck and returned the kiss, exploring her warm and generous mouth as their bodies pressed closer together. Wren let herself get lost in the sensations of Sophie’s mouth and arms until the sound of a slamming door forced them apart.

  It was the hot dog clerk, leaving for the night. He stood outside the door in the light of a streetlamp, turning his key in the lock. He then looked their way and muttered, “Get a room,” before turning and walking in the opposite direction.

  Wren turned back to Sophie, whose mouth was pressed into an uncomfortable smile.

  “I already have a room,” she laughed. “Do you want to come in?” She sounded a little surprised at her own question.

  CHAPTER NINE

  I’ll make my heaven in a lady’s lap,

  And deck my body in gay ornaments,

  And ’witch sweet ladies with my words and looks.

  —Henry VI, Part III

  Sophie fumbled with her key card, inserting it upside down and then backward before realizing her hand was shaking so much she could no longer get the card in the slot. Calm down, you idiot, she told herself.

  Wren reached over and slipped the card from her hand, standing close beside her, so close Sophie could feel the heat from her body. She calmly slid the card in its slot and pushed open the door.

  On the walk across the street, Sophie kept asking herself what she thought she was doing, picking up a stranger. She had never done anything like this and didn’t believe she was doing it now. Even kissing her, which had happened almost without her conscious knowledge, had been strange and terrifying, but totally wonderful. She had obviously lost her mind.

  The fact that Wren was so calm only made her more nervous. Was this so routine for her? As Sophie stepped into her room, she decided she was making a horrible mistake. She’d make up some story, some excuse to get Wren to leave. Like she didn’t feel well. Or she had a jealous girlfriend, the murderous type. Or maybe she was the murderous type. She wasn’t sure how she could convey that, short of standing over Wren holding a butcher knife or something equally bizarre. No, no! Sophie said to herself. You don’t have to go quite that far. Just tell her to leave, politely. She’ll appreciate the honesty of a simple request, an admission that you had a momentary loss of sanity and have now recovered, nearly recovered. Recovered enough to know this was a big mistake!

  After switching on the entry light, Wren stood facing her and took hold of both her hands. “What can I do to make you more relaxed?”

  Sophie swallowed hard. “Leave.” Then she laughed a laugh that sounded nothing like herself.

  “Seriously?” Wren asked, looking puzzled.

  Sophie shook her head, completely disarmed by Wren’s beautiful, defenseless looking mouth. “No. No.” She squeezed Wren’s fingers reassuringly. “I don’t want you to leave.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I don’t want to leave.”

  Wren’s voice and expression were so composed, so unruffled. How could she be so at ease? Maybe she’s the ax murderer, Sophie considered, then felt like kicking herself.

  “Do you want me to call room service?” Sophie asked, pulling her hands away. “Do you want anything?”

  Wren’s eyes held her like a tractor beam. “Only you,” she cooed.

  Sophie was ecstatic that the little scream of terror she heard in her head didn’t actually come out of her throat. She didn’t know why she was so jumpy except that Wren was so sexy and she wanted her so badly. That wasn’t how things usually went, not even back in the days when she was dating, years and years ago. She normally took things very slowly. What was happening here was scary. But also exciting and intense. A charming, adorable woman was looking lustfully into her eyes. It was like a fantasy, many fantasies of beautiful, ardent strangers who swept in from nowhere, gave only pleasure, then swept out again, owed and owing nothing.

  Wren removed her jacket and tossed it on a chair, revealing those lovely shoulders and arms. “You have been with a woman before, haven’t you?” she asked, sounding concerned.

  “Oh, sure! Hundreds of times.”

  Wren made a peculiar, surprised-sounding peep as her mouth fell open.

  Oh, God! Did I actually say that? “I mean, yes,” Sophie rushed to clarify. “I’m exclusively into women. I’m sorry I’m behaving like an idiot. I’m just nervous. You and I…we’ve just met.”

  “I feel like I know you.” Wren stepped closer, then reached up to caress Sophie’s cheek. “I felt that way from the moment I first saw you.”

  Sophie felt her body going limp as Wren’s fingers brushed her lips. There was something very special about this delicious woman, about the power she had over Sophie’s body. Or was it just that it had been so long? Two years was a ridiculously long time.

  Wren’s eyes were dark, deep, pulling her in.

  Sophie took hold of Wren’s shoulders and pulled her tightly against her and their mouths came together hungrily. As they kissed, Sophie’s nervousness dissipated almost instantly. In its place, a tremendous yearning grew, spreading through her limbs, making her fingertips tingle. She ached all over with desire.

  She drew Wren to the bed where they lay together, kissing deeper and deeper while their hands caressed each other through and under their clothes. Sophie felt the smooth muscles of Wren’s stomach and the firm little breasts pressing into her palms, begging for att
ention.

  Wren rolled on top of her, lying between her legs while Sophie’s arms held her tight and her hips pushed up against her urgently. Wren’s hand slid down the front of her jeans, between her legs, feeling her through the fabric. Sophie knew the material must be soaked by now. She was on fire and aching in every nerve to be touched in the one spot she could find relief. She reached between them to unzip her jeans and helped Wren pull them off, then lifted her hips as the panties followed.

  Wren lay close to her side, her hand sliding over that critical spot with a serious intensity that matched Sophie’s insistent need. It was feverish, frenzied and over quickly with a final upward drive of her hips and a sharp cry of release. Then she lay back, breathing hard, astonished that it had happened so quickly.

  Wren moved closer to her face and kissed her neck softly. “Not so nervous now?”

  “No,” Sophie said quietly. “Not nervous at all.”

  She turned to look at Wren in the dim light cast from the single bulb in the entryway. Her face looked sweet and tranquil. She was still fully clothed. Even her stylish sandals were still on. Sophie started laughing.

  “What are you laughing at?” Wren asked.

  Sophie looked up at the ceiling. “Nothing. I mean, just this. Nothing like rushing into it.”

  Wren laughed too, then said, “I enjoyed your enthusiasm. Immensely. You’re a very passionate woman.”

  Maybe just desperate, Sophie thought.

  “The passionate goatherd,” Wren said playfully. “Sounds like a pastoral poem.”

  Sophie laughed again, feeling suddenly very comfortable with Wren. And very tender toward her as well. She turned on her side and drew her close, kissing her gently. Her mouth felt so wonderfully soft and luxurious.

  They continued kissing as desire grew between them again. Sophie’s hands explored Wren’s body, slowly pulling the shirt over her head, undoing the zipper on her pants, and leisurely removing her clothes piece by piece until they lay side by side, naked in one another’s arms, hanging on the verge of another urgent, ecstatic freefall.