Blend

by Georgia Beers

Piper snorted a laugh. “If that’s the case, I’ll be spending the night right here.”

  They dug in and conversation ceased for a few minutes as they chewed and looked out over the water.

  “It’s a gorgeous night,” Lindsay said quietly, as a couple of toddlers ran past, their harried mother following closely behind them. She watched for several moments as the kids giggled and found something intensely interesting about blades of grass. Lindsay looked back at Piper, whose smile seemed…wistful. “You want kids?”

  If the question surprised Piper, she didn’t show it. “I think I do. I haven’t really decided, but I also don’t have a ton of time left, so I should probably figure it out.”

  “You’re how old?”

  “I’m thirty-eight.”

  Lindsay made a pfft sound and waved a hand. “Please. You’ve got plenty of time.”

  “What about you?” Piper popped a French fry into her mouth. “You want them?”

  “I do.” It was one of the few things in life Lindsay was certain of. “I’ve wanted to be a mom since I can remember. I was all about my dolls when I was little, and I loved to take care of them. I had a little crib and a little playpen and a little changing table. Changing diapers was my favorite. I also had a doll that burped.”

  “That is not at all how I would have pictured you as a child, but I have to admit, it’s kind of adorable.” Piper sipped from her straw.

  “Well, I don’t know about the adorable part, but yeah, that was me.” Lindsay took a bite of her burger, then grabbed a napkin to wipe a drip of mustard off her chin. “What about you? What were you like as a kid?”

  “Me?” Piper gave a scoff. “I was a total tomboy.”

  Lindsay couldn’t hide her surprise. “You? Business suited, high-heeled you? Seriously?”

  With a nod, Piper went on. “I chased any kind of ball. I loved to run around and climb trees. I was always outside. I used to drive my mother crazy with all the grass stains on my pants because I couldn’t run the bases without sliding. I slid into every single base. Always.”

  Lindsay’s laughter was genuine, the vision Piper painted beyond entertaining. “I so would have pegged you for a little girly-girl, with the dolls and the tea parties and stuff.”

  “You mean like you?” Piper smiled even as her straw was clamped in her teeth.

  “Yes! Exactly like me.” Lindsay was still laughing, and Piper finally joined her.

  “No way. I knew I was gay way early on. At, like, twelve.”

  Lindsay stopped laughing then, for two reasons. One was a pleasant warmth at having Piper’s sexuality confirmed (she’d suspected, but was never told explicitly). The second, because she was a little envious. “Twelve? Wow. I’m jealous.”

  “You are? How come?”

  “Because I struggled for years. From the time I was about sixteen until my early twenties, I cycled around between confusion, fear, certainty, horror, and back to confusion again. I tried dating guys. Over and over, and I couldn’t figure out why it didn’t work for me. It sounds ridiculously naïve now, but with my parents both tucked snugly into their new families, I didn’t feel like I had anybody to talk to about it. I just…floundered.”

  Piper had eaten a little more than half her burger, but now set it down and slashed her hand over the top of it in an “I’m done” gesture. “Well,” she said, then dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “Don’t be jealous. I say I knew I was gay, but the more accurate statement is I knew I was different. I had very little exposure to anything sexual at that age, but I knew I’d rather be around the girls. And whenever a boy picked on a girl I liked, I’d punch him.”

  Lindsay snorted soda through her nose as the surprised laugh burst out of her, mid-swallow. “What? You punched people?”

  “Boys. I punched boys.” Piper handed her a couple of napkins, her grin wide. “I spent a lot of time in the principal’s office. A lot of time.”

  “I can’t even.” Lindsay was still laughing. “I’m having trouble processing all this information. It’s so…unexpected.”

  Piper shrugged, straw in her teeth. “What can I say? I like to keep people on their toes.”

  “I’m starting to get that about you.”

  They finished eating but sat and watched as the sun dropped down to the horizon, its red-orange color from earlier deepening to mostly red. When it was merely a sliver left peeking over the hills, Piper turned to her and rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms.

  “I’m chilly.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  “Ready to go?”

  “Yeah.” Lindsay wasn’t, if she was being honest. In fact, a big part of her didn’t want the day to end. She’d had such an astonishingly good time and she wanted to hold on to it as long as she could. A glance at her watch, however, told her it was nearly nine. “My neighbor fed Rocket dinner, but I should get home to him.” She stood and collected their garbage, took it to the trash can, and slid the empty tray back through the window.

  Piper had the car running and the heat on by the time Lindsay pulled the door open and hopped in. The radio played softly, a pop song Lindsay vaguely recognized, but couldn’t recall the artist’s name, and they drove home in companionable silence. When Piper pulled up outside of Lindsay’s house, she shifted into Park and turned those unique hazel eyes on Lindsay.

  “There you go,” she said, her face friendly and open. Lindsay realized it was a much different expression than she’d gotten used to with Piper.

  “Listen,” Lindsay said as she looked down at her hands, picked at a cuticle. “I can’t thank you enough for coming with me today. I honestly wasn’t sure how this was going to go.” She looked up at Piper then, hoping her face was projecting a little humor. One corner of Piper’s mouth lifted, so Lindsay went on. “But not only was it okay, it was so much more. I’ve never had that much fun at a family gathering.”

  “We did seem to mingle well together.”

  “Who knew?”

  “Matthew, apparently.”

  Lindsay chuckled. “Yeah, I’d like to get to know that guy.” A beat went by. “Anyway. Thank you, Piper. I had a great time today.”

  “Me, too.”

  And then, without taking time to analyze what she was doing, Lindsay leaned over the center console and kissed Piper on the cheek. The skin was soft under her lips, velvety, her perfume prominent. Then she pulled back, yanked on the door handle, and climbed out of the car without looking back. Once she got to the side door, she ventured a glance. Piper was still there, watching and waiting and Lindsay was kind of relieved she couldn’t make out her expression from this distance. She slid the key in the lock, turned it, and sent a wave in Piper’s direction.

  Only then did the black Audi pull away.

  Inside, Lindsay closed the door gently and leaned back against it, stood in the stairway without taking the four steps up to open the door into the kitchen. Instead, she exhaled slowly, gave herself time to regulate her racing heart. Rocket sniffed loudly along the bottom of the door, obviously sensing that Lindsay was home, probably wondering why she wasn’t coming in. The sound became almost comical, loud inhale, loud exhale, another loud inhale, until Lindsay relaxed and smiled and started to feel like herself again.

  “I hear you, buddy,” she said as she climbed the steps and entered the kitchen.

  Rocket acted like he hadn’t seen her in days, spinning in a circle, tail wagging, howling with glee. Lindsay got right on the floor with him, lavished him with love, let him do the same. It helped her focus on something other than today, something other than the woman who, Lindsay knew, was about to start taking up a lot of brain space.

  “So, today was interesting,” she said, from her spot on the kitchen floor.

  Rocket flopped down next to her like a giant sack of flour.

  “Oh, you want to hear all about it, do you?” She took a moment, then opened her mouth, but no sound came out, and she shut it again. Maybe she wasn’t quite ready to analyze any of it. Maybe
it would be better if she just…sat with things for a while. After all, it was a lot to process. But then, it wasn’t. Right? Nothing had happened. She’d had a great time with Piper Bradshaw, which was something she hadn’t expected. That really was the long and short of it.

  It was then that her brain decided to remind her how soft Piper’s cheek was under her lips. How captivating her scent was. How she’d put that little bitch Maddie in her place without raising her voice or breaking a sweat. Lindsay tried to combat these thoughts by calling up the Princess Elsa persona she was used to associating with Piper, but it wouldn’t come. All she could see was Piper sitting in the driver’s seat, smiling gently at her, seeming only approachable and unassuming.

  Rocket pawed at her gently, letting her know she wasn’t giving him enough attention.

  “I just need to not think about this, right, pal?” she asked him as she scratched his furry belly. With a turn of her head, she gazed into his kind brown eyes. “I mean, so she was nice today. Doesn’t mean she won’t go back to freezing cold tomorrow, right? I should just chalk this up to being a great day and leave it at that. Yes?”

  Rocket’s tail thumped the floor twice.

  “That’s my boy.” She kissed him on his head and pushed herself to a standing position, then slid her palms together as if wiping something off them. “Okay. The nice day is over. Let’s watch some TV. Wanna?” Lindsay plopped onto her couch and snatched up the remote. Rocket joined her, lying so half his body was actually in her lap. She groaned. “Dude, you weigh, like, ninety pounds.” He didn’t care; he never did. Instead, he rolled his body slightly to give her better access to his tummy. She shook her head with affection and dutifully scratched him while she channel surfed. Finding an episode of Fixer Upper, she tried to focus on the houses and the designs while not falling into a sugar coma from watching Chip Gaines fawn all over his gorgeous wife.

  She failed at both, falling asleep on the couch and dreaming about a beautiful brunette with hazel eyes and dimples to die for.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I feel like we need to tell them.” Ian’s suit was perfectly tailored to fit him, the jacket accentuating his broad shoulders, the lines clean, the red tie adding a nice splash of color to the black ensemble. He always looked fantastic, the consummate professional. Today, though, his hair was disheveled, and Piper imagined the cause was Ian agitatedly running his fingers through it in frustration. His face was marred by worry and stress. She wondered if she gave off a similar vibe.

  “I know,” Piper said on a sigh. “But we can’t.”

  “No,” Ian said, holding up a finger. “We’re not supposed to. It was suggested that we don’t. That’s different than being forbidden.”

  “Splitting hairs, Ian. There was a directive. We could be fired.”

  He scratched at his forehead. “I know.”

  They sat in Piper’s office, silent, for a long moment.

  “Wouldn’t you want someone to warn you?” Ian asked, finally. His voice was very quiet and he continued to gaze out the window as he spoke. “Wouldn’t you want to at least be prepared for the worst?”

  “Of course I would, but…” Piper didn’t look at him either.

  “I know you’re not friends with your people, but I am with some.” He didn’t say it in anything other than a factual capacity, but Piper still felt a little accusatory sting at the words. He was right. She made it a point not to make friends with her staff. They got together often, met for Happy Hour or gathered at someone’s house. Piper was always invited, but she always bowed out gracefully. She just didn’t think it was the boss’s place to fraternize with her subordinates, not to mention, it was safer. Something her father had taught her. Ian went on. “I can’t imagine one of them getting laid off and then finding out that I knew it was probably going to happen. What kind of a friend does that make me?”

  You’re not their friend. You’re their supervisor. Big difference. Piper could hear her father’s voice as clearly as if he were standing in the room with them. “Look, Ian, you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. I understand that.”

  Ian’s face registered disappointment, defeat. “But you’re going to sit tight.”

  Piper swallowed, took a second or two before answering. “I feel like I have to. You read the same thing I did. Leaking any information about the upcoming merger can and will result in termination.”

  “Yeah, I read it.” Ian blew out a huge breath, pushed himself out of the chair and looked just this side of disgusted. “I don’t agree with you, Piper.”

  “I know.”

  “But we’ve known each other a long time, and I respect you.”

  “I appreciate that. I respect you as well.” It was true. Ian was a good guy. He and Piper had moved up the ranks together. But he was a lot softer than she was. Not necessarily a bad thing, just a difference between them.

  “Good. Well.” He nodded at her and left, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

  Piper sat back in her chair. She picked up a pen and went to work on its clicker, the sound weirdly comforting. A half spin in her chair gave her a view out the window, and she watched as puffy clouds floated by, their white popping against the deep blue of the sky. Her people were going to be laid off once this merger went through. She was sure of it. Why else send out a memo to all upper management warning them against leaked details about the merger? Which was, let’s be honest, a buy-out. It was the only thing that made sense.

  Piper looked off to her right at the shelves that lined the far wall. On it were books on marketing, managing, and other various business subjects. There were also several framed photos, her favorite being an 8x10 of her and her father on the day she graduated from college. He’d been so proud to have one of his girls following in his businessman footsteps. She stared wistfully before whispering into the empty office, “God, I wish you were here, Dad. I could really use some guidance.”

  Another framed photo caught her eye. It showed her parents, Piper, and Gina, standing in front of Vineyard on the day of its grand opening. Her father had been so happy, so proud of the place.

  “But won’t you miss work?” she’d asked him for the twenty-seventh time since he’d retired.

  He’d smiled patiently at her as he slid wine glasses onto the overhead rack. “This is work, Pipsqueak.” He’d called her that since she was born, a month early and weighing in at a mere four pounds, six ounces. “Just a different kind.”

  “You know what I mean. Won’t you miss the business world?”

  “Of course, I will. But times change. People change. Sometimes, you have to make change. You know?” He’d thrown out his arm to encompass the bar. “This is my change.”

  “But why?” she’d asked, feeling small in her inability to comprehend.

  “Corporate America can take a toll, Pips. Not always. Not on everybody. Depends on where you are, where you work, what kind of values you have.” He paused, seemed to search for the right words. “Sometimes, you need to make changes. For the people around you. For yourself.”

  “Are you being cryptic on purpose?” she’d asked him, laughing.

  He joined her, his laugh deep and coming from his gut like it always did. “I don’t want to sour your love of the business world,” he said, reaching out to touch her cheek. “But whenever you need to talk something through, I’m here. Okay?”

  She nodded, felt only a tiny bit better, but the joy in his eyes was unmistakable. “You’re a wine guy now, huh?”

  “Yes,” he’d agreed with great conviction. “That’s me. Wine Guy. I expect you to call me that now, you know.”

  Back in her office, Piper could feel the grin stretch across her face. Wine Guy. She’d taken that to heart and had referred to him—loudly—as Wine Guy every time she’d entered Vineyard. He’d adored that place…

  Thinking about the wine bar brought another person to her thoughts. Unsurprisingly, her focus turned to Lindsay Kent.

  They’d texted a bit
since Saturday, but Piper had purposely kept contact to a minimum. She didn’t want to analyze why. Now it was Wednesday afternoon, and once she let Lindsay into her head, there was no pushing her out, as her brain dragged her back to last Saturday night after she’d dropped Lindsay home.

  That kiss.

  Yes, it was just a chaste peck on the cheek, a thank you for a nice day, but it had surprised Piper. It had surprised Lindsay as well, judging from the shocked look on her face when she’d pulled back. But it had stayed with Piper all night. The sincerity and genuine emotion in Lindsay’s eyes when she thanked Piper for accompanying her. The way she’d looked at her hands as she spoke. The softness of Lindsay’s lips as she pressed them to Piper’s skin. Piper had been a split second from turning her head to capture those lips with her own, and the mix of relief and disappointment when the opportunity passed was alarmingly heavy.

  She’d watched Lindsay walk up the driveway to the door, watched that golden hair as it caught the glow from the streetlights. She’d watched her ass (God, she had a great ass). She’d waited until Lindsay had tossed a little wave telling her she was in, and then Piper had to force herself to drive away, to drive home to her cat and her cold, lonely bed where she’d crawled under the covers later and taken care of herself to the image of a free-spirited blond with haunting green eyes and a smile like no other.

  Yeah. It had freaked her out a little bit.

  Okay, a lot. It had freaked her out a lot.

  The next morning, she’d vowed to ease up on the contact, responding politely to Lindsay’s text that thanked her once again and said what a great time she’d had. There had been a couple more throughout Sunday and then another text on Monday telling Piper to stop by and try some of the wine that had come in from a new winemaker she’d fallen in love with.

  There’d been nothing yesterday. Nothing today. And Piper was irritated to realize that she missed the contact…that she missed Lindsay.

  Unexpected, to say the least.

  Piper tried to push that out of her mind, did a commendable job for the remainder of Wednesday, but Wednesday night, an idea blossomed in her head and would not leave her alone. It sprouted like a weed, its vines wrapping themselves as they grew, winding around her brain, around all of her thoughts, even invading her sleep. By the time she woke up Thursday morning, she’d decided to stop fighting it.