“The whole skillet?” Daisy laughed again, louder this time.
“The whole skillet,” Chelsea parroted. “Might as well bring it out with us, right?”
This Chelsea was Daisy’s favorite.
“Might as well.” Daisy took a bite and followed it with a sip of wine.
In the middle of a Sunday in summer, she was listening to Chelsea Cavanaugh, her Rose Road, tell stories about cooking in Georgia. She was watching sunlight fall across Chelsea’s slender shoulders, while heat made sweat bead on the back of her knees and wine caused her thoughts to stretch and drip. She was eating pasta and laughing and wishing she had the nerve to ask can I paint you? Because this would be a beautiful painting—Chelsea smiling at her from across the table, holding an almost empty-glass of wine in one hand, and shielding her eyes from the sun with the other.
“What should we do after lunch?” Chelsea asked.
Daisy thought of a million things at once. She thought of talking, of telling secrets and breaking down and being honest. She thought of painting Chelsea in as many ways as she could, of heading to the beach and going for a swim, of kissing until their lips were sore.
“Whatever you want,” Daisy said.
They finished the entire skillet of pasta and the entire bottle of wine, turned on some trashy television show, and didn’t watch a minute of it. They didn’t talk. Daisy didn’t paint.
The hours after lunch were spent on the couch, where Chelsea breached the distance they’d shyly set between each other and climbed on top of Daisy.
They kissed murderously slow, all wet lips and stunted breath, the messy slide of tongues and subtle scrape of teeth. Chelsea slid her hand under Daisy’s shirt, and Daisy found the courage to unbutton Chelsea’s beige shorts and trace the edge of her lace underwear. They didn’t go farther than that—the tentative touches under clothes but not under clothes that made Chelsea’s cheeks and ears go pink and her breath grow heavier between one kiss and another.
“You know what sounds good?” Chelsea whispered. Her fingertips played beneath the wire of Daisy’s bra.
Daisy hummed.
Chelsea kissed her again, long and full, pulling another low hum from deep in Daisy’s throat. Everything slowed down and sped up. The apartment was filled with the pleasant buzz of two women dancing at the edge of a precipice, an inch away from diving off.
“Ice cream,” Chelsea said through a grin pressed against Daisy’s cheek.
Daisy snorted a laugh with one hand wrapped around the nape of Chelsea’s neck, the other resting on the back pocket of her shorts. “Yeah, it does sound good, Charm School.”
00:00
Shannon got home at 11:11 p.m.
He turned the key in the lock, opened the door to the loft, and sighed when he saw Aiden sitting on the couch eating a piece of pizza.
“Pineapple and jalapeño with extra sauce,” Aiden said, glancing at Shannon as he took another bite. “There’s potato wedges too.”
“How about alcohol?” Shannon said softly, dropping his messenger bag on the floor. His head was clogged with failure after failure. Mistakes had piled on his shoulders: the Mortez case; the girl in foster care as a result of the Mortez case; the man who’d been found dead in Cypress this morning, who was linked to the Mortez case. It was his and Karman’s case, the case that should’ve been closed by now.
He put his hands on the tiny counter attached to the kitchenette and closed his eyes.
“We have that too, but you should probably eat first.” Aiden had crossed from the couch and into Shannon’s space without making a sound. He thumbed at Shannon’s belt. His breath was warm on the nape of Shannon’s neck. “Did something happen?”
“No, nothing happened. That’s the problem.”
Aiden’s breath halted.
“I’m sorry,” Shannon whispered. “I’m just not—”
Aiden’s breath returned, exhaled against the shell of Shannon’s ear, followed by lips and teeth. His hands gripped his waist hard. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
“I just want this case to be over,” Shannon said, defeated and immobilized, leaning back against Aiden’s chest.
“It’s over right now,” Aiden said smoothly. “You’re off the clock. No reason to think about it.”
“Wish it was that easy.”
“I brought pizza. There’s beer in the fridge. I’m sure this thing comes off pretty fucking easy.” Aiden’s arms wrapped around and unfastened Shannon’s belt. He let it fall by their feet with Shannon’s badge and mace still attached. “Look at that, it does.”
A warm grin lit his face, light and tired. Sometimes Shannon forgot he was only at work for eight or twelve or fifteen hours a day. Sometimes he forgot he was allowed to come home to pizza and beer and Aiden Maar.
Aiden’s mouth on his throat was a pleasant reminder.
“The girls went to see that show. They said we would’ve liked it; it’s some kind of weird alien horror movie.” Aiden’s fingers unbuttoned Shannon’s shirt with a precision he was keenly fond of, the same precision that came from stealing and driving too fast and card tricks. “They want us to do Fourth of July with them next week.” His teeth sank into the curved place where Shannon’s shoulder met his neck; his hands wandered, one to his throat, putting pressure on Shannon’s windpipe, the other slipped between his legs. “I told them you might have to work, but we’ll figure it out.”
Shannon wasn’t listening, and Aiden knew it.
“You don’t have to wait up for me when I work these shitty shifts,” Shannon forced out, chewing on his bottom lip.
Aiden pressed against his back and tightened his grip around Shannon’s neck. “You know I do.”
“Thanks for bringing me food.” There was no need to get into the ins and outs of Shannon’s job. It wasn’t safe; they both knew that, but it didn’t need to keep Aiden up at night.
“Wouldn’t want you to starve.”
“How’re the girls doing?”
“Seriously?” Aiden almost sounded offended, and retracted his hands to step back, giving Shannon enough room to turn around. “The girls are fine. Can I fuck the stress out of you yet, or are we gonna keep pretending to chitchat?”
“I thought you said I should eat.” Sarcasm merged playfully with his accent. He arched a brow, tossed the unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, and kicked off his boots.
“Are you actually hungry?” Aiden pulled him by his belt loops. His lips thinned into a sharp smile as they stumbled toward the unmade bed at the other end of the loft. “Because we can get the pizza and bring it with us.”
Shannon smothered his laughter with a kiss, letting Aiden determine how hard or fast, how deep or rough. His breath came short. His heart rate picked up.
“Glad you’re home, Detective,” Aiden said, and tossed him on his back on the bed.
“Someone should call the cops; there’s a burglar in my house,” Shannon teased.
Aiden kissed him hard, but Shannon felt him smile through it.
15
“They’re not comin’?” Chelsea frowned, putting her hand on her hip to emphasize her displeasure. “It’s Fourth of July; they have to come.”
“Aiden got called in to work,” Daisy said. She lifted one shoulder, and her mouth twisted. “Shannon’s hanging out at 101 with Karman and Marcus until he gets off, and then I’m sure they’ll head down to one of the three hundred bonfires in Laguna.”
Chelsea swept a hand through her hair and nodded. “Maybe we can meet them after the fireworks.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have to work.” Daisy slipped her phone back into her purse, glanced around; and pressed tighter against the brick wall outside the coffee shop they’d sheltered in. “Lots of drunk drivers, lots of fights, lots of emergency room visits.”
“I’m an on-call doctor.”
She shrugged. “Another surgeon didn’t mind working, so I took the night off. If they absolutely need me, they’ll call.”
“Fingers crossed they don’t,” Daisy said.
Chelsea’s lips curved into a grin. “Fingers crossed.”
Downtown Disney was the place to be on Fourth of July, apparently. It seemed as though the entire population of Southern Orange County had gathered in the outdoor mall outside of Disneyland to celebrate. Families walked from shop to shop, admiring goodies, specialty clothes, themed knick-knacks, and mouse-eared ice cream.
Red, white, and blue ribbons decorated the lamp posts. Disney characters dressed in extravagant patriotic outfits took pictures with kids and waved to passersby. Chelsea leaned in front of Daisy to look down the street, watching as the crowd got thicker and thicker the nearer they got to the front gates of the amusement park.
“You hungry?” Chelsea placed her hand lightly on Daisy’s lower back. She felt her muscles tighten under the thin fabric of her black maxi dress. When was this woman going to let her guard down? “Because I am and I think it’d be best if we found a place to sit down for a while. Fireworks aren’t going off for another two hours.”
Daisy nodded. “Yeah, what sounds good?”
“You’re the picky one, not me.”
“I’m not picky; I’m a vegetarian,” Daisy grumbled, glaring at Chelsea from under her lashes. She stood on the tips of her black flip-flops and peered over the crowd. “Rainforest Café is down there,” she said, pointing toward the thinner crowd at the beginning of the mall.
“I’ve never been,” Chelsea said. “Is it good?”
“The ambiance is nice.” Daisy rolled her eyes when she sounded out ambiance; a smirk tugged gingerly at her mouth. “And the food’s good, but it’s a little expensive.”
Chelsea wanted to bat at the air the way she normally would, wanted to flap her hand and laugh, because expensive wasn’t a word she normally kept in her vocabulary. Yes, things were expensive, but nice things cost more, and Chelsea happened to like nice things. She was raised with nice things, by parents who always had nice things. But she bit her tongue and tried on a smile that wouldn’t seem placating. It didn’t work. Daisy rolled her eyes again and scoffed.
“Don’t worry about how expensive it is…” Chelsea sighed. “You know I don’t mind. You don’t need to—”
“Okay, but I’m not used to this,” Daisy interrupted. A blush darkened her cheeks. She blinked, black lashes fluttering against her cheeks. “I grew up here,” she said, gesturing to the shops that stretched on either side of them, “but my family didn’t have a lot. My parents had to find a way to pay for me, my four brothers and sisters, and my grandma. I’m not used to wasting money.”
“I don’t consider it bein’ a waste if I’m spending it on a date with you.” Chelsea lifted her brows and poked Daisy in the ribs, causing her to jump. “But if you’d rather have a Mickey-shaped Popsicle, be my guest.”
The last of Chelsea’s statement was overtaken by a small laugh, brought on by Daisy’s own defeated chuckle.
“Fine,” Daisy said. “But if you’re buying dinner, I get to—”
“Buy dessert, I know.” Chelsea looped her arm around Daisy’s elbow and started walking in the direction she’d pointed.
“And drinks later,” Daisy added.
“And drinks later, fine.”
They walked through the growing crowd, bumped shoulders with another couple, almost collided with a Disney princess spinning in a glittering white and gold gown. Daisy stopped to admire a line of villain jewelry displayed in a shop window, and Chelsea took the chance to admire Daisy. The blue crystals shoved through her earlobes looked bright against her pale-dark hair, and an intricate black necklace hung between her collar bones. She regarded the jewelry in the window skeptically; as if recognizing the changes in a person she hadn’t seen in some time.
“That one’s pretty,” Chelsea said. She heard the way her vowels opened as if she had a mouth full of syrup. How pretty was all dd after soft i. She realized why Shannon hid his accent—it sounded strange compared to the relaxed, near-sloppy way Californians spoke.
“The dragon one? Yeah, I like it. It makes me wonder if I could ever design jewelry, you know? It takes a lot of artistic drive to make this stuff.” Daisy tapped on the glass with her long, clawed fingernail. “I like that one, too, the bleeding apple.”
“You could always try,” Chelsea said.
“I don’t have the time or money to go back to school for it, but yeah, maybe I can take a class at the community college. I’d rather finish one of the thousand paintings I have sketched out, just doesn’t seem worth it if it isn’t going toward my career. You know?” She glanced at Chelsea, but before Chelsea could answer, Daisy continued. “C’mon.” She grabbed the tips of Chelsea’s fingertips. “There’s gonna be a wait at the restaurant; we should get our name on the list.”
As it turned out, there was a wait, a forty-five-minute wait. But there was also a gift shop where Chelsea looked at stuffed frogs and leopards while a giant animatronic tree talked about conservation in the very center of the room. Other robotic animals were placed above them—a gorilla that came to life hooting and hollering, an alligator roaring in a pond and collecting pennies and dimes in its jaws.
“Is it dumb to ask you to go in the photo booth with me?” Daisy asked. A shy smile crossed her face, as if she’d wanted to ask for a while and hadn’t found the courage. “It’s stupid, never mind.”
“Why do you always think I don’t wanna do things with you?” Chelsea asked. The way Daisy skirted things, the way she always tiptoed around Chelsea as though one wrong move might put her in danger was starting to get on her nerves. “C’mon, they spit out two copies, right? Because I want one.”
Daisy wore dusty rose lipstick. It ended up on Chelsea’s cheek during the first picture, then on her mouth during the second. Holding Daisy’s cheeks in both hands, Chelsea grinned against her lips. Daisy flashed a peace sign in front of them in the last one, with her tongue sticking out between her teeth at Chelsea, who’d been caught in a wide laugh.
They grabbed their pictures just as Chelsea’s name was called from the hostess station. They were shown to a table in the middle of the restaurant, where Chelsea ordered a specialty seafood platter with coconut shrimp and Daisy got a veggie burger.
“That was an honest question,” Chelsea said as Daisy folded her napkin over her lap. “About you thinkin’ I don’t wanna do things with you.”
Daisy nodded. She took her time before she answered, looking first at the animatronic panther lounging in a fake tree above their table, then at her glass of iced tea, and lastly at Chelsea. She gathered in a breath, and it came out an irritated puff. “I don’t mean to second-guess everything. It’s just new for me, all of this, and I don’t want to ruin it or make you feel claustrophobic or think I’m some crazy koala that’s wrapped around your leg all the time. Some people don’t like being…” Daisy fumbled, attempting to make sense of it by flinging her hands around. “… affectionate or whatever. I haven’t dated someone in a long time and the last person was—”
“A rapey asshole,” Chelsea deadpanned.
Daisy closed her eyes, frustrated. “Yes,” she gritted. “But he was also private and—”
“A serial cheater,” Chelsea said. Her brows arched high on her forehead.
“Yes, but—”
“No, don’t but for him, he doesn’t deserve it. Just acknowledge that I happen to enjoy doin’ things with you, being out in public with you, taking pictures with you. This is all new to me too, but I’m excited about it.” Chelsea sat back, removing her elbows from the table as the waiter set their plates down. She thanked him before she turned back to Daisy and asked, “Aren’t you excited?”
Daisy didn’t look excited. She looked afraid and a little lost.
“I am,” Daisy said. Chelsea didn’t buy it, but she let it go. “I’m just getting used to this.”
“Me too,” Chelsea said softly.
They sat in silence, munching on their entrees and sipping drinks. Chelsea stared at her food, wondering if there was more to say, if she’d say it if there was. She thought this part would be easy, that when the Clock decided, its decision was felt. She imagined it would be like lightning, like a wildfire, like drowning—this, Daisy, what they became together.
Chelsea wanted to drown in her; she wanted to be struck by her, electrocuted by her. Instead they had this: two women too scared of what they individually wanted to give each other anything at all.
“Do you like the way I dress?” Daisy asked.
Chelsea blinked, tilting her head. “Well, it doesn’t matter if I like it, Daisy.”
Daisy spun her hand in a circle, closed her eyes, and clenched her jaw. “Just tell me.”
“Yeah, I do, actually. What were you expecting me to say?”
“The truth, because the truth is, you don’t like it at all. It makes you uncomfortable.”
Chelsea’s cheeks burned. She tried to gather up something to say, but found nothing. “Well, that isn’t very fair,” she finally blurted. “Just because I dress a certain way and you dress a certain way, you think I can’t appreciate your style?”
“You didn’t. Before we timed out, you thought me and Aiden were trashy, you said it a thousand times.”
“Why is it always about Aiden…?” Chelsea groaned.
“Because he’s my best friend,” Daisy snapped.
Chelsea hated this. She hated fighting, she hated trying to explain the unexplainable, and she hated insecurities that weren’t her own. “You ever been to Milford, Daisy?”
Daisy’s eyes narrowed.
“No, you haven’t.” Chelsea took a bite from a coconut shrimp. “My parents dressed me up like a doll to go to church when I was in middle school. My freshman year of high school I was put on a diet, told I’d be a cheerleader, I’d be homecoming queen, I’d be the best of the best, because that’s what Cavanaughs do.”
Curved Horizon Page 11
