“I mean, not that it’s any of my business.” She turned slightly toward Amarie, their arms inadvertently brushing.
Even though they both wore jackets, every atom of Amarie’s skin leaned into the other woman. Char’s arm was warm against hers, and she desperately wanted to keep the contact. Charlotte moved away, though, leaving Amarie’s pulse racing in her ears. She swallowed hard.
The door opened and Lucas, Matt, and Neve poured out. “It’s about time.” Lucas held out a red cup toward Amarie.
She shook her head. “I can’t drink with my medication.” She wanted to add You know that, but didn’t. Things were tense enough between them.
“Here we go,” he said bitterly, lowering his arm.
“Happy birthday, girl!” Neve interrupted, engulfing Amarie in a hug. As they parted, she shot Amarie a questioning look.
“Thanks.” Amarie gave her best friend a placating smile. Lucas just needed to chill.
As if reading her mind, Neve pulled a blunt out of her coat pocket. “You may not be able to drink, but you can definitely have some of this. And it’ll help with your pain,” she added, giving Lucas a pointed look.
He all but rolled his eyes over the rim of his cup as he drained it.
Amarie glanced at Matt, who seemed as baffled at his friend’s behavior as she was.
Neve lit the blunt and held it out to Amarie. “Birthday girl first,” she said, “then pass it over to Grumpypants.” She nodded toward Lucas.
Amarie saw more than sensed him bristle. She brought the blunt to her lips, hoping that by getting the sesh going, she could diffuse the tension.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lucas glared from Neve to Amarie.
Maybe they needed stronger weed, Amarie mused as she took her second hit. “It doesn’t mean anything.” She held the blunt out to him. He ignored it.
“Oh, fuck that,” Neve said. She put her hands on her hips. “It means that you’re being a buzzkill. It’s your girlfriend’s birthday. You should be putting the moves on her, not making her feel bad.”
Despite the marijuana moving through her system, Amarie’s heart slammed in her tightening chest. Great. The last thing she needed was to get all anxious and paranoid. She took another hit.
“I’m making her feel bad?” Lucas’s lip curled. “I’m the one who’s getting blown off left and right. But I’m the bad guy?” He shook his head, gaze avoiding Amarie.
She all but forced the blunt into Matt’s hands, her own hands going straight to her hips. Her cane clattered to the floor. “You really want to do this? Here? Now?”
“Let’s go,” he shouted, throwing out his arms.
“Fine,” she said, forcing her voice to remain even. “I canceled plans with you last weekend because I didn’t feel good. But I’m here now. You’ve barely even acknowledged me.”
“Maybe I’m tired of having to baby you,” he said, words plunging into her chest. His eyes met hers.
She took a step back. “Baby me? What the hell does that mean?” Anger and betrayal swirled through her, numbing her pain. Adrenaline made a great analgesic, some detached part of her thought wryly.
“I want a girlfriend, not a hospice patient.”
The group, tense around them, fell into shocked silence.
“Dude,” Matt said to Lucas. He spoke quietly but his tone was sharp.
Amarie swallowed back tears. “A hospice patient? If that’s how you feel about me, then I guess this relationship is already dead.”
Already Neve was wrapping an arm around her, but she shook her friend off.
“Finally,” Lucas said. Tossing the empty cups to the floor of the porch, he took off down the stairs.
Matt cast an apologetic look toward Amarie, then ran after him. “Lucas. You can’t drive, dude.”
Amarie watched them talking in the parking lot. She should be crying, but all she felt was numb calm, thanks to the weed. It was probably for the best.
“Did he really just dump you for being disabled?” Neve’s fists curled open and closed.
“I guess he did,” Amarie said.
Disabled. She still wasn’t used to the word. It described how her illness had taken over her body, but sometimes she didn’t feel sick enough to be disabled. She supposed that was because of the way society treated disability as if it was an all or nothing situation.
She turned toward the front door to the apartment. As she passed Charlotte, the other woman held her cane out to her. “Thanks.” She kept her gaze down. If she looked anyone in the eye, she was going to lose her marijuana-swaddled composure. Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and walked into her birthday party.
Chapter 4
Charlotte took a step toward the door, then hesitated. It was none of her business. She probably shouldn’t be the one to comfort Amarie—even though she wanted to. She glanced at Neve. The other woman died out the blunt on the railing, her dark eyes meeting Char’s.
“I . . . I’m not sure how to handle this one, to be honest,” Neve admitted. She swept her voluminous curls into a huge bun on top of her head, as if preparing for battle. “She’s my best friend—my sister, practically—and I don’t know what to do.”
“Just be there,” Char said softly. “Stay by her side and be whatever she needs tonight.” And in the days that followed. She could remember Rowan and Matt’s breakup all too clearly. She’d been the one to pick up the pieces with hair dye and ice cream. Not that she was going to recommend Neve dye Amarie’s hair.
“I guess I’d better go find her, then,” Neve said. Squaring her shoulders, she marched inside.
Charlotte hung back, debating whether she should just leave. The party was essentially over, and she should probably make herself scarce. Rowan was still inside, though. With Matt babysitting Lucas, Jason away at school, and Neve tending to Amarie, Rowan would be all by herself. Maybe they could find something on Netflix and hang out for a bit before Rowan had to go to bed.
Damned bakers’ hours were such a drag.
Stepping inside, Charlotte tried to ignore the out of place feeling that wrapped itself around her. Matt and Lucas’s apartment was the typical unmarried men’s pad. Once upon a time, it’d been an attic; slanted ceilings formed concussion traps throughout the place. Neither of the guys had put much effort into decorating it, other than the dozens of action figures on the walls—still in their original plastic clamshell packaging. Being there seemed like an intrusion, especially after what had happened outside.
Because the apartment was small, it didn’t take long to find Rowan. The kitchen was just a few steps from the entryway and, standing next to Rowan, she could see both doors to the guys’ bedrooms. One was cracked open, and Neve and Amarie’s voices floated out.
Rowan grimaced, stirring ingredients into a bowl with vigor.
“Whatcha making?” Charlotte ran a finger along the bag of flour. Leave it to her best friend to whip up some comfort food in the midst of a breakup. She should’ve thought of that.
“There are strawberries about to cross over, so I figured I’d make some shortcake.” Rowan put the bowl down and faced Charlotte. “Did I hear Amarie correctly? She came in here, grabbed a bottle of tequila out of the freezer, said something about becoming a hospice patient for Lucas, and then barred herself in his bedroom.”
“He was awful to her,” Char whispered.
Rowan’s lip curled. “And where was Matt during all this?”
“He tried to get Lucas to just chill. We were, ah, smoking a blunt.” Charlotte lifted her hands in apology. Because of a bad experience with her family when she was younger, Rowan was not a fan of weed.
“Stop, it’s fine.” Her friend waved a hand. “So what did Lucas say? Did they break up? I need to know what we’re dealing with here. Strawberry shortcake might not be enough.”
While Rowan continued mixing and measuring, Charlotte filled her in. “Before I came in, Matt was trying to get Lucas’s car keys from him.”
Row
an muttered something that sounded like “Let the bastard wrap himself around a telephone pole,” then cleared her throat. “Too bad this isn’t our kitchen.” She sighed. “I’d make chocolate covered strawberries to go with that tequila. The guys don’t exactly keep their pantry stocked with baking supplies.”
Loud music blasted from Lucas’s bedroom, followed by laughter. “I guess Neve’s handling it,” Char said.
“That’s good.” Rowan poured the batter into a greased pan. “I feel kind of awkward butting in, but girl code, you know?”
“I do.” Charlotte sighed.
“Of course, I’m sure you feel even more awkward.” Rowan’s eyes searched hers.
Charlotte shook her head. “They’ll probably get back together tomorrow or something. I mean, look at them. They’re a power couple.”
Pointing a spoon dripping with batter at her, Rowan fixed her with a pointed look. “Looks aren’t everything. Amarie deserves better.”
“I’d rather focus on a more attainable goal. Besides, it’d be shitty timing to make a move now.” She grabbed the strawberries from the crisper in the fridge and took them over to the sink for rinsing. Rowan meant well, but Char wasn’t a vulture. She couldn’t just swoop in. Even then, she still didn’t know for sure if Amarie was into her. She needed to focus on something that was within her reach.
It was time to look into opening that restaurant.
There was no one better to ask than her best friend—someone who had gone to business school and happened to own a bakery. “Ro,” she asked as she carried the strawberries back to the counter, “how would I go about opening a restaurant?”
Rowan tapped her fingernails on one of the cutting boards she’d set out. “Well, you’d have to start by buying or leasing space.” She studied Charlotte. “Are we just daydreaming or are we going for this?”
“We’re . . .” Charlotte turned a large strawberry over in her hands. “. . . just looking into things. Just to see.”
Nodding slowly, her best friend began slicing. “You know, there are lots of grants out there, especially for women entrepreneurs.”
“Grants?”
“They’re free money, like scholarships. You have to do the work—dig for them, fill out the applications, and all that—but they’re there. Lots of people don’t even know about them.”
Charlotte set down her strawberry and pulled her phone out of her pocket. “How would I go about finding them? Just search for ‘restaurant grants for women,’ maybe?”
“Trade you.” They switched places, Charlotte cutting strawberries and Rowan holding her phone. “There are a few things we could try.” She tapped something into Google, peering at the screen as it loaded. “Ooh, that looks like it’s right up your alley.”
Putting the knife down, Charlotte craned her neck to see.
“It’s a convention for women entrepreneurs in the restaurant business.” Rowan handed her the phone. “It’s in May. You should go.”
“Hold on, let me read.” She skimmed the landing page, eyes hunting for the inevitable unattainable price tag. Even though she’d known it’d be out of her budget, her shoulders still slumped when she found it. “I’d never be able to afford this, even if the con was next May.”
Rowan rested her head on her shoulder, eyeing the price. “I can front you.”
“No. No way. I could never ask you to do that.” Charlotte locked her phone and put it on the counter.
“You’re not asking. Think of it as a best friend grant. You want to open a restaurant, and I like to support other small businesses. Aunt Katherine would’ve wanted to help.”
Katherine had been a town treasure, and the owner of Elli’s until she passed away and passed it on to Rowan and Matt. Smirking, Charlotte put her hands on her hips. “Are you actually playing the dead aunt card?”
“Yes. Yes I am.”
“I appreciate it, Ro, I do. The convention’s all the way in New York City, though. I’d have to drive out there.”
“So?” Rowan snatched the phone from the counter and backed far out of reach. Her fingers flew across the screen. “You’re going.” A moment later, she held up the phone. “You’re registered. No more arguing.”
Charlotte gaped at her. “You can’t.”
“I just did.”
“Ro, no. Take it back!”
The door to Lucas’s room opened and Neve eased out. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said, her eyes meeting Charlotte’s, “but I need your help.”
Charlotte’s lips parted. She turned to Rowan, but her best friend shooed her forward. With a shrug, she followed Neve into Lucas’s room.
Amarie lay sprawled across the futon in front of Lucas’s TV, her coat half off and draped over the edge. She smiled when she saw them.
“We were dancing it out,” Neve explained. “Now I can’t get her to keep her clothes on.”
Right on cue, Amarie wriggled the rest of the way out of her coat. She wore an off-shoulder sweater over skinny jeans that looked as if they’d been combed to soft, heavenly perfection. Char’s eyes roved over the way they hugged her curves, wondering how it would feel to spoon that body with hers, to brush Amarie’s curls aside and kiss the lobe of her ear. She didn’t have to wonder. Standing there, it was all too easy to imagine.
Amarie’s sweater rode up, exposing the slightly round curve of her belly and the white edges of what looked like a large Band-Aid peeking out from under the band of her jeans. Neve reached over and tugged the shirt down.
Averting her eyes, Char said, “You should probably get her home.”
“No!” Amarie protested from the couch. “We should dance more!” She struggled into a sitting position, then slumped against the back of the futon with a frown. “Things hurt again.”
“That’s the thing,” Neve said to Char. “I smoked out there . . . but you didn’t. Would you, um, mind giving her a ride?” She smiled apologetically.
“Me?” Swallowing hard against the squeak in her throat, Char shoved her hands into the pockets of her utility jacket, fingers closing around her car keys. “I mean, sure . . .” She looked dubiously at Amarie, not entirely sure she could wrangle her all by herself. Though they weighed about the same, Amarie had drank tequila. All bets were off.
Their eyes met and Char flushed. The tiny smile that Amarie gave her shot sparks through her veins. She nearly jumped back in surprise.
“Do you have bluetooth?” Amarie asked, struggling to her feet. Neve grabbed one arm and Char grabbed the other, hoisting her to a somewhat standing position.
“I have a CD player.” Char shot Neve a glare. “How could you let her have tequila?”
“Let her? Woman, I’m not her mother. She’s twenty-one now.” Neve stroked Amarie’s curls with her free hand. “You gonna be okay?”
Amarie nodded.
“That’s my girl.”
A prickly twinge of jealousy snaked through Char’s veins. She wanted to be the one to say and do those things. It was ridiculous. Neve was Amarie’s best friend—her Rowan. There was no reason to be envious. There was nothing romantic between them. At least, Char didn’t think so.
As they helped Amarie down both flights of creaky stairs, Rowan behind them with her cane, Char studied Neve. The gentle way she guided Amarie’s feet. How she patiently paused mid-flight to let Amarie dance as a passing car blasted Sia. The line between friendship and love was sometimes so thin and blurry. She was positive that Neve was straight, though.
Once Amarie was safely tucked into the front of her Sunfire, Charlotte turned toward Neve and Rowan.
“She’s not a puker,” Neve said, “but if you’re not careful, she’ll pass out on the ride home and you’ll never wake her up. You’ll have to talk to her to keep her awake.”
Great. Char glanced at Rowan. Her best friend lifted an eyebrow in response, as if to say “Here’s your chance.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll text you when she’s home.”
Neve nodded. “Thanks.”
“Matt took Lucas to Taco Bell,” Rowan explained.
“Because he needed comfort food after being a dick?” Char crossed her arms.
“Right?” Neve scowled.
Rowan held up her hands. “I’m not the one who took him. At least he’s not here to see this. He doesn’t get to see what he did.” She nodded toward Amarie in the passenger seat.
“On that note . . .” Char gave them a wave, then went around to the driver’s side and slid in. She took a deep breath as she put Amarie’s address into her phone’s GPS. She could do this. It was just a five minute drive. Then she could go home and drown her own sorrows in Ben & Jerry’s. She needed to stop pining after someone else’s girl.
Next to her, Amarie thumbed through the CD case she kept in the car.
“Sorry for the outdated tech,” Char said as she backed out of her spot. “The CD player came with an MP3 cord, but I lost it. I swear this car eats things.”
“It’s cool. I didn’t even know they still made these.” Amarie giggled. Selecting a disk, she slid it into the stereo. Mariah Carey’s “Fantasy” floated through the tiny car—an entirely too apt song, in Charlotte’s opinion.
Amarie moved her shoulders, chair dancing to the music. Rolling to a stop at the light, Char watched her. She’d never known dancing in a car could be so sexy.
She had about four minutes left. She could manage. She had to.
A soft, warm hand settled on Char’s bare thigh. “Thank you,” Amarie said sincerely.
Time stopped. The street faded away. The only thing Char was aware of was that hand, the skin to skin contact. Her already short T-shirt dress hiked up from driving. The sound of her breath in her ears—which she could somehow hear over the music. Swallowing hard, she turned to face Amarie.
Something she couldn’t read swam in those warm brown eyes. The entire world around them halted to slow honey speed, their eyes locked. Amarie’s lips curled up in a sensuous smile.
Any Other Love Page 4
