Any Other Love

by Elizabeth Barone

“You didn’t let me. This is all on me, baby.” She gathered Amarie into her arms, reveling in the warmth of the other woman’s body, the way their forms fit so perfectly together. “I have another confession to make,” she whispered into Amarie’s ear.

  Amarie nestled her face into the crook of Char’s neck. “Please tell.”

  Charlotte steeled herself. What she was about to ask for was a lot. She might be expecting too much too soon. The only way to find out was to ask. “I want to come home . . . if you’ll have me.”

  Tipping her head back, Amarie fixed her with a playful stare. “Duh. Of course I want you. Silly Rhett.” She wound her arms around Char’s waist and pulled her closer. “Can I kiss you now? Please?”

  “Kiss me now, and often,” Char quipped, then fell silent as their lips met. The sensation of Amarie’s body in her arms, their lips pressed together, was a spark reigniting their connection. SEvery nerve in her body thrummed back to life. Though there was no heat in the kiss—for the moment, anyway—there was plenty of promise. It was a direct line to forgiveness, an instant message to her heart.

  Amarie broke the kiss, but her arms remained around Char. “So what now? You hop in your car and I hop in mine, and we meet back at home?”

  Char grimaced. “I kind of sold the Sunfire. Della’s been cool about letting me sleep on her couch, but I needed to contribute something. She was kind of behind on electricity so I caught her up, and I’ve been buying groceries.”

  “So you’re not coming home.” Amarie’s arms loosened around her.

  “No, I am,” she said firmly. “I just have to wrap some things up, and I’ll have to take the train and then come back for my things.” A few times, she wanted to add, but didn’t. Though she hadn’t brought any furniture with her, she had lots of chef jackets. She’d also acquired a pretty serious collection of paintings by queer artists.

  “Or,” Amarie said, her embrace tightening again, “you can wrap things up and come home with me tonight.”

  “Or I can do that.” She didn’t want to leave Della stuck for help at Gravity, but she hoped the other woman would understand. Though she didn’t want to admit it to Amarie, she’d loved sort of having her own café throughout the past couple of months. While Della ran around doing her thing, she’d run daily operations at Gravity on her own. She had regular customers. True, she’d had regulars at The 545, but they’d belonged to Shay. They came to the lounge for the mind-numbing music and strong drinks, not her food. In SoHo, she was gaining a reputation for her dishes—albeit slowly, but still.

  Amarie gave her a tiny smile. “You don’t want to leave.”

  “I do,” she insisted, hugging her tightly. “I promise. I’m going to miss Gravity and SoHo, though.”

  “Well,” Amarie said, releasing her, “you do realize you have a best friend who owns a bakery slash café thing. Why don’t you talk to Rowan and Matt about becoming a partner?”

  “I can’t ask them for that,” she said, but even as she spoke the words, she knew that Amarie was right. She should’ve thought of that ages ago. She really was stubborn. More than likely, Rowan and Matt would both be thrilled to have her—her best friend, especially.

  “You know I’m right.” Amarie walked around to the driver’s side and unlocked the doors with her keyring. “Hop in.”

  Sliding into the passenger’s seat, Charlotte waited until Amarie was seated too. “You are,” she said. “Even if you’re wrong, I’ll figure something out.”

  “You will,” Amarie agreed. “Though I do have to break the news to Matt that he’s going to be homeless now.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think he’ll mind.” Char laced her fingers through Amarie’s.

  “I don’t know. I’m kind of getting used to his massages.”

  “Wait, what?” Char shot her a sideways look. “Massages?”

  Giggling, Amarie used her left hand to guide the car from the curb and into the flow of traffic. “It doesn’t help my joint pain much,” she said, “but he is excellent at loosening knots in your neck.”

  “I’m going to have to have a talk with him,” Char said. “He needs to keep his hands off my girl.” As the words left her mouth, they felt more right than they ever had. She watched Amarie’s face.

  “Your girl reluctantly agrees, as long as you promise to take over his duties.”

  “All that and more,” she promised.

  Chapter 23

  The soft ping of an incoming text woke Amarie from her nap. She stared blearily around the living room for a moment as the sleepy cobwebs cleared. She’d laid down around 2 p.m., when the sky was still light, but now the living room was shrouded in soft pinks and oranges from the setting sun. She sat up on the couch and stretched.

  Her phone vibrated again, reminding her of the text. Grabbing it, she swiped to read the message from Hugh.

  “Found this and thought of you,” he wrote. “Hope you get it.” Attached was a link to another job opening.

  Her finger hovered over the delete button. It wasn’t that she was mad at Hugh. He’d more than kept his promise, texting her every couple of weeks with a kind word even if he didn’t have anything else for her. Still, she was starting to feel like she’d never find anything. An entire summer had come and gone, September was waning toward October, and she still hadn’t so much as snagged an interview. She sighed.

  At least she no longer came home to an empty apartment.

  Between Pops acting as a fuzzy shadow and Char moving back in, the place seemed more like home than ever. The thought of Char made her wonder how things were going. Her girl had gone to Elli’s to talk to Rowan and Matt just before Amarie had fallen asleep. She hoped it was working out. Something needed to change soon, because they were both unemployed at the moment, and she had no idea how they were going to keep the apartment if neither of them found a job.

  “It’s worth a shot,” she told herself, and tapped the link that Hugh had sent her.

  The job posting was on the daycare’s website rather than Indeed, so she got off the couch and ambled into the office where she’d left her MacBook Pro. Then she used the hand-off feature on her phone and opened the page on her laptop.

  For the next half hour, she updated her resume and perfected her cover letter. The job was at an accredited daycare rather than a school. It sounded like it would be less physically demanding than her old job, but she still worried. Even if she managed to get hired, her disease was always going to be unpredictable. She supposed that was something she was going to have to accept.

  In a world of no absolutes, things were even less guaranteed for people like her.

  She stared at the open document on her screen. Every word was polished. If she did any more editing, she’d end up deleting the damned thing. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to email it.

  What if?

  What if?

  What if?

  The words reverberated through her thoughts. Though the job seemed like it would be perfect for her, her asshole anxiety insisted that she didn’t deserve it. She’d earned her degree, though, and she’d received a shining letter of recommendation from Hugh despite her poor health and attendance. Even with all the days she’d missed, she’d made an impression on her students and run her classroom as well as any other teacher. She would be working in a classroom with several other teachers, too, she reminded herself.

  She would always have help.

  She needed help pressing that send button, though.

  Picking up her phone, she FaceTime audio called her mom. One thing hadn’t changed, and that was the shitty cell service in her apartment.

  “I knew eventually you’d remember your poor mother,” her mom exclaimed when the call connected. “My God, you’re like a stranger now. Are you okay? Are you eating?”

  “Ay, Mami, I’m fine,” she said. “I am sorry, though.” She took a few minutes to catch Paloma up on her health—and Char.

  “You got a cat? Your father won’t be able to visit. Did you f
orget that he’s allergic?”

  “That’s your takeaway, Mom? He can take Benadryl, you know.” She shook her head with a smile.

  “Then he’ll fall asleep on your couch.” Paloma laughed.

  Amarie laughed too. “True. Pops will probably cuddle up right next to him.”

  “It’ll be a disaster,” her mom said, still laughing. “I’m so happy to hear you’re feeling better, though. I’ve been praying for you.”

  “Gracias, Mami.” She drummed her fingers on the polished wood of her desk—a sturdy piece of furniture that had been her grandmother’s. At least one woman in every generation of her mom’s side of the family had been a teacher. She was proud to carry on the tradition, even if she was terrified. “How’s school?”

  “Busy. You know how it is. After summer break, they’re still in vacation mode.” Her mom paused. “Sorry, sweet girl. I don’t mean to make you feel bad.”

  “You’re not.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sending my resume to another opening. That’s actually why I called.”

  “Are your feet cold?”

  Amarie snorted. “You mean do I have cold feet?”

  “Don’t be a ball buster. Are you?”

  “Yes. I need a pep talk.” She studied her fingernails. It was too bad her bank account was so empty. A manicure would be just the boost she needed to walk into that interview with confidence—if her resume even got that far.

  “Amarie,” her mother said, “look at all you’ve accomplished. You were valedictorian in high school. You filled a temporary position and still taught those children. That’s not easy to do. You found a rheumatologist who actually listens. Sweetheart, you don’t need a pep talk. You need to stop hesitating. You can do this.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m doing it.” She sent the email before she could analyze it any further. “Done.”

  “Good girl. Now, bring your Charlotte over for dinner tonight.”

  “Slow down, Ma. What if I had plans?”

  “Plans? What’s that quote by that guy from The Beatles?”

  Using her free hand, Amarie Googled it. “It’s from a John Lennon song. Life’s what happens when you’re making other plans,” she paraphrased.

  “That’s the one,” Paloma said. She sighed. “If not tonight, then soon. I want to meet this girl who’s got you so busy, you can’t call your own parents.”

  Stifling a laugh, Amarie promised they would come over soon. Then she hung up.

  For several minutes, she stared at her email inbox. She’d made all of the plans she possibly could. It was time to live and let things unfold as they would.

  Chapter 24

  Char paced the front of Elli’s while the last customer of the day ogled the remaining pastries in the case. The closer it got to closing time—and her official meeting with Rowan and Matt—the more nervous she got.

  “And is that a pretzel?” the elderly gentleman asked.

  “No, no, that’s a sandwich,” Rowan said, barely suppressing a laugh. “Unfortunately, we don’t sell pretzels.”

  Charlotte added “stuffed pretzels” to her mental pitch list.

  “I should’ve brought my glasses.” The customer straightened. “I’ll take a dozen of those blueberry muffins.”

  Rowan counted the muffins in the case. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have a full dozen. Looks like there are eight left.”

  “Oh, all right.” The man sighed. “I’ll take those.”

  Char joined Rowan behind the counter, taking over boxing the muffins while her best friend rang her customer out.

  “And is there a discount?”

  “For buying at the end of the night?” Rowan guessed.

  Char exchanged glances with her, again trying not to laugh. If her pitch went well, he would be her customer, too.

  “Of course,” Rowan said, punching it into the register.

  When he was safely in his car, Char locked the door. She let out a low whistle. “Busy day.”

  “Tell me about it.” Rowan hung up her pastry jacket on a hook, wearing only her tank top and leggings. “Hot day, too. Looks like summer isn’t quite done with us.” She sank into a chair in the dining area, motioning for Char to join her. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “We need Matt,” Char said, raising her voice slightly on his name.

  His voice floated from the office. “I’m coming.”

  She sat down across from Rowan, reminding herself to breathe. She was only talking with friends, she reminded herself. Nothing more.

  A low rumble reached her ears, the floor of the bakery vibrating along with it.

  “Ruh-roh,” Rowan said.

  Matt ambled into the dining area. “Was that thunder?”

  “I hope not,” Char said. “Remember what happened last time there was a big storm?” The rain had knocked down a tree that had crashed into the front window of Elli’s—right in the midst of the most important conversation of Rowan and Matt’s relationship.

  Rowan and Matt exchanged knowing looks. “All too well,” Rowan said, “though it wasn’t all bad.” She smiled, then turned to Char. “But you wanted to talk, right?”

  Matt pulled up a chair to their table and sat on it backwards, his arms resting on its back.

  Licking her lips, Char mentally collected her notes. Too bad she hadn’t thought to write everything down on index cards or something. “Okay. This is just a thought. Better make it a Thought, actually—with a capital T.”

  “Ooh, I’m intrigued.” Rowan folded her hands on the table. “Go for it.”

  She took a deep breath. “You guys still want to expand your menu, right?”

  Rowan and Matt exchanged glances again, and Char couldn’t help but notice how they communicated mostly in looks. It was adorable and slightly unnerving. She wondered whether she and Amarie would ever get to that point, and if it would be trippy to other people.

  “I tried to make pretzels,” Rowan said.

  Matt slung an arm around her. “They were all right.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Rowan shook her head, but a tiny smile danced on her lips. “Do you want to come coach me? I’ll pay you,” she told Char.

  Taking a deep breath, Char spread her hands on the table. “I was thinking I could become a third partner, take over the café side of the menu. I can make coffee now, too.”

  “Aw, our little Charlotte is growing up,” Matt joked.

  Rowan studied Char, though, her lips pressed together and her pale blue eyes narrowed.

  “I mean I can make actual drinks and stuff. You know, like a barista.” Char stuck her tongue out at him, half playful and a little bit annoyed. “I make a kick-ass pumpkin spice latte.”

  Matt held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa there, little general. You want to go right up against Starbucks?”

  “We’re down the street from them—er, you are,” she said. “It wouldn’t be that aggressive. Seriously, though, what do you guys think?” Her gaze bounced from face to face, her fingers crossed in her lap under the table like a five-year-old.

  “I’m all for it,” Matt said. “I mean, you do make killer onion rings and wings.” He snapped his fingers. “We could get a deep fryer.”

  “And put it where?” Rowan asked, an eyebrow cocked at him.

  Char’s heart sank. “It’s okay. It was just a suggestion. Lowercase S.” She glanced out the large picture window. The sky had gotten ominously dark, even for September. Thunder rumbled again in the distance. “No more trees in front of Elli’s, so that’s good,” she joked.

  “Still,” Rowan said, standing. “Let’s maybe pull these tables back from the window.”

  “What’s that going to do?” Matt asked, even as he dragged a table toward the center of the dining area.

  “Probably nothing,” Rowan admitted.

  Char helped them pull the furniture away from the window. Then she grabbed her bag and keys. “I’m gonna head home.” With thunder rolling all around them, Pops was probably freaking out—a
nd Amarie was probably miserable, thanks to the drop in barometric pressure. Thunderstorms were always an apocalyptic event in their apartment.

  “Wait.” Rowan touched her arm. “We should talk about our agreement or whatever.” She waved a hand. “I’ll have our lawyer draw something formal up, but in the meantime we need something on paper.” She grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from the checkout counter, and sat back down.

  Char’s eyebrows knit together. “So we’re doing this?”

  “Why not?” Rowan said.

  Squealing, Char jogged around the table and wrapped Rowan in a hug. Then she took a seat and scooted next to her. “I have lots of menu ideas,” she said. “Are you ready?”

  Chapter 25

  Pops purred against Amarie’s knee, his eyes half shut in ecstasy as she scratched under his chin. Though her fingers were stiff and sore, she couldn’t deny the cat his nightly pats. Besides, with several thunderstorms under way around them, he needed the extra comfort.

  She did too.

  Char had texted her to let her know she would be running late. Though Rowan and Matt had switched Elli’s to their new winter hours, the three of them had a lot to discuss.

  She smiled as she rubbed behind one of Pops’s ears. Char finally had her dream job, and all she’d had to do was get out of her own way and ask for it. It was like the happy ending to a good f/f romance novel.

  Sort of.

  She eyed her puffy hands and feet. The damned weather was making her flare more than usual. She’d never been so swollen before, though—especially in areas where she didn’t have any joints. Rolling her eyes, she shifted Pops to the side enough so that she could sneak off the couch. Even as she limped away toward the bathroom, he kept purring.

  Bringing Pops home was probably the best thing she’d ever done.

  She needed the swelling to go away before Char got home. She wanted celebration sex, damn it, thunderstorms or not. As she peed, she tried to remember how to get rid of swelling. There was an acronym. RICE—that was it. Rest, ice, compression, and elevation.