Page 6 of Say You Want Me
“My shoes,” Charlotte said, her voice low and raspy.
Taylor looked down. A black pump was bobbing three feet out, riding the foam like a tiny sailboat heading for open ocean. Its partner swirled upside down in a shallow pool two yards away.
Taylor laughed softly before she could stop herself. “Stay right there.”
Taylor waded into the surf, the ocean biting sharp against her thighs. Sand slipped beneath her toes as she reached into the churn, her fingers locking over the wet leather of the heel just before the undertow dragged it away. She swiped the second pump out of the foam on her way back, shaking the excess saltwater onto the wet shore.
When she turned around, Charlotte was standing on dry sand, purse clutched against her ribs and her blond hair tangled wildly in the wind. She looked completely flustered, her usual composure washed away by the tide.
“Rescued,” Taylor said, holding up the dripping heels.
Charlotte exhaled a long breath, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She took a step forward, her arch covered in wet gray grit. “I dropped them when you... when we...”
“I know,” Taylor said, stepping out of the frigid water. The warmth beneath her skin made the chilly breeze bearable. She gathered her own flip-flops into her left hand, looping the strapsthrough her fingers, and held Charlotte’s black pumps by their slender heels in her right.
Charlotte let out a quiet laugh that sounded like a confession. “They’re Italian suede. Or they were.”
Taylor tested her grip on the tangled footwear. Charlotte stood holding her small handbag, looking down at her bare feet before bringing her blue-gray eyes back up to meet Taylor’s. The initial humor melted, leaving behind a warm, searching look that settled on Taylor.
Then Charlotte’s gaze drifted down the coastline toward the distant, yellow glow of the boardwalk.
Taylor recognized the shift instantly. That familiar distance was creeping back into Charlotte’s eyes, the quiet hesitation that meant she was calculating the years between them and building a reason to walk away.
“My place is two blocks up from the pier,” Taylor said, keeping her tone easy. “We could walk back there.”
Charlotte froze. Her fingers tightened on the strap of her purse, her lips parting as if preparing to deliver a carefully structured refusal.
Taylor didn’t give the doubt room to set in.
“There’s no pressure,” Taylor said, holding her gaze until the crease between Charlotte’s eyebrows smoothed out. “But I know I could spend hours kissing you, and my couch is much more comfortable.”
5
The rubber thongs of Taylor’s flip-flops pinched lightly between Charlotte’s toes, the oversized foam soles slap-slapping against the hardwood entry floor. Outside, the beach wind had bitten straight through her blazer, but inside, the air embraced her in a slow wave of sandalwood and roasted coffee.
Charlotte’s damp pant legs clung cold and stiff against her shins while the lingering taste of Taylor burned hot against the back of her teeth, a friction of freezing salt water and liquid heat that set every nerve along her spine vibrating.
She looked around the room, her chest humming with an erratic, giddy pulse she hadn’t felt in twenty years.
Music sheets spilled across a faded vintage rug, a brass floor lamp cast long amber shadows over a low coffee table, and an acoustic guitar rested comfortably in the corner. The place smelled alive, uncurated, and completely unlike the sterile, beige symmetry of the house she’d shared with Diane.
Taylor set Charlotte’s ruined Italian pumps on a small woven mat by the door, shaking her head softly before looking up.
“You’re probably cold in those pants,” Taylor said, her eyes flicking down to the dark, sodden rings around Charlotte’s calves. “Hold on. I’ll grab you something dry.”
Taylor vanished through a door off the narrow hallway.
Charlotte stood near the center of the room, her thumbs hooked into the pockets of her damp trousers to hide the faint tremor in her fingers. She couldn’t believe she was here. Two hours ago she’d been sitting on the beach, listening to Taylor sing, and now she was standing in her living room, wearing borrowed flip-flops.
Heavy heat pooled low in Charlotte’s belly at the memory of the kiss, the way she’d practically melted into Taylor, letting go entirely while her fingers tangled through chestnut waves and Taylor’s soft lips pressed into hers.
She swallowed hard and forced her gaze back to the room, pushing the memory down.
She hadn’t felt anything like that since... well, had she ever felt it?
Thoughts of Diane crept in, unwanted and sharp. Even in the beginning, their intimacy hadn’t been like this. It’d been a calculated rhythm between two high-achieving adults who scheduled sex between grant applications and faculty dinners. It hadn’t possessed this raw, chaotic pull.
Had it ever even matched what had just happened on the beach?
