Fire and Water Page 23

  “And mine,” Maureen laughed.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I’ll admit, I’m mentioning this partially for selfish reasons, because I miss you and our Thursday night wine and popcorn sessions. Drooling over medical doctors with Kevin doesn’t have the same effect,” Maureen said lightheartedly.

  Diane laughed and filled her mug with the boiling water, dipping in the tea bag. She stared at the earthy perfusion of tea, clouding the hot water, and lamented her predicament.

  “My point is,” Maureen said, “You’ve come a long way since your separation and divorce, and now with your book, I don’t want you to lose sight of what you worked so hard for now.”

  ***

  Shawn’s apartment, located in the outskirts of Burlington, was in a lovely community. The area was small and the streets tightly packed, but Diane admired the city’s large and lively personality—trendy bistros, ethnic markets, artist cafés and coffee shops. The center of which was buzzing with activity on that beautiful Saturday night. Michelle warned Diane parking anywhere downtown would be a hot mess, a warning Diane took in with an annoyed groan. But once she exited the car, bottle of zin in her hand, she was grateful for the extra city blocks to clear her head—even with the chilly wind cutting through her cable-knit sweater and jeans—and put on her dinner party façade required for the evening.

  Finishing her book plopped Diane straight on top of cloud nine. Floating. Free. Feeling fierce. But her moment of celebration didn’t last long, as Maureen reminded Diane of her neglected responsibilities. Diane hung up the phone. She fell back to earth, the relentless gravity of her situation hurled her towards the cold, unyielding ground. It wasn’t Maureen’s fault. Diane knew her best friend had good intentions and was simply looking out for her well-being. Writing a book was a huge accomplishment, and there was nothing that could take away from the pride that came with that, even after a sobering reality check. Except, instead of toasting herself with sweet champagne she’d expected to be sipping for days on end, Diane felt like she’d downed a sour cocktail muddied with bitters.

  And the taste wouldn’t leave her mouth.

  The truth was, Diane hadn’t put a single thought into what would come next. For once in her life, she was wrapped up in living in the moment, coasting along, swept up in Michelle and how wonderful it felt not sticking to a script and schedule, and simply following her desires. Diane relished that feeling. But admittedly, these past several weeks were so out of character, and now it was time for Diane to get her head straight before things escalated further. She desperately needed to talk to Michelle.

  ASAP.

  But Diane knew, as she entered Shawn’s building and buzzed his apartment number, it was impossible to address that now. Raised properly, Diane needed to be a polite and gracious guest for her host, and leave her own complicated issues at the door. Tonight was about Shawn and his accomplishments—becoming a resident artist in Burlington’s top gallery deserved to be front and center of conversation that evening—and Diane wouldn’t ruin his moment to shine, even if she was stuck standing in the soaking rain.

  “Diane!” Shawn exclaimed when he opened the door, greeting her in a crisp button-down flannel and jeans, his hair in its usual messy swoop. “Please, come in. I’m so happy you made it.”

  “Thank you for inviting me,” Diane said, stepping inside after Shawn closed the door. The Olde Mill apartments were gorgeous—with river views and historical charm of the old wool mill of its textile past—and Diane admired the exposed beams and brick walls as she walked inside, handing him the bottle of wine. “I hope wine is okay. I didn’t want to arrive empty-handed, after all, congratulations are in order.”

  “You’re so sweet,” Shawn said. “Zin is my favorite. It’s perfect. May I give you a hug? It’s so nice to see you.”

  “Of course,” Diane wrapped her arms around him, inhaling the inviting, musky blend of sandalwood and jasmine of his cologne, as he escorted her inside. “I love your place,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Very hip and artsy.”

  “And absurdly overpriced,” Shawn laughed. “I’m totally going all in with the starving artist thing living here.”

  “I should very well hope not,” Diane laughed and placed an affectionate hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m kidding. Come on,” Shawn said, coaxing her with a nod of his chin, “there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Emerging from the entryway, Shawn led her into the main living space. The apartment was intimate even with the high ceilings and large industrial-style windows, letting in a breathtaking view of the city lights and the bridge over the rushing river falls. Like Shawn, his space was welcoming and warm, and Diane felt immediately more at ease than when she first arrived. Bringing Diane over to the couch, Shawn sat down next to her in the middle, wrapping his arm around a younger gentleman on his other side.

  “Diane, this is Travis,” Shawn said, flaunting a smitten smile.

  “Hi,” Travis said, shaking her hand, “it’s nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” Diane said, studying Travis’ wavy black hair, rugged features and smooth, olive-beige skin. His toned physique was obvious under his form-fitting shirt. “Shawn may have mentioned you a few…dozen times.”

  “I can’t help it,” Shawn said, blushing adorably, “he’s worth mentioning obsessively.”

  Travis laughed and kissed Shawn on the cheek. “I hope you like pasta, Diane,” he said, “I made my grandmother’s ziti and meatballs for us tonight.”

  “Travis is a transplant from Long Island,” Shawn said, “his family is Italian.”

  “Authentic cuisine,” Diane said. “That sounds incredible.”

  “He’s an artist in the kitchen,” Shawn bragged.

  Diane smiled. “And you’re a professional photographer,” she said. “You two make a picturesque pair.”

  “Not to brag,” Travis said, twirling his fingers in Shawn’s hair with a toying smirk, “but I want to say my meatballs eclipse your landscape shots by far.”

  “That’s not exactly fair,” Shawn laughed. “Your art certainly tastes better.”

  “Very true,” Travis agreed.

  “Food should be ready soon, but first there’s drinks. In fact,” Shawn said, grinning at Diane, “if you’d be so kind as to drop the wine you brought into the kitchen, there might be a little something else that will suit your fancy in the meantime,” he said with a wink.

  Travis and Shawn curled closely together on the couch, while Diane took her time, admiring the rest of the space on the way towards the kitchen. Off to the side sat a table full of flowers, congratulation cards, and Shawn’s photographs of the lake and mountains and wild flowers. Shawn certainly had an eye for a good shot. She’d have to grab the gallery address and purchase a print for herself (and Maureen), she thought to herself, as she headed to the next room with the wine.

  Diane didn’t make it in, however, stopping abruptly at the threshold.

  Michelle stood at the kitchen counter, struggling with what appeared to be a cake, stubbornly stuck to the pan. Leaning in the doorway, Diane watched Michelle curse the sugary concoction, hair in disarray, a dusting of flour on her face. Michelle was a hot mess, yet everything about her was easy to look at, particularly how stunningly beautiful she looked in her flowy, gold cardigan and ripped jeans. The pink, lacy apron tied around her waist was a surprising touch.

  For Diane, it was impossible ignoring the emotional flutter in her chest as her eyes filled with Michelle. How her heart warmed. Her skin tingled. Had Diane ever really noticed all the small, adorable mannerisms Michelle possessed when her mind was at work—how she held her bottom lip tightly between her teeth, brown eyes narrowed with focus. Even the reddened tone of her cheeks as her baking frustrations continued was particularly endearing.

  Diane shook her head. This woman unraveled her. And the absolute truth was, Diane enjoyed every surprising effect Michelle had on her. Coming to V
ermont had transformed Diane in ways she never expected, gave her confidence, and a missing exuberance in her life she’d never allowed herself to possess. The thought of never feeling this way again made Diane’s knees wobble with dread. Her divorce was still fresh, and leaping straight into a long-distance relationship wasn’t what Diane truthfully wanted. But they could work something out. Anything. Surely. Diane wasn’t ready to let go. She wasn’t prepared to make all this between them just a fleeting moment in time; Diane was positive, leaving Michelle didn’t need to be a permanent goodbye.

  “Can I help you with that?” Diane asked, she stepped fully into the galley-style kitchen and set the wine by the refrigerator, settling at Michelle’s side. “Seems like you’re struggling a bit.”

  Pulling out a spatula, Michelle sighed and swiped her hand through her hair. “I’ve been fighting with this damn thing for the last five minutes.”

  “The cake is winning.”

  “It is.”

  “Why didn’t you google a solution?”

  “My hands are icky.” Michelle shook her head, holding up her floury hands. “Plus, I thought it’d be just as easy prying the sucker out.”

  “I don’t suggest doing that,” Diane said softly, taking the baking utensil from Michelle and placing it on the counter. “Would you like some help?”

  “Why is making the pineapple upside-down cake, upside-down, so damn difficult?” Michelle huffed. “This is ridiculous.”

  Diane chuckled.

  “I hope your offer to help goes beyond laughing at me,” Michelle crossed her arms, side-eyeing Diane with a smirk. “This is all your fault anyway.”

  “Is it now?” Diane laughed harder. “How so? I barely stepped foot in the kitchen.”

  “You’re rubbing off on me.”

  Diane’s eyebrows lifted. “Am I?”

  “Swooping in here with your sexy Southern charm, baking nice things for people,” Michelle said, knocking Diane with her hip. “You’re a terrible influence.”

  “I am the worst.” Diane smiled, wrapping her arm around Michelle and kissing her temple.

  Resting her head on Diane’s shoulder, Michelle leaned into Diane’s touch and sighed. “I wanted to make Shawn’s favorite dessert for tonight, but clearly, I need to stay far away from the kitchen at all times. I think I got overly cocky with that pie we made together.”

  “Cakes are not the same as pie.”

  Michelle flipped her hair from her face, leaving a spattering of flour in her hair. “I’m realizing that now.”

  Chuckling, Diane brushed the white flour from Michelle’s hair, and inspected the cake in front of them. “You have a big heart,” she said. “He’s going to love it, whatever condition it’s in.”

  “The current condition is stuck in the pan.”

  “It’s going to be pineapple mush if you scrape it out with a spatula.”

  “As long as it tastes good.”

  Diane shook her head. “We’ll get it looking perfectly,” she said. “First, where’s the serving dish you were going to place it on?”

  Michelle handed her a white plate.

  Sliding behind Michelle, Diane supervised over her shoulder, hands soft and reassuring on Michelle’s hips, as she guided her through the next step. “Now, place the plate on top of your pan, and flip them over together, giving it a few gentle taps.”

  “You know,” Michelle tilted her head and eyed Diane with a grin, “I think you rather enjoy having me in these helpless positions.”

  Michelle’s seductive tone sent a flood of goosebumps over Diane’s skin. Diane curled her fingers into Michelle’s hips and tugged her closer with a gruff moan. Her eyes shut, hearing a familiar aroused sigh leaving Michelle’s mouth. Diane could never tire of those incredible sounds.

  “I can’t deny,” Diane mumbled, as she placed her lips on Michelle’s neck, “it has its perks.”

  Returning to the task at hand, Michelle did as instructed, covering the pan and flipping it until the cake dropped. Wincing, Michelle removed the dish. Not bad. A few craters in the cake, and two stubborn pineapple rings stuck to the pan, but Diane peeled them off and slapped them on top.

  “There.” Diane nodded. “Perfect.”

  “What?” Michelle scrunched her face, eyeing the uneven cake and pineapple concoction sitting on the dish. “It looks like crap.”

  “Nonsense. It looks like it was made with love,” Diane reassured her. “I’m sure it will taste as good as it smells.”

  “Yeah, don’t bet on that either,” Michelle laughed, untying her apron and tossing it on the counter. She fetched the bowl of maraschino cherries she’d set off to the side. “Maybe we should unload the whole jar of cherries on top and cover up my ugly failure just to be safe.”

  “Or…” Diane slid beside Michelle again and plucked a shiny red fruit from the bowl, placing it delicately in the center of a pineapple, “we can do our best and know Shawn will love it no matter what.”

  “I suppose that will work, too,” Michelle said, following suit and dotting the cake with cherries.

  After a few minutes working together, they finished the cake—perfectly golden brown, with glazed pineapple and a scatter of sweet cherries. It was perfect.

  “See,” Diane said, smiling at Michelle, “followed through with it to the end, and it turned out amazing.”

  “You are my hero,” Michelle said, turning and wrapping her arms around Diane. She placed a soft kiss on her lips. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me, too,” Diane said, giving in to the delight of being enveloped by Michelle’s arms and kissing her again. “Me, too.”

  ***

  Tipping the last of her wine into her mouth, Diane smiled as she watched Michelle and Shawn engage in another round of their friendly bickering matches from across the table. Travis looked at Diane, shaking his head with a laugh. There was nothing quite like sharing a pleasant dinner and evening with friends, and it soothed Diane’s nerves, temporarily taking her out of her anxious self. The best ziti and meatballs she’d ever tasted only put her over the top. And Michelle’s cake? Exquisite. Perfectly moist and fluffy. The only thing sweeter than the cherries and pineapple scattered on top was the pride on Michelle’s face, tasting her cake’s delicious success.

  The entire night was better than Diane expected. Considering how twisted in knots her stomach was when she’d arrived, Diane was able to put aside her conflicting emotions and celebrate Shawn and his exciting new title of resident artist, and enjoyed herself. Despite Michelle’s hand resting affectionately on her leg the entire time. And her thumb lightly stroking Diane’s upper thigh. None of which helped lift Diane’s heavy conscience or formulate the practical and necessary conversation she needed to have with Michelle. Having the familiar, enticing heat of Michelle’s touch on her, only made things more difficult. Complicated and messy. Making Diane’s clear conviction to leave so soon, cloudy and woefully gray.

  After saying goodnight to their generous host, Michelle and Diane headed out. The night was brisk, and they huddled together, shoulder-to-shoulder, taking the sloping path from the apartments towards the quiet street. The lampposts and the rush of the swollen river followed them, as they fell into step together. Fallen leaves scuffled under their feet. If it were another ordinary fall night, strolling the city sidewalks with Michelle at her side would have been unbelievably romantic.

  “I’m glad the cake turned out well,” Michelle said, tucking her hands into her wool jacket as the wind picked up. “Everyone seemed to like it.”

  “It was really good,” Diane nodded, scrunching her shoulders tight to keep warm.

  “Are you sure?” Michelle asked, glancing at Diane. “You seemed, I don’t know, distracted at dinner.”

  “Did I?” Diane said, a remorseful lump forming in her throat. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

  “Were you uncomfortable?” Michelle asked softly. “I know being in a new place with new people is overwhelming.”


  “No. Not at all. Quite the opposite,” Diane said, finding herself swallowing hard with her reply. The swift strike of emotion caught her off guard. Coming to Vermont was one of the most fulfilling experiences of her life, largely due to the incredible people she’d met along the way. Saying goodbye was going to do a number on her. “I’ve only ever felt welcomed and accepted since I’ve arrived here. By everyone.”

  “Well, except by a certain someone,” Michelle smirked and hooked their arms together, “who shall remain anonymous.”

  “Right,” Diane chuckled. “Her.”

  Michelle tugged Diane closer. “Thank God that asshat’s out of the picture.”

  Diane’s laughter faded into a halfhearted smile, and her steps faltered. Michelle’s face fell serious as she watched curiously as Diane paused in the middle of the sidewalk and stared down at her feet with a loud sigh. “Michelle, I—”

  “Do you want to grab a drink?” Michelle asked quickly. She turned fully and latched onto Diane’s hands, her thumbs swirling over her skin tenderly like before. “There’s a place up the block. Cozy atmosphere. Good, hot drinks. What do you say?”

  Diane absorbed the bright hopefulness in Michelle’s eyes, and answered with a docile nod. “Sure,” Diane said. “Sounds perfect.”

  The Sugar House gifted them a rush rejuvenating warmth as Michelle held the door open and gestured Diane inside. They squeezed themselves among the crowd. The tap house was naturally full on a Saturday night—customers tightly knit around the space, enjoying the array of craft beers and tv screens lit with college football games. The noise and chatter were deafening, but Diane was thankful for a reprieve from her own loud and demanding thoughts she’d listened to all day. A distracting atmosphere was just what Diane needed.

  “I guess ‘cozy’ was a loose interpretation,” Michelle shouted near Diane’s ear. “Is this all right?”

  “It’s fine.”