Page 23 of Windlass

“Do I look like a Stephanie to you?” Stevie had slid into the chair opposite Angie and opened a battered lunchbox the rest of the way. The zipper stuck, and she swore, a low, “This fucking thing,” that warmed Angie to her immediately. Truthfully, with her blond ponytail, scrubs, and eyes a blue that bordered on turquoise, she did look rather like a Stephanie.

“I’d say you’re somewhere on the spectrum between Stephanie and Steph, yeah.”

“Brutal. Well, my cousin is Steph, so. Here. I’m not gonna eat this and I amnotfighting to zip this thing back up.” She’d pushed the apple and granola bar closer, not waiting to hear Angie’s reply. “Angela doesn’t give you a lot of options for nicknames.”

“You’d be surprised. Most people call me Ange or Angie, though. I’m certainly not an Angel.”

“Oh?” Stevie gave her the impish grin Angie would later come to associate with her, though at the time she hadn’t known its true danger. What she had known, immediately, was that Stevie-not-Stephanie was going to be the first test of her resolve. She’d be easy to flirt with. Too easy, though she also seemed too nice to fit Angie’s type.

She lifted the apple, too hungry to argue, and took a bite. It crunched satisfyingly. “Angels are boring.”

“Couldn’t agree more. What do you do for fun, not-boring-Ange?”

She’d liked the way Stevie had seized on the more intimate variation of her name, claiming her acquaintance with an ease she envied.

They’d been friends since. More than friends—Stevie was the kind of friend she hadn’t believed really existed, always there for her, always ready with a joke to crack her out of a foul mood, and always bright, sweet, and sharp. Inviting Stevie to live with her when she inherited the house had been the easiest decision she’d ever made. They’d lived alone for a few months then, too, before Lilian and then Morgan moved in. Perhaps that was why the memory was on her mind. Being alone had not been awkward then. Not like this.

When, exactly, had things changed? Long before their near-kiss, certainly. She lit the bowl and breathed in deeply, savoring the burn. Maybe there hadn’t been a single moment. Maybe it had happened slowly, a siege she hadn’t realized she was under, Stevie gradually breaking through every wall.

Or maybe it had been the first time they’dreallyfought, and she’d seen the flash of Stevie’s temper. They’d both been exhausted and crabby, and it had been Stevie’s turn to do the dishes. Or at least that’s what Angie had thought. Stevie claimed otherwise. They’d ended up shouting at each other in the kitchen until one of them burst into laughter. After that they did the dishes together. But there had been that moment when Stevie’s gaze had hardened and heated, and Angie caught a glimpse of the person Stevie hid beneath her humor.

A bird tweeted out a mournful evening solo. Could she really risk losing Stevie’s friendship, knowing she’d never maintained a healthy romantic relationship in her life? They’d fuck, maybe even date, and then Angie would bolt like she always did unless she intentionally drove the other person away, which was the same thing in the end. She couldn’t help it. It was unbearable, to be seen, and so she didn’t bear it.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket, interrupting her maudlin thoughts.

SW: Help. I’m a third wheel.

Precisely,she typed back,how are you a third wheel, and where are you being driven?

A photograph of Morgan and Emilia walking along a beach, stained sunset gold, came in reply.

Awww, she typed.You’re like their tiny child.

SW: Shut up and bring me Marvin. I suppose you could come too.

Despite the way it was worded, Angie suspected getting her to the beach had been more on Stevie’s mind than any fears about third wheels.

SW: Please?

Dammit. She could picture’s Stevie’s face, wide-eyed and beseeching, and while it was obviously an act, it always worked on Angie. Her feet were sore after a day walking the yards, and her back was sore from spending the rest of that day sitting in a chair, and all she wanted to do was . . . sit in their house waiting for Stevie to come home, alone with her thoughts?

Fine, she texted,I’ll be right there.

Ten minutes later, Angie tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear, only to have the wind snatch it right back again. Clouds cast swift intermittent shadows on the darkening pewter sand of the only short stretch of beach near their house not covered in rock. Marvin bounded from one pile of washed-up seaweed to another, rooting through them in search of crabs, bugs, or dead things tangled in the green and brown strands. Doggy breath enhancers, Stevie called them. Angie regretted agreeing to go for a walk the moment Marvin panted in her face.

Stevie walked beside her. Morgan and Emilia walked ahead, heads bent close to each other as they strolled arm in arm into the sunset, looking like something out of an outdoor outfitter’s magazine. Morgan had met up with Emilia after work, Angie learned since her arrival, and she had to admit she would have felt like a third wheel too with the way they were acting.

“Look at their dumb dogs.” Stevie nodded toward Kraken, who paced regally beside his person, and Emilia’s greyhound, Nell, who raced back and forth chasing gulls. “They don’t know they’re missing out on snacks.”

Marvin, as Angie watched, wolfed down something that probably smelled like fish and would definitely end up in a pile of vomit later on.

“How has he survived to adulthood?”

“Snacks.” Stevie tucked her hands into her front pockets. Goosebumps lined her arms, and the thin cloth of her simple white T-shirt could not have been very warm in the evening chill. Angie wanted to rub her hands over that exposed skin until warmth flushed the capillaries. “And me, probably.”

“I would have brought you a sweatshirt.”

Stevie flashed her a pout and shrugged. “I’m fine.”

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