Page 124 of Windlass

“I am,” said Angie.

She was. The sense of severance felt peaceful, Stevie’s puns notwithstanding. Lana’s disgust had been genuine. Her words had been, too, though not in a complimentary way.

Steviewasperfect for her. Lana could get fucked. Still, she wished her well. Maybe she’d find her way one day, preferably before she hurt too many more women. It seemed unlikely. Angie hoped for it anyway.

“You know you’re too good for me, right?” She fingered the hem of Stevie’s T-shirt, not making eye contact. She needed to tell Stevie about what had happened outside Stormy’s bar. And she would. Tonight.

“Peas stop saying that.”

Angie kissed her, ignoring the scandalized look a pair of older women gave them. When she pulled away, Stevie grinned as cheeky as they came and said, “That works, too.”

Returning to the mainland felt a bit like waking from a good dream. Stevie did not want to blink, lest she hurry the process. Even the memory of karaoke was tinged with golden magic, though never again would she be able to think of the song “Can You Feel the Love Tonight” without hearing her voice and Morgan’s creaking out of tune.

It was, however, good to see Olive again. She stroked the round plates of her cheekbones and blew gently into her nostrils, cooing sweet nothings into the summer air. Olive accepted them as was her due.

“. . . got rid of her with a pun,” she finished, explaining to Olive the finer points of her encounter with Lana. “I still wanted to deck her, though.”

She’d replayed the moment often in the hours since their return home: Lana’s appearance, Angie’s eyes widening in anxiety, the sharp pain of knowing she was as much a part of that anxiety as Lana.

Lana’s face had been so comically annoyed that the burst of ugly rage in Stevie’s veins had sputtered out. She’d won—not that Angie was a thing to be won, but still. Lana was a sore loser who couldn’t accept that Angie had moved on. It was pathetic. She was aware that she, too, would be pathetic in the face of losing Angie, but that was beside the point. Looking at Lana, she’d acted on instinct.

And Lana hadhatedit. The previous gloating look in her eyes, which had dogged Stevie for days after their last close encounter, was a result of getting under Stevie’s skin. If she didn’t let Lana see that her very existence on the planet was an abscess on Stevie’s asshole, Lana lost her edge.

More crucially, she’d wanted to relax Angie and prove she wasn’t volatile; she was someone Angie could rely on.

It had worked beautifully.

“Hey.” Angie slipped into the barn. “Did she survive without you?”

“Barely. Isn’t that right, munchkin?”

Olive didn’t react to the insulting nickname.

“Can I talk to you?”

The bottom fell out of Stevie’s stomach first, then the ground. In fact, it was bottoms all the way down. No good had ever come out of those words.

“Sure.” She patted Olive on the shoulder. The breezeway of the barn doubled as shade cover when the apple trees in the orchard pasture weren’t enough. Olive and Freddie usually made a mess of the concrete, but Jaq had clearly kept up on it. This had the unfortunate effect of giving Stevie nothing immediate to do with her hands.

“It’s not—oh my god, your face. It’s not like that.” Angie threw her hands up to ward off Stevie’s fears. They were slightly allayed. “It’s something I should have told you sooner.”

“Shockingly, that doesn’t make me feel better.” Stevie’s attempt at sarcasm fell short.

“Can we sit?” Angie took her hand and tugged her to the pair of overturned buckets drying at the end of the breezeway. They sat side by side.

“Okay?” Stevie hated herself for the note of belligerence in her voice. She tried again. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Angie tossed her a sideways look that said, “Nobody is prepared to hearanything, no matter what they say.” Which was accurate. Stevie didn’t feel prepared at all.

“Nothing happened.”

“Again, less than reassuring!”

“I’m trying— I don’t do these things well.”

What, communication?She wisely kept this snarky thought to herself. Angie did not do communication well, but that was not Angie’s fault.

“I’m sorry. I’ll shut up. Tell me?”

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