Page 68 of The Matchmaker's Choice: A Lesbian Romance

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Steph looks longingly at her mug, but steam is still

curling in thick wisps above the tea, clouding the air around it.

It’s way too hot to drink. I imagine she’d like to wrap her

hands around it, for a sense of security. I wish I could take her

hand. I wish she’d reach for me. Look at me longingly. I wish

yet again that I could be the one to comfort her. Just as a

friend.

I don’t, because I’m painfully aware that we don’t

really even know each other yet. Sure, we’ve worked together,

but that hardly constitutes a real friendship. I don’t want to do

anything to make her feel awkward. To regret asking me to

come here.

All I can do is wait. And it sucks.

“There was this—no, that sounds stupid. I don’t know

how to tell you, so I’ll just tell you.” Steph can’t look at me,

but her tone changes, getting both serious and nearly frantic. I

can feel the fingers of my left hand turning into claws, biting

into the inside of my palm as I brace myself. Now I wish I had

my mug too.

When there’s nothing but silence and I just can’t take it

anymore, I gently prompt Steph. “You can tell me. You can tell

me anything. It will be fine, I promise.”

Steph sighs so hard that the couch vibrates. I didn’t

realize she was holding her breath like that. It reminds me of

when I was a kid, how I used to try and hold my breath in the

bathtub, under the water, while I counted to sixty. I thought

that was a minute, but it was probably longer, given that I’d

mess up and have to start over and I never took a breath to

reset. Just went back to one. I’d pop up to the surface when I

reached sixty or when I just couldn’t take it any longer, and I’d

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