Page 3 of Always There For You

And yet, there was no fault ascribed to anyone but herself. Because she’d been the one to fall in love, and fall hard. So hard that no one else could ever match up to red hair and wide, expressive eyebrows, and a soft voice that could go stern in an instant. Ames liked denim and flannel and linen, and today she’d been in old, worn jeans, heavy boots, and a blue flannel open to her navel and tied in a knot; the thin undershirt growing damp as they worked. Hadley certainly hadn’t snuck a glance or two. Amelia was hard to ignore.

Amelia was now leaning into her, an arm over Hadley’s shoulders, strong fingers gripping tight. She was warm and somehow still smelled like sawdust and sunshine after a hard day’s work. “You okay?”

“I just…of course I want to stay. Are you kidding?” Hadley spun and grabbed Amelia tight. “It’s gorgeous!” She darted into the little reading nook in the front of the cottage, no more than a windowed corner with a rickety bookshelf filled with battered paperbacks, dried flowers, glinting little crystals, and other weird bric-a-brac. The armchair, however…oh, what an armchair. It was really big enough to be two armchairs. The fabric was plush velvet; a little worn-white on the corners and Hadley could see scratched wooden legs. But she and Amelia would fit very nicely in that chair. Together.

Hadley shook that last thought away. It wasn’t anything she could have. Sure, she could teasingly sit beside Amelia in the chair and poke and pester her until she gave up with whatever smutty romance book she was reading and paid attention. But Amelia would only take it as friendly teasing. And that would hurt more than the promise of getting to tangle her fingers in Amelia’s curls and bare a pale, freckled throat. Amelia’s gasps would fill her ears and send her stomach swooping with pleasure. In that fantasy, Hadley didn’t poke or prod; she teased with intention and longing. She drew out gentle moans and soft gasps and left Amelia sated and exhausted.

“The owner said we can read anything, and likes to have people take from and add to the collection.” Amelia plucked out a biography on Joan of Arc. Dust and the scent of old paper filled the small space between them. “And if you leave a book, sign it with your initials and the month and year.” She flipped to the front and saw a “T.E., May 1993” scribbled there. “I bet all these books have been touched by some other guest. All those people looking for stories.” She sighed happily and Hadley grinned.

“I never want to hear you say you’re not a romantic,” Hadley whispered. Her fingers itched to take hold of Amelia’s waist, to pluck the tucked-in flannel away so she could feel warm skin. But if she took that chance and lied one more time that it was friendly, loving, chaste…she’d never forgive herself. “You know why books smell like that?”

“I don’t.” Amelia was tracing her fingers over the cover, following along the yellowed creases and cracks.

“I was in Cambridge a few years back and working in an old bookshop. A professor came in, very proper English and all that. Except for his fabulous hair, long and white and braided to the middle of his back. And he and I started talking and he’d come in once a week and we’d talk about poetry. And when I mentioned that scent being full of memories, he said it was because books were memories of trees and what they could have been, if they’d been allowed to touch the sky.”

Amelia’s next breath was a sigh dipped in melancholy. “That was maybe the most beautiful and depressing thing I’ve ever heard.” And then she snorted and Hadley laughed and the air between them balanced out once more. Amelia balanced her out. Her best friend, and her only love.

The evening passed in a dreamy kind of way Amelia loved. Her back wasn’t hurting so much that she couldn’t take up half the dinner prep. But in the middle of the last carrot for their stir fry, her hand cramped and the knife went to the floor, narrowly missing her slipper.

“Shit.”

Hadley was there immediately. “You okay?” she asked as she came over, spatula in hand, a piece of onion clinging to the square, metal scoop.

“I’m good, I just need to…” She started to bend forward to pick up the knife, but her hand cramped again. The pain was so sudden, so hot, that it took her to the floor. Great. She’d probably have a bruise on her ass tomorrow. No matter how careful she was, it couldn’t be easier to earn badges of mottled green and purple while doing the most mundane tasks.

“I got it.” Hadley swooped in and picked up the knife, then set it and the spatula aside to cast her grip down to Amelia. “You are going to sit and have a glass of wine while I finish dinner.”

“Hads -“ She was truly glad for the help. Amelia hated asking, and Hadley knew it. She never begrudged the help from Hadley, but some days it threatened to burn. She was stressed with the winery and probably a little thin-skinned of late. That was all.

“Up you go.” Hadley hauled her to her feet and grinned. “Go. Sit. Down. I got this.” And she did. Amelia had a glass of malbec in her hand a moment later while Hadley cooked and bopped around to the little portable speaker she’d pulled out of her bags before they’d gotten started.

Amelia didn’t want to linger on how lopsided Hadley’s apron bow was, nor the way she moved, hair bouncing, earrings jangling. It wouldn’t do her any good. The scratch at the back door was her ticket out. “Oh! Mr. Buttons!”

“What the…”

But Amelia was too focused on opening the back door for a massive, fluffy Maine Coon with dark brown stripes and big green eyes. Tail high, big paws marching, the cat practically jumped into the kitchen and immediately twined around her legs while she laughed. “Mr. Buttons, this is Hadley.” She looked up and saw Hadley staring at her with an open mouth and wide eyes. “He’s the neighbor’s cat but apparently likes it quite a bit over here, too. Made himself at home the first day I was here. The owner’s good with it.” She held out her arms and Mr. Buttons flew up, landing safely to butt his head against her chin. “I might be spoiling him a little.”

Hadley looked delighted. Amelia had figured as much. “There is nothing little about that cat. He’s all fluff!”

“He’s super heavy. He must be like twenty pounds. Trust me, it isn’t all fluff.” Mr. Buttons purr-rowed his assent and rubbed against her one more time before jumping down to pad silently over to Hadley. Hadley, being the kind of person who gladly pet every dog, cat, bird, lizard, snake, ferret, and anything else, immediately crouched to let Mr. Buttons sniff her hand. The purring started back up again and they both laughed.

“He needs a vest,” Hadley said once their plates and glasses were full and Mr. Buttons was asleep on a blanket over the scallop-edged sofa. “Do you think that would be okay?”

“I’m sure it is, but he does get into the roses sometimes.” Amelia wrinkled her nose. “So maybe nothing too wild.”

“I have the best fabric in my bag! I’ll show you after dinner.” Her friend grinned. “And I have something for you. I hope you like it.”

The warm fuzziness that came bundled up in Hadley - her voice, her personality, her gentle hands and jasmine-scented hair - made Amelia’s heart ache. It was also near bursting with joy, but with it came a particular kind of pain. Something she couldn’t will away; a longing buried deep, written in the very marrow of her bones.

Maybe she should be brave. Take a chance. But not now, not weeks out from a big banner over the door and hopefully a constant stream of new customers from around Breakwater. She couldn’t risk it all once, to have to do it again and lose something. She’d lost enough, and she wasn’t ready to break her own heart.

“I’ll love it. Always. You know that.”

“I know! I just…” Hadley looked away and a curious expression danced across her features.

“Hey.” Amelia put her left hand over Hadley’s right. “You know that.”

“I do. Of course.”

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