Sutton let out a deep breath, one that she didn’t let shudder or reveal any of the feelings currently swirling around in her stomach.
And even though she’d been very good about not letting herself gothere—anywhere beyond platonic—it couldn’t be helped that there were these… moments. It seemed unavoidable between them.
She’d had to really accept it when she’d returned home the night Charlotte had watched Lucy, when she’d walked into her living room to find them both solidly asleep on her couch.
Lucy had been curled up on Charlotte, her head on Charlotte’s shoulder, her little face utterly relaxed and comfortable, and Charlotte’s hands had laid lax on Lucy’s back, as if she’d been comforting her when she’d accidentally fallen asleep.
Sutton’s stomach and heart had fluttered together.
She already knew Lucy really liked Charlotte—she thought Charlotte was cool and fun, and shewas—and she wasn’t as surprised as Charlotte herself was that she handled Lucy’s exuberance so well.
And yet her own response to the scene in front of her had made all of the very soft, very not-strictly-friendly feelings tug at her.
She’d debated what to do when she’d stumbled upon the scene and had ended up lifting Lucy and bringing her to bed before she’d returned to the couch. She’d studied Charlotte sleeping, so vulnerable and relaxed and open?—
And Charlotte was well and truly such acatchthat it astounded her. She was absurdly, unfairly beautiful. Genuinely charming. Brilliant. Powerful. Funny. Attentive. And privately, quietly, so, so sweet.
She hadn’t brought it up that night, when she’d gently woken Charlotte and not let herself brush the dark tendril of hair that fell over Charlotte’s forehead. And she hadn’t even brought it up since, but…
Darling.
“Can I ask you a question?” she found herself saying.
“I do believe that is the crux of our relationship since we have reconnected, so yes, you may ask me anything.” Charlotte swung her arms wide, taking up much of the space on the empty sidewalk, and still, somehow, she looked so in control. “I am an open book.”
Sutton stared for a beat, mostly because she simply couldn’t help it. Charlottedidlook like an open book right now. Her eyes were bright and wide, unguarded, the smile still curling ever so lightly at her lips. It was so at odds with the Charlotte of Sutton’s memories.
She was still very much the same person: bewitching, captivating, sensual, concise, knowledgeable, charming.
But, on the other hand, she was so different—actually open and unguarded, in ways that she’d never been back then. Not unless she was sick or on the verge of falling asleep. Maybe after they’d just had sex. She’d always been warm with Sutton and affectionate. She’d never really keptsecrets, but she was stillprivate.
And they were right in public, right on the sidewalk.
Charlotte was looking at her, so open, telling Sutton she could ask her anything. That was so, so different than the past.
“Why did you come out?” The words poured out in a tumble. Maybe she should have regretted them, but Sutton had beenwonderingfor so long. Not just in the last weeks of reconnecting, but ever since she’d seen it on the news, when it had happened.
Charlotte quietly studied her. “I never expectedyouof all people to be questioning my coming-out.”
Sutton shook her head in denial. “I’m not—I don’t mean that there is no value in it. It’s, honestly, amazing.” She rolled her lips, trying to find the words. She’d never forget what she felt, seeing Charlotte come out. Hearing the buzz around campus from her students, especially the thrill and elation of the queer students, people who already looked up to Charlotte in many ways.
She’d been proud, in a roundabout way. Excited and looking forward to what this could mean for the future of the country.
She’d been surprised.
And… unstoppably curious.
“But, I mean, it doesn’t appear you’ve been seeking a relationship since then.”
Charlotte gave her a sidelong glance, arching an eyebrow so perfectly as she implored, “Were you looking to see?”
Sutton felt herself blush as she turned to face forward. Which was ridiculous. Whyshouldshe be embarrassed about that? They were adults. “Of course I did,” she admitted. “After everything between us way back then, I wanted to know.”
That was only natural, right? Wouldn’t anyone who had been in Sutton’s shoes have done the same thing? It didn’t have to mean anything more.
She couldn’t help it; she’d wanted to know if there was a particular someone who had inspired Charlotte’s public coming-out. She’d wanted to know if there was a person who’d inspired such larger-than-life feelings for Charlotte, that she’d thrown all her carefully guarded caution to the wind.
But there’d never been anyone, at least not publicly. And this subject sat heavily between them, still untouched even when it came to the biography.
