Stephanie waved a hand, the gesture feeling too big for how hard her heart was knocking. “It’s fine.” The words came out softer than she meant them. She studied the faint crease between Casey’s brows. “Are you okay though? I should have asked you that night.”
Casey opened her mouth, then closed it. Her shoulders rose and fell. The hesitation pulled at Stephanie low in the belly, a warm pressure she tried to blame on the heavy meal. She wanted, for one confused second, to step closer and smooth that crease with her thumb. The impulse made no sense.
“It’s okay,” Stephanie said instead, gentler than she expected. “Go eat. You must be starving.”
Casey’s gaze held hers a moment too long. The air between them thickened with everything neither of them said. Stephanie felt the silence press against her skin like warm water. She was about to turn away when the smaller, quieter smile returned to Casey’s face.
“Actually, I’ve got a bottle of that sauvignon blanc you like already chilling in the fridge. Come over later. Use the pool. We can share it. No exes this time, I promise.”
The offer settled warm against Stephanie’s sternum and spread outward until her fingertips tingled. She should say no. Instead her mouth answered for her.
“Yeah. Sure, I’d like that.”
* * *
Inside her owncottage the cool air wrapped around her like a hush. She kicked off her sandals, toes flexing against the smooth tile. The neutral furniture passed in a blur as she climbed the stairs, legs still loose from the long day. In the bedroom she peeled off her sundress. The fabric had stuck slightly to the small of her back. She pulled on the navy one-piece, the material cool and smooth against her skin, hugging her hips and the subtle curve of her waist without complaint. Good enough. She ran her fingers through her hair, leaving the dark waves loose. The salt air had given them a soft, beachy texture she did not entirely dislike.
The thought of the pool next door sent a quiet spark through her chest. She told herself it was only a swim. A glass of wine.
She settled on the couch with her book, giving Casey time to cook and eat, but the pages refused to hold her attention.
An hour later she stood on Casey’s porch, the night air thick against her bare shoulders. The thin cover-up whispered against her thighs with every small shift of weight.
She knocked, and the door opened a few seconds later.
Casey filled the frame. Black bikini straps peeked from beneath a faded green tank top that clung to the damp curve of her breasts. Jean shorts sat low on her hips, exposing a strip of tanned skin that drew Stephanie’s eyes before she yanked them upward. Casey’s hair hung loose, still carrying the faint scent of chlorine and salt.
“Hey,” Casey said, voice warm. “Come on in.”
Stephanie stepped past her. The mismatched comfort of the cottage wrapped around her again, herbs on the windowsill and the ghost of something savory from dinner. Her pulse beat too hard at the base of her throat. Casey moved to the counter, the sway of her hips visible even in peripheral vision, and poured two glasses of wine. The pale liquid glugged softly.
They carried the glasses through the house and out into the courtyard. The strangler fig cast deep shadows across the terracotta tiles. The pool reflected the low lights like scattered stars.
They settled on the loungers, knees angled toward each other. Stephanie took a sip. The wine tasted crisp, cold enough to make her teeth ache pleasantly.
“You asked if I was okay after the other night,” Casey said. Her fingers traced the rim of her glass in small restless circles. “I am. I was just surprised Melissa showed up like that, but it’s just confirmation that I did done the right thing ending it.”
Stephanie’s chest tightened at the thread of vulnerability beneath the words. She wanted to reach across the small space and press her palm to Casey’s wrist, to feel the steady beat there. Instead she asked the question that had been bothering her ever since. “Was she possessive?”
Casey exhaled. “No. But then again, she never really got the chance. We were never in public together.”
The admission landed heavy in Stephanie’s stomach. She sipped again, buying time while her thoughts spiraled. Her gaze kept drifting to the black straps against Casey’s shoulders, to the strong line of her collarbones. The wine cooled her tongue but did nothing for the heat building under her skin. She pushed further, the words slipping out before she could weigh them. “And do you always date women who are older than you?”
Casey inhaled slowly. Her chest rose visibly beneath the tank top. “Yes.”
The single word left Stephanie’s lungs empty. Warmth flooded her face. She searched Casey’s expression, noting the steady blue of her eyes, the faint salt-roughened strands clinging to her neck. “Why?”
Casey met her stare directly. The eye contact pinned her in place. “Because they’re beautiful. They usually know what they want. They’re mature. I can’t even imagine dating someone my own age. It would be exhausting.”
The words settled in Stephanie’s chest. Her throat went dry. Beautiful. Mature. The compliments landed far too close to her own forty-six years, stirring a confusing blend of flattery and disbelief that made her stomach clench.
She opened her mouth. Nothing came.
Casey’s expression softened. A small smile tugged at one corner of her mouth as she read the stunned silence written across Stephanie’s face. “I feel like I’m shocking you with my honesty.”
“Well, yes,” Stephanie managed. Her voice sounded tight even to her own ears.
Casey laughed softly, the sound rolling out warm and unselfconscious. It loosened something in Stephanie’s chest even as it made her stomach flutter harder. “Look, I don’t mind if you’re judging me for my taste in women. I’d rather thatthan pretend. I’m brutally honest and sometimes it gets me in trouble, but I hate bullshit.”
