Sloping back to her desk, she plopped into her chair and pulled the laptop closer. Maybe if I write something, anything…She touched the tracker pad and, saving the file on screen, opened a new one.
“Okay. Forget Lara, forget what happened. Just write.”
Lucy straightened her back and positioned her hands. Tapping the keys, words appeared on the screen, but when Lucy read them back, she found the sentences nonsensical. Frustrated, she placed a finger on delete and held it there.
“Delete, rewrite…” she muttered, reaching sideways for the mug of coffee sitting on the windowsill. She took a slurp. “Ugh! That’s cold.” Grimacing, she set the mug down and returned to the task at hand. “This time…”
She typed again. An abundance of words poured forth, and the ghost of a smile chased the glumness from her expression. Words became sentences, sentences paragraphs. After pausing briefly to correct a typo, she ploughed on, the fast tapping of fingernails on plastic keys music to her ears. When she finished the third paragraph, she sat back.
“There. See?” she said, addressing the uncooperative phone skulking on her dictionary. “I don’t need you.” She stared unblinking, as if waiting for the phone to respond, then, lower lip quivering, she burst into tears. “Come on,” she sobbed, burying her face in her hands, “enough.”
She rummaged in her pocket for a tissue and wiped her eyes. The trouble had started when Lara had brought her a mug of coffee—the one she’d just tried drinking—which, on that occasion, was an unwelcome interruption. Lucy had been engrossed in her writing, and the intrusion had thrown her completely off track. It was an innocent faux pas on Lara’s part, and one Lucy would have overlooked had Lara not loiteredbehind her chair, slurping coffee while reading over Lucy’s shoulder. Pointing out a typo was the last straw.
A fat tear ran down Lucy’s cheek as she remembered how she’d yelled. It was a massive overreaction, one spawned by the stress of a publishing deadline she had no chance of meeting. It wasn’t Lara’s fault, and she felt nothing but shame as she recalled the look on Lara’s face when she’d shouted obscenities at her. Poor Lara. She’d blanched and, mouth agape, left without uttering a word.
Sorryhad formed on Lucy’s lips too late, the apology drowned out by the slam of the front door. With the deepest regret, she acknowledged that she’d lashed out needlessly at the person who loved and supported her most. After all, Lara had encouraged Lucy to quit her well-paying job to try writing full-time and insisted she carry on when her first novel failed. The astonishing success of Lucy’s second novel was as much down to Lara as herself. If that wasn’t love, what was?
“Oh, Lara, I’m sorry. I’m an ungrate—”
Lucy froze as a noise startled her. Sitting bolt upright, she listened.There. A smile crinkled the corners of her mouth as she recognised the click of a Yale lock followed by footsteps on wood.
“Lara?” Pulse racing, she sprinted towards the staircase, calling, “Babe, is that you?”
Lara was standing at the foot of the stairs, coat on, anxious expression on her face. Seeing Lucy, she held out a beautifully wrapped bouquet, a shiny red bow binding the stems.
“Peace offering,” she said. “And this.” She held up a bulging plastic bag. “Not chocolates, sorry. Food. Proper food. I thought I’d cook so you can work. I know you’re behind.”
Lucy caught her breath. Lost for words, she placed a hand on her heart.
“I wanted to surprise you.” Lara dropped the plastic bag neatly at her feet. “And help, if I can.”
“Help?” Lucy croaked. “You do; you always do.” Her heart skipped. “Are they roses?” she asked, nodding to the flowers.
“Of course. A dozen. Red. Your favourite.”
“Oh, Lara…” Fresh energy surged through Lucy’s body, and, bounding down the stairs, she flung herself at her girlfriend. “I’m sorry, so sorry,” she cried, hugging her and covering her face with kisses.
“My fault,” whispered Lara. “I shouldn’t have disturbed you.”
“No, it was me, I was a cow. I didn’t even thank you for the coffee.” Lucy felt a tickle on her cheek and batted away a tear. “Can you forgive me?”
Lara’s steady gaze met hers. “Always.”
“Oh, babe…I don’t deserve you.” Thoroughly ashamed, Lucy took the roses and held them to her nose to hide her blushes. She sniffed them, and played with the bow, while regaining her composure, then placed the bouquet on the hallway table, taking care not to crumple the wrapping. She smiled at Lara. “They’re beautiful, and I’m awful, aren’t I?”
“No, just passionate about your work.” Lara cupped Lucy’s face between her palms. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
Filled with gratitude, Lucy kissed Lara again. She tasted sweet, familiar. She pressed her body against Lara’s, her fingers curling in Lara’s hair.
Lara sighed. “Well,” she said, “if I get a kiss like that after every minor disagreement, I’m going to criticise your writing every day.”
“Don’t you dare!”
“I’m teasing. I wouldn’t.”
