Octavia laughed a little. “I don’t know, but maybe it’d be better than this?”
“Fighting for a home of your own?” I asked, not even slightly smiling, because seeing her try to hide wasn’t amusing.
“Losing a home of my own.” Her eyes held the hollow ache of someone hitting their last wall. Tears caught in the corners, never falling but producing a burning red that she had to blink away. Octavia’s jaw flexed when she turned to get rid of the emotion in peace.
“Sorry,” she said once she turned back. The tears were gone. “This isn’t what you’re here…sorry.”
“This is exactly what I’m here for.” I pressed my hand on the doorframe, hoping for a steadiness I didn’t possess. “Octavia, if you’re not okay, then the job becomes getting you there.”
“I’m…not okay.” Her confession was a collapse.
I gathered her into my arms. Octavia buried her face in my neck, breath hot on my skin as she exhaled. The inn was a comforting quiet, our only company the creaking floorboards behind closed doors. We were the loudest thing in the building, our soft clothes rustling as they made contact.
Octavia’s arms wrapped around me, fingers somehow landing at the base of my neck. Her thumb brushed the hair at my nape, a burning trail that soothed the cold sweat I’d endured since we saw the salt circle break. Octavia was heavy, her weight transferred to my arms, a show of resolve. She’d whispered,I’m sorry, not knowing that she was saving me. Her weight wasn’t a pull but a push to the surface. She was a reason to keep moving. I refused to have this woman give up the dream she’d been chasing. Refused to stand by and watch her not obtain the safety she deserved from the moment she took her first gasp of air.
“You won’t lose it,” I whispered.
Octavia pulled back enough so her gaze locked on my mouth. Her brow furrowed in confusion.
“You won’t lose Elmwood,” I said, louder this time.
She didn’t take her eyes off my lips as she nodded.
“It’s going to take longer than we thought,” I confessed, studying the rough texture of the skin on her cheeks. Octavia held so many parts, an amalgamation of brilliance, heartache, and beauty. It pained me to think I wouldn’t know half of what went on in her mind. What’d gone on in the years before we met. And what would happen to her once we’d said our goodbyes. The thought of sleeping, dreaming, living without getting to see behind her blackout curtains would be nearly the death of me.
Hope laid in her gaze. And on the taste of her lips after she whispered, “What would happen if I kissed you?”
The correct answer was: you shouldn’t. But I couldn’t feel the ground underneath my feet. Couldn’t hold back the low hum of approval. “I’d kiss you back.”
She leaned, and I met her halfway.
Octavia’s lips were soft, glossy from the homemade lipcream she kept on them. They tasted of peaches and cream. I bit into her.
Her fingers stretched, burying into my hair, massaging circles into my scalp. I urged her a step back, pinning her against the doorframe with my hips pressed against hers. The throb in my ankle dulled to a murmur, my body welcoming the reprieve Octavia’s lips offered. Goose bumps dotted across my arms as she sighed into my mouth, giving my tongue a taste of something all too rare from Octavia Daniel: reaction first, logic in the backseat. I would have reveled in the ability to bring a woman like her to a disheveled state like this, but when the kiss became more frantic, my senses rushed to the forefront.
“Rae?” Octavia reached for me when I pulled away.
“Sorry—” The back of my hand pressed against my bottom lip. Octavia’s gaze flickered there, examining where her teeth had sunk in.
Her eyes went big. “Did I hurt you?”
“No, no,” I said quickly. “Of course not. You just…I just…”
“It’s fine.” She tugged her locs over her shoulders, fingers trembling for something to hold on to after I left her floating in an ocean alone. “You don’t have to explain. I’m fine.”
“This isn’t how I like to do things.” I tried to catch her gaze, but it lingered on something in the room. “Kissing clients.”
“I’m the one who asked.”
“And I should have reminded you that tonight will make you want to do things you never?—”
“I didn’t want to kiss you because I almost died.” Octavia’s tone was cold and sharp. “I kissed you because ithurt not to anymore. And it’s easier just doing it than explaining it.”
I could explain it, the need to catalog every one of her curious questions and rank my answers from most likely to win her over to least. The desire to tuck her into the RV and take her across the country to show her that there could be beauty on the road. And there were people who would fall in love with her if she let them.
“I’m working on your case,” I said more so to myself.
“Then maybe it’s me who should be apologizing.” Octavia pressed her lips together, sharpness dulling with guilt.
