Page 134 of Whirlwind

Chapter 3

Charlie

Charlie stood in the hallway, wondering what she’d gotten herself into. God, that kiss had been electric. Unbelievable.

Was it possible that all this time she’d had it wrong and she wasn’t attracted to feminine women after all?

She knew that she’d been watching Carla for a long time. But the way that he’d backed her into the wall, his confident, masculine form boxing her in, had taken her breath away as much as the kiss had.

She could barely remember her first kiss aside from the nervous excitement of actually being able to do it, the thrill of feeling a soft cheek against her own.

With Carla, it had been magical.

It felt transgressive, though. Somehow more queer and misaligned than she already was. Confusing and overwhelming, even though she still wanted more.

She still didn’t understand all of the kinky stuff, but maybe, just maybe, it was something she could let herself want. If they got past everything else.

Carla finally stepped back, but he grabbed her hand to pull her into the living room. Bemused, she followed.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d held hands with someone. Her last memories were of long painted nails and a lot of judgment.

Carla’s hand was confident and firm, sending a confusing array of sensations through her. She could scarcely breathe just knowing that their palms were touching, her whole body attuned to that small patch of skin.

And yet, what did it mean about who Charlie was if she was letting Carla lead her this way?

With Carla, everything was just so… different. But was Charlie different?

Could she live in Carla’s world? Did she want to?

No, she knew she wanted to. It just seemed so awfully far away. Like some fantasy land at the end of a treasure map, with half the paths faded away and the signposts lost. She wanted to be free and easy with her body and her identity. And good God did she want to be with Carla.

She just didn’t know how to get there.

Carla stopped walking and Charlie almost bumped into him, finally taking in the neat little table.

She stopped just to stare. This wasn’t just a meal. It was a feast.

There were a dozen little bowls and plates in a riot of bright colors: red cubes of tomatoes, gleaming black olives, the bright white of cheese, toasted brown pita, and glistening green oil. And those were just the things she recognized. There were two small bowls with different powders, one maroon and one forest green, as well as a thick white sauce and a thin tan one. Everything looked delicious.

Carla left her to stare while he took a few steps into the kitchen and eased something out of the oven.

With a flourish, he set down a large bowl of pale brown beans, mashed roughly with a swirl of oil on top. He returned a moment later with a round pastry-like thing, the dough flakey and shining.

“Carla! You made all this?” It was astounding. Not the variety itself or that Carla had made it. But that he had made it for her.

He gave her his signature easy grin. “I did. I mean, I didn’t milk the goats and make the cheese, but the feteer meshaltet takes hours to make. Lots of rolling out dough and then folding it up and doing it again. I hope you enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I will,” she murmured.

She buried her pleased embarrassment by putting a little of everything on her plate. Every spoonful just reinforced what she was slowly coming to believe. Carla was serious about this. For whatever crazy reason, it seemed to be real.

She wasn’t getting her hopes up yet, though. There was a huge leap between attraction and… wanting to deal with all of her shit.

She wanted to talk about it, but she wasn’t sure where to start. Her history, her hang ups… She wasn’t like Carla, who was always so open and sure of himself. Who had words for all of his feelings and other peoples’ besides.

She just tried to make it look like she knew what she was doing and muddle through things most of the time.

She took her first bite and flavors exploded on her tongue. The spicy meat, the flaky crust, and the dab of yogurt on top all swirled together perfectly. “This is delicious.”