Page 64 of Touch of Class

“Let’s lean in,” Daphne proposed. “Let’s give your teenage self the closure she needs. Mine too. Let’s find out what we missed all those years ago and lay that memory to rest. There is no way a kiss tonight can be anywhere near as momentous as we made it out to be then.”

Gillian liked that logic immensely. It offered safety, confidence, and a rationale she could cling to. She knew as well as anyone that the anxiety of anticipation generally created infinitely more suffering than the event itself, and she possessed every ability she needed to make meaning out of whatever came next. She’d finally have her answers, her peace, her agency all intact.

With such a compelling reminder, she did exactly what the woman in front of her had consented to. She leaned in and pressed her lips to Daphne’s.

She did it with confidence, with purpose, with certainty.

Then her world exploded.

Electricity arced through her. This was not academic or clinical. It was elemental. Daphne’s mouth stole all the breath from her, pulling it and her all the way in.

Gillian’s lips parted of their own accord. So much for agency, but she did nothing to fight it. This felt too amazing to be intellectualized. For once, she simply let herself feel, enjoy, revel in the rightness of something that should’ve felt wrong.

She didn’t know if this was what she’d missed in high school, or if the years of waiting and building and coiling tension had created something more, but she simply didn’t care. She didn’t need for this moment to mean anything else. Not with Daphne’s mouth on hers.

They curled around each other until bodies pressed flush, the suppleness of Daphne’s curves lush against Gillian’s hard edges. Her hands found their way into soft curls as she ran her tongue lightly over the full lower lip she’d fixated on.

Then she sighed, not with the frustration or exasperation that usually underlay that sound, but with a release, with relief, with a kind of settling deep inside her, and a cracked place mended itself.

Then her own body went as soft as the one in her arms, tension dissolving and sharpness smoothing over.

She pressed her forehead to Daphne’s, accepting the support she offered for a second. Then finding her feet on solid ground, she eased back.

Her lungs expanded on a fullness of breath she hadn’t felt in longer than she remembered. Her eyes fluttered open, and for the first time she saw Daphne clearly.

She was beautiful, stunning really, but more than that she was strong, open, and courageous. She always had been.

“Thank you,” Gillian whispered.

Daphne’s dark irises swirled with questions. “Did you get what you needed?”

“I think so.”

“And?” The simple word sounded almost breathless. “What’s that? Answers?”

Gillian smiled slowly. “Peace.”

“Holy shit.”

Gillian had kissed her.

Daphne sat in her car in the driveway to her own home.

She had no recollection of how she’d made it there, which should’ve scared her, but she was more disturbed by the fact that she couldn’t seem to force herself to get out and walk up the stairs.

She could barely make her brain process coherent thoughts. How could she make her legs work in tandem? She’d probably sit here all night long because Gillian DeGarmo had kissed her.

And Daphne knew she’d agreed to that, but also, not like that.

She couldn’t have possibly imagined. The woman was so uptight and overthinking and condescending. How could anyone, anywhere have known she could kiss like she did?

Soulfully. Sultry. Skilled.

“So good.” Daphne groaned and let her forehead drop to the steering wheel.

The porch light turned on, and Hugh peeked out the door, his dark eyebrows raised in silent question.

She merely lifted her head enough to shake it slowly. It wasn’t like she had any more explanation to offer.