Page 72 of Touch of Class

Gillian smiled a little more. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Holy shit.” Daphne laughed. “First you apologize, now you say I’m right?”

“I said, ‘maybe.’”

“I’ll take it and keep running. What would you have done differently if you could’ve handled Brooke and Tegan differently?”

“I don’t know. I was supposed to be at the bar with her that night, but I let work get in the way. Still, if I’d gone, she might not have met Tegan, and I don’t want to change that. I mean, I did at first, but not now. I guess if I could rescript it, I’d want Brooke to call me the morning after, but she didn’t.”

“What if you’d called her?”

“I should have.” Gillian pinched the bridge of her nose. “I stood my friend up at a bar because I had a client. I should’ve called her, or if it had been college, I would’ve shown up at her place with coffee and doughnuts. I don’t know when I stopped. Probably because I didn’t want to dump work stuff on her personal time, and all I had was work stuff.”

“For what it’s worth, if you showed up at her house with coffee and donuts this weekend, I think Brooke would love to work through that exercise with you.”

“Because she’s a great therapist?”

Daphne laughed. “No. Because I suspect she misses her best friend as much as you do.”

Gillian seemed to think about that for a second before lifting her eyes to meet Daphne’s again. “What about you? I’ve never been a good friend to you. Why are you working through this exercise with me?”

“Me?” Daphne’s heart hammered in her chest at a million answers she couldn’t bring herself to say. She didn’t want to admit to any of the reasons she was being so nice to Gillian, not her lips or the way they had wrecked her. Not her vulnerability or this softness or the way she contrasted it all with that power-lesbian suit. Not the magnetism Daphne would never let herself admit she felt all the way back in high school or the command Gillian exuded or how she really was good at everything, even fucking apologies. Instead, she said, “I’m bored and a little bit of a sadist. Besides, sad people are good for business, right?”

Gillian stared at her, and Daphne worried she’d pushed too far. Then Gillian cracked. In a good way. In a beautiful way. Her smile spread and she laughed. A loud, unexpected burst of humor, unrestrained and shaking, not just from her lips or throat, but through her shoulders and stomach.

Daphne had never heard anything like it, but the sense of power and pride she felt at knowing she caused something so joyfully undignified to spill from this woman was how she always imagined the first hit of a drug might flood her system.

Oh yes, much like their kiss, she already knew she was going to lose sleep wanting more of this.

Sixteen

Gillian stepped onto Brooke’s front porch with two to-go cups perched atop a box of donuts as the first heavy snow of the year fell all around her. It had been coming down since last night, coating Buffalo in a thick blanket of white. They’d had a few dustings through November, but this was the first major accumulation, and something about that still felt magical even after more than fifteen winters in the city. No one was immune to the excitement. The friends’ group chat had been buzzing since the early reports rolled in a few days ago, which was how Gillian knew Tegan wasn’t home because Sawyer and Robin had roped her into sledding in Delaware Park.

Gillian and Brooke, on the other hand, had the good sense to recognize the first snowfall ushered in the beginning of warm socks, hot drinks, and roaring-fire season.

Sure enough, as soon as Brooke opened the door, a blast of hot air hit Gillian head-on. “Good, you’ve already got the fireplace in full swing.”

“Obviously.” Brooke stepped back to let her inside. “Hibernation is healing, and you brought supplies, so you may join me in my cave.”

Gillian kicked off her shoes and followed her to the couch before curling up in her usual corner.

Brooke took her Tim Horton’s cup and inhaled deeply. “White chocolate mocha?”

“’Tis the season.” Gillian sipped from her own plain coffee with cream.

“Tegan drinks peppermint hot chocolate, and I know it’s not that different—”

“Isn’t it?” Gillian’s voice went up a notch. “Peppermint hot chocolate is for children, while white chocolate mochas are for grown-ass, if a bit basic, bitches.”

Brooke laughed. “Exactly!”

“But, honestly, what’d you expect? You hooked up with a woman who ordered a strawberry daiquiri on the night you met. Be honest, was her tongue that kind of artificially dyed red the first time you kissed her?”

Brooke stared at her for a second, then burst out laughing. “I honestly didn’t see her tongue, what with it being in my mouth and all, but now that you mention it, yes, it was probably a lovely shade of red dye number five.”

Gillian shook her head. “I still cannot understand how it happened.”

“Honestly …” Brooke curled into a ball and pulled a blanket from the back of the couch. “I can’t either. It doesn’t make sense, except it does.”