Page 79 of Touch of Class

Daphne managed to breathe evenly through her session. Thankfully, the client was relatively low maintenance. She’d rarely been so grateful for an introvert who just wanted to be the small spoon. All she had to do was keep her heart rate down and use a few meditative practices to keep her mind from wandering back to Gillian. Normally, that would’ve been nothing, but today the work left her feeling depleted, or maybe that was merely the comedown from earlier.

Either way, her defenses were already low when Gillian came back through the front door looking every bit like a conquering hero, her long strides confident and her hair blowing back on the breeze she created with her own momentum. Even in her ever-present annoyance, Daphne had to admit she cut a striking figure, and when Gillian smiled with genuine brightness, it reminded Daphne not all of her poise was put on. She’d earned some of her self-assuredness by being good at so many things, like school and sports and juggling complex schedules.

And kissing.

The warning bells went off in the back of Daphne’s brain, and her protective mechanisms slid back into place.

“Thank you for letting me take Izzy.” Gillian opened graciously, because of course she did.

“I’d say ‘you’re welcome,’ but we both know you were doing me the favor.”

“Maybe at first, but the experience was absolutely delightful. Who knew Buffalo had such a thriving fencing scene dominated by two sapphic women? Izzy made beautiful introductions, by the way. She’s quite socially astute.”

“She gets that from her father.”

“I would’ve thought it came from her mother’s emotional intelligence and intuition, but clearly you and Hugh make a good team.” Gillian paused for a second, seeming to ponder something before adding, “Perhaps it comes down to balancing strengths, or absorbing them.”

Daphne sighed. She got the sense Gillian was trying to compliment her, but she didn’t need to feel anything more for her than she already did. It was hard enough staying aloof after everything that had happened. The last thing she needed was to start thinking of this woman as sincere or thoughtful.

“Are you all right?” Gillian asked softly.

Daphne closed her eyes and tried to ignore the concern in her voice. She told herself it was merely a trick of the trade for Gillian, a professional performance, but that argument got harder to believe every day.

“I’m free for the rest of the evening.” Gillian pressed. “If there’s anything more I can do for you …”

“You’ve done quite enough,” Daphne said, her voice sharper than she’d wanted, but not sharper than she felt. Opening her eyes slowly, she noticed the concern in Gillian’s expression had only multiplied. “Look, I get it. I’m a mess. And I’m sure you’re used to that. You’ve probably known I was a mess since seventh grade, but that’s not how I see myself. I’m a professional, a good friend, and a good mom. I know my value and my values, and I trust my intuition … until I’m around you.”

“I never meant to—”

“Yes, you did. You ‘meant to’ so many times, and that’s fine because it kept me on top of my game. Our dynamic was steady, reliable, charged. Honestly, I like to think I landed as many barbs as you did.”

Gillian smiled fleetingly. “I agree with your assessment.”

Daphne took what little solace she could from the admission.

“Are you saying you’d like us to return to potshots and snide remarks?”

“No, but I don’t like this either. In fact, I think it’s worse for me.”

“I’m listening.”

“That.” Daphne pointed at her, then caught herself. “I know you’re listening. It makes you seem calm and reasonable, and I hate that.”

“You hate me listening to you because it makes me seem calm and reasonable?”

“Yes. No. I mean …” She blew out a frustrated breath. “I hate you getting to be those things when I’m falling apart. And I get it; you aren’t struggling with what happened. Well done, you. You win at kissing, and I’m struggling to put it all into perspective or compartmentalize.”

“Wait,” Gillian said softly. “The kiss experiment upset you?”

“Yes.”

Gillian blinked a few times. “I’m so sorry. I thought we were on the same page about reauthoring an experience—”

“We were. I was all for your little research project right up until your lips met mine and it didn’t feel academic anymore.”

“Oh,” Gillian said, not seeming to have much more to add.

“Yeah, clearly we’re on very different pages, and I hate it. I hate feeling like I’m seconds from slipping off some ledge I can’t see every time you’re around me, or even when you’re not, and I just remember.”