Page 86 of Touch of Class

“Oy, lesbians. You always have to complicate everything.”

“I didn’t complicate it. It is complicated. The complications are baked in.”

“You’re putting undue emphasis on tiny bumps in the road. You work across the hall from her. You aren’t even in the same business. She can’t fire you or exert undue pressure.”

“No, but she could make things awkward.”

“Darling, why would she do that when you’re already excelling in the job?”

“What?”

“Things are already awkward! There was never a moment when they weren’t. You knocked her over with and onto a mattress on day one, and you’ve goaded her virtually every opportunity since then. The few conversations you’ve had that were not tense or loaded are the exception, not the rule. I cannot fathom how snogging her thoroughly would make things any worse, but I can conceive of several ways it might make things better.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I’m not just talking about great sex, though in my world, that is reason enough to do something … or someone.” Hugh chuckled at his own joke. “But it could also release some of the tension, offer a reset, start over.”

“Or make it worse, or create new and different tensions, or plunge us back into active animosity when we just found an equilibrium.”

“This”—he made a vague gesture in her direction—“is not equilibrium. You’ve been rocked back on your heels or pushing into her space back and forth like some manic pendulum.”

She sighed. “Maybe, but it all evened out in the end. Sometimes she zinged me, sometimes I pushed her buttons—”

He smirked.

“No. No button jokes. I’m trying to say that, thus far, the awkwardness has been evenly distributed.”

“Oh, I get it now.” He nodded. “When you two were at each other’s throats, things felt evenly matched, but the kiss, both of those kisses, made it clear she has the power to tip the dynamic in her favor. You’re not afraid to make things awkward for both of you. You’re afraid she holds the potential to make things disproportionately uncomfortable or vulnerable for you.”

“Well …” Her chest constricted. “Yes.”

“Then get off it,” he scolded in full English accent. “You’re not a coward. You’re one of the bravest women I know. You broke away from your father’s crushing pressure and purse strings. You took a chance on the most unconventional of parenting relationships and built the family structure that suits you, from nothing. You chose a career path more likely to engender scorn than praise. You have the strength to not only sit with the vulnerability of strangers, but to curl yourself around them like some emotionally absorbent shield. You’ve bent the world to your will time and time again.”

“And you and I both know that, because of that work, I’ve let people get too close. I’ve made bad assessments about people before. We’re all here, still paying the consequences.”

“Ugh. Self-flagellation mode is so last season,” Hugh groaned, “especially since you used even your worst moment to catapult you into something better.”

“Something that’s still tenuous.”

“Only in your mind. To everyone else, you’ve fully risen from the ashes. You moved to a new city, created a client base, made way better friends than you had the last time. Your daughter is thriving in a better school and social group, and you’ve finally found a woman worthy of challenging your preconceived notions about what you want and deserve. How are you worse off than you were a year ago?”

She thought about the question. “I have a lot less faith in myself to know what’s right for me, or anyone else for that matter.”

His expression softened. “Well, stop.”

She scoffed. “Just stop?”

“Sure.” He smiled. “I mean, have you even tried believing in yourself?”

She stared at him.

“What?” He laughed. “It’s not that complicated. Say, ‘Hey, one time I made a bad choice, and it was shit, but before that I made a million great choices, from art school to parenting to building a family with the most charming and handsome man, not to mention building a successful business from scratch, twice.’”

“You mentioned all that before.”

“Did you hear it?” He nudged her. “Because we’re still standing in the bloody cold talking about you not trusting yourself. It’s time to move on before we freeze our tits off, and, honestly, I’m looking out for you, because your tits are much larger than mine. Also, I imagine Gillian would be fond of them if you’d stop wallowing and go talk with her.”

Daphne tried to hide a smile. “And where would my tits come into a ‘talk’ with Gillian?”