Page 87 of Touch of Class

He grimaced. “I don’t know. I have no idea what your people do with body parts I’m not interested in. I am, however, interested in you becoming yourself again. I like you. I like Gillian, too, for that matter.”

“But not as much as you like me.”

“Obviously.” He threw an arm around her shoulder. “I adore you most of all, and I didn’t fall for a tiny mouse of a woman. I fell for a loudmouth smart aleck who doesn’t shrink from any challenge or any person. For all our sakes, buck up and be you again.”

She snuggled into the warmth of him, soaking up a little of his faith in her. “You think I can?”

“You’d better, because this is tedious, and you know how I feel about tedium.”

“The same way you feel about physical and emotional discomfort?”

“Exactly.” He gave her a little shove. “Now sod off, and don’t come home until you’ve, at the very least, spoken to her.”

She nodded. “I supposed I can handle that.”

“Good. And I’ll take Izzy tonight in case you decide you can handle a lot more.”

The door to Daphne’s office was open, and Gillian froze. It had been only four days, but the sight of it closed had become a sort of metaphor. Daphne had seemed ever-present since her arrival in October, and then suddenly she wasn’t, at exactly the moment her presence had become most welcome. And now, apparently, just when Gillian had let down her guard enough to walk the halls of her own business without expecting the emotional equivalent of a jump scare, she’d returned.

Of course she had. Gillian smiled. Two months ago an unanticipated meeting with Daphne would’ve sparked plenty of emotions, but gratitude, relief, and joy were not among them. Today she experienced all of the above and more. She didn’t hesitate to walk right past her own waiting room and instead turn purposefully in the opposite direction.

She stood in the doorway for a moment, allowing herself the luxury of watching Daphne make the bed. It was such a simple task, mundane in its domesticity, and yet as soothing as any meditation. Daphne stretched out her form to run a steady hand over the comforter, smoothing out any ridges or creases. She was graceful, her body still as lithe as it had been in youth, though fuller, more supple.

A heat rose in Gillian’s core as she realized her observation had strayed from casual to sensual, but for the first time she didn’t stop herself. Allowing her gaze to travel along the curve of Daphne’s spine, her flexing shoulders under a thin shirt, the indent of her waist, the flare of her hips.

“Are you just going to watch me like some weird stalker, or did you intend to say something?” Daphne straightened up and turned to face her. “Maybe critique my form or explain the finer points of the hospital corner method of tucking sheets?”

Gillian leaned against the doorframe. “I only intended to check in, though now that you mention it, I would probably enjoy a bedmaking seminar. Seems rather orderly, which you know appeals to me on a deep level.”

One corner of Daphne’s mouth curled up. “Maybe you should talk to a therapist about that.”

“Probably. Know any good ones?”

Daphne shook her head. “What is happening right now?”

“I’d like to talk to you about what happened last week. Honestly, I wanted to talk about it before now.”

“You knew where to find me.”

“I wasn’t sure you wanted to be found. I would’ve tried harder. I would’ve stayed and talked that night, but I got the sense you were rushing me out the door after we got interrupted.”

“I certainly didn’t want to talk about it with your friends standing in the hallway, but you could’ve called.”

Gillian nodded. “As could you.”

“Why should I be the one to call after the requisite three days?”

“I don’t know. Why should I?” Gillian stepped forward. “There’s no easy script here. I don’t even know who kissed who, and neither one of us asked the other out. I mean, I’m not a fan of patriarchal dating practices, but you have to admit, the lack of cultural norms and roles can be both a pro and a con of lesbian dating. Not that we’re dating, but I would like to know how to do the right thing here.”

“Right for who?”

“For you.”

“What if the right thing for me isn’t what you want?”

Gillian heard the echo of Brooke asking, “What do you want?” and she gave the question as much gravity now as she had then. “I want to hold my values, Daphne. I want to be the person I know I am inside, thoughtful, considerate, mindful, and intentional.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “Of course you do. Always the stoic, always mindful, always considerate. I used to think it was an act or a façade, and I wanted to see it crack, but now I think it’s real, which is somehow more maddening.”