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“To what?” I asked, licking a brownie crumb off my thumb. Was she ready to talk about the kiss now? I’d been holding back on blurting it out, and it had been killing me.
“About what kind of books I like,” she said, and I knew we weren’t talking about books.
“What kind of books do you like, Honor?” I asked.
“I like books about all kinds of people. I might prefer books about woman, but I’ve been known to read books with all genders.”
Oh.
“So you don’t discriminate,” I said.
“But I prefer sapphic romance,” she said.
“Got it.”
That took me a second to digest. “I like sapphic romance only,” I said. I mean, I absolutely did read all kinds of romance, but right now books were a metaphor and I was going with it.
Honor nodded. “Glad we got that out of the way.”
“Yeah, that’s good information to know,” I said, and suddenly it was too hot in here. I got up to open a window and turn the fan on.
“So are we going to talk about the other thing?” I asked.
“What other thing would that be?” Honor asked.
“The fact that you kissed me?”
Honor refused to meet my eyes. “No,” she said.
“Why not?”
She didn’t answer and I wasn’t going to beg and plead and force her. I almost thought about going over and kissing her again, but my emotions about the whole thing were still so confusing.
To give myself some space from her, I went to the kitchen.
“Do you want another brownie?” I asked, and my voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.
“Sure,” Honor said, finally breaking her silence.
“Did you want dinner? I could make something,” I said as I selected brownies for both of us. There wasn’t another middle piece, so I just cut a corner piece and cut off the edge for her. Like she was one of the twins and I was cutting off the crust.
“No, you don’t need to do that. I’ll have something when I get home.”
“Where do you live?” I asked, and she just got up and came to lean on the kitchen counter. I was too restless to sit down right now.
“Not that far. You know Seagull Lane?”
I did. “Are you anywhere near Lorna Rose?”
That made Honor smile. “She’s my neighbor. I adore her.”
Lorna Rose was a local legend. She was a million years old (no one knew quite how old) and she was known for making and selling jam out of her garage, and for raising fancy chickens that she sold and had shown around the country when she was younger.
“I feed her chickens sometimes,” Honor said, and I almost fell over.
“I literally can’t picture that,” I said. “Do you have a farmer outfit?”
Honor shook her head. “No. I do have regular clothes you know. You’ve seen me in them.”
