“You’re probably the most interesting person I’ve ever met.” She nudged her.
Janice laughed. “You’re laying it on thick now, Sims.”
“No, I’m serious. I can talk to you about anything and everything and you somehow understand. If you don’t, you’re still empathetic and willing to listen. You’re just so open-minded and you’re willing and able to look at all sides to things and to try and understand from different viewpoints. That’s brilliant, Janice. And I love it. Why do you think I sit and talk your ear off and ask you a million questions? I want to know what you know. I want to know your mind. I want to know you.” She smiled. “I don’t feel that way about many people.”
Janice’s heart pounded. She was so moved she could do nothing but stare down at her soapy hands.
“Did I upset you?” Carla asked.
“No,” Janice said softly. “You didn’t—”
“I always seem to upset you.”
Janice could see the regret come over her face.
She struggled to explain. “You don’t upset me, Carla. You…”
“What?”
“Move me. You make me…feel.”
Carla slowly took the dish from her hand and rinsed it.
“Is that so bad?”
Janice dipped the last of the dinner dishes from the night before in the water and began to wash.
“No. It’s…just different. No one has ever had that much interest in me, much less made me feel.”
“Well, fuck them then.” She nudged her again. Softly. “Isn’t that what you said to me at the funeral?”
“I believe I did, yes.”
“Did you mean it?”
“Yes.”
“So, do I. Because as far as I’m concerned, Janice, anyone who’s passed you by or let you get away is a fucking fool.”
Janice dropped the bowl, this time while passing it to Carla, and it hit the center divider of the sink before it splashed into the water, causing a loud raucous.
“Shit, sorry.” She went to retrieve it, but Carla stopped her by gently taking hold of her wrist. Neither of them moved and Janice’s pulse became a hard, thudding one that caused her to tremble. Carla had to have felt it.
Oh, God. Will she pull away?
Would they continue on with this palpable unspoken attraction?
Carla answered her by slowly sliding her hand downward where her wet fingers glided into her palm. The move was so deliberate and profound, its eroticism was almost lost. Almost. But Janice definitely felt the tingle of her fingers along her sensitive palm. Every nerve ending in her hand stirred to life in the wake of her touch, and Janice couldn’t help but gasp. Carla’s delicate stroke feeling as if it were occurring some place far more intimate.
Carla had to know. She had to know exactly what she was doing. This touching, this careful sliding of her hand in hers? This was not the touch of a novice. And it was not a mishap or an accidental collision. This was the touch of a woman who knew women. It was being done with thought and purpose.
Carla wanted her.
There was no mistaking it now.
Oh, God, yes, Carla.
Take me.
Fucking take me.
“Carla,” Janice whispered, desperate to say those words aloud. She looked at her, hoping she could see her need in her face.
But Carla’s eyes were closed, and Janice watched her body shake as she exhaled.
Oh, dear God, she’s as turned on as I am. She’s feeling it too. Both of us wanting it so badly we’re shaking.
“Carla.”
“Just…give me a second. Just, please.”
She slid her fingers up into Janice’s where they weaved and caressed the sensitive inner edges, teasing and arousing. Janice clenched her eyes as a ravenous desire began to beat between her legs.
She couldn’t take anymore. Her legs were failing her, and it was taking everything she had not to throw herself at Carla and beg for the mercy of her touch.
She tried to tell her. “Carla—”
“Forgive me,” she said, stilling her hand.
Janice waited, listening to them both breathe, convinced she could hear both their heartbeats in the air between them until Carla spoke again.
“I—just wanted to know what your hand would feel like in mine.”
Her words reached in and caressed her heart just like she’d managed to do with her hand. Romantics, poets, artists…nothing any of them had ever spoken or created compared to what she’d just heard from this woman.
“Carla,” she said, trying to squeeze her hand.
“I better get going,” she said, easing her hand from Janice and opening her eyes. The gold in her eyes was ablaze now. Glowing and burning. “I’ll be—” Her words fell as she dropped her gaze to Janice’s mouth, and allowed it to linger for a split second more. “Back this evening.”
Janice wanted to reach out for her, take her in her arms and kiss her passionately. But Carla would resist her right now, she knew it. She could see it. As much as she obviously wanted Janice, there was something holding her back. Something that felt an awful lot like heartbreak and perhaps the fear of another one.
I’m not the only one who’s scared.
That somehow made Janice less afraid.
Carla was vulnerable, unsure of acting on her feelings.
They were one and the same.
Carla turned to walk away just as Janice reached for her.
“Wait, don’t go.” Not now. We should talk. Share. Confess.
Love.
Carla paused. “I need to, Janice. I can’t stay here with you right now. I know you won’t be able to understand why. Maybe someday you’ll be able to.” She headed for the doorway. “I’ll see you tonight.”
She disappeared and Janice heard the front door open and close. She dropped her hand and leaned back against the sink. She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead, once again feeling like that crazy little cardinal.
She didn’t know what to do.
Should she put her feelings on the back burner and just focus on keeping Carla comfortable and supporting her as best she could until she left?
Or should she carry on as is with her emotions and desires going up and down and all over the place with each and every encounter, with no promise of stability or rational end in sight?
To an outsider looking in, the choice would seem obvious. But she wasn’t an observer in this situation, she was the one living it, feeling it.
And while putting her feelings for Carla on the back burner sounded like the wise thing to do, she knew, with what had just transpired, it would be absolutely impossible.
Because she felt more alive and aroused now, standing barefoot in the middle of her kitchen on an everyday average morning, than she ever had in her entire life.
Chapter Eighteen
Carla stood on Maurine’s front porch balancing tomatoes in her arms while debating whether to knock or open the door and call out as she’d done for years. She never would’ve predicted she’d have to consider such a silly thing, but it was her new reality and at the moment, it felt like a vital choice.
She’d just come from Mr. Freeman’s office and she’d been mulling over what he’d said.
Your grandmother didn’t make this decision lightly, Carla. She trusted you implicitly and she had every faith that you would handle things properly and fairly. Your aunt and uncles, they’ve been through tough times, and she wasn’t sure what the circumstances would be at the time of her death. She didn’t do this to cause trouble, Carla, she did this to prevent it.