“You know her?” Megan trained her eyes in the same direction across the crowded café.
Café Mokka’s intimate and inviting atmosphere should have made it easy for Grace to pay more attention to Megan on their second date. She could tell that Megan had taken pains, her brown hair carefully framing her face. She’d worn make-up tonight and really did look good in her emerald green silk blouse and tight black jeans.
Instead, Grace was mesmerized by something else, or rather someone else. She couldn’t see Robyn’s face, but from behind recognized the cut and texture of her distinctive black hair. Guiltily, she turned to Megan, aware of how tightly she was gripping the hot apple cider. “Not really. She took over the favor at the barn that I was telling you about,” she said reluctantly, hoping not to rekindle the topic that had dominated their first date.
When she’d arrived at the marsh, she’d immediately seen that she wouldn’t want to walk the paths in her work heels. Thankfully she was able to exchange them for the boots she’d worn to the barn and uncharacteristically left in her trunk.
Megan had found her there, joking that she must be a girl scout to be prepared for anything. She didn’t know if she was prepared for the level of interest Megan had expressed in her friends’ baby. Hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction, she said, “Do you know her? You must meet a lot of people working at a coffee shop.”
“When I worked the counter, sure,” Meg agreed. “I got to know a lot of people, but I’ve always been at the Eureka store.”
“That’s, what, seven miles away? I’d think that’s the same population.”
Megan was quick to disagree. “Not at all. Eureka’s not all political, not all in-your-face demanding to be recognized like the people in Arcata are. In Eureka we just…are.”
“I live in Arcata,” Grace reminded her coyly.
“You just moved here. You didn’t know,” Megan retorted. She slipped her hand across the table to take Grace’s, her eyes dark with desire. She looked like she was about to offer to teach her more about the lesbian community when the musicians they’d come to see squeezed through the line at the counter and wove their way through the tight clusters of tables to the corner of the room.
She smiled at Megan, though it was the sight of the violin that set her heart racing. She was happy to have Megan to sit with but was surprised by how distracted she felt thinking of what she would say to the young violinist after her set. The older man introduced Jen and himself and Jen briefly described their set list. She listened patiently as he sang, accompanying himself with impressive finger picking on his guitar. When Jen lifted the violin to her chin, Grace sat up taller, leaning forward into the stream of notes that floated from her fast-moving bow.
Again more fiddle than classical, the notes still carried Grace away. She shut her eyes, giving herself up to the emotion of the song, Jen’s fiddle voice that sang directly to her.
When the song ended, she opened her eyes, joining the crowd in enthusiastic applause. Megan looked at her, not at the band, and Grace was self-conscious about the mistiness she felt. Blinking, her gaze fell on the woman from the barn again as she too brushed a tear from her cheek. The motion moved Grace, and she felt less conspicuous for getting so caught up in the song. Grace looked back to the musicians but saw that Megan was studying her focus on the woman sitting tables away. She smiled an apology and reached for Megan’s hand.
She appreciated the warmth she found there and the way Megan ran her thumb along her skin. The small gesture made her aware of how wonderful her full hands would feel exploring more private skin. She hadn’t been touched like that in a long time, not since she’d been on the Northcoast and… She traced back in her mind. Had she been single for an entire year before she left Houston? She could still hear her friends teasing her about her all work, no play attitude, getting out mostly when they insisted but never tempted by anyone she met.
Unexpectedly, she heard her father admonish her for being so picky. You can set your standards too high, you know? he’d told her when she’d ended one of her relationships just before the year anniversary. You’ve got this list in your head, and when the woman you’re dating doesn’t have everything you’re looking for, you give up, but you’re never going to find someone who meets all your expectations. Live like that, and you’ll inevitably be disappointed, especially when you discover you’ve let your whole life go by.
Megan leaned across the small table, her lips brushing Grace’s ear. “It’s hot in here. Can we listen from the garden?”
Grace looked from the violinist to her date, knowing that the correct answer was yes. Reluctantly, she nodded. They bused their cups to the front counter and exited by the back door, losing their seat to customers who had been hovering by the front entrance. Grace missed watching the musicians but smiled genuinely when she crossed the threshold from coffeehouse to a hobbitesque wooded area.
Megan took her hand, guiding her along a lantern-illuminated path to a pond and over a tiny bridge.
“Are these all guest houses?” Grace asked about the shingled structures, each with a fenced enclosure.
“How long have you lived in Arcata?” Megan laughed. “Those are the hot tubs.”
“Public hot tubs?”
Megan squeezed her hand. “You don’t get out enough. They’re made of redwood and are really nice.” She stopped and tipped her head back. “There’s nothing like the feel of the cool mist while sitting in a tub.”
For a moment, Grace wondered if Megan would suggest they get a tub, and a wave of heat rushed through her at the thought of being naked together.
“We could try it sometime,” she said, her eyes returning to Grace. She took both her hands and stepped closer.
Grace felt suspended in time, the trees and lanterns around her, music drifting out of the café. When Megan slipped her arms around her, pulling Grace into her warmth, the recipe for romance was complete.
Except the glaring absence of sparks when Megan’s lips touched hers. Grace closed her eyes and went through the list of how right the moment was, click click clicking like the lighter on a stove’s range, but minus the sparks. Instinctively, Grace took a step back, just as one would to avoid the cloud of gas that accumulates when the flame takes too long to ignite.
For all that she was thinking about how nice it would be to end her dry spell in bed, their kiss did nothing to pull her in that direction.
Megan slipped her hand into Grace’s again, and it was nice. It felt comfortable, but she noticed how attuned she was to these small details rather than being lost in the moment. “Is something wrong?” Megan asked.
Feeling guilty for her distracted thoughts, Grace realized that the evening had grown quiet. Relieved that she had an excuse, she explained how she had hoped to talk to the violinist between their sets.
“Good idea, just in case we don’t make it all the way through the next set,” Megan said suggestively, pulling Grace in for another kiss.
But Grace’s thoughts were already on her conversation about music and where that, not this kiss, would lead.