Chapter 8: Home

 

For the rest of the week Max went to work and then went to Fiona’s cupcake shop, balancing her time between the two places to arrive at her apartment very late each night, with only enough strength left in her to collapse into bed, and dive into dreamless sleep. Because all too soon morning would come, and she would repeat the cycle all over again.

The nights with Fiona were as wonderful as they were terrible. Max loved being so close to the vivacious, captivating woman, but it was also a special form of torture, because, of course, she kept wanting all of the things she could not have. Max wanted to reach out and touch her, reach out and kiss her, wanted to wrap her arms around Fiona, wanted to taste her more than anything she’d ever wanted. Max wanted to experience Fiona in every way, wanted to be the one who would make her utter that sweet laughter for the rest of her life.

Days came and went. Nights came and went.

And Max’s heart ached.

Saturday morning dawned as white as freshly driven snow. There was a winter storm warning in effect for the whole city of Boston, so Max wanted to get to the mall early to make certain she was there in time for her shift. She got dressed, put on two pairs of socks and two pairs of gloves and got in her car to make the twenty minute drive to the mall. But, of course, when she got up on the expressway, it was bumper-to-bumper traffic that very solidly refused to move. Max muttered to herself about how people tended to forget how to drive when the snows started to come, and though she knew she could easily cheer up if she turned up the radio and sang along to her heart’s content, she didn’t do it.

Instead, she thought about Fiona.

By the time she pulled into one of the only empty places she managed to find at the mall—in spite of how bad the roads were, and how nonexistent the visibility seemed to be, it was still prime shopping season—Max was in no mood to wrap gifts. She grabbed the Santa hat from the back seat that Sam had brought into work for her on Friday, jammed it on her head, and marched through the unending parking lot toward the mall itself.

Her face softened when she neared the entrance to the mall. Out front stood about ten kids of varying heights and ages. They were all holding laminated sheets of music.

And they were all singing.

Max stood in the cold, in the harsh, driving snow, and she listened. It’s funny, she thought as she watched the children’s faces earnestly reading the words of the song from their papers, belting it out. No matter what, “Silent Night,” always sounds beautiful. And it was true. Even though some of the kids were singing pretty off key, and even though some of them weren’t together on the words, it still sounded quite pretty. By the time they’d gotten done with their song and Max had pushed through the double doors and into the mall, there was a tiny bit of peace in her heart.

Honestly, the first little bit of peace she’d felt all week.

Max didn’t know how much longer she could live like this. There was so much anguish in her heart, always. She ached to be so near to Fiona and so utterly unable to do anything about it. It was painful for Fiona to stand close, hip to hip, as she showed Max how to mix the right ingredients or how to bake the cupcakes just right.

Max had now spent quite a few cumulative hours with Fiona, and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was no longer falling in love with Fiona.

She’d already fallen.

How much longer could she hold out? How much longer could she take Fiona’s tight embraces without drawing the woman to her? How much longer could she bear it when Fiona would entwine her fingers with hers, squeezing her hands with her warm palms and bumping shoulders softly with her? These were delicious, exquisite forms of pain, but they were pain, all the same.

Max loved Fiona. She loved Fiona fiercely.

And she kept that secret as best as she could. And she would have to keep it. Forever.

Max breathed out as she made her way through the crowds in the mall. There were a lot of smiling faces, laughing children, harried parents running after the laughing children. There were armfuls of bags and people talking about deals and sales and men and women strolling across the tile floor arm in arm or hurrying quickly across the tiled floor to get to the next sale. It was so hectic and holiday music blared all around them, but it was still a cheerful sight to see, so many people gathered together, buying up little tokens of affection to tell someone else that they cared about them.

She reached the center of the mall, which was where the food court was located, and also the entrance to “Santa’s Kingdom.” They used the same decorations for “Santa’s Kingdom” that they used when Max was a little girl, which meant they were partially decayed, and more than a little creepy. One of the larger teddy bears was missing an ear and an eye, which Max tried not to notice. Instead, she made a bee-line past the ho-ho-ho-ing Santa and past the line of screaming, crying, hysterical children waiting for a place on Santa’s lap, and made her way to the gift-wrapping table.

Since Sam was in charge of organizing the gift wrapping every year, and since the seeing eye dog charity, SEDA, had been gift wrapping at this mall for over a decade, they always got a pretty choice spot, situated between a sporting goods store and the line to see Santa. It was highly visible from all of the tables in the food court, and there was always a steady stream of people walking past because they were in the center of things.

And because people tended to be more generous at this time of year, it meant that usually there were a lot of people getting their gifts wrapped and donating to SEDA.

For a donation (at least five dollars, but because of that generosity, there were often tens, twenties, and Max had seen a fifty tossed into the bucket a few times), you could get anything wrapped that you wanted. There were about five volunteers at any given time, and big rolls of festively colored wrapping paper and many rolls of tape and buckets of donations spread around, behind and over the table. It was happy chaos. Max let herself in behind the long table, and a volunteer she recognized from last year practically pounced on her.

“Max, right? I’m Vera,” said Vera with a grin, checking Max’s name off on the volunteer clipboard. “All right, we’ve been swamped all day—I finally get a pee break!” And without any other sort of announcement, Vera snatched up her purse and coat from beneath the table and all but sprinted out from behind it, heading toward the rest room.

Volunteer shifts were two hours long, but because Max cared about Sam and the organization (and, honestly, because Sam had begged because of how short staffed they were this year), Max had taken two of the shifts, back to back, meaning she would be wrapping gifts for four hours. She’d never done two shifts together, and maybe it if hadn’t been on a Saturday, it would have been all right.

But it was on a Saturday. And what passed through in those four hours was more gifts than Max had probably wrapped in her entire life. She did her best with each one, but she wrapped most of them poorly, using—as was her tradition—far more tape than any wrapped package deserves, handing over the badly wrapped presents with an “I’m sorry, I’m not a very good wrapper.” Which usually earned her a wide-eyed “don’t worry about it,” in return, with the person walking away surreptitiously trying to unwrap the gift and shove the crumpled wrapping paper in the nearest trash can.

Max was nearing the end of her shift, tiredly trying to wrap a gigantic sheet of wrapping paper covered in teddy bears holding candy canes around a tin can of popcorn that was at least three feet tall when she paused.

Walking toward her across the expansive tile of the mall food court was none other than Fiona.

She looked beautiful, as always, her red hair upswept into a high ponytail, and a sprig of holly in her hair. She wore a purple sweater under her red coat, and her tall riding boots, and she carried a little paper shopping bag in her hand. She was smiling brightly at Max. Fiona had spotted her and was making a beeline toward her.

“Do you ever rest?” Fiona asked once she’d approached the table, a smile tugging at the corner of her sweet, pink lips that Max tried very hard not to stare at. Fiona was wearing an unusual color of lipstick for her, and Max very much liked it. Max chuckled along with her, shaking her head and shrugging.

“No,” she said, which was the truth. “I’m volunteering for the Seeing Eye Dog Association. We wrap your presents for a donation!” she said, patting the sign on the table that detailed the information. “It’s a great charity,” she added, ready with all of her rehearsed lines as to why you should get a present wrapped with them, but Fiona was reading some of the information, scanning it with quick eyes. But not really. She glanced at it, then she glanced back up at Max, her lips twitching upwards again.

“I like your hat,” she said, leaning forward and tugging a little on the white puff that hung from the end of Max’s Santa cap. Max stiffened at how close Fiona’s fingers came to brushing up against Max’s cheek, how the sweet scent of vanilla and spicy floral seemed to intoxicate her as Fiona leaned forward toward her. But then Fiona straightened, sighing for a moment.

“Have you heard much from Jo this week?” she asked. It was strange, because Fiona never really much talked about Jo when Max and Fiona worked together in the cupcake shop. They talked about everything under the sun, but the topic of Jo, oddly, never really came up.

“No,” said Max, biting her lip. She actually hadn’t heard from Jo since they’d talked about Max helping Fiona out at Florabella Cupcakes. It wasn’t unusual, when Jo was working on a very detailed project for her company or setting up a new franchise office, that it would be awhile in between conversations (they hadn’t even kept their usual Monday dates because of how busy Ho had been), but as Fiona leaned on the table sadly, it stirred Max’s heart. She wanted to reach out in the space between them and embrace Fiona.

But she didn’t.

“I haven’t heard from her for a couple of days, and it’s just…” Fiona bit her lip, picked up one of the brochures for SEDA. Max blinked as she looked at Fiona’s face—her eyes were too bright. Was she holding back tears? “This place seems like a great organization,” said Fiona, then, smiling too brightly, her voice false as she tried to be cheerful again. “Anyway,” she said, clearing her throat and not looking at Max, “I was out shopping for Jo’s present. She’s pretty tough to buy for.”

“Yeah,” said Max, smiling softly. “She’s always been.”

“She doesn’t really like stuff, as you well know. And she doesn’t wear…well. Jewelry. And we’re so new in our relationship…” Fiona looked up into Max’s face, then. It surprised Max how sad Fiona looked. “It’s just feels that I don’t really know her well enough yet to figure out the perfect gift, and I honestly don’t know her well enough,” she said then. The words were fast and small, but still Max heard them. Max didn’t know what to say, bunching her hands at her sides as she tried to think about something comforting that she could tell Fiona. That she was sorry that Jo was distant toward her, that Jo didn’t spend that much time with her. That’s just how Jo was. Jo was incredibly passionate about her work, and that didn’t mean that she was any less passionate about Fiona.

“So,” said Fiona, with a long sigh, “I got her a gift certificate to the Malibu, which they were selling at the local business kiosk in the mall.” Fiona held up a cheap envelope with a bow printed on the side. “But...I’d still like it gift wrapped,” she said decisively with a small smile, and she handed over the envelope to Max, and deposited a ten dollar bill into the donation bucket.

“One terribly wrapped envelope, coming up,” said Max with a little chuckle as she turned back towards the rolls of wrapping paper, but not really seeing the wrapping paper choices through her haze of concern. Fiona looked so hurt. Max wished, so much, that there was something she could do to ease that pain. She could tell Fiona over and over again that Jo cared deeply about her work, that Jo really cared about Fiona, but that meant nothing.

Because Jo needed to show that she cared deeply about Fiona.

Max thought she did. It seemed like she did. Max didn’t really have a lot of interactions between Fiona and Jo to go on, but it had seemed, so much, that first time in the Malibu that Fiona and Jo were perfectly compatible, and had great chemistry together. They had seemed meant to be from the way Jo had placed her arm around Fiona, so naturally, and the way that Fiona had curved her body to Jo’s side.

But as Max cast a surreptitious glance over her shoulder at Fiona now, who was listlessly straightening all of the piles of brochures on her end of the table, Max wondered. Because Alex, Jo’s ex, had never looked like this morose version of Fiona once during their relationship. Jo had doted on Alex, had been there constantly, couldn’t be seen without her in a public space. They had been obsessed with each other, and perhaps it was not in good ways that obsession, some of the time, and they weren’t really right for one another in the end, but…

Max pulled off a long piece of tape and wrestled with her cut of wrapping paper. Fiona was amazing. Fiona was amazing. Why wouldn’t Jo want to spend time with her or talk to her?

“I’m very sorry,” said Max, then, turning back and presenting Fiona with the wrinkled bit of wrapping paper that, somehow, she’d managed to wrestle around the envelope and add a bow on top. “This looks terrible.” She handed the wrapped envelope over the table to Fiona, who took it with a chuckle.

“Well, for a professional gift wrapper, you’re really good at making cupcakes and cards,” said Fiona with a wink as she slid the wrapped envelope into her purse. She stood for a moment at the table, pressing the palm of her hand against the sign on the table’s surface before looking back up at Max. “When do you…when do you get off work here?” she said, glancing at the long row of volunteers.

Max checked her watch. “Five minutes,” she said, adjusting her Santa cap so that it was more at the center of her head, instead of sliding off the back of it. It was much too big for her.

“You look really nice in that. It makes me happy to see you wearing something so festive,” said Fiona, shifting her weight as she glanced up at Max with hooded eyes. Then, she cleared her throat. “So, do you want to get a coffee with me or something afterward?”

“Coffee?” asked Max, her heart beginning to beat too quickly. She laughed a little, the sound of it coming out a bit strained, even to her ears. She wanted to say aren’t you sick of me yet? But it’s not how she felt. And she needed to say exactly what she felt in this moment, so she did: “Coffee with you would be...wonderful.”

“Great,” said Fiona, her grin widening.

“Why don’t you get headed out now, Max?” asked Vera from up the line. “The crowds have dispersed, and we’re having lulls, so five minutes ahead is just fine.”

“Thanks,” she said, nodding to Vera as she took up her purse and coat from under the table. Max came out from behind the table, and together they strolled toward the line of children curving out of Santa’s Kingdom.

It was so strange how Max could feel such strong, opposite things at the same time. On the one hand, nervousness was doing its best to flood her body, and she felt more than a little frightened about how much like a date what they were doing actually was. Going for coffee with a woman she found incredible attractive? A woman she’d fallen in love with who could never know that fact? It was so hard. On the other hand, Max was currently strolling through a tightly packed mall overflowing with holiday cheer with the woman she loved.

And she would bear any hardship for that.

“I love the mall at Christmas,” Fiona sighed happily as a couple walked past them, hand in hand. They were both carrying bags and trying not to let the other one see what they were carrying, the woman peering around the man’s shoulder as he chuckled and tried to maneuver the bags around his body. A group of kids ran past ahead of their mothers to get in line for Santa. “There’s a lot more good will towards everyone during the holidays,” Fiona explained as they walked up to the little coffee shop, located at the end of the food court.

They went inside and both ordered hot chocolates. Max felt so strongly that she should pay for Fiona’s drink, too, but she didn’t. That would be too date-like, she realized, and she needed to make absolutely certain there was nothing about this that felt like a date because, truthfully, Max wanted it, so much, to feel like one. So they paid separately, and went to sit on the plush chairs located right outside of the shop, within the waist-high bright metal fencing that surrounded the “outdoor” area of the little coffee shop.

Max wanted to ask Fiona about how things were going with Jo. She wanted to ask this desperately, but at the same time, she didn’t want to pry. But as Fiona sunk into the deep, plush chair, as she held her hot cocoa in her hands and glanced at Max through the steam curling out of the top of the cup, Max watched Fiona’s gaze flicker. Again, Max could not read Fiona’s features, but just as soon as that gaze had come over her face, the mysterious look vanished, and Fiona blew down on her hot cocoa.

“This just wasn’t how I imagined it would be,” said Fiona softly, then. “I’m sorry. You’re Jo’s best friend,” she said, glancing down at her hot cocoa and not looking up at Max. “This is a terrible position to put you in, I just needed someone to talk about this to. Is this all right with you?”

“Yes, of course,” said Max softly, a lump growing in her throat.

“Things are just hard between Jo and me right now because she’s working so much. Actually,” Fiona said, blowing out on the hot cocoa again as she chose her words with care, “it’s not so much that she’s working a lot. It’s that she’s working a lot and not making any sort of time to see me. That must sound so needy to you,” Fiona sighed, setting the hot cocoa down on the little table between them. “I’ve tried to be supportive of her work, obviously, but the beginning hours of a relationship are usually spent getting to know someone. I’ve always been the type of person who just jumps completely into the relationship, and Jo was that way, too, at the very start, but then things shifted. And we’re both working hard. But I try to reach out to her, and she has plans, or she’s too busy, and I keep getting shot down. I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head slowly as she looked at Max from hooded eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” she said then, softly.

Max knew that phrase only too well.

Max’s heart was beating too hard, and she had to swallow before she could form an even half-hearted coherent response. She said the only thing she knew: “what do you want to do, Fiona?”

Fiona breathed out, still holding Max’s gaze. “I want to be happy.”

Max’s heart thundered inside of her as she sighed. She could so easily slide forward and place a hand over Fiona’s, could lean forward and kiss her. Everything in her fantasies was so easy, but she knew that in real life that was never the case. Nothing about this was easy.

Her best friend’s girlfriend was currently telling her that her best friend was not being a very good girlfriend.

That wasn’t simple in the slightest.

Neither were her current feelings.

“You deserve to be happy,” said Max quietly, realizing fully that she was echoing Sam’s sentiments about herself from earlier in the week and not caring. “And I’m sorry about Jo. The only thing I can tell you is that she always gets like this when she’s opening up a new franchise. She’s very…” She trailed off, trying to think of the right word. “Single-minded. And driven. It’s why she’s so successful, but I know how frustrating it must be, trying to build a relationship…”

Fiona was watching her carefully. Max sighed again and ran her fingers through her hair. She tugged out her ponytail holder and held it in her teeth as she tried to smooth down all of the fly aways and do up her hair in a more respectable fashion after being under that Santa’s hat for hours. “I really need to get this cut,” she mumbled in exasperation around the hair tie in her mouth as she tried, without success, to tame those dratted fly aways.

“You want to cut your hair?” asked Fiona, changing the subject smoothly as she gazed past Max’s eyes to take in her hair. “You shouldn’t,” she said with a soft smile. “It’s beautiful the way it is.”

Max couldn’t help herself—she chuckled at that, even as much as her heart beat faster at the compliment. “Oh goodness, that’s sweet, but let’s be honest: my hair is terrible. I keep threatening to chop it all off. I want to,” she said wistfully, patting it all into place after looping the hair tie over it a few times.

“You’d cut it all off, go super short? I mean...it’s gorgeous the way it is, but I can sort of see that...” said Fiona, her head to the side as she considered Max’s features. “You know,” she said, her voice rising upwards in excitement as she leaned forward, “I could cut your hair if you wanted. I used to be a hair dresser.”

“Really?” asked Max, her eyes widening.

“Yes. It wasn’t my calling by any means, but, let’s just say…I’m better at cutting hair than you are at wrapping presents,” she said cheekily as she laughed. “Were you serious about getting it chopped off?”

“You don’t know how serious,” said Max breathlessly as she leaned forward. “I’ve been dying to get it cut off, but I just keep…not getting it done. I’ve been kind of busy,” she said with a small smile.

“Well,” said Fiona quietly, her eyes shining. “I would love to cut your hair,” she said then, sobering a little as she looked at Max with those wide, shining eyes. “If you’d let me.”

Max’s heart was thundering against her ribs as she considered this offer. It was pathetic, really, but the thought of Fiona touching her gently, tenderly, even in the smallest of ways when she cut her hair, caused Max’s breath to come short, caused the ache that seemed to be a permanent part off her now, to intensify with longing.

Yes, Max very much wanted Fiona to cut her hair.

And she told her so.

“Great,” said Fiona happily, leaning back in her chair as she considered Max. “How about we do it at my place? I still have all of my old salon stuff in the bathroom, because I cut my own hair, if you’d believe me. But don’t judge my worth as a hair dresser by my hair, because it’s always messy,” she chuckled, standing from her chair. Max stood, too, and Fiona and Max walked out of the mall toward their cars.

“Here’s my address,” said Fiona, handing her a little slip of paper. “Do you have a GPS? I’m parking in another lot, so you can’t follow me. Or I could--”

“I have a GPS in my phone,” said Max as Fiona gave her a little smile.

“Great,” she said, and even though they were heading toward Fiona’s house, which meant that Max and Fiona were certainly seeing each other again, and in probably only a couple of moments, Fiona stepped forward and embraced Max quickly and tightly.

“I’m sorry to have talked to you about Jo, Max,” she said softly, then, stepping back and away from Max to gaze up into her face with searching eyes. She was frowning softly. “I don’t want to involve you in anything that makes you uncomfortable. I know that I’ve put you in an impossible position.”

“It didn’t make me uncomfortable,” said Max, clearing her throat. The sun had already gone, but the parking lot was lit unnaturally bright with so many tall lights. Even in the sickly white light of the parking lot lights, Fiona looked radiant as she glanced up at Max. Fiona opened and closed her mouth, as if she was going to say something else, but then she appeared to change her mind.

“I’ll see you there,” Fiona said, and she turned on her heel, heading toward another direction of the parking lot.

Max had been wanting to cut off her hair longer than she even remembered threatening it. And she’d been threatening it for close to a decade. She’d had shorter hair in her younger years, as a short as a boy’s, and had always felt so much more herself in short hair than in long hair. But, for some reason, about ten years ago, she stopped going to get it cut. She’d had to go so often, because her hair grew so fast, that it’d seemed more trouble than it was worth. And what was the point, anyway, she’d thought at the time. Long hair or short hair, she was still Max.

And that was true. She was always herself. She just was certainly more capable of feeling more like herself when she had short hair.

This change would do her good.

That this change was coming at the hands of Fiona…well. That was the best part of all.

It was too short of a drive to Fiona’s house for Max to really dwell on the conversation she’d had with Fiona at the mall. Or the fact that they didn’t really talk about Jo when they worked on cupcakes together, and what did that exactly mean that they’d talked about her just now?

No sooner had Max plugged Fiona’s address into her phone’s annoying GPS app that always insisted she needed to slow down than Max had followed its three or four quick turns out of the parking lot, and she was pulling up to a little blue house that struck Max as very, very much Fiona’s.

It was a pretty small house, Max realized, as she pulled her car up behind Fiona’s Jeep in the driveway. But Fiona had her own house, something that Max couldn’t say. The shutters were painted a darker blue than the house itself, and the walkway had been shoveled recently. A cat sat on the front stoop, a big black one that looked to Max to be male (though she couldn’t exactly tell from sight), meowing plaintively up at her as she shut her car door.

“Hi, bud,” she said, crouching down and offering her hand. The big feline stood up and sauntered down the walkway toward her, its tail held high, strutting regally.

“Hello,” said Fiona, opening the door and smiling softly at the scene that greeted her. The big cat had its head pressed against Max’s hand, its tail twitching and purring loudly. “That’s the neighbor’s cat, Larry,” said Fiona, crossing her arms and leaning against her doorframe, holding the door open with her foot as Max continued to stroke the cat gently. “Larry is the king of the neighborhood. Usually, he doesn’t like strangers,” she said with a grin.

Larry took that opportunity to dump himself onto the ground and roll over onto his back, beckoning Max to pet his stomach.

“Right ferocious you are,” muttered Max as she stroked his velvet-soft belly. She stood after a moment, stretching, jingling her car keys in her pocket as she approached Fiona, taking careful steps up the shoveled walkway.

“This is a pretty house,” she said softly as Fiona pushed off from the doorframe and stepped out of her way so that Max could enter.

“Thank you,” said Fiona with a small grin. “I love it very much. I’m glad you like it, too.” Fiona reached around Max to pull the outer door closed behind her, and for a moment, it seemed that Fiona’s arm was wrapped around Max, too. They stood for a moment, neither one of them moving as Fiona pulled the door closed. She remained that way for a heartbeat, then she straightened, clearing her throat and tugging at the hem of her sweater. “Come in, come in,” she said, ushering the way down the hall. Max followed her down the little corridor, which fed immediately into the kitchen.

It was a tiny kitchen, just like the one at the cupcake shop, so Max immediately felt at home. Fiona had set up a chair and had a towel and a few scissors and a mirror on the table already laid out. The walls were painted a bright, cheerful yellow, and the tile on the floor was a bright blue. It went well with Fiona’s black fridge and stove, and the bright blue countertop. These were all bold, colorful choices, but they suited Fiona’s personality perfectly.

There was a little Christmas tree sitting in the center of Fiona’s kitchen table. It was a potted baby pine tree, and it had been strung with popcorn and hung with little ornaments made out of cupcake wrappers. They’d been carefully folded to look like flowers.

“Usually,” said Fiona, gesturing to the tree as she noticed Max’s interest, “I get a big tree. But this year…I just didn’t have the heart for it.”

“But you love the holidays,” Max protested automatically. She turned to Fiona and watched her, their eyes locking.

“I do,” said Fiona, tugging down at the hem of her sweater again as she indicated the chair. “It’s just…I’ve just not been in the mood this time around. Something else has been more on my mind,” she said with a small shrug. “Please, sit down…I’m very excited about this.” And it seemed that she genuinely was, for her voice lifted again, and some of that old enthusiasm flooded back into her.

“Do you want coffee or tea? I think I have some Lipton around here somewhere,” said Fiona as Max settled into the kitchen chair, leaning against its back and breathing out. Fiona picked up a plastic apron, like the ones used in salons, and settled it over Max’s front. She then drew the ties to the back and proceeded to cinch the Velcro together at the back of Max’s neck. Though she was moving quickly and smoothly, Fiona’s fingers still lingered there, at the back of Max’s neck, and Max couldn’t help it: she shivered.

Fiona paused, her fingers still touching Max’s skin. “Are you cold?” she murmured into Max’s ear, drawing a finger down the back of her neck to the apron’s Velcro.

“No,” said Max, trying to keep her voice steady. She wished she didn’t love this so much. “And coffee would be great, if you have it.”

“Sure, I’ll make a pot,” said Fiona, moving away from Max and busying herself at the sink with the coffee grounds, filters and a water pitcher. She set the coffee brewing as Max tried very hard not to watch her do this, Fiona’s curves a magnet for Max’s eyes that she had to actually fight against. Max stared, instead, at the tree.

It looked a little forlorn and small in the center of the kitchen, even though the kitchen around it was small, too. Fiona had done a remarkable job with those cupcake wrappers, turning them into flower ornaments. If Max wasn’t already familiar with paper and all of the interesting ways you can fold and use it for greeting cards, she would never have known the flowers were made out of the wrappers. There was no star on top of the little tree, rather a larger flower, more elaborate than the others that caused the top of the tree to bend down a little.

As the coffee began to brew, the coffee maker making industrious gurgling sounds, Fiona came to stand in front of Max, her hands on her hips. “Look at me, please,” she said gently, and reached out with a fingertip and tilted Max’s face up towards her. Max stared solemnly into Fiona’s face, tracing every beloved curve with her eyes, every inch of skin that she wished so much to kiss sweetly, passionately, including the slightly turned up nose that wrinkled a little as Fiona smiled down at her.

“This is going to be great fun,” said Fiona softly. “How short do you want it?”

And, just as Max had asked for it many times before, she uttered the same words now: “as short as a boy’s.”

“That short, huh,” said Fiona, stepping even closer to her. Her legs pressed against Max’s knees, and Max wondered if she should move a little, maybe spread her legs so Fiona could stand closer, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. Heat flooded across Max’s face as Fiona feathered her fingers through Max’s hair, her head to the side as she considered it, her bright green eyes distant. “Your hair is so beautiful, Max. I’m going to miss it,” she said softly then, her fingers still in Max’s hair, moving softly over Max’s scalp.

There was so much pleasure to that one soft touch, that Max had to keep her eyes closed and hold her breath so she didn’t let out a sigh of release. It was a thought she’d had so many times it was as well worn as a penny, the idea of Fiona running her hands through Max’s hair. And now here she was, doing just that, pressing her legs against Max’s knees, her warmth warming Max, the softness of Fiona’s fingers on Max’s scalp almost more than Max could bear.

Fiona moved away from her then, took her hand from Max’s hair, and Max opened her eyes as she watched Fiona take up the now full pot of coffee and begin pouring it out into two mugs on the counter. She set a mug with a picture of a cartoon reindeer on it next to Max at the table. “How do you take your coffee? Cream? Sugar?” she asked, and Max shook her head.

“Just black is fine,” she said, inhaling the aroma of the coffee appreciatively.

Fiona chuckled. “See, I need enough cream in my coffee for you to question if there’s actually some coffee in my cream.” She winked and crossed to the refrigerator, opening the door with a creak as she took out a half gallon of creamer. “All right,” she said then, turning back after she’d poured a good deal of it into her coffee cup. She set the creamer back in the fridge, turned and placed her hands on her hips. “We’re going to do this! And short it is.”

Fiona picked up some thin scissors from the table, and again pressed her legs to Max’s right side. She ran her long fingers through Max’s hair, and began to move it this way and that, the sharp clipping sound of the scissors punctuating her words. “You know, we’re almost caught up on all the orders, Max. You won’t have to come help me this next week.” She sounded so sorry when she said it.

Max’s breath caught as a large chunk of hair fell to the floor. Not go to Fiona’s sweet-smelling kitchen every day after work? But that’s where she laughed, that’s where the best moments of her day happened.

Not going, after only this past week, seemed unthinkable. It had grown into a beloved part of Max’s day.

“Are you sure?” Max asked, trying to keep her voice steady. “It was no trouble at all. I love helping you.”

“Well,” said Fiona, running her fingers through Max’s hair and taking up a big lock of it to cut into. “I think you’re going to be getting even more orders for your cards. You know your new client? Well, she has a very good friend who’s getting married, too, and she wants to use everything my bride is using, all of the same wedding vendors because she’s loved so much what she’s seen. And I think she’s going to want invitations from you, too. You should really come up with a few sample designs, then I could take pictures of them. I have a good camera--I have to take pictures for my cupcake web site. And then we could build you an e-commerce site, and you could start selling your invitations on there.”

Max’s eyes widened. “Wow. You have a better business plan than anything I could ever come up with. I was just considering vending at a few craft fairs with some ready-made cards.”

“And I think you should do that, too,” said Fiona, tucking a wisp of hair gently behind Max’s ear as she stepped out to Max’s right side to gaze at her work. “That’s good,” she said quietly and stepped back, her touch running along the side of Max’s neck. Again, Max shivered. “But I think you should also have a web site online and try to concentrate on that. Like an online portfolio. I think people would be very impressed to see your designs, and you’d get a lot of business that way.”

“I don’t know the first thing about web sites,” said Max quietly as Fiona’s touch lingered on the side of her neck. Fiona traced her fingers around to the left side of Max’s face, and then Fiona cupped her chin, tilting Max’s face to look up at her. Fiona gazed down at Max with darkened eyes, and slightly parted lips. Max did love this new lipstick on Fiona. It made her lips look so soft, so inviting. Like they needed to be kissed. Max looked down, could no longer maintain her gaze with Fiona, the ache beginning to throb in her heart.

“I know a lot about web sites,” said Fiona softly, firmly. Her eyes flashed brightly. “Remember our bargain? You helped me out so much, and you said that if you helped me, you’d let me help you. I’ll build you a web site, I’ll take the pictures. You just make some beautiful cards, and you leave the rest up to me.”

“No,” said Max, just as firmly, as the scissors began to clip again. Her heart was beating too quickly as Fiona worked on her, as the scent of Fiona filled her, as the warmth of Fiona, pressed up against her side made the blood rush through her, made Max’s heart beat faster, made everything more sensitive, sharper, clearer. Max swallowed again. “You have too much of your own work to do,” she said, by way of explanation. “You have your own business to run. You can’t help me with mine and still be successful. No one has enough time for that.”

“Yes I can, and I will,” said Fiona, stepping out in front of Max again, and tilting up Max’s chin with one insistent and soft finger. Max had no choice, she had to look up into Fiona’s eyes. “You made a promise, after all,” said Fiona in a whisper, but she wasn’t looking into Max’s eyes when she said it. She was looking down at Max’s lips.

There was no mistaking it. Fiona reached up, one finger still gently but firmly beneath Max’s chin, and with her thumb, she gently caressed Max’s lower lip, her incredibly soft, warm skin running feather-light over Max’s mouth.

Max’s intake of breath was quick, the pounding in her heart making everything else but that one touch seem like it was somewhere else, someplace else. All Max knew, in that moment, was the feel of Fiona’s warm fingers against her, all she knew was Fiona’s soft thumb against her mouth, running gently across her lips as Max’s mouth opened.

“I’m done,” said Fiona softly, then, her breath catching. She still stared down at Max’s mouth, but then she blinked, gazing up at Max’s hair. “You look beautiful,” she said, the words quavering as she spoke them. “So beautiful,” she said in a whisper.

Max’s legs did part then, as if she had no control of them. And Fiona, who had been standing with her legs pressed up against Max’s knees, took a step forward. Tentatively, softly, she took that final step, her legs and hips between Max’s legs now, her stomach pressed against Max’s chest as she wrapped her hands around Max’s neck.

Max did not think. Because if she thought, she would stop all of this, and the ache had gone on for far too long and had been too painful for her to stop now at its release. Somehow, impossibly, Fiona was there, Fiona was touching her, was wrapping her arms around Max, the crinkle of the plastic apron loud and sharp between them. Slowly Fiona undid the Velcro catch at the back of the apron, and then she was tugging at it, pulling it over Max’s head so that there really was nothing between them now.

And then, Fiona ran her fingers through Max’s hair, resting her hands gently at the back of Max’s neck, her fingers making spirals of heat against Max’s skin. She stared at Max’s lips, closed her eyes and descended slowly until her mouth was against Max’s.

And suddenly there was no space between them at all. Like all of the visions and hopes and dreams Max had had, Fiona leaned down, her red hair filled with the sweet scent of her falling down around Max’s face as Fiona bent to her. And Fiona kissed her, gently softly, her lips brushing against Max as if time had stopped.

Fiona kissed her.