Alice turned over the first tarot card. It showed a blindfolded and bound woman surrounded by swords.
“Well, that can’t be good,” Lane said.
“It’s the eight of swords. It represents frustration and obstacles—constraint. Something’s been holding you back. You’ve been going down dead ends for a long time.”
Lane stayed silent. The truth of Alice’s words hit her straight in the gut.
“But this placement means that’s coming to an end,” Alice continued. “Recently you’ve taken control of your own destiny. Your luck is changing, Lane.”
Lane cleared her throat. “The decision it’s talking about. Is that coming here? To Provincetown?”
“I can’t tell you that. But if you think it’s that, then it probably is,” Alice said before turning over another card. “Okay, now this one’s interesting.”
Lane leaned forward and looked at the card. A skeleton in armour holding a black flag and riding a horse. Great. “How’s that interesting? Obviously, it’s saying it’s curtains for me.”
“What?” Alice looked confused.
“I’m going to die.” Lane tapped the card with one finger. “It’s death, right?”
“No, honey, you aren’t going to die. None of these cards should be taken literally. The death card can mean a lot of things. Rarely the death of a person. More like an ending is coming. That kind of thing.”
“What’s ending for me?” Lane asked.
Alice frowned. “Something is coming. Something big. It’ll come on you suddenly, and it’ll mean the end of things as they are.”
“I’m not convinced that’s good, Alice.”
“Lane, moving forward means other things have to fall away—or die. You can’t move on otherwise. This event could be anything, maybe something good.” Except Alice’s frown wasn’t reassuring Lane it was good.
“Okay, fine. Look, thanks for the reading. How much do I owe you?”
“I haven’t finished yet,” Alice said. She turned over another card, and Lane saw her blanch. That was not good at all. Lane refused to look at the card. If she didn’t look, then it wasn’t there.
“I think I’ve heard enough.” Lane stood up, and her chair toppled over. She hastily handed Alice some bills and headed for the door.
“Wait,” Alice called after her. Lane stopped, turned.
“Take this. It may help you. I don’t know why, but you have to take it.” Alice held out a card face down. When Lane made no move to take it, Alice shoved it in her hand. Lane stuffed it in her jeans pocket without looking at it and hurried out with the card burning hot against her.
Lane could feel her chest tighten and her breathing shorten. She had the overwhelming urge to run, to get outside. So she did.
She took the stairs two at a time and threw open the doors on the ground floor. Bent over double, she tried to catch her breath. Panic attack. That’s what it was. She hadn’t had one of those in a while. Shakily, Lane wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. She was sweating, and her hair was damp.
Fucking hell. Lane stood upright, feeling better now, and took in deep breaths of fresh sea air. Her head cleared, and she felt more herself. What was all that about? Why had she had a total meltdown over a tarot reading? She didn’t even believe in that shit. It was the skeleton on the horse. Death. Lane’s gut quivered as she remembered the picture on the card. It had creeped her out, that was all. Stupid. She’d had a shitty day, and that stupid tarot reading had compounded it.
Except Alice was lovely. And the reading was fine—good, even. Up until that death card. But even that hadn’t exactly been bad. So what was wrong with her then?
Lane’s mobile phone buzzed in her pocket.
She took it out. The battery was flashing red. She never remembered to charge the bloody thing. A message from Meg.
Full of hope and swooping feelings, Lane opened the message.
Hi. It’s Meg. I behaved badly today. Can we meet tomorrow and talk?
The message was brief—very Meg—but Lane was filled with unreasonable hope anyway. She cautioned herself not to get excited. Meg wanted to talk, not get back together. But if she wanted to talk, then there was hope she could be convinced to listen to Lane, to hear her out. Lane started to tap out her reply, then stopped.
She shouldn’t reply straight away, should she? It would look desperate. Maybe like she’d been sitting staring at her phone. She should wait. Give it a few minutes. Maybe a few hours? But not too long, or it would look contrived. Like she was trying not to reply too soon.
Shit. Lane hated this. There was a time when she’d loved the chase. Not any more and not with Meg. Lane just wanted her back.
She sighed and tucked the phone away. She’d go back to the B and B and reply then.
Lane kicked off her shoes and lay on the bed. It was comfortable, and the bed linen not half bad. She reread Meg’s message. She wanted to meet tomorrow. Go for coffee. It was certainly something. It didn’t mean anything, exactly, but it was a start, something to hold on to, to build on.
She was aware how desperate that made her, but she didn’t care. She’d already fucked up with Meg once—well, twice really. Lane berated herself every day for just taking Meg’s dumping her like it didn’t matter. Maybe if she’d shown some fight in the first place, things would have turned out differently.
But she hadn’t fought. She’d sat there and accepted it. By the time she’d gotten the guts to fight for Meg, she’d left. Gone, back to the US. No forwarding address, no goodbye. Lane only found out where she’d gone by chance. Three weeks ago she’d run into Meg’s old boss at a club. She’d mentioned Meg was working in a bar in Provincetown because Meg’s new boss had requested a reference from her.
Now, here Lane was. And she was waiting passively again. First, by running into Meg by chance and not going straight to find her. And now, by waiting for Meg to contact her about meeting. How would Meg know she’d changed if she just sat back like she’d always done and let others make the decisions for her. No. Lane would go to Meg’s bar and talk to her there. Tonight.
* * *
Meg looked up from where she was loading the dishwasher, and her stomach did that annoying swooping thing. Lane grinned at her and came up to the bar.
“How’s it going?” she asked Meg.
“Busy. You?” Meg lifted a tray of glasses onto the dishwasher.
Lane shrugged. “I got your text. You wanted to talk?”
“Yeah, but not right now. I’m kind of up to my eyes in it. I thought I said tomorrow.” Meg blew a strand of hair off her face. The night cook agreed to come in early, thank God, but her boss wasn’t answering her phone, so Meg was on her own behind the bar. She’d been rushed off her feet and her temper was fraying. She tried not to be mad at Lane for turning up unannounced. It was a bar after all, and Lane could go where she liked.
“Can I give you a hand?” Lane asked, ignoring Meg’s comment.
“No, that’s all right. You want a drink?”
“I don’t mind helping. Helped you enough back in London. Remember?”
Meg did remember. Lane made a habit of showing up near the end of her shift. A few times it had been busy, and Lane jumped behind the bar to help her out. Meg remembered being surprised that Lane actually knew what she was doing. And more than once she’d ended up helping Meg with a lot more than serving drinks.
“There we go, last one out the door,” Lane said from behind her as she threw the bolts across the door.
“Thank God, I’m beat,” Meg replied.
“How beat? Too beat?”
Meg turned and grinned. “Oh, never too beat for that.”
“Excellent news,” Lane said, and Meg’s stomach contracted as Lane leaned her elbows on the bar and looked Meg up and down. Meg loved it when Lane did that.
“You want to go home?” Meg asked and walked over to the bar.
Lane shook her head. “No, too far.”
“You want to do it right here in the bar?” Meg pretended to be shocked.
“Why not?” Lane grinned.
“Lane Boyd. Are you suggesting we have sex right here in my place of work where anyone could walk in?” Meg tried not to laugh. She’d had no idea she was playful until she met Lane.
“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. Besides, the doors are locked. Everyone has gone home.”
“Someone could come back.”
“They’ll get an eyeful then, won’t they?” Lane said and leaped over the bar, making Meg squeal.
“No.” She backed away from Lane, who advanced on her. “I’m serious. Stay away.” She wasn’t serious at all, and she knew Lane knew it.
“Or what?” Lane kept advancing.
“I’ll call the cops.” Meg was laughing now. She couldn’t help it.
“I’ll be finished by the time they get here,” Lane said and pulled Meg into her arms.
“Lane Boyd, the great lover.” Meg rolled her eyes. Lane was actually incredible in bed, but they had a standing joke she was terrible.
“You’ve never complained before,” Lane said.
“You’re finished before I can,” Meg replied. “No, Lane!”
Suddenly, Meg was pulled off her feet and carried to the bar where Lane dropped her unceremoniously back onto her feet.
Meg leaned into Lane to keep her balance, and Lane used the opportunity to kiss her hard on the lips. God, Meg loved to kiss her.
Meg pulled away from the kiss. “I’ve been thinking.”
“No. Thinking bad, kissing good,” Lane replied and went in for another one.
Meg put her hand over Lane’s mouth to halt her progress. “You’ll like this.”
Lane raised her eyebrows.
Meg leaned in close and whispered in her ear, “Why don’t you let me show you how it’s done?”
Meg felt Lane flinch, then nod. Meg moved her hand from Lane’s mouth and unbuttoned her jeans. She pulled them down to Lane’s knees and dipped her thumbs just inside Lane’s underwear, stroking, before she pulled those down too.
“Shit, Meg.”
“Shh.” Meg tilted her head and nipped Lane’s earlobe. “Just watch.”
Meg reached between Lane’s legs and ran a finger along the place where her lips parted. God, Lane was wet. For her. The thought of that turned Meg on even more.
Meg got onto her knees and pulled Lane’s clothing all the way off. She used her thumbs to part Lane again and breathed her in.
Lane groaned above her. She felt Lane’s hands take hold of her hair and grip on tight. “Please, Meg.”
Meg obliged, and her first taste of Lane was just as delicious as it always was. Meg used her tongue to circle Lane’s clit slowly and without much pressure.
“Such a tease,” Lane said, and Meg could hear the smile in her voice. She didn’t answer.
Instead, Meg began to lick up and down, applying a little more pressure but not too much. She wanted Lane squirming under her mouth before she’d give her what she needed.
Meg felt Lane plant her legs wider, and then Lane’s grip on her head tightened and pulled her in. So Meg stopped. She looked up. “You aren’t in charge right now, baby. Remember?”
Lane laughed and rolled her eyes. “I forgot. Fine, I’ll let you go at your own pace. But please, don’t torture me for too much longer.”
“Oh, I’m going to torture you a lot longer. It’ll be good for you to wait for something you want, for once.”
Lane laughed. “You’re evil.”
“You love it.”
Meg got back to work. Despite what she’d said, she wouldn’t make Lane wait. Meg put more pressure on Lane’s clit and pushed one finger inside her. She flattened her tongue so she covered more of Lane’s clit and made her strokes harder and faster. Meg could hear Lane’s breathing quicken and feel her legs start to shake. Lane was going to come. Meg loved this part.
With a groan, Lane pushed herself hard into Meg’s mouth and gripped her hair. She rode Meg’s face so that Meg was buried in her. Lane coated her mouth and her nose, and Meg couldn’t get enough. She carried on licking Lane until Lane pulled away, breathing heavily.
“Shit,” Lane croaked.
Meg grinned and looked up. For a moment, her breath caught. Lane had a satisfied look in her eyes and a lazy smile on her lips, and Meg loved the idea she’d been the one to put them there. Lane was the most beautiful woman Meg had ever seen.
Kneeling there on the ground, staring up at Lane, Meg felt something inside her soften and crumble just a little. Then, on the heels of it, a swift surge of panic had her jumping back to her feet.
Meg took Lane’s face in her hands and kissed her hard. Keep this purely about the sex, she told herself. Don’t get attached, you can’t afford to.
“Now I’ve given you a demonstration,” Meg said, “I think it’s time you showed me what you learned.”
Lane laughed and spun her round. “Fair’s fair,” she said.
Lane’s hand on her arm jolted Meg back to the present.
“Meg? I’m happy to help you behind the bar. I worked in that bar in Spain, so you know I know what I’m doing,” Lane said.
Meg pushed the past out of her head. She definitely didn’t need to be thinking about Lane like that right now. She was tired, and the bar was busy. Damn it, she was desperate. And she needed to pee. “Okay, that would be great. Thank you.”
Lane came around the bar, and Meg watched her. Her stomach flipped, and that pissed her off. Meg knew she could easily fall into bed with Lane again—the sex had always been incredible. But she also knew that right now, Lane was weirdly vulnerable. She’d gotten some kind of crazy idea in her head about coming here and winning Meg back, as though she’d had her in the first place. Sex with Lane had trouble written all over it. Plus, Meg couldn’t do that to her. Not when Lane obviously wanted so much more than Meg could give her.
“Okay, you can’t operate the register because you don’t have a login. Could you just help me take orders and I’ll do the rest?” Meg asked.
“Of course.” Lane smiled, and Meg wanted to lie down behind the bar and pull Lane on top of her. Not a good idea. And they were going to have to spend the next few hours rubbing up against each other. Great.
But some matters were urgent. “I need to go to the bathroom. Could you just start making drinks, and I’ll put them through when I get back? Most of these guys are on tabs anyway,” Meg said.
“No problem.” Lane turned away and started speaking to a customer.
Meg felt like she was taking advantage of Lane. It was clear Lane was helping her as part of her efforts to get Meg to go out with her again. But Meg couldn’t run the bar by herself. She needed the help, and Lane was willing. After they closed, she’d talk to her. She’d be gentle but firm. She’d offer Lane friendship but nothing more. It was the best she could do.
* * *
Lane enjoyed herself. She’d always been good behind the bar. Back when she’d spent those ten months in Spain, she’d had a lot of fun working at the hotel. She had good chat, and people liked her. It was no different here. But bar work was hard work, and Lane had eventually tired of it. Her family’s money meant she didn’t need to get a job if she didn’t want to. Her parents had finally given up trying to convince her to follow her brother and sister into banking. The only thing she’d ever really loved was art, and it seemed her parents would rather she didn’t work at all than become an artist.
Her aunt had been an artist and gotten in a scandal decades ago that was still talked about today. Lane couldn’t remember the ins and outs, but she knew it involved several politicians, a paintbrush, and a call girl.
Her parents were terrified that if Lane became an artist too, the whole sordid chain of events would be rehashed and kicked off again in the newspapers and amongst their social circle.
Lane poured a beer and called out to Meg to ring it up. They worked well together—they always had. One always knew where the other was, so they never bumped into each other, even behind that tight bar back in London.
“It’s slowing down now,” Meg said using a tea towel to wipe her hands.
“Yeah, it got manic there for a while,” Lane said.
“It’s often busier than that, but a lot of people are out with the flu. I can’t even get my boss on the phone. I guess she’s sick too.”
“Probably this weather. Not enough vitamin D or something,” Lane said.
“Yeah, it’s pretty bad for this time of year. Kind of like winter.”
Lane nodded and struggled for something else to say. She couldn’t think of anything.
“Can you hang around after we close up? I think we need to talk,” Meg said.
Lane’s heart leaped despite cautioning herself not to get excited. “Of course. I’d like that.”
“Okay,” Meg said.
They stood awkwardly for a moment longer, neither knowing what to say. They were saved by a customer signalling for another drink.
* * *
Meg locked the door and sighed. Her feet throbbed, and her head ached, but she half wished it wasn’t closing time. Because that meant she’d have to talk to Lane. She’d have to let her down, and Meg hated to let anyone down. She’d seen the look in Lane’s eyes when she asked her to stay behind so they could talk. Hope. She wasn’t a stranger to it herself. In her younger days, Meg had fallen in lust a few times with people who didn’t reciprocate. On one occasion she’d been on the end of a talk herself, and it wasn’t pleasant.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t attracted to Lane—hell, Lane was gorgeous. Tall, dark, and handsome. She was funny and sweet, and Meg knew she had a good heart. But Lane was aimless. She could be childish, and during their relationship—if you could call it that—Meg had increasingly begun to feel like her mother. Lane was an incredible artist, but she listened to her family too much and didn’t seem to have the backbone to tell them to back off.
Lane could easily make it as an artist. She might never be rich, but she could make money at it, could support herself with her art. Of course, Meg wasn’t exactly an expert in art, but she’d showed a friend who was an expert. Mia had loved Lane’s work and said Lane could earn a living as a working artist. But Lane didn’t want to know.
For some strange reason, Lane’s family were totally against it. Basically told Lane they would never support that choice. Something to do with a scandal back in the day with one of Lane’s relatives who’d been an artist. Whatever it was, Lane’s family were dead against it. Meg supposed that would mean turning away from their money too, and she guessed that would be a hard thing for Lane—or anyone—to do.
It didn’t matter anyway. Meg was never going to give Lane what she wanted. She worked too much to give anyone what they needed. Hell, if she couldn’t even find time to call her own mother more than once every couple weeks, how would she sustain a relationship? Besides, she was focussed on the bar. It had been her dream for as long as she could remember, and she wasn’t giving it up for anyone.
Meg’s mother had given up her dreams for Meg’s father. And look where that got her. Debt up to her eyeballs and two kids to raise alone. There was no way Meg was going to fall into the same trap set by another bone-idle charmer like her dad had been. Not that Lane was like her father, exactly, but there was enough similarity there to make Meg think twice. Not that it ever took much to put Meg off a woman. She wasn’t that deluded she didn’t know a lot of it had more to do with her than with the woman. For as long as she could remember, she would look for a way out of a relationship as soon as she got in one.
Maybe she was afraid of losing her independence, or maybe she was so afraid of being in the same situation her mother had been that she was scarred for life.
Fabulous.
Behind her, Lane cleared her throat, and Meg realized she’d been standing at the door forever.
“Sorry, Lane. I guess I must have spaced out.” She turned and walked back to the bar where Lane waited.
“Don’t worry. It’s been a long shift for you.”
Then Lane gave Meg one of her heartbreaking smiles. It was vulnerable and cheeky at the same time—and so much better than the contrived ones Lane thought people liked. Shit, this was going to be hard.
“You want a drink?” Meg asked.
“If you’re having one, I will,” Lane said.
“Let’s both have one. You still like vodka?” Meg set about getting glasses.
“I’ll do it. You sit down and put your feet up. You’ve worked hard today.” Lane came around the bar and took the glasses from Meg.
“Thanks. Make mine a large gin and tonic.” Meg sat at the bar facing Lane, as though she was a customer.
“I wasn’t very nice to you this morning, and I’m sorry,” Meg said.
“That’s okay—it must have been a shock to see me.” Lane handed Meg her drink and leaned against the bar.
“That’s not an excuse, but thank you for being gracious.” Meg sipped her drink, buying time for what she was about to say next. “You know, when I texted you, I didn’t expect you to come straight over. I was going to invite you to the Viking exhibition at the library.”
Lane looked confused. “Why? Are you especially into Vikings?”
Meg laughed. “Not at all. I promised Wendy—our local historian—I’d go. She’s bummed about the find being moved to Boston and wants the whole town to see the treasures first.” Meg rolled her eyes. “She won’t quit until every damn person with a beating heart has seen it.”
“So you thought you’d drag me down with you?” Lane said.
“Hey, if I’m going down, I’m taking as many people as I can with me. I’m no hero.”
Lane laughed. “Charming.”
“You always thought so,” Meg said, falling straight back into their old pattern but unable to stop. She’d forgotten how easy it was to banter with Lane.
“I thought you were captivating. Especially when you were asleep, snoring like a train,” Lane said.
“Hey, I sleep like a lady. You must be confusing me with one of your other conquests.”
“Well, you do all sort of roll into one after a while,” Lane teased.
Meg punched her lightly in the arm. “Pig.”
“Is that why you took a job here? Reminded you of me?”
Meg burst out laughing. “You’re an idiot. I forgot that about you.”
“I am an idiot. I was an idiot to just let you walk out on me,” Lane said.
Meg sighed. “I’m not prepared for this conversation. I’ve been trying to think how to talk to you all night. What to say to let you down gently. You came all the way here for me, and I acted like a total jackass.”
“I see. Meg, you don’t need to tie yourself up in knots. Maybe you could let me say what I need to say,” Lane said.
“Sure.” Meg took a big swig of her drink.
“Right, well…okay, so when we broke up, I sort of pretended I didn’t care. Actually, I was heartbroken, and I tried to forget about you, but I couldn’t.” Lane took a deep breath and carried on, “You made me better. It was like when I was with you, everything made sense, and it was exciting, and I felt like I could do anything. Then you left, and frankly, everything was shit. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, Meg.”
“Wow. Okay. Pretty sure?”
“Almost certain.” Lane nodded.
“Look, Lane—”
“Whatever you say next, don’t say, It’s me and not you.” Lane downed her drink and turned to make another.
“All right, I won’t. In truth, it’s a little of both. I’m not in any position to have a relationship. We live on different continents, for one thing.”
“I can move here. You can move there,” Lane said quietly, still not turning around.
“Right. But also I just don’t feel that way about you. We’re very different people, and it wouldn’t work,” Meg said softly, as though it would lessen the harshness of her words. And the little voice in her ear that whispered liar.
“We worked fine in London.”
“We were just fooling around in London. It wasn’t meant to be a forever thing. I’m sorry, Lane, if you got the wrong end of the stick.”
“You were just passing time with me?” Lane asked.
Was that what she’d been doing? It was certainly what she’d meant to do, before things got complicated. “In a way.” Meg winced at Lane’s sharp intake of breath. “But also, I liked you. I was—still am—insanely attracted to you. I never meant it to be more than a little fun. I’m so sorry I didn’t make that clear to you at the time.”
Lane nodded, still with her back to Meg. “I see.”
“I never meant to hurt you, Lane. And like I said, a lot of it is about me and not you. I don’t have time for a girlfriend. I spend all my time at work. I take any overtime going. I don’t have friends, and I haven’t been on a date since…wow, since you.” Meg hadn’t realized that.
Lane turned then with a faint smile on her lips. “You’re still saving for your bar in Boston.”
“Yes.”
“You haven’t saved enough yet? I thought you’d been saving since you were nineteen?” Lane asked.
Meg felt defensive. “That’s my business. Not all of us are lucky enough to have parents that’ll buy us whatever we want.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it,” Lane said, holding up her hands. “I’d happily buy you any bar you wanted. You could hire all the staff you need—you wouldn’t even have to work there.”
Meg shook her head. “That’s not what I want at all. You just don’t get it. You never did.”
“Don’t get what? Meg, I can offer you everything—buy you almost anything. You don’t have to do this.” Lane gestured around the bar.
“But you can’t buy me, Lane. I’m not for sale,” Meg said and stood up.
“Shit, I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry, that wasn’t what I meant.”
“Yes, it is. Whether you realize it or not, that is exactly what you meant. You’re so used to buying whatever you want. It never occurred to you that I wouldn’t be for sale too. This is how you were in London. Constantly buying me things, paying for things. And not with money you earned.”
Lane blanched, and Meg realized she’d gone too far. She’d meant to be kind, let Lane down gently. At the first mention of money, she’d gone off. It was a sore spot for her, she knew that, but Lane didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of Meg’s insecurities.
“Damn it. I’m sorry. I’m tired, and that’s no excuse, but maybe we should talk again tomorrow—”
“No. You’ve said enough. I get the picture, Meg. Thanks for your time.” Lane came around from behind the bar and headed for the door. Meg reached for her arm, but Lane shrugged her off. She guessed she deserved that.
“Lane, wait.”
But Lane wouldn’t. She slid the bolts back and opened the door. “By the way, Meg, I never wanted to buy you, or own you—or whatever you think I wanted. I just wanted to make things easier for you. I know you’ve struggled your whole life, and I was in a position to make that stop. I believe it’s normal behaviour when one person loves another.”
Before Meg could answer, Lane was gone.
Damn, damn, damn. That was the exact opposite of how Meg wanted this to go. Why did she have to be so mean? Lane was already in a position of vulnerability, and she’d gone and cut her off at the knees. It was the talk of money. It got to her every time.
Her mother had done her best by her, but they’d been broke. Flat out, thrift shop, food bank, share the bathwater broke. Their clothes had always been clean and if not new, then as close as her mother could get. But Meg lived in fear of classmates finding out just how poor she really was. The excuses she made about why she couldn’t go to the mall—three cents in her purse—or to cover for why she hadn’t seen a TV show the night before, since they couldn’t afford cable.
Meg worked like a dog for her money, and in bitter contrast, there was Lane. Born into a rich family and never wanting for anything her whole life. Never needing to think twice about buying anything. Meg bet she’d flown business class over here to win her back. But it wasn’t Lane’s fault. She couldn’t help what she was born into, any more than Meg could. And Lane was generous. There wasn’t a charity bucket in London Lane hadn’t put money in. Early on when they’d first met, Meg went to watch her run fifteen miles in mud up to her ass for charity.
No, Lane wasn’t a bad person at all. Spoiled? Definitely. Entitled? Maybe a little. But Lane hadn’t deserved Meg’s sharp tongue. It looked like she’d have another apology to make tomorrow. She’d get a good night’s sleep, and then maybe she wouldn’t be in such a bad mood.
Meg got up and bolted the door closed.