“Not yet. On my to-do list for tomorrow. Any advice?” She sat down again, waiting for Emory’s response, but then changed her mind and went back to walking.
“Go in courageous and with lots of numbers. Hard to argue with evidence.”
“Numbers I have. Courage I’m gathering.”
“You’ll be brilliant.”
Sarah smiled as she typed. “Thanks for the confidence booster.”
“Not a big deal. It’s true.”
She hadn’t seen or talked to Emory since the Afternoon of Sexy Kissing. But she was feeling bold and decided to shift the conversation a little and ask what she really wanted to know. “So how have you been?” It took several minutes for Emory to answer this time, making Sarah wonder if she should have left it with a polite good night and thanked her again for the well-wishing. The text that arrived, however, stopped her in her tracks and tightened her stomach muscles reflexively.
“Mostly good. Busy. Miss seeing you.”
She grinned. “I miss seeing you too.”
“How’s the little one?”
“Feisty. But at the moment, sleeping.” In between text messages, Sarah moved about the room, examining random objects and straightening things as if this were somehow the perfect time to clean up a bit. She shook her head at the nerves that tickled her skin. This is just Emory, who you’ve talked to many, many times. Quit being a moron. Get it together.
“Oh. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
She decided to be a hardcore liar. “Nope, I was awake. What are you up to tonight?”
“At the office. Contract language review. Beyond boring.” Sarah was surprised. She’d pictured Emory at home for the night, settled in, much the way she was. Geez, it was well past ten o’clock.
“Is it possible you work too much?”
“I’ve heard that before, yes. You?”
“Sofa. Blanket. TV.”
“Jealous. Wish I were there instead.”
“Me too.” Sarah smiled at the idea, enjoying the exchange more than she was willing to admit.
There was another lengthy pause before the next text message came in. “Should we maybe talk about it…?”
There it was. Those three little dots that stood for so much more. She frowned as she pondered how to handle the situation, grateful for the fact that she had time to think before responding. Thank the beautiful universe for the gift of text messaging.
If she wanted to sidestep what could be a complicated situation, this was her opportunity. She could downplay the amazing kissing another woman thing, act like it was no big deal. Happens every day. Safety is your friend, she reminded herself and began to type a conservative albeit cowardly response. After all, this was maybe not something she was ready to deal with.
But her fingers stilled mid stroke.
Nope.
She just couldn’t let go of this new, other side of herself. It was scary as hell, and she wasn’t sure at all what she was doing or even if she should be doing it, but she had to find out about these feelings that had so boldly interjected themselves into her life. Was that such a horrible thing? Checking out what was behind door number two? She made her decision and hit the backspace, reconstructing her message.
Deep breath. “I was hoping we could.”
“Feel like I maybe crossed a line that day. Misinterpreted things. If I did, I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.” She hit the send button and waited for her phone to vibrate back at her, her heart pounding in her chest at the direction the conversation was heading. She knew she was pushing the envelope, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Minutes passed without any response from Emory, and that wasn’t a good sign. It was possible she’d made the wrong choice, and now things would be forever awkward between them. The beginnings of regret rippled through her.
Then her phone buzzed.
She closed her eyes momentarily before checking the readout.
“Will I ever see you again?”
She collapsed onto the couch. All was not lost. “I think you will.”
“Until then. Sweet dreams, Sarah.”
Inexplicable relief laced with adrenaline. That’s what she was feeling. She stared mutely at Meg Ryan on the television screen in front of her. She was aware of the fact that she was smiling and shook her head in wonder at whomever this was who’d taken control of her mind and body. She was flirting with another woman via text message for heaven’s sake, and for the first time in a long while, she was excited for what life may have in store.
*
Emory said good night to the building security guard and strolled into the parking lot, peering up at the clear night sky and exhaling. She was exhausted from her long day of work, the muscles in her neck tight, but she didn’t care. Her spirits were high.
She’d behaved like a teenager tonight, texting Sarah impulsively when she couldn’t get her off her mind. She’d promised herself that she would sidestep the Sarah situation. That would have been the mature thing to do.
So much for maturity.
But Sarah missed her and had confirmed the connection between them at least on some level. Normally, Emory would pursue the other woman for whatever casual enjoyment she could get out of the situation, but with Sarah, it was more complicated. A) Sarah was not a declared lesbian, B) she terrified the hell out of her, and C) had a child, which was pretty much a deal breaker. Though she didn’t know exactly how to move forward, or even if they should, the fact that Sarah might be feeling even a little bit of what she was left her with enough to call the night a good one. She decided not to look beyond the here and now and enjoy the small victory. Maybe she would go for a run on the beach when she got home. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so tired. Checking the sky one last time, she grinned and was pretty sure the stars were twinkling extra bright.
Chapter Seven
Sarah popped her head around the corner of her mother’s modest office. “Mama, can we talk for few minutes?”
“Sure, sure. Come in, sweetheart. Sit.” Her mother took off her reading glasses and gestured her into the small space. “What would you like to talk about?”
Sarah took a seat across from her mother and nervously pulled opened the ledger she carried with her. “Before you say anything, please hear me out.”
“What am I looking at, mija?” She regarded Sarah with a mixture of amusement and reservation, turning her attention to the ledger.
“This is a listing of our accounts receivable for the past two months, and as you can see, we did a record number of jobs. So many, in fact, that we didn’t have enough workers to fill them all.”
“Yes,” her mother chimed in. “We all just have to work a little harder. I don’t mind cleaning a few houses each week if it means we don’t have to turn down work.”
“Mama,” Sarah began, her tone clear that she meant business, “we have to face facts. It’s time to raise our prices, and not just a few percentage points this time. We have an established name and a credible reputation, yet our fees are on the low end of the scale for the market we service. It doesn’t add up. We could be doing half the work for twice as much and see a real rise in profits.” When her mother began to protest, Sarah politely raised her hand to signal she had more to say. Her mother inclined her head in acquiescence. “You’ve always instilled in me, Mama, that the quality of the work was more important than anything else. We offer quality work, and we should be paid for it. If we raise our prices, yes, our client list will shrink, but we’ll make just as much money and focus our time and energy into continuing to establish ourselves as the best in the business.”
Her mother frowned. “Where is this coming from, mija?”
Sarah pulled Emory’s check from her pocket. “This is from the Banning Street job.”