Iris’s lungs ached and she looked away—she didn’t want to see Stevie’s expression, whatever it was. She swiped at the moisture leaking from her eyes. Fucking wind.
“And Jillian?” she said, folding her arms and gazing at the waves. “Jillian was just the icing on a really big-ass cake.”
For a good while—felt like forever—Stevie didn’t say anything. She was quiet for so long, Iris glanced at her to make sure she was still there, but she was, gazing out at the waves too.
“Was that enough information about me?” Iris asked. “Did I shock you good and proper?”
Stevie looked at her, smiled softly. “I think I owe you a romantic outing.”
Iris frowned. “What?”
“You heard me. So far, we’ve only had one romance lesson.”
Iris’s cheeks warmed, the memory of slow-dancing with Stevie in her living room rushing back like a gust of wind. “You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s part of our deal,” Stevie said.
Iris had a sudden, inexplicable desire to say fuck the deal, but pressed her mouth closed.
Stevie gestured around them. “Plus, we are on a beach.”
It was cloudy, and the ocean’s waves were wild, roiling and peaking with foam.
“Like . . . a Wuthering Heights kind of beach, maybe,” Iris said.
Stevie laughed. “Fair. But, okay, if you were Heathcliff and I was Catherine, what would you do right now?”
“Um, leave you the hell alone? Heathcliff was a horrible person. Have you even read Wuthering Heights?”
“You brought it up!”
“Yeah, as an antithesis to romance.”
Stevie swiped a hand through her hair. “Okay, well, narcissistic heroes notwithstanding, we should walk.”
“Walk.”
“Hand in hand.”
“Lazily, while we search for shells to leave on each other’s pillows?”
Stevie held out her hand. “Now you’re getting it.”
Iris eyed Stevie’s hand, hesitating only a second before slipping her fingers into Stevie’s palm. The contact zinged up her arm, causing an eruption of goose bumps, which was ridiculous.
Romance was nothing but brain chemicals and some pretty words, a nice setting. That’s all it was. A fiction brains told to hearts.
Still, Iris gave in to it, if just for Stevie’s sake. They walked along the shore for a while, swinging their hands between them. They searched for shells, scooping up the unbroken pink-and-white treasures in the sand and slipping them into their pockets. They talked about nothing, about everything. Iris learned that Stevie was allergic to strawberries, a tragedy in her mind, and she told Stevie about Paper Wishes and how she had to close it down last year.
“Tell me about your book,” Stevie asked. “The one you’re writing. I already read up on Until We Meet Again.”
Iris smiled. “You did?”
Stevie gave her a look. “Of course I did.”
“Well,” Iris said, her cheeks warming, “this new one is about . . .”
She hesitated, feeling suddenly shy about the turn her book had taken.
“What?” Stevie asked. “What’s it about?”
Iris squeezed Stevie’s fingers. “It’s about a vintner and a wine critic.”
Stevie’s eyes went wide, and she stopped, twirling Iris around to face her, a grin on her mouth. “Like, your idea from the other night in your apartment?”
Iris nodded. “It was a good idea. And you really did help make it feel . . . real.”
Stevie beamed, her amber eyes bright even under the darkening clouds. “I’m so glad. It was a good idea. I can’t wait to read it.”
Iris grinned back, but it fell away as the first drops fell from the sky. The shower quickly turned into a steady rain, soaking both of them within seconds.
“Oh my god,” Stevie said, wiping her hair from her face. “I guess we should head back.”
Iris nodded and started to turn back toward the house, then froze.
“Hang on,” she said, taking Stevie’s hand.
“You okay?” Stevie asked.
Iris nodded, rain sluicing down her face. She watched beads of water gather on Stevie’s mouth, had the sudden urge to lick them away.
Instead, she pulled Stevie close.
“This feels like something we should do,” she said. “Dance in the rain on the beach.”
Stevie’s mouth opened a little, but then she smiled. “Look at you.”
“I’m a fast learner.”
“I see that,” Stevie said softly. “Is that going to be our thing—or your characters’ thing? They dance all over the city, finding super weird and unique situations to dance?”
“Maybe it is,” Iris said. “I’ll have to give you some author credit here pretty soon.”
Stevie waved a hand. “I’d settle for a mention in the acknowledgments.”
“Done,” Iris said, then wrapped her arm around Stevie’s waist. She had no clue what had gotten into her, but this felt right. It felt like the next step, for Iris—or, really, Tegan—to initiate a little romance.
And Stevie came into her arms so willingly, so perfectly. Stevie was just an inch or two taller than Iris, just enough for Iris to press her mouth to Stevie’s shoulder. One of Stevie’s hands went into Iris’s hair, and fuck if Iris didn’t exhale at the touch.
Didn’t swoon. Just a little.
And for now, she let herself feel it, the warm rain on her skin, the gentle press of Stevie’s hips. She let herself soak it in, believe it, if not for her own love story, then for Tegan and Briony’s.
THAT NIGHT, AFTER a grueling afternoon featuring a second read-through full of Adri’s copious notes—and Iris playing as nice as she could for Stevie’s sake—Iris came out of the bathroom to find Stevie already in her own bed, completely passed out.
Iris watched her for a second, something like disappointment clouding into her chest that they were clearly sleeping separately tonight.
She shook it off—of course they were sleeping separately—and braided her shower-wet hair into a side plait while walking toward her own bed. She pulled the covers back, ready to crash, then froze.
There, set right in the middle of her pillow, was a perfectly pink sea scallop shell.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE NEXT WEEK flew by in a whirl of shifts at Bitch’s, Effie constantly grumping about how corporations had taken over Pride, and rehearsals.
Stevie only saw Iris at the Empress, which was probably a good thing. Malibu had been intense, and Stevie definitely needed some space to get her emotions in check.
She and Iris put on a good show at the theater—holding hands here and there, a kiss on the cheek between scenes, sitting together in the audience when Adri ran a scene that didn’t feature them—but honestly, the line between what was real and what wasn’t was growing increasingly fuzzy in Stevie’s mind, and she wasn’t sure how to clear it all up.
Iris, for her part, was radiant. A star. Not only as Beatrice on the stage, but with Stevie too, winking at her when they caught each other’s eye across the theater, sliding her hand over Stevie’s hair as she passed by, resting her head on Stevie’s shoulder when they were on break or sat watching another scene.