Thayer
Stevie tossed her phone into the passenger seat, panic already starting to rise up like the tide. Her fingertips tingled, and she squeezed her eyes closed, focusing on the feeling of the seat’s fabric under her legs, the weight of her body in the car, putting herself in the moment, using all five senses like her therapist suggested she do when she got overwhelmed.
New York City.
An actual, prestigious play in New York City.
She’d barely had time to process Dr. Calloway’s offer, everything with Iris looming to the forefront of her mind since she saw her old professor.
She could barely make sense of it now—Stevie Scott on the Delacorte Theater stage.
Stevie Scott in New York City.
Alone.
She couldn’t picture it, couldn’t even fathom leaving everything she’d known and trusted for the last ten years, everything that kept her balanced and safe.
And now there were all these feelings for Iris . . .
Feelings Iris had zero interest in pursuing.
Her eyes were just starting to sting when the rain let up just enough for her to see the sign rocking in the wind just outside her window.
River Wild Books.
She took a deep breath and got out of her car, jogging to the cobbled sidewalk and hurrying under the shop’s awning before she was completely soaked. A little bell dinged as she stepped through the door, and she was immediately hit with the smell of books, paper and glue and leather, a hint of coffee just underneath.
It was a beautiful store, all light wood shelving and soft lighting, a reading area in the center with dark brown leather chairs and a coffee table strewn with books.
“Can I help you with something?”
The voice startled Stevie and she turned around to face a young girl—no more than thirteen—smiling at her. She had golden brown hair shaved on one side and swooping past her shoulder over the other, hazel eyes, and a nametag that read Ruby.
“Oh,” Stevie said. “Hi, um . . . I was just looking.”
The girl nodded. “Let me know if you need help.”
“Thanks.”
The girl turned to head off, but then Stevie got an idea.
“Actually,” she said, “can you direct me to the romance section?”
Ruby grinned. “For sure.” She beelined through a maze of tables set with pyramids of books, until she stopped at a section of the built-in shelves full of colorful spines. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.”
“I recommend checking out our Pride display,” she said, motioning toward a nearby table full of colorful paperbacks arranged in a rainbow. “It’s July now, but read queer all year, right?”
Stevie smiled at the girl. “Yeah. Absolutely.”
Ruby beamed and left her alone to explore. Stevie focused on the Pride table, picking up a yellow paperback with an illustration of a dark-skinned man holding a Black woman with pink hair in his arms. She sank down on the floor and started to read, soon lost in the world of two characters—one of them a bisexual woman—who started fake dating. She found herself suddenly ravenous for the sex scenes, the way the man clearly adored the woman even though she was terrified of commitment, for the ending that Stevie knew would be happy.
Before she knew it, she was crying on the floor in a bookstore. Actually crying. Snot ran out of her nose, and she wiped it on her own shoulder, and she wasn’t sure if it was possible for her to be more pathetic.
“Stevie?”
She froze, snapping her head up to see Iris’s friend Claire standing there with a few books in her hands, light brown eyes wide with concern.
“Honey, are you okay?” Claire asked.
And then Stevie burst into tears all over again.
“Oh goodness,” Claire said, setting the books on the nearest table and squatting down in front of Stevie. “What happened? Can I get you something?”
Stevie waved a hand, trying to get I’m fine out of her mouth, but the tears kept flowing.
Okay, so now she couldn’t be more pathetic.
CLAIRE SET A mug of peppermint tea in front of Stevie, who was now sitting in the shop’s café area, hiccupping while she clung to the book she pulled off the Pride table like it was a lovey.
“I’m so sorry,” Stevie said, sipping at the warm drink.
Claire waved a hand as she slid into the chair across from Stevie with her own mug. “I cry over a book at least once a week.”
Stevie nodded, tapped the book’s cover. “I’ll buy this one. I’m pretty sure I cried on it.”
Claire laughed. “I’d appreciate that.”
“So . . . you own this store?”
Claire brought her mug to her mouth. “I do. Iris didn’t tell you?”
“You could probably fill several of these shelves with all the stuff Iris doesn’t tell me.”
Claire pressed her mouth together. “Is that why you’re crying in my shop? Iris?”
Stevie didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure what the protocol was here. She and Iris were nothing, fake, a business arrangement, and Claire was Iris’s best friend, not hers.
“I notice you’re still wearing your line dancing outfit,” Claire said. “Did you . . . did Jenna—”
“It’s not Jenna,” Stevie said. “Jenna is lovely, but I didn’t . . .”
“Got it,” Claire said. She tapped her nails on the table, a yellow diamond ring shining on a very important finger.
“That’s a lovely ring,” Stevie said.
Claire beamed down at her finger. “Thank you. Delilah did that all by herself. I was very impressed.”
Stevie smiled, something Iris said a few weeks ago filtering slowly through her thoughts.
My best friend, Claire, is now engaged to the only person she’s ever tried to have a purely sexual relationship with.
She took another sip of her tea, watched Claire fiddle with the ring, a little grin still on her face.
“Can I ask you something?” Stevie said.
Claire glanced at her. “Of course.”
“How did you . . .” Stevie paused, half wondering if she should really be doing this, but she had to know. And there was no one else she could ask. All of her friends already thought she was with Iris.
“How did you know?” Stevie asked. “With Delilah. When you two first started . . . you know.”
Claire laughed. “So Iris at least told you that story.”
“No. Not all of it. Just that it started with . . . well, it started out as . . .”
“Sex?”
Stevie’s face warmed. “Yeah.”
Claire nodded. “And you’re asking how I knew I wanted more.”
“Yeah. I guess I am.”
Claire inhaled deeply and sat back in her chair. “I just . . . knew. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Hated being away from her. And yeah, it was partly about sex, but it was more than that. I wanted to hold her hand. Make her laugh.”
“Romance.”
Claire smiled. “Yeah, I guess so. But it was deeper than just romance too. I wanted to be part of her life, the good and the bad, with all her snark and attitude and bluster. I didn’t care about any of that. Or actually I did, but it didn’t deter me. I wanted all of her.”
Stevie’s eyes stung, and goddammit, she was not going to cry again in front of this woman. Except she already was, her tears on a mission to humiliate her as they raced down her face.