Birding with Benefits

Chapter 32

A tiny blue butterfly floated to a stop on Celeste’s knee. Another rested in the hammock of her dress, its iridescent wings opening and closing languidly. Yet another, yellow and black, sailed past her face on its way to a broad green leaf.

She hadn’t had a destination when she headed upstairs, but when she’d skidded into the education room and seen the netted structure in one corner with a hand-drawn sign proclaiming the place Butterfly Land, she’d unzipped the door and ducked inside.

And she’d sat in silence with the butterflies, hoping the leaves and flowers would absorb her bad mood so she could stand up, put a smile on her face, and get the hell out of there. It would mean finding some way to face John, to answer for their loss, and to say goodbye.

Any minute now, she’d be ready.

The loud zip of the door drew Celeste’s eyes from the butterfly to John, ducking inside and lowering himself to sit next to her.

“Hey.” His voice was so soft among the plants and the butterflies. He was so nice, his smile gentle and worried at the edges. “You okay?”

She slipped a finger under the butterfly on her knee, letting its featherlight insect feet grip her skin. “What’s a group of butterflies called?” She lifted her hand slowly, bringing the little creature just before her eyes.

He smiled in the background, unfocused behind the blue wings. “A kaleidoscope.”

She didn’t have a response to that. It was just too lovely.

Instead she sighed, scaring the butterfly off. “I’m sorry you got stuck with me and lost the contest.” She looked from butterfly to butterfly, avoiding John’s eyes. “I know you were counting on this. Without me slowing you down you could have worked faster, you could have—”

“Hey.” His hand squeezed her shoulder and his thumb drew steady lines back and forth at the base of her neck. “Stop.”

Maria was already at the show, texting her that the art was so fucking amazing. But for a minute she let herself look at John, at the brown-green swirl of his eyes and the cinnamon sugar of his beard.

“It’s bird-watching, Celeste.” His fingers kept stroking her neck. “It could have been the difference in the time of day, or a breeze, or anything. You can’t always predict this stuff, no matter how hard you try. There is no reason to blame yourself.”

She shook her head. “But that magazine piece would have helped you, I know you don’t want to go forward in your business without this boost.”

He squeezed her shoulder again, running his hand down her arm. “We both know I was using that as an excuse, one more reason to stand still. If I’m actually ready to try, the contest shouldn’t matter.”

“Okay.” She hoped he could believe in himself even half as much as she did.

John reached into the small backpack he’d been toting around all evening and pulled out something wooden. He held the object between them for a long, quiet moment before Celeste reached out. Her arms dipped with the weight when John transferred it to her, and she turned it over in her hands, eyes narrowed.

He cleared his throat. “I wanted you to have this, no matter what happened with the contest. You deserve it.”

The wood was pale, almost silver, with streaks of grain in tan and chocolate, smooth under her fingers. It was shaped like a teardrop, or maybe a leaf, and was flat on one end, like it could balance on a level surface. One side of it was slightly concave, and two lines of text crossed the center:

Celeste Johanssen

Most Improved Birder

Celeste rubbed at the words with her fingers, tracing each one. The burned-in type was a rich brown, each letter etched precisely into the plaque.

“You made this?” Her voice shook.

He nodded, his bottom lip drawn in, looking nervous. “Yeah. It’s not perfect, but I think—”

“John,” Celeste said, cutting him off, still gazing at the award. The one he’d made especially for her. “It’s so beautiful.”

A single tear fell, and she wiped it off quickly, noting the shine it left on the wood. She was digging herself out of the disappointment and guilt of the loss and swinging into something else as light and colorful as the butterflies around them.

She turned the award over in her hands again, laughing at the inscription. After a moment, a cheek-aching smile rose up her face. “I am definitely the most improved birder, huh? From not recognizing a house sparrow to hobnobbing with the elite members of the Arizona Ornithological Society.”

As the two of them laughed, a small yellow butterfly landed on the award. Its wings opened and closed slowly, hypnotizing her for a moment. When she looked back up at John, he was watching her, jaw clenched.

He was beautiful, kind lines around hazel eyes, a leaf bobbing just over his head. And he’d placed the evidence of his caring right into her hands, the hours of his time evident in the smooth curve of the wood.

Putting the award down gently so it balanced upright, she rose on her knees and scooted to him. She was meant to be drawing herself away from John tonight, but she had to thank him, didn’t she? So she leaned down and, brushing her hand against his cheek to tip his face up, lowered her lips to his.

“Thank you.” She whispered it against his lips, past his cheek, then into his mouth, the tips of their tongues just barely touching.

“Thank you.” He gave the words back.

Their kiss was as slow and light as the butterflies, until John’s hands molded around Celeste’s hips. She imagined his fingers closing on the award he’d made her, just like he was holding on to her now, and groaned into his mouth. John deepened their kiss and pulled her across his thighs so that her ass nestled in the basket of his legs. Their bodies clicked together. It was so easy.

“Without you, I wouldn’t have had a partner.” John spoke into her hair. “You were brave to say yes.”

She chuckled against his ear. “You were brave taking me on, even if you didn’t know it at the time.”

He just laughed and kissed her harder. She knew he’d wanted this all night just like she had—their connection made firm, the current between them flowing one more time. He slid his hands under her ass and pulled her tight against where he was growing hard. They rocked together, Celeste kissing him hungrily, taking every moment she could. John’s hands moved up her thighs and slid beneath her dress, fingers hot on her skin.

But despite the firm grip of his fingers, and the way she rocked against him just right, the ticking clock in Celeste’s head wouldn’t be silenced. She willed time to slow, to drag like the lazy beating of the butterfly wings around them, but it was useless.

Celeste slowed her movement, lifting her mouth from John’s and leaning her forehead against his. “I have to go.”

John’s face fell for a moment, but he nodded quickly, pulling his face back and rubbing his beard. “Right, of course. You need to get to the show, and—”

And the contest was over. This was when they were supposed to walk away.

The butterfly house lit up, glowing amber with evening light threading through the upper-story windows.

The contest was over, but the day wasn’t. A technicality, sure, but Celeste would take it. There were still some grains of sand in that hourglass, and she was going to use every last one.

“You should come.”

He blinked, brows pulling together. “Come with you? To Morgan’s show?”

“Yes.” She lifted off his lap, kneeling in front of him again. “Unless you want to stay here, with all your people, which I would understand. But the show is nearby anyway, and I love showing off my daughter, and it would be a better way to end the day than losing and—”

And I can’t walk away, not yet.

His hand brushed her cheek, fingers trapping her nervous lips. “Celeste, I’d love to come.”