Chapter 7
Eleanor’s cold clears up in a few days, each of which she spends trying to recover rather than employing her usual method of continuing to work through the sickness. She even wakes up from a nap on day three to Mila hand delivering two tubs of homemade matzo ball soup to her door courtesy of Dani, who is not sick and is as busy as ever at the shop. An old family recipe and a surefire way to heal Nora’s cold, the attached note says. Since she still doesn’t have Dani’s phone number, Eleanor doesn’t get the opportunity to thank her for the gesture until she’s feeling well enough to venture out of the house again.
She’s idly flipping through one of the trashy magazines in the grocery store lineup when there’s a tap on her shoulder. She turns around to see a grinning Dani covered head to toe in green stains and tiny bits of grass.
“Hey, you! Feeling any better?” Dani says cheerfully.
Eleanor tries not to think about what it means that Dani’s presence has started to coincide with a feeling of safety. She shoves the magazine back onto the rack—they’re a guilty pleasure, and one she doesn’t need Dani knowing about.
“I am, actually,” Eleanor says, shifting her shopping basket to the other arm to block Dani’s view of the silly headlines. “I’ve been wanting to thank you for the soup. How did you know I was sick?”
“Mila said she saw you at the pharmacy. Since I’m probably the reason you caught a cold, I felt like I should make it up to you.”
Eleanor shifts up in line and Dani follows, trailing grass across the linoleum.
“It’s not your fault. I’m more interested in how exactly this happened,” Eleanor says, gesturing at Dani’s green-stained body.
“I’m off today, so I decided I’d mow my lawn. And then I mowed my neighbour’s lawn. And then the girl across the street was having trouble with her mower, so I helped her out,” Dani says, looking down at herself and grinning. “The clipping bag sort of exploded.”
Eleanor laughs, picturing Dani being showered in grass and dirt and smiling the whole way. It seems in character, as does mowing her neighbour’s lawn just because she felt like it. “A perfectly reasonable explanation.”
“Thank you!” Dani says brightly, either ignoring or entirely missing the gentle sarcasm. “What are you up to today?”
“This,” Eleanor says, pointing at the groceries currently inching up the conveyor belt. She’s pleased to note that it’s a pretty healthy shop, mostly fruit and veggies rather than sugary snacks or indulgences, and the cashier who interrogated her last time doesn’t seem to be working today.
“Wanna get some ice cream? It’s the best in town. Probably the best in the country,” Dani says, starting to load her things onto the conveyor behind Eleanor. It seems to be half sweets and half regular groceries, along with the biggest tub of protein powder Eleanor has ever seen. “It’s such a nice day for it.”
“Don’t you think you should get some clean clothes first?”
Dani looks down at herself again, as if she’d forgotten that every piece of clothing she’s wearing is stained emerald. “Oh. Right. How’s about I go change and you take your groceries home and then we meet up here in forty-five?”
Eleanor should say no. Now that she’s over her illness, she really should be working on her survey and proposal, which Kayla has recently and inconveniently reminded her still needs doing. She doesn’t have much more than some survey notes, a rundown of the local government, and a list of possible suppliers in the area. Not nearly enough to justify almost a month spent on it.
But Dani’s smile is so sweet.
Forty-five minutes later, now dressed in slightly cleaner jeans and an oversized T-shirt with her ever-present hat perched over her ponytail, Dani leads her on a slow walk down the main street. It turns down a grassy hill beside one of the gas stations and onto a walking-path that runs along the river. The relative noise of the road is softened by the trees and the slope—it leaves just the sound of birds and the running water to accompany their conversation as they meander.
It all seems suddenly very romantic.
After a brief walk, the path widens, and Dani stops near the stairs of a wide porch attached to a small storefront. There are two picnic tables set up on the grassy area close to the river, and one of them is already occupied.
“Sarah! Naomi! What are you doing here?” Dani calls out, waving. Both people in question sit stiffly upright, looking like they’ve been caught red-handed with something. Dani, however, seems strangely delighted by the pair’s presence. She’s smiling ear to ear.
“We’re just getting some ice cream,” Sarah says a bit too loudly. Naomi’s smile fades into a soft, exasperated sort of look.
Naomi looks down at her mostly empty cup. “Yeah. I should be getting back to work, actually. Thanks for the ice cream, Coops.”
Naomi throws her cup in a nearby garbage can and leaves with a quick wave at the group. Sarah, Eleanor notices, watches her leave with a strange expression.
“They’ve been dancing around each other for forever,” Dani says quietly in Eleanor’s ear as Sarah waves her own goodbye and heads back toward the shop. “I keep telling Sarah to just ask her out already, but she’s too nervous.”
“Why? They’d be sweet together.”
“I know!” Dani holds the door open for Eleanor, and a small bell jingles as they enter the shop.
“Is Naomi straight?”
“Nah. They’ve just been close since we were kids. I think they’re both worried about screwing up the friendship. Hence that whole debacle.”
“Have they always been like that?”
“Ever since high school.” Dani sighs. “Both trying to pretend they aren’t totally in love with each other. But Naomi didn’t come out until after she’d already left town for med school. Now that she’s back and the possibility is actually there, the tension is a thousand times worse.”
They’re interrupted by the woman behind the counter, who waves Dani over with a familiarity that proves how frequent a customer she must be. The flavours on offer aren’t what Eleanor was expecting—instead of basic chocolate or strawberry Dani points out dulce de leche, mango-pineapple, and Earl Grey. The girl behind the counter starts scooping several different flavours onto a towering waffle cone for Dani, but Eleanor’s interest is piqued by a tub in the front corner of the freezer labelled specialty sorbet . It’s a riot of rainbow swirls.
“I’ll take that one, please,” Eleanor says, pointing at the sorbet.
The girl nods, handing Dani her precarious cone. She then scoops a few servings of the rainbow flavour into a cup and hands it to Eleanor with a thumbs-up.
“Happy Pride!” The girl says, apropos of nothing.
Eleanor blinks. Her only thought— how did she know? —rattles around in her head. She takes the cup, staring at the poor girl with what must be a baffled expression until Dani takes pity on both of them.
“That’s the June specialty flavour, for Pride month,” Dani explains, grabbing Eleanor a plastic spoon. “They do new ones all the time.”
“Oh! Right,” Eleanor says, sticking the spoon into her sorbet. “Sorry. Um—thank you.”
Dani guides her back outside to occupy one of the now-empty picnic tables. The day is warm, perfect weather for something cold, and when Eleanor takes her own first bite, she can’t stifle the surprised noise that slips out.
“Whaddya think?” Dani says. She’s already halfway finished with her first flavour, steadily working her way through three scoops.
“Oh my God.” Eleanor groans, licking her spoon. “It’s amazing .” It’s fruity and creamy and delicious, a flavour she can’t quite place, and Eleanor immediately goes for another spoonful. She looks up from her second bite to see Dani staring at her with a dazed look on her face; melted ice cream is dripping down Dani’s cone onto her wrist.
“Dani?” Eleanor says.
Dani snaps out of whatever trance she’d been in. She takes an enormous bite of ice cream, and Eleanor’s concern melts into laughter when Dani immediately winces in a telltale brain-freeze face.
“Speaking of Pride,” Dani says when she finally gets through the mouthful, pointing at Eleanor’s cup, “it’s coming up this weekend. Are you gonna be there?”
“You do Pride here?” Eleanor is starting to feel like nothing should shock her anymore about this town, but even so, she knows there are whole cities elsewhere that don’t have Pride celebrations. She herself hasn’t been to one in years.
“Of course! We don’t have a parade or anything, but we always have a big party at the River Run. Half-price drinks for all the gays,” Dani says casually.
Eleanor snorts into her bowl. “All of us? How many could there be?”
* * *
Just as Dani promised, the Riverwalk Pride Party happens a few days later.
Eleanor pushes open the door of the River Run to find a completely different bar. It’s been festooned with streamers and paper chains in bright colours, and the old stage in the corner cleaned up and decorated with decals and sparkly curtains. There’s a green feather boa wrapped around the mic stand, and Dani is standing under a huge arch made of connected balloons, wearing pristine white jeans and a clean ribbed tank top under a blue-and-red checkered flannel. There’s no hat today, but she does have several feathers sticking out of her ponytail in the arrangement of the Pride flag.
Eleanor feels warm suddenly. It’s not until she’s already amidst the group that she realizes she’s the only person in the room not wearing some kind of Pride paraphernalia.
“Nora, hey! Over here!” Dani calls out from across the bar.
Eleanor smooths down her hair self-consciously as Dani jogs toward her. She’s pulled into a warm hug right away—her first from Dani, and yet it feels immediately comfortable—and Eleanor is a little breathless when she responds.
“Thanks for inviting me. Why do you look like Freddie Mercury?”
Dani just laughs, putting a gentle hand on Eleanor’s back and guiding her toward their usual table.
It’s not a corporate parade or a crowded, pulsing club like Eleanor is used to but a compact, rowdy gathering of friends. Among a small crowd of people Eleanor doesn’t know yet stands Mila, dressed in what looks like a lovingly homemade outfit of pink-and-blue pastels; Owen and Ryan wear matching shirts, and Naomi is near the jukebox in a gorgeous yellow dress that has Sarah hovering nearby, trying not to stare. Even Jenny is serving drinks in a rainbow romper.
“This is the highest concentration of gay people I’ve ever seen in a town with a population of 2,500,” Eleanor remarks. It’s apparently loud enough for the whole bar to hear because the observation causes a long, loud cheer to erupt from the partygoers that lasts until Eleanor sits down.
A few drinks later, when more people join their table, Eleanor is forced to scoot so close to Dani that their thighs press together. The heat of Dani’s skin sears through those white jeans, and Eleanor is feeling warmer than ever.
“Want a flag?” Mila yells over the music, throwing a sticker book down onto the table in front of Eleanor. Everything from the bear flag to a little ally sticker is available, and there’s an appraising look in Mila’s eye that tells Eleanor that this is her way of asking without asking . Giving her the chance to deflect, if she needs it.
Everyone else at the table seems to be pretending not to watch, but, for once, Eleanor doesn’t mind. With a sure, slightly tipsy hand, she plucks the lesbian flag from the sticker sheet and slaps it to her shirt.
There’s a welcoming cheer from the table in response.
“I knew it,” Mila crows, punching the air. Naomi reaches over for a high-five. Dani, beside her, just smiles as she passes Eleanor a fresh drink.
Mila looks like she wants to continue gloating over having successfully called her shot, but she’s distracted by someone else arriving: She squeals in delight in mid-conversation, sprinting to the door and jumping into the arms of a short, handsome man who catches her in a passionate kiss. He’s holding a large glass jug in one hand which he almost drops when he wraps his arms around her taller frame.
“Mila’s husband,” Dani explains, leaning close to talk over the music. “He doesn’t come out much, but he always tries to make it to Pride.”
“Not a drinker?”
“No, they run a farm just outside town. He’s usually too busy to hang out in the summer. Plus, he’s pretty shy. He’s totally crazy about her, though.”
“He looks it,” Eleanor remarks. They’re still kissing, having passed the glass jug off to someone else to free up their hands.
The disruption is itself disrupted by the bell on the bar top ringing a few times.
“Anyone who’s performing, get your asses to the stage,” Jenny shouts.
“Hell, yes,” Ryan says, pulling a red wig and a pair of scarlet cowboy boots out of a duffel bag Eleanor hadn’t noticed before.
Dani pulls something out of her pocket, humming a song Eleanor only vaguely recognizes. She then applies what turns out to be a large fake moustache to her upper lip.
“Pitter patter,” Dani says, before she disappears backstage. Eleanor is left blinking at the spot Dani disappeared from.
Part of Riverwalk Pride, it turns out, is a karaoke talent show of sorts. Everyone does their own little performance, with the winner being decided by a vote, all for the coveted prize of a free pizza from the place next door. Ryan does a campy drag mash-up of various female country music stars, at one point laying himself across the laps of the entire front row. Mila does a classic pop song, and Owen pulls out an emotional ballad in a lower key. Even Sarah gets dragged onstage to do a reluctant number, which Naomi claps disproportionately loudly for.
After Sarah’s performance, the single light onstage swings around dramatically a few times before settling on the centre, and, from the makeshift wings, out steps Dani.
She’s still in her white pants, but now her hair is slicked back into a tight, hidden bun at the base of her neck and the flannel is nowhere to be seen. She’s just in the white tank top and jeans, her arms on full display and her collarbones shining with body glitter. The fake moustache is firmly affixed. She has what appears to be a comically large ball of socks stuffed into the front of her pants.
The look is complete, and as the opening notes to her song play on the speakers, the whole thing starts to make sense.
Dani is clearly the front-runner for the win. She works the crowd like a pro, jumping around and showing off an impressive voice. Not everyone could hit the high notes in a Queen song, and Dani does it with ease. It’s all very campy and manageable, and Eleanor is able to let loose and have a good time without drooling too noticeably.
Until the middle of the song, when Dani starts to move into the crowd.
She does hip thrusts near Ryan’s face that are definitely meant to be funny, but Eleanor finds herself flushing from head to toe instead. Dani sits on Owen’s lap, serenading him as he waves a five-dollar bill, and pulls Mila to her feet to twirl her a few times. And then, horribly— wonderfully —she makes her way to Eleanor, who suddenly realizes she’s in a front-row seat.
Dani doesn’t even really get in Eleanor’s space like she did with the others, though. She just drops to her knees, legs splayed, and sings directly to Eleanor in that same overdramatic way she’s been doing to everyone else.
It’s silly. It shouldn’t affect Eleanor at all. But, oh, it does. Since Eleanor is wearing jeans today rather than a skirt, it’s so easy for Dani to lay a single hand on her knee, which makes Eleanor’s legs fall open a tiny bit, and dear God.
She’s just performing , Eleanor tells herself as her heartbeat skyrockets and seems to land directly between her legs on the way back down. It’s an act. She’s doing it to everyone. But that doesn’t erase the fact that Dani is essentially kneeled between Eleanor’s thighs, undulating her hips in a way that’s giving Eleanor very specific mental images.
Even the stupid fake moustache isn’t enough to calm Eleanor’s libido. When Dani finally leaves to jump back onstage for the finale, Eleanor could probably melt into a puddle in her plastic chair.
Dani wins the contest, of course. Apparently, last year’s winner was Ryan, and Dani was determined to beat him, so she gets everyone a round of drinks in celebration.
“How did I do?” Dani says breathlessly, finally moustacheless, flopping into the chair next to Eleanor and handing her a shallow glass of clear liquor.
Eleanor grips it tightly. She’s not usually one for hard liquors besides the occasional whiskey on the rocks, but right now something stronger than wine or beer might be just what she needs.
“Clearly you did well, considering you won,” Eleanor says.
Dani waves carelessly. “Yeah, sure, but they see me make an idiot of myself every year. I want to know what you thought.”
Biting back her first thought— I wanted you to rip that stupid moustache off, along with my clothes and possibly every scrap of my dignity —Eleanor scrambles to force her brain into neutral territory. She settles on a casual compliment. “I had no idea you could sing like that. You could be a professional.”
Dani smiles, accepting a passing high-five. “Eh, I don’t think I’d like that. Too busy. I prefer this.”
Eleanor prefers this as well. She prefers Dani here, performing for her—muscled and dextrous and so very good with her hands.
Crossing her legs, Eleanor downs the drink Dani brought her in a single swallow.
She’d assumed that it was vodka, but the fluid that burns its way down Eleanor’s esophagus is unlike anything she’s ever had before. It’s liquid fire, unthinkably strong and acrid, with a slight aftertaste she can’t identify. She almost doesn’t get it down.
“Oh my God, what—what the fuck was that?” Eleanor puts the glass down, wheezing and coughing her way through the pain.
Dani winces. She moves closer to rub Eleanor’s back, patting her a few times. “Shoot, sorry—I meant to warn you!” She moves the empty glass away and offers Eleanor some water to wash it down. It does nothing to soothe the burn. “It’s strawberry moonshine. You weren’t supposed to take it all at once.”
Eleanor clears her throat. It feels raspy, like she’s taken a shot of pure ethanol. “I don’t taste strawberries at all.”
“Yeah, the strawberry is more in the smell than the taste,” Dani says, laughing. She takes a sip of her own moonshine and hardly makes a face as she swallows—Eleanor is enraptured by the way her mouth forms around the lip of the glass, the gentle bob of her throat. “Eventually you get used to it. Don’t worry, I won’t give you any more. I really am sorry for not warning you.” When she grins, it’s sweet and a bit crooked, and she’s close enough that Eleanor can in fact smell strawberry on her breath.
Eleanor drums her fingers on the table. She looks around—half the people here seem to be drinking the moonshine, now that she’s paying attention. Even Jenny has a small glass of it going behind the bar.
“I wouldn’t mind trying it again,” Eleanor says.
“Nobody will judge you if you don’t. Mila won’t touch the stuff.”
“I want to give it a fair shot. Consider it a cultural experience.”
“If you’re sure,” Dani says, handing Eleanor her own glass. There’s a bit of glitter where Dani last drank, and Eleanor stops just short of lining up her own mouth to it. She needs to hold on to some dignity, however fleeting.
Eleanor sips it this time; it still burns like hell, but she can taste a hint of sweetness behind the fire. “It’s good,” she says squeakily.
Dani slings an arm over the back of Eleanor’s chair. It doesn’t have uneven legs to stabilize today, so it feels like a habit she’s forming more than anything else. “It’s okay to say you hate it.”
“It’s an acquired taste,” Eleanor says once she’s cleared her throat of the afterburn. “It’s that big, shiny moon of yours that makes it taste like sweetened paint thinner, I take it?”
Dani’s laugh seems to fill the whole room.
It does taste a little better with each sip, though Eleanor suspects that might be because it’s slowly deadening her taste buds. As she’s finishing the second glass, the gathering slowly turns into a dance party, which then turns into Dani and Owen having a dance off in the middle of a cheering circle of people.
Eleanor stands on the sidelines, observing intently but trying to remain unseen. Mila is dancing enthusiastically with her husband, who has eyes only for her. Sarah and Naomi are dancing near each other without actually touching, both of them looking painfully interested but refusing to take the first step. Dani is moving confidently, unashamed of her ridiculous dance moves.
Naomi finds Eleanor at the bar a few songs later, just as Eleanor is ordering a third glass.
“Having fun?” Naomi asks, hopping onto the bar stool to Eleanor’s left. She’s breathing hard, and Jenny quickly hands her a cup of water.
“This might be the best Pride I’ve ever been to,” Eleanor says. She wouldn’t ordinarily be so candid with someone she barely knows, but she’s feeling warm and sociable as she sips at her new drink. Dani was right—she can hardly taste it now.
“Really? Big-city Pride doesn’t measure up?”
“I don’t usually have the time to go, to be honest. Work eats up most of my time.”
Naomi chuckles. “I know how that feels. Clinic hours never end. What do you do?”
Eleanor has skillfully avoided that very question since she arrived here, and for good reason. With two and a half servings of strawberry moonshine in her system, apparently her sense of self-preservation has gone out the window. Everything is a little fuzzy.
“I work in tech,” Eleanor says loudly, watching the party proceed over the rim of her glass—Sarah and Owen are in a dance off, which Sarah is handily winning. “Last Pride I was working until midnight trying to finalize an acquisition.”
“Sounds intimidating.”
Eleanor shrugs. “It was just a little medical startup company. They were working on MRI and ultrasound prototypes that could shake up the market. We had the resources they needed.”
“No kidding! I’ve been saying for years that some new funding in the imaging sector could lower testing costs,” Naomi says, now sitting straight up and fully engaged in the conversation. “Where do you work, exactly?”
A hand lands on Eleanor’s elbow before she can open her mouth. It’s Dani—she’s down to her tank top again, and she’s sweaty and tanned and absolutely gorgeous .
“Thanks,” Dani says, grinning, which is when Eleanor realizes that she must have said some part of that last thought out loud. “You guys should come dance!”
Eleanor hardly has the self-awareness to feel embarrassed. She downs the rest of her glass in a mouthful, and before she knows it she’s happily drunk and dancing like an idiot with everyone else.
She’s still coherent enough to know a few things. Firstly, that she’s a terrible dancer and that her moves amount to a lot of jumping and arm flailing, which she’d be mortified by under any other circumstances; secondly, that Dani is dancing with her, occasionally spinning her around and catching her when she inevitably loses her balance; thirdly, that she’s never had this much fun in her life.
She’s laughing freely, not bothered in the least when other people bump into her or grab her hands, and even the loud dance music is making her happy. The world is spinning, and Dani smells amazing, and life is good.
* * *
Eleanor wakes up on an unknown surface with a pounding headache and an intense craving for coffee.
Cracking an eye open, she blearily takes in the surroundings. She clearly lost her contacts at some point, and in the low morning light, the details of the unfamiliar room she’s in are blurry; she keeps her emergency glasses in her purse, which is missing in action. There’s a TV somewhere on the adjacent wall. In front of her is a table scattered with mugs and remotes. The whole room smells vaguely like a mix of warm vanilla and machine shop. Against the far wall, she can see the fuzzy outline of a large collection of barbells and weights, and on the nearest wall, there’s a framed picture of a bumblebee, with an undoubtedly cheesy quote underneath.
It doesn’t take three guesses to figure out whose house she’s in.
On what turns out to be a couch, Eleanor shoots up into a seated position—wincing at the spike of pain the movement sends to her aching skull—and takes stock of her situation. She’s still in her clothes from last night, and she’s covered by a few soft blankets that slide down at her movements to pool around her waist.
Eleanor relaxes, letting out a breath. She’s not in Dani’s bed. She didn’t somehow black out and forget taking a massive step last night—Dani must have let her crash here. Eleanor’s shoes and purse are sitting neatly beside the couch, and among the empty cups on the table, there’s a full glass of water and two pills next to a sticky note with a smiley face drawn on it.
The house is quiet. Dani must still be asleep. Eleanor only distantly remembers the party wrapping up, Dani insisting on taking her keys, and walking somewhere she didn’t recognize.
She hasn’t been quite that drunk in a long time. She can only imagine the nonsense she spewed—Dani had been close all night, perfectly in range to hear any more stupid comments Eleanor might have blurted out about how hot she looked. And, to top it off, now that Eleanor is awake and coherent, she can vaguely recollect talking to Naomi again later in the night, long after she lost track of how many drinks she’d had. For the life of her, Eleanor can’t remember what their conversation had been about. She could have said anything. She could have blurted out her connection to CromTech—the only thing that had stopped her from revealing it earlier in the night had been Dani’s timely interruption.
Eleanor’s nausea intensifies. As quietly as possible she slips her shoes and her glasses on, swallows the pills, and starts her quest to find the exit.
Dani’s house is cute. It’s older and well lived-in, cozy and nicely decorated with eclectic furniture and lots of knick-knacks. The walls of the hallway leading into the kitchen are lined with photos—Dani smiling with Sarah, jumping off a dock with Mila, holding beers up with the boys, and kneading bread with an older woman that Eleanor assumes is her aunt. Dani’s age in them ranges from young teenager to what looks to be relatively recent.
Eleanor has no idea how long she stands there taking in the intimate details of Dani’s life. She meant to sneak out quickly, but something about the opportunity to learn more about Dani makes her slow. So slow that she doesn’t notice the figure leaning against the kitchen counter until it’s too late.
“Morning.”
Eleanor jumps what feels like a foot, whirling around to see Sarah Cooper looking at her over the rim of a mug of coffee.
“Sarah!” Eleanor says loudly, quieting her voice immediately in fear of waking the other occupant of the house and trying not to look as shaken as she is. Sarah is in her pyjamas, her short hair sticking up at the back like she’s just rolled out of bed. Eleanor wonders if Dani and her cousin share a house. “I…I didn’t know you were here.”
“Mhmm,” Sarah hums, taking a slow, deliberate sip of her drink. She looks significantly less hungover than Eleanor feels.
Eleanor shifts from one foot to the other. “I slept on the couch. Dani must have—I just woke up here.”
Sarah quirks a brow. “Uh huh.”
Maybe it’s the hangover, or maybe Sarah just has a spectacular poker face, but Eleanor can’t even begin to guess at Sarah’s thoughts. If Eleanor had revealed whom she works for, wouldn’t Sarah know? But it’s only been a few hours—maybe the word hasn’t gotten around town yet. Or maybe Eleanor didn’t reveal anything at all and she’s panicking over nothing. Maybe Sarah is just teasing her.
“I’m going to go home,” Eleanor says, slinking toward the front hall.
Sarah nods. Her face is totally neutral. “Okay.”
Eleanor endures the walk of shame through town to get back to her car at the River Run, and once she’s safely back in the privacy of her rental house, she flops onto the couch with a groan.
It’s enough to make a woman swear off drinking.