Chapter 11
PALOMA, MEMORIES & FLYING SOLO
PALOMA ALLENDE IS OFF THE MARKET!
As seen on Market (ha!) Square, the mayoral candidate, appears to be off the market OFFICIALLY. As previously reported in the Caw, the luxury resort owner has now made several appearances at campaign events on the arm of the youngest Crowhart sister, Deryn.
Their latest sighting was sharing a cozy stroll and chatting with the crafters and vendors, as well as indulging in cinnamon rolls and hot cocoa.
Ms. Allende had hers with condensed milk and encouraged her girlfriend to try a few sips.
Great choice, if you ask us. And an even better one in Deryn Crowhart, the famous and beloved chef everyone was glad to see back on the island.
The couple appears happy and unbothered by the attention and the stir caused with every appearance.
Crowds had gathered earlier at Crow’s Brew to watch them enjoy beverages and a PDA.
The Caw can confirm that the beautiful couple will be seen next at the town hall in support of amendments to the book-banning procedures, as Ms. Allende is running on a promise to end the vicious and clearly discriminatory bans that have deprived the readers of Crow’s Nest of numerous titles from the public library.
Now important questions arise about the fate of the youngest Crowhart. Will she open her own bakery, or will she only be sharing her talents with the owner of the Astronomy Resort?
Watch this space and watch the island’s new favorite couple!
—Crow’s Caw
“So, you have a cat now?”
Paloma watched the little ball of fluff curl into her lap and fall instantly asleep. Deryn gawked.
“It stayed up all fucking night! It scratched everything. It bit me! Why does it do this for you?”
Paloma smirked.
Deryn waved her hands in front of her.
“Do not say you have a way with pussy. I’m too tired to react to that statement appropriately.”
“That’s something you’d say, Ms. Crowhart. I’m never crass.”
The kitten purred. Deryn reached a hand to pet it, and despite closed eyes, its little paw extended with claws at the ready and took a swipe at the approaching appendage. Deryn jerked her fingers away. Paloma ran a knuckle over the silky gray fur. The kitten purred harder.
“You should keep it. It clearly likes you.” Deryn pouted. Paloma wished she did not find those full lips as attractive as she did. Petulance really shouldn’t be this sexy. Nor exhausted green eyes this beautiful.
Deryn arrived thirty minutes ago and while the story about the kittens, Rhiannon, Patches the Possum, and how terrified she was about the whole thing was funny, Paloma couldn’t help but worry about the tiredness and the dejection on Deryn’s face.
So she treaded carefully, focusing on the sleepy ball of fuzz instead.
“I think she appreciates not being called an ‘it,’ Ms. Crowhart. A lady would like to have a proper appellation, too. Have you thought about what you’ll be naming her?”
“Naming her? I’m not even sure I’m keeping her.
Also, how did you know she was a she?” Deryn tilted her head to attempt a look under the kitten’s tucked-in tail.
The animal in question opened one eye and hissed.
Deryn dropped her face into her palms. Paloma bit her lip to avoid smiling at the ridiculousness of the situation. Or maybe adorableness. She’d never say.
“I refuse to be crass again, but you do know there are biological tells, Ms. Crowhart?” Deryn did not lift her face from her palms, and Paloma placed the purring cat on the couch pillow before getting up and pouring them both a finger of whiskey.
Deryn took the glass without looking, downing it in a single gulp, and Paloma finally did roll her eyes at the coughing and sputtering that followed.
“Ms. Crowhart, this is a forty-year-old Hibiki. It’s savored, not drowned in. If you need that type of spirit, I’ll try to find you something cheaper.”
“Oh Goddess, that’s a fifty-thousand-dollar bottle of hooch.” Deryn had tears streaming down her face.
“Sixty.”
Paloma splashed more whiskey into another tumbler and handed it to Deryn. Their fingers brushed as Deryn took the glass, and the sensation raised the hair on the back of Paloma’s neck. She could feel her hands, which she had struggled all day to keep warm, suddenly relax, heat seeping into them.
It was like being scalded by fire itself. Hot, seductive, tantalizing. She licked her lips, trying to ground herself in the moment, in whatever it was she was doing.
“Ah, well… Try sipping this time?”
But Deryn did not, simply holding the thick, heavy, custom-made tumbler in her long fingers, the liquid taking on the color of the early evening sun streaming through the carelessly draped blinds.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here, Ms. Allende.”
Paloma’s eyes widened. That was a loaded thing to say.
“Here? In my suite?”
Deryn was silent for too long before nodding, and Paloma realized she had just been lied to. Whether on purpose or because Deryn herself was unaware of the truthful answer, she didn’t know.
“You texted that you needed to discuss the campaign. I assumed Lachlan had talked to you about your set of responsibilities when you signed the contract.”
Deryn muttered something that sounded like “He probably did,” and Paloma narrowed her eyes.
“You brushed Lachlan off, didn’t you?”
“He tends to talk too much.”
“He does not!” Paloma was entirely unsure why she was suddenly so defensive of someone she had met just a few weeks ago. And a man at that. And one who did indeed talk too much.
They sat in silence before Paloma finally let out a breath.
“Okay, should we start from the beginning? You are my very famous, very influential—”
“You look like you’re swallowing medicine as you’re saying that.” Deryn frowned. “I am famous and influential.”
Paloma growled and continued. “Very local girlfriend. You attend events with me and don’t say anything. That isn’t very hard. Even for you.”
“Hey!” Deryn’s outburst woke the kitten, who was now glaring daggers at her owner. Though Paloma was rather certain that the ownership would end up being completely reversed. Deryn patted the little gray body awkwardly and earned another swipe of claws for her trouble.
“Damn it. Why is she this vicious?” Tiny red welts popped up on the back of her hand, and when blood welled up, Paloma shook her head and stood. She retrieved the first aid kit from the bathroom and motioned for Deryn to sit by the window. Farther from the cat. Better safe than sorry.
Deryn sat docilely in the uncomfortable chair, stooping a bit to accommodate Paloma, who rummaged in the bag, looking for disinfectant and a Band-Aid.
“I assume she’s scared. The possum found the litter in the dumpster?
And she looks to be about three months old, maybe a little more, so while she’s old enough to be safely separated from her mother, she is still very young.
She’s lashing out because she’s afraid.” Paloma looked at the bags under Deryn’s eyes and bit her lip to keep from smiling at her misfortune.
“I would also like to note that the sleepless nights are entirely of your own doing. Well, maybe yours and Rhiannon’s, because at three months, kittens no longer need a bottle.
They’re perfectly happy being weaned at two months. ”
With Deryn still pouting, Paloma took the bleeding hand and examined it in the sunlight. Three scratches. Nothing too bad.
“Will I get rabies?” Deryn’s whisper was especially pitiful.
Paloma gripped the fingers in hers tighter, trying not to smile. Why was she always smiling around this woman?
“I know your sister, and I know Ms. Fowler, and I am perfectly certain they have vaccinated the cats. She is a healthy kitten, Ms. Crowhart.”
Deryn winced as the alcohol stung at the cuts.
“I think Rhy might want to murder me and send this spawn of the devil to finish the job.”
Paloma dabbed the wipe harder, making Deryn yelp.
“Is ‘Drama’ your middle name, Ms. Crowhart?”
Deryn glanced up from beneath the longest lashes Paloma had ever seen. How had she not noticed before?
Was everything about the woman this utterly ridiculous?
The eyes of liquid emerald certainly were. The unfairness of having been endowed by the universe with all this beauty…
The gentle eyes kept looking at her, a bit sheepish, a bit sad, and a bit…
Paloma could not decipher that look. But she could feel it on her skin, like a touch.
And it burned. When did she become a fan of the sensation of being consumed alive by flames?
And yet, as she looked into the depths of those sad eyes, cinders danced in them, taking over the green.
Paloma didn’t realize that she had lifted a hand.
Her fingers caressed the sharp cheekbone, her thumb running across a splattering of freckles.
She touched them again. There weren’t many, but they stood in sharp relief to the pale skin, red hair, and the brightness of eyes that seemed to hold the secrets of time everlasting.
Who was all drama now?
Paloma dropped her hand and returned to the task of cleaning the scratches.
“You will only need a doctor if these get infected. The kittens lived for weeks in your sister’s household. If anyone was sick, you’d know. As for rabies, please rest assured that you’ll be fine.”
Deryn pushed her lower lip out again, and Paloma wanted to lift her eyes to the heavens and demand an explanation of why on god’s green earth this one—the ridiculous one—was affecting her so much.
Because she was. Her own skin, once upon a time always cold, was now warm, palms tingling with recognition, with remembrance of the touch and the feel and the taste of this woman…
“I bet you say that to all the girls, Ms. Allende. That their wounds will be fine, that is.”
Well, just like Deryn to make a joke and ruin the moment. Paloma slapped the Band-Aid with more force than was necessary and turned away, gathering the first aid kit back together.