Chapter Twelve
Chapter
Twelve
Daphne’s hand outstretched toward April, their eyes still pinned on each other’s, like Daphne was some damsel in a movie whose true love had just ridden off into battle.
It took her a good three seconds to lower her arm, even longer to realize she was standing frozen in the middle of a tightly packed crowd trying to dance.
Shoulders jostled her in different directions, and by the time April finally cut the connection, snapping her gaze away and toward her new dance partner, Daphne was having a hard time getting a full breath.
“Sorry,” other dancers said as they continued to bump into her.
She glanced around, everyone partnered up while she stood like a deer in the proverbial headlights. She tried to push her way out of the crowd, but just as she was about to break free of the group, her feet tangled with someone else’s, and she went down.
Hard.
And visibly.
The crowd went silent, a collective gasp rising into the air like a dust cloud.
She’d caught herself on her hands, but before that, the offending foot had turned on its side, sending a bloom of pain around her ankle.
It hadn’t hurt all that much, but the attention, the spectacle of it all, made blood rush into her cheeks.
She scrambled to her feet, limping as fast as she could toward the studio door, her ankle screaming at her more and more as she went.
In the hallway, it was about twenty degrees cooler. She closed the door behind her, then pressed her back to the heavy wood. She looked down at her sandaled foot, which definitely looked a little puffy, and when she tried to rotate it in a circle, she hissed in pain.
Before she could figure out how to deal with it, however, she was sent catapulting forward as someone in the studio shoved the door open. She managed to stay on her feet this time, but her ankle was not happy. She stumbled and pinwheeled, a real elegant show, she was sure.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” April said, appearing at her side and grabbing her elbow. “Are you okay?”
April’s touch was like fire. Goose bumps broke out along Daphne’s skin, but she tried not to react, focusing instead on her swollen ankle. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah, you look just peachy,” April said, leading Daphne to one of the wooden benches lining the hallway.
Daphne plopped down, sighing when she got her weight off her ankle. April peered down at her, an uncertain expression on her face.
“I saw you fall. Just wanted to come check on you,” she said.
Daphne nodded, couldn’t look at her. Her whole body felt hot, a little sweaty, and she wasn’t sure if it was pain endorphins rushing to her rescue, or something else.
Something she probably needed to forget but also couldn’t seem to stop thinking about—legs entwined, April’s scent as she pressed close, like pears and lemons, with something a little spicy just underneath.
Chili or peppers, Daphne wasn’t sure, but whatever it was had addled her thoughts, made her feel drunk.
She’d love to blame that awful poison-purple concoction they were serving in the studio, but she’d only been able to stomach a couple of sips.
She could blame the day itself, her painting and Elena’s call, getting caught up in dancing, in strangers’ attention, which she’d never really experienced so closely before, but no.
She’d danced with at least five or so other people before April, just as close, just as…
well, dirty, and they hadn’t reduced her to a trembling mess.
She’d laughed and tipped her head back and grinned and felt nothing but pure freedom and joy, a wildness to her body and heart.
She could certainly blame the situation, the tight, fraught cord between her and April making everything feel more intense, and maybe there was some validity to that.
But that didn’t explain why she was so…
She was…
God, she was turned on.
There. She could admit it. Had no idea what to do about it, but there was no other way to explain the dull throb between her legs right now.
She shook her head, sucked in a lungful of air.
“I’m okay,” she managed to say, but then couldn’t hold back a wince as she rolled her ankle to test it.
April squatted down to inspect Daphne’s ankle. Her touch was gentle, fingers light as they held her foot. “Looks a little swollen,” she said quietly, glancing up at Daphne. “Maybe a bruise forming. We can get some ice in the cabin.”
Daphne nodded, swallowed hard.
“You think you can make it back there?” April asked, standing up.
“Yeah,” Daphne said. She stood, relying on her good foot, but she wobbled, and April grabbed her elbow again to steady her. Then she took Daphne’s arm and slung it around her shoulder, hooking her own arm around Daphne’s waist.
Daphne got a whiff of pear and spice again, and her knees nearly buckled. Somehow, though, she managed to hold herself upright as April led her toward the exterior door at the end of the hall.
Outside, the weather was humid and heavy, the lake a dark swath to their right. Daphne couldn’t say the air was fresh, necessarily, but it was different, the breeze swirling April’s scent away from her, clearing her head.
But then April’s fingers would tighten around her, and she’d remember the way her nose grazed that spot right above the dip in April’s collarbones, and her thoughts would muddle all over again.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it all out, but she quickly realized that was not a wise move while hobbling along the cobblestone path toward the staff cabins, so she stared down at her feet.
She opened her mouth a hundred times to say something—anything—to April, but nothing ever came out.
And then, a rumble of thunder.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” April said as the first drops of rain started falling, plinking onto Daphne’s bare arm.
Very suddenly, the sky opened up, as though someone from above had dumped a bucket full of water onto the earth. Daphne was soaked in seconds, and lightning crackled across the sky, flashing an eerie purple-white as April tried to move them along faster.
“This seems excessive,” Daphne said, her teeth chattering.
April laughed at that, and then Daphne laughed because she’d made April laugh—an air-light, bright sound through the dark—and then they were both cracking up as they pulled themselves through the deluge and toward the cabin lights sparkling ahead of them.
They stumbled up the porch steps, Daphne’s stomach muscles aching from laughing just as much as her ankle at this point.
April managed to tap her card against the reader, and they fell through the door, spilling onto the floor in a splay of arms and legs.
Daphne wasn’t sure if her ankle was still attached anymore, much less how injured it was.
They were both drenched, making a mess on the hardwood, but still they laughed in the middle of their darkened cabin, the door wide open, the storm raging just outside.
And Daphne couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this free.
This…happy.
It was such a small, silly thing—rushing through an ill-timed rainstorm with her moody cabinmate—but somehow, it felt big.
It felt like a moment.
A few minutes later, the laughter faded, and Daphne waited for April’s expression to shutter, for her to sigh, clear her throat, and go back to being the April that Daphne expected—perfectly nice at this point in their relationship, sure, but reserved. Cautious.
And April did sigh. She did clear her throat as she stared up at the ceiling, her fingers laced over her stomach. But then she turned on her side, wet hair slicked back, and propped herself up on her elbow, head resting in her hand.
She didn’t say anything at first.
She just looked at Daphne, and Daphne looked back, her breathing suddenly shallow and quick.
They stayed like that for what felt like hours, April’s eyes dark as she studied Daphne’s face.
Daphne expected to start squirming, or maybe even start laughing again, but for once, she found she didn’t mind the scrutiny.
Didn’t mind studying April right back, finally allowing herself to really look after days and days of forcing her gaze away.
And now that she could, she saw that April was like a painting—intricate and layered and lovely.
Fathomless eyes, smooth skin and round cheeks, a thin top lip over a fuller bottom one, both curving into barely noticeable dimples at the corners.
A work of art, really, and Daphne felt as though she could look forever and still not have her fill, still not truly capture the whole picture.
Daphne wondered what April saw when she looked at her.
April’s gaze slid down to Daphne’s mouth, then back up, and Daphne’s stomach fluttered.
No, not fluttered.
Swelled and then crested and crashed, like a tsunami just offshore.
She wasn’t sure what to say or do, but she wanted…she wanted, and she didn’t know what to do with that feeling. It was wild and reckless and possibly just plain stupid, but she couldn’t seem to get the feeling to calm down either, like an involuntary response—fight, flight, or freeze.
But this was April. And that fact—the two of them, existing together at all—already felt like stepping into a minefield, tiptoeing through danger.
“Thanks for helping me back to the cabin,” Daphne said.
April shrugged. “It’s what friends do.”
“Are we friends?” Daphne asked, smiling.
April laughed. “I think that’s at least partially accurate.”
“I’m glad,” Daphne said. “I haven’t got many of those.”
“No?”
Daphne shook her head. “I had a best friend in college. Vivian. But I’ve…” She trailed off, a knot in her throat.
“You’ve what?” April asked.
She was inches away, and her question sounded so earnest, Daphne felt herself relax. She blew out a long breath.