Chapter 14 Day One/One Day
Day One/One Day
Catherine
Catherine woke slowly, consciousness returning in layers like light filtering through water.
The first thing she felt was warmth. The press of blankets against her bare skin, the residual heat where Theodora's body had pressed against hers through the night, that slow flush that lingered in her chest and spread outward to her fingertips.
With the warmth came an unfamiliar ease. Her muscles felt loose in ways they hadn’t for years, the usual morning tension that lived between her shoulder blades dissolved entirely, leaving behind only the pleasant ache of having been thoroughly, carefully taken apart.
She drew in a slow breath and felt it travel all the way down to her diaphragm.
The air carried the faint scent of an extinguished candle, mixed with something warmer, more intimate.
Theodora's perfume, or maybe just the scent of her skin, had imprinted itself on Catherine's sheets so deeply that it made her want to burrow deeper into the bedding and never emerge. Though no one needed to know that.
From somewhere beyond the bedroom came Theodora's singing, off-key and wandering through a 90s pop ballad, though Catherine couldn't be sure which one.
Catherine heard the refrigerator door seal pop, the clatter of a pan on the stove, and the quiet curse when something splashed.
She closed her eyes, letting the domesticity wash over her.
It felt like finding a puzzle piece that had been missing so long she'd convinced herself the picture was complete without it.
The sound drew a smile from her before she was fully aware of it, her mouth curving against the pillow.
It felt unfamiliar there, too open, too unguarded, but she let it stay.
Right up until the sharp crack of breaking glass snapped her upright, Theodora's voice following close behind in a creative string of profanity that would have made the longshoreman in Harry proud.
Catherine rose and grabbed her robe from the chair beside the bed, shoving her arms through the sleeves with less grace than usual. The silk settled against her bare skin as she tied the belt quickly and headed for the bedroom door.
She emerged into the hallway to find Theodora standing in front of her open hall closet, illuminated by the morning light filtering through the living room windows.
In one hand, she held Catherine's vacuum cleaner, its cord trailing across the floor.
In the other—Catherine's stomach dropped—Theodora held her keyboard. The Yamaha she often used to teach when she didn’t want younger students abusing her Steinway.
Theodora turned at the sound of Catherine's approach, and her expression was something Catherine had never seen before, a mix of indignation, amazement, and the type of outrage that came from discovering you'd been played.
Her copper hair was pulled into a messy bun, and she was still wearing one of Catherine's pajama t-shirts that fell to mid-thigh. She looked simultaneously adorable and genuinely furious. And dammit, why didn’t Catherine own a Polaroid camera?
Theodora lifted the keyboard, as if the evidence spoke for itself. “You've had a keyboard this whole time!” Her voice pitched higher with each word, the instrument wobbling in her grip. “You could have played with headphones this whole time! What the actual fuck, Catherine?!”
Heat flooded her face immediately with the burning flush of embarrassment that traveled from her chest up her throat to her cheeks. She opened her mouth to respond, but only a strangled sound emerged.
"I…" Catherine tried again, her hands twisting in the silk belt of her robe. "It's going to sound pathetic."
"Okay…" Theodora set the vacuum down with deliberate care but kept hold of the keyboard, brandishing it like the smoking gun in a criminal trial.
Catherine felt the nervous laughter building in her chest again, inappropriate but unstoppable.
It bubbled up despite her efforts to maintain composure, emerging as a sound that was half-nervous giggle, half-groan of mortification.
She pressed one hand against her mouth, trying to contain it, but it leaked through her fingers anyway.
"The first night you came to complain—" The words came out muffled against her palm.
She stopped, took a breath, tried again.
"It was the first time I'd played a piano outside teaching since, well, since The Royal Albert Hall.
I had a meeting with Simon earlier that day, and it spurred me on to…
anyway, playing that night was a big deal for me. "
Theodora's expression shifted slightly, understanding joining the indignation. "Okay, but that doesn't explain why you kept—"
"And then after that," Catherine interrupted, the words coming faster now, tumbling over each other in her rush to confess, "I kept on playing it because I liked talking to you. Even if it was just to argue with you about the noise."
The silence that followed felt enormous.
Catherine watched recognition dawn across Theodora's face, her eyes widening, mouth falling open, the keyboard drooping in her grip as the full implication registered.
She stared at Catherine as if seeing her for the first time, like recalibrating every interaction they'd had through this new lens.
"You—" Theodora started, then stopped. "You tortured me with sleepless nights because you liked talking to me?"
"Yes?" Catherine's voice came out small, uncertain, the flush in her cheeks burning hotter.
"Though torturing is an absolute exaggeration.
I always stopped before midnight. Anyway, it seemed.
..I don't know, easier than just knocking on your door.
Less presumptuous. And you were so angry that first night, I thought if I could just give you a reason to keep coming back—"
Theodora's shock transformed with startling suddenness.
Her mouth curved upward, lips twitching with suppressed amusement, and then she was laughing.
Not polite amusement but genuine laughter that shook her shoulders and made the keyboard wobble dangerously in her grip.
She set it down against the wall with one hand while the other pressed against her stomach, doubled over with mirth that seemed to feed on itself.
"Oh my god," Theodora gasped between laughs. "Oh my god, Catherine. You—" More laughter cut off whatever she'd been trying to say. "I nearly murdered you!"
"You did not," Catherine protested, but she was laughing too now, the absurdity of the situation finally breaking through her embarrassment.
"I did!" Theodora straightened enough to look at Catherine, her eyes bright. "And all because you were too what? Too proper to just ask me to dinner?"
"I wasn't ready for dinner." Catherine's laughter subsided enough to speak, though giggles still threatened at the edges of her words. "I was barely ready for hallway confrontations. You have to understand, I don't—I didn't—people don't usually just knock on my door and demand things."
"So you made me demand things repeatedly by playing piano at midnight."
"It was a strategy."
"It was insane." But Theodora was smiling now, the indignation completely dissolved into affectionate amusement.
She crossed the hallway in two quick strides, closing the distance between them, and Catherine felt her breath catch as Theodora's hands undid her robe tie and held her waist underneath the silk.
"I'm sorry?" Catherine offered, though the apology sounded more like a question.
"No, you're not." Theodora's fingers tightened, pulling Catherine closer so she was flush against her. "You're completely unrepentant."
"Maybe a little bit." Catherine's hands came up to rest on Theodora's shoulders, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin t-shirt. "But it worked, didn't it? You kept coming back."
"Because I was plotting your death." But Theodora was leaning in now, her mouth curved in a smile that suggested any remaining anger was purely theatrical. "You could have just pretended you needed sugar or something. There was no need to punish me with classical music."
Catherine’s lips twitched, the corners of her eyes softening. “Seeing as you’re taking this so well,” she said, “I should probably admit something else...”
“Oh God, what?”
“I have two perfectly good flashlights under my kitchen sink, right next to a box of matches and a pack of spare batteries. And my phone had about seventy percent battery when the lights went out...Oh! But my Kindle really did break after I threw it.”
Theodora laughed and kissed her, cutting off the hole-digging before it got any deeper, and the kiss tasted like laughter and forgiveness and the intimacy that came from being caught at your worst, but it not mattering in the slightest.
Catherine melted into it, her hands sliding from Theodora's shoulders to cup her face, tilting her head up to deepen the contact.
Theodora made a small sound of pleasure against her mouth, and Catherine felt the last of her embarrassment dissolve into warmth that had nothing to do with being caught and everything to do with being known.
When they finally broke apart, Theodora’s forehead rested against Catherine’s. “You’re terrible,” she whispered, but there was a smile in her voice.
“I know.” Catherine smiled against Theo’s mouth, then kissed her again, light as breath. “And yet you keep coming back.”
Theodora grinned into a kiss, then tugged her gently toward the bedroom with fingers wrapped around her wrist. Catherine followed willingly, as they crossed the threshold back into morning light and rumpled sheets.
The broken glass in the kitchen could wait, the vacuum could remain abandoned in the hallway, none of it mattered compared to this, to the press of Theodora's mouth against hers and the promise in her touch.
They fell into bed with unhurried movements as they found each other again. Catherine’s robe disappeared as Theodora’s hands pushed it from her shoulders.