Chapter 23
Taylor lay naked across her, one leg hooked over Charlotte’s thigh, her cheek pressed to the soft swell of Charlotte’s breast. The sheets had fallen to their waists at some point during the night.
Charlotte’s body felt loose, every muscle warmed through and slack.
Happiness sat heavy in her chest, pressing outward until her ribs ached with it.
The stress of sneaking around had vanished this week.
They’d lived inside their own sealed bubble, forgetting all about the outside world.
Christmas had been nothing like the ones she once endured with Diane’s family.
Those events had glittered with expensive crystal and careful conversation, the kind of elegance that always left Charlotte feeling slightly scuffed at the edges.
Diane’s parents had been kind, yes, but their wealth created a distance Charlotte never quite bridged.
Since the divorce she had dreaded the holiday, certain the house would echo with her solitude.
Both her parents had died when she was in her thirties, so this time of year was always hard for her, and something that she wasn’t looking forward to.
She had been wrong. So wrong.
They had rung in the new year last night with a bottle of champagne. The memory pulled her under now, so vivid in her mind.
The fire had burned low, throwing gold across the living room walls. They had stood by the tall window, glasses raised. Taylor’s voice had come out low and certain.
‘To us. To the ridiculous luck of finding each other again on that beach. To second chances that shouldn’t exist but somehow do.’
Charlotte had looked at Taylor’s face, flushed from the fire and the champagne.
She had set her glass on the windowsill, taken Taylor’s away too, and pulled her close until their bodies aligned.
Taylor’s breathing stuttered when Charlotte slid her hands beneath the fabric of Taylor’s sweater to grip the warm curve of her hips.
They had kissed like the year itself depended on it—mouths open and slow, tongues meeting in wet drags that left Charlotte dizzy.
Taylor had made a small sound against her lips, almost a whimper, and Charlotte had backed her toward the couch without breaking contact.
The sweater had slipped from one shoulder, exposing the slope of Taylor’s shoulder.
Charlotte lifted it over Taylor’s head, and tugged down the cup of Taylor’s bra.
Charlotte had bent and taken her nipple between her lips, sucking until it pebbled tight against her tongue.
Taylor’s fingers had twisted in Charlotte’s hair, not guiding, just holding on.
When Taylor had come later, it was with Charlotte’s fingers buried inside her, and Charlotte’s mouth on her throat.
The new year had ticked over while Taylor shook and clenched, her inner walls pulsing hot and slick around Charlotte’s knuckles.
Charlotte had felt every flutter, every involuntary squeeze.
The memory lingered even now that it was morning. She traced lazy circles along the bare skin of Taylor’s back, savoring the way the younger woman’s breathing stayed deep and even.
Taylor stirred, lashes fluttering against Charlotte’s skin. “Hmm. Happy new year.”
Charlotte smiled and tucked a stray piece of chestnut hair behind Taylor’s ear. The strands felt cool compared to the heat radiating from Taylor’s scalp. “Happy new year.”
Taylor’s stomach gave a loud, unmistakable growl.
The sound shattered the softness between them. Both women laughed at the same moment, and Charlotte felt the vibration of it move through Taylor’s ribs and into her own body.
“On that note,” Charlotte said, still smiling, “I’ll make us some breakfast.”
She leaned down and gave Taylor a quick kiss, tasting sleep and last night’s champagne on her lips.
Then she rolled out from under the warm weight of Taylor’s body and stood.
Cool air raised gooseflesh along her arms and thighs.
She reached for the plush cream robe hanging on the bedpost and slipped it on.
Taylor propped herself on one elbow, sheets pooling around her knees. Her eyes tracked the movement of Charlotte’s hands with open hunger. “That would be amazing. I’m going to have a quick shower.”
Charlotte nodded and headed downstairs, bare feet silent on the wooden steps. In the kitchen she pulled eggs and bacon out of the fridge and cut a few slices off a loaf of sourdough.
She cracked eggs into a bowl, the yolks gleaming deep orange, and began whisking.
The motion centered her. For a few minutes the only sounds were the whisk against ceramic and the distant hiss of the shower upstairs.
She let herself imagine Taylor under the spray, water tracing the delicate tattoos on her wrists, running between her breasts, slipping down the flat plane of her stomach to the trimmed patch of hair between her legs.
Heat pooled low in Charlotte’s belly at the thought.
A sharp knock at the front door made her jump.
She glanced down. The belt was knotted but the neckline still gaped enough to show the inner curves of her chest.
Who on earth would come by on New Year’s Day? One of the neighbors maybe?
The knock came again, firmer this time.
Charlotte set the bowl down. She didn’t love answering the door half-dressed, but ignoring it felt worse. She walked from the kitchen through the hallway, the fabric swaying against her bare thighs with each step. When she opened the door, cold air rushed in and raised the fine hairs on her arms.
Sam stood on the porch in full running gear, earbuds dangling around her neck, cheeks flushed from the January air.
“Well you clearly didn’t see my text last night,” Sam said.
Charlotte blinked, her pulse jumping hard in her throat. “What did it say?”
She prayed the sound of the shower didn’t carry downstairs. It was faint from here, a distant murmur of water against tile, but her ears strained toward it anyway.
“Happy new year, of course. And that we should hit the trails around eleven. Get those good habits started nice and early. I know it’s a cliché, but I thought you’d be up for it.”
Charlotte tried to keep her face neutral. “I’d love to but… my knee is bothering me. I don’t think I should.”
Sam’s brow creased. “Oh, did you fall or…?”
“No, no. It’s just been sore the last few days. Might be this cold weather.” Charlotte forced a self-deprecating laugh that scraped in her throat. “Hope it’s not arthritis.”
Sam smiled, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “I think you’re a few years away from that. Okay. Well, I’ll get going then.”
Charlotte could see the doubt flicker across Sam’s face, the slight tilt of her head as if listening for something she couldn’t quite place.
Her own blood rushed so loudly in her head that she worried Sam could hear it.
She leaned against the doorframe, trying to look casual while every nerve screamed for Sam to leave before Taylor finished her shower and came downstairs calling her name.
“Have a good time,” Charlotte said, lifting her hand in a small wave.
Sam studied her another beat. “Enjoy the rest of the holidays. See you back at work.”
“Sure.”
Charlotte closed the door and sagged against it. The wood felt solid and cold against her spine. Her pulse crashed in her ears, a roaring that drowned out everything else. That had been too close. Far too close.
The thoughts she’d pushed away for days came rushing back now, crowding her throat and making it hard to swallow.
She should call this whole thing off. End it before someone saw Taylor’s car even though it was left three doors down on the curb. Before a student saw them at the wrong moment, before Sam put the pieces together.
Charlotte’s career, everything she had built, could collapse with one whispered rumor.
Taylor was her student. There were twenty years between them. The power imbalance alone could ruin them both.
She leaned back against the door and breathed through her mouth.
She couldn’t keep doing this.
She had to tell Taylor. The words already formed on her tongue.
They’d been lucky these last three months, but what if their luck ran out?
Charlotte couldn’t risk it.