Chapter 17 #2
Scottie immediately involved them in the conversation, while Willow nibbled on an appetizer—a tiny pastry stuffed with spinach and feta.
She even threw in a comment every now and then.
Now that Scottie did most of the talking, her participation was an option, not an obligation.
That took the pressure off and allowed her to relax for the first time since she’d arrived.
It seemed as if barely any time had passed when Barb clapped her hands together. “All right, folks, time to dig in!” She gestured at the buffet table, where steaming platters of food were arranged.
Their colleagues immediately lost interest in the conversation and hurried toward the buffet.
Only Scottie and Willow stayed behind.
“You holding up okay?” Scottie asked her quietly.
Willow nodded. Amazingly, she hadn’t even glanced at the clock on the wall once to see how much longer she’d have to stay before she could leave without appearing rude.
“Good.” Scottie gently nudged her. “Then let’s grab some food before it all disappears.”
They loaded up their plates with salmon in lemon-dill cream sauce, mashed potatoes, roasted butternut squash, and mixed greens salad with pears and walnuts.
Once they had their food, Scottie steered Willow toward a pair of empty chairs and a small, round table by a window. Rain streaked the glass, and blurred fairy lights twinkled in the backyard.
“Is this okay?” Scottie asked as she set her plate down.
“It’s perfect,” Willow replied. “Prime real estate.”
“Yep. Great view and an easy escape route in case we have to make a break for it.” Scottie gestured at the French doors two steps away from their table.
Willow gave her a skeptical look. “I doubt you’ve ever run from a party. You actually enjoy them, don’t you?”
Scottie leaned back in her chair, the picture of ease.
“Of course. What’s not to enjoy? It’s so interesting meeting new people.
Everyone’s got a story to tell, if you’re willing to listen.
” She discreetly nodded toward a guy who carefully carried two heaping plates across the room.
“He just spent two weeks in Sweden and took a selfie with a moose.”
An image of a moose grinning into the camera rose in front of Willow’s mind’s eye, making her laugh.
“And she”—Scottie pointed at a woman with huge, dangling earrings—“has written three mystery novels and is plotting her fourth as we speak.”
“Oh, so it’s entirely possible that some poor fictional murder victim will be poisoned at a retirement party?” Willow asked.
“Wouldn’t rule it out.” Scottie gestured with her fork at the only guy wearing a tie. “He’s got the best story, though. He used to be a magician as a weekend side hustle, mostly working children’s birthday parties. Gave it up after a dove escaped and dive-bombed the birthday girl.”
Willow nearly choked on a bite of salmon. “You’re making that up!”
“No, I swear. He showed me pictures.”
Willow continued to stare at her. “How did you find out all these things? We’ve been here for less than an hour, and you could write the biography of half of Barb’s guests!”
Scottie shrugged and speared a piece of squash with her fork. “Guess it’s a talent.”
“Yeah, it most certainly is.” Willow shook her head. “I don’t know if I should admire you, despise you, or volunteer you for the CIA.”
“I’d make a horrible spy. I would probably blow my cover in the first five minutes, so I vote for admiring me.” Scottie popped the roasted butternut squash into her mouth and chewed enthusiastically.
Willow did admire her. But before she could decide whether she should admit that, Barb’s husband rose and tapped his glass.
He gave a short but heartfelt speech, expressing his excitement at finally getting Barb all to himself and at how much he looked forward to traveling the world with her.
When he sat back down, Barb dabbed her eyes and kissed him gently.
Apparently, some relationships did last.
Then Celeste followed, thanking Barb for thirty years of tireless work and dedication to the company. “Kudos won’t be nearly as efficient without you,” she finally finished. That was the biggest praise in her book.
Willow tried not to think about how large Barb’s shoes would be to fill.
When the applause subsided and everyone continued their conversation, she excused herself and headed to the nearby beverages table.
The scent of cinnamon and baked apples rose from a Crock-Pot.
Willow took a mug and used a ladle to fill it with hot apple cider. When she picked it up to carry it back to the table, pain shot through her fingertips. She flinched, nearly dropping the mug.
Scottie was at her side in an instant. “Did you burn yourself?”
“No, no, I’m fine.” Willow waved her away and flexed her fingers. “It’s just that…my fingers are sore.”
Scottie arched her eyebrows. “Oh?” Her voice dropped an octave.
Heat rushed into Willow’s cheeks. “Not from what you are thinking.”
A teasing grin spread over Scottie’s face. “I’m not thinking what you’re thinking. Apparently, you’re the one whose mind is in the gutter.”
Willow ignored the comment and carefully carried the mug back to the table.
Scottie followed. She sat across the table from Willow, her grin now replaced by a concerned look. “Okay, all teasing aside. What happened to your fingers?”
“I’ve been messing around with my bass lately, but I haven’t touched it in years, so I haven’t built up my calluses yet. The strings are tough on my fingers. Not as bad as a guitar, but still. That’s why my fingertips are sore.”
Scottie reached across the table, took Willow’s hand, and gently turned it over so she could inspect her fingertips.
The contact sent a small jolt through Willow.
She was about to apologize for zapping Scottie again when she realized it hadn’t hurt, nor had there been the faint crackle or spark that usually happened from static.
While her skin still tingled where Scottie’s hand lingered, Scottie hadn’t flinched or reacted in any way.
Maybe the jolt had been only in her imagination because she had expected it to happen.
When Willow stared at their hands, Scottie quickly let go and withdrew to her side of the table as if only now realizing she’d been touching her. “Sorry,” she said, her gaze directed at her plate.
“It’s okay. Like I said, they’re just sore.” Willow flexed her fingers once more. They felt weirdly cold now that Scottie had let go.
Scottie picked up her fork. “So you’re playing the bass again?”
Willow nodded and went back to eating too.
“Oh, Willow! That’s fantastic!” Scottie beamed at her as if she’d said she had solved world hunger.
Her reaction made Willow feel warm all over, but it also stunned her.
Scottie seemed happy for her on a level she hadn’t expected.
None of the friends she had made in the past ever seemed to care that much about her accomplishments.
She ducked her head. “Not sure my sister or the cats would agree. I’m beyond rusty.
Just plucking some strings, hoping it sounds remotely like music. It’s nothing, really.”
“It’s not nothing,” Scottie said firmly.
Willow looked up and met her gaze.
Scottie’s eyes seemed to glow with intensity.
Finally, Willow nodded in acknowledgment.
“How did it feel?” Scottie leaned forward, closer to Willow, apparently not wanting to miss a single word.
“Weird,” Willow said. “Like something I’ve done in another life. But also like getting back a part of me.”
Scottie’s fingers twitched as if she wanted to reach across the table and take Willow’s hand a second time. But she didn’t. “I’m really glad you picked it back up, then.”
“Me too.” Willow busied herself with a forkful of salmon and swallowed down the lump in her throat. “How about you?”
“I’ve got no plans to take up playing bass. I need all my fingers in full working order.” Scottie waited for a beat, then added with a grin, “To fix computers.”
“Of course.” Willow reached for the apple cider, hoping Scottie would blame any redness on her cheeks on the hot beverage, not the vivid mental images of Scottie’s fingers doing things that had nothing to do with computers.
“No, I mean… Will you hold up your end of the deal and go out on a date with someone?”
She told herself she was just making conversation to pass the time.
But the knot in her stomach said otherwise.
Truth be told, talking to Scottie had never been merely a filler, even when they’d been stuck in the elevator, waiting to be rescued.
Within minutes, Willow had started asking questions because she wanted to know the answer, and now wasn’t an exception.
The teasing grin faded from Scottie’s face.
She swirled her fork through the mashed potatoes on her plate.
“It’s not that I don’t want to hold up my end of the deal, but I’m not sure I’m ready.
I haven’t been on a date in more than ten years.
Talk about being rusty.” She let out a self-deprecating huff of laughter.
“I’d probably panic, forget how to flirt, and compliment her Wi-Fi speed, then politely shake her hand at the end of the night or something. ”
Willow laughed but shook her head. She couldn’t imagine that. In her mind, Scottie would be the most charming date ever.
Before she could reply, a shadow fell over their table.
Barb appeared beside them, cheeks flushed. She studied them with a knowing look, as if she’d heard every word. “Oh, if only we knew a single, queer woman who could give you a trial run!”
Willow nearly dropped her fork. “What?”
“A practice date.” Barb gestured impatiently with the empty champagne glass she was holding. “With someone kind and understanding—someone who’s willing to put up with Scottie’s rust until her dating skills are shining again. You should volunteer.”
Absolutely not. What she should do was to keep her distance and make sure things between them stayed safe and platonic.
“No,” Scottie and Willow said at the same time.
“Why not?” Barb asked.
“Because…” Willow faltered. She didn’t have an answer. At least not one that she could say out loud. She sent Scottie an imploring gaze, silently asking her to jump in.
“Well,” Scottie said, “because…” She waved her fork. “Because we’re friends.”
“So?” Barb glanced back and forth between them. “If you’re friends, why wouldn’t you want to help each other out?”
“Because…” They traded helpless looks.
“Since you can’t give me a straight answer…no pun intended, let’s settle this another way,” Barb said. “With a planking contest.”
Willow’s fork clattered onto her plate. “A planking contest?” Her voice came out in a high-pitched squeak that only bats would be able to appreciate.
“Yeah, you know.” Barb mimed dropping to the floor. “That exercise where you put your forearms and toes on the floor and try to hold your body in a straight line for as long as you can. If you win, I’ll shut up about it forever. If I win, you’ll help Scottie knock the rust off.”
Willow continued to stare at her. Barb couldn’t be serious. How many glasses of champagne had she had? She wasn’t slurring, but her grin was a little too broad and her voice a bit too loud.
“That’s not a good idea,” Scottie said. “We’re not even done with dinner yet. Do you really want the salmon to make a reappearance while we’re planking?”
Barb shrugged. “We’ll wait an hour for the food to settle.”
“You’re not thinking clearly, Barb,” Willow said. “This is your retirement party. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“Excuse me?” Barb clutched her chest in fake offense. “Are you calling me old?”
“What? No! I meant…” Willow lowered her voice and gestured at the empty flute dangling from Barb’s fingers. “Clearly, you’ve been enjoying your party.”
“So I’ve had a glass of bubbly…or three. It’s a planking contest, not brain surgery.” Barb squinted at them. “What are you so concerned about? You’re not afraid to lose to little old me in front of all of my guests, are you? Or are you nervous you’ll enjoy the practice date a little too much?”
“Of course not,” Scottie said quickly.
Willow huffed in confirmation. “We’re not nervous.”
“So?” Barb drawled. “If you’re not nervous, what’s stopping you?”
They looked at each other.
This was ridiculous. They weren’t considering doing this…were they?
Scottie tilted her head in a silent question, which Willow, to her surprise, could read without a problem. Do you think we can beat her?
Willow gave her the tiniest nod. Of course we can. She’s twice our age and a little tipsy.
So? Scottie’s facial expression seemed to ask. Are we doing this?
It was silly. But Barb was an incorrigible matchmaker. She would spend her last two weeks at Kudos trying to get them to go on this ridiculous practice date. The thought of making her shut up about it forever was tempting. Willow blew out a breath and nodded.
Scottie nodded back.
They turned back around to face Barb.
“Okay,” Willow said. “We’re in.”
Barb triumphantly waved her empty glass. “I’ll be back for planking in an hour. Prepare to be anihi…annila…um, totally crushed!”