Chapter 24 #2
‘It was just some lemon zest,’ she mumbles. Her fingers move towards the single cake of hers that’s a little misshapen and
burnt, but I lean in and grab it before she can. She ends up with a nicer-looking one instead.
‘Still a genius,’ I reply, breaking the cake in half and sighing at the taste.
‘You looked very professional while you were making these,’ Greg says. ‘Not like Mr Messy over here.’
‘That was uncalled for, Greg.’ I wipe my crumby hands on my apron. ‘But it’s true. You were in your element.’
‘Do you bake at home?’ Fiona asks.
Dylan picks her cake apart and drops a small piece between her lips, and I catch the panic in her face at keeping everyone
waiting, even though it’s only a couple of seconds while she chews. ‘Only birthday cakes and stuff, really,’ she says, a hand
at her mouth. ‘But I used to bake a bit in my old job.’
Fiona gasps. ‘You need to do it more! What if it’s your God-given talent and you’re wasting it?’
Dylan looks at me as if for backup, and I lift my hands in surrender. ‘I’m with Fiona. I’ve told you before that I think you
should lean into doing what you love. Maybe even as a career.’
Our gazes snag, and I feel her discomfort at having all eyes on her.
‘I’ve got it,’ I say, diverting attention. ‘You can become a baking accountant. You’d be like one of those maths problems
brought to life. If Dylan starts with twelve cupcakes and gives four to Max and one to Greg, how many does she have left?’
Greg gasps. ‘Why do you get four and I only get one?’
I click my tongue. ‘Roommate perks.’
‘I will not be doing that,’ Dylan says.
‘See?’ Greg says. ‘I’d get at least five.’
‘I mean,’ Dylan begins, laughing softly, ‘that I don’t think a baking accountant is a real thing. And yes, I enjoy baking,
but when would I even have the time?’
‘You know, some people actually try to make time for things they enjoy,’ I say.
While Fiona and Greg talk to Eileen about what’s for dinner, Dylan and I hang back, leaning against the counter. A wistful
smile tugs at her cheeks, just on the edge of happy. It dawns on me that this is where she lives most of the time: against
the walls of a room, analysing the exits, guarding everyone else’s stuff while they have fun.
‘Maybe it’ll be something I do when I retire,’ she says at last.
I can see it now, and it’s so much more vibrant than what I imagine for myself that it’s almost blinding: Dylan bustling away in her dream home, baking all day for all her grandkids after years of putting her energy into building that picture-perfect life for herself. Finally able to relax.
‘Yeah,’ she adds quietly, like she’s imagining it too. ‘I think that’d be nice.’
My heart feels weird in my chest all of a sudden at the idea that this ‘maybe’ planned for decades into the future is the
closest she might ever get to going after something she wants. It’s too far away. No one should be postponing their happiness
like that, especially not when joy suits them so well.
‘Hey.’ I bump my shoulder against hers, and I prepare for the high-octane current of desire that often comes when our bodies
touch. But this time, it’s a gentle tug, a loosening of something that I’ve spent years intentionally tangling. ‘Don’t leave
it too late.’
She doesn’t look at me, but her fingers brush mine, hidden behind our backs, one more secret between us.
‘I could say the same for you.’
I must’ve been in an unusually deep sleep, because when I open my eyes, all that pierces the oppressive dark is the flashing
red light of the smoke alarm above me. I listen out for the quiet snores that Dylan vehemently denies every morning, hoping
maybe they’ll be enough to send me towards rest, but it’s quiet in the bedroom. When I fling a hand to my right, I realise
the bed is empty.
Maybe we’re connected in some way, because the second I do, I hear the soft sound of Dylan getting up off the sofa in the
other room. Even if we weren’t the only ones in the cabin, I’d know her presence anywhere. I recognise her footsteps padding
on the floor, the way she avoids the loud floorboard right by the door, how she so gently opens and closes it behind her.
Her hushed voice ricochets through the dark. ‘Are you awake?’
‘Come here,’ I whisper, pulling back the duvet.
Her steps are slow as she makes her way over, careful not to bump into anything. The springs creak as she climbs over me to get to her side of the bed, and I bring the cover over us with a quiet swish.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she breathes, shuffling closer, both of us on our sides. I feel the words on her breath somewhere near
my jaw. ‘Then Tahlia texted, and I didn’t want the light from my phone to wake you.’
‘I wouldn’t have minded.’ I can’t see her, but I push hair behind her ear anyway, because the night should see her whole face,
even if I can’t.
She sighs. ‘It’s been a long day. But you were . . . the best. Organising things and making sure I was distracted with the
baking. It really helped.’
‘My pleasure, Tiny.’
It’s so quiet that I swear I hear the sweep of her tongue wetting her lips. She moves closer but entirely misjudges where
my mouth is on her first try, her lips meeting my chin instead, and the mattress momentarily shakes with our silent laughter.
We’re much more successful the second time, duvet rustling around us as we find each other in the dark. Maybe there’s some
metaphor in that.
‘I really appreciate it,’ she says into my mouth. ‘And I want to thank you properly.’
It’s perfectly in sync, both of us leaning into each other as we explore, our kisses less urgent than they have been previously.
It reminds me of how we paddled the canoe weeks and weeks ago; working in tandem, aware of the other person at all times,
testing out the best ways to move.
Her fingertips drag down my chest, then below my belly button, and I hold her hand in place before she gets carried away.
‘How about,’ I breathe, playing with the ruffled hem of her shorts, ‘you let me keep distracting you?’ I slip my hands beneath
the material to cup her ass, and my eyes practically roll at how soft she is, how good she feels when I drag her against me.
‘Like this, maybe.’
‘You’ve already done so much for me,’ she gets out.
‘I promise, I haven’t done nearly as much as I’d like.’
She’s quiet for a few moments, then releases a ragged, ‘Then yes. Please.’
The memory of how many times she said please the last time we were together like this is seared on my brain forever. Polite Dylan, wanting the most impolite things.
I nip at her jaw and tug her leg over my hip, and when I press a hand over flimsy cotton and feel the heat beneath my palm,
I have to corral my two remaining brain cells into not diving headfirst into this.
‘Indulge me for a second,’ I murmur. Slowly, I work my fingers against her, and her answering squirms make me lose focus for
half a second. ‘How do you want this? Keep going as we are, or with my fingers inside you, too?’
She muffles an embarrassed laugh against my shoulder. ‘This is the least sexy conversation we could be having right now.’
‘I disagree. I can’t think of anything hotter than you telling me what you like.’
I feel the warmth radiating from her cheeks, and she takes a few moments to reply, like she’s nervous. ‘I’m not sure I’ve
ever spoken about what I like. I haven’t really been asked.’
I freeze, something red-hot poking at me at the knowledge that no one’s ever cared to find this out. It’s an injustice. It’s
criminal. But I swallow it all down and brush my lips over her skin and say gently, ‘Take your time to think.’
She inhales slowly, then lets the breath out even slower. ‘I think I like . . . god, this shouldn’t feel embarrassing.’ She
waits some more, then tries again. ‘I do like the feeling of being . . . full, I guess. But I never, you know. Finish. Not
with that.’
‘Noted.’ My mouth drags along her jaw, back to her lips, to the faint taste of toothpaste on her tongue. ‘Now show me how you like it.’
She’s still for another couple of seconds, and I know she’s looking at me. I can detect the heat running between our gazes
even in the pitch-black. Then she takes my hand and brings it beneath her shorts, and a curse escapes me when my fingers find
their home, warm and wet and waiting.
‘Maybe this is today’s new thing,’ she says breathily. ‘Telling you. And showing you—yeah.’
‘Yeah?’ She hums in response, so I move with her and whisper, ‘We’re gonna make this good, okay?’
‘Okay,’ she whispers back.
We settle into it, and she releases my hand and lets me keep the motion she’s set. The little unrestrained sound she lets
out when she circles her hips sends my breathing ragged.
‘That’s it, honey,’ I coax, brushing her hair from her face with my free hand as she works herself on to me. ‘Whatever you
need.’
Her movements turn increasingly frantic with every low murmur of approval that slips past my lips; delicious hips rolling
and jerking, teeth grazing my shoulder, fingers clutching at my forearm hard enough that I might bruise, for once just taking.
I lose myself a little, right there. It’s all shared breaths and hot mouths pressed against skin in attempts to stay quiet.
It’s nails dragged down backs and a duvet twisting around tangled limbs, it’s the bed frame creaking too loudly and a gasp
that turns into a moan, and the weighted pause we take to catch our breath. It’s half-finished expletives and kisses that
swallow desperate sounds, and it’s vehement praise whispered into skin, recited like a prayer, because fuck, I hope she absorbs
it, hope she believes it, hope she knows that I’ve never believed in anything, but I’d follow her into a cult if it meant
getting more of her like this for however long we have left.
Later, when her breathing’s finally slow and even, she tucks herself into me, and I hold her tight and let myself dream.