Chapter 31
Diane's back is so painfully straight it looks like it might snap in two any second. The sharp line of her jaw and her hands flat on the table are just more proof of how tense she is.
"You sure she's okay?" Kenny whispers, hiding like a kid behind the kitchen door. "I think she's about to pass out."
Cassidy grabs two non-alcoholic beers from the fridge, sets them on the counter, and peeks around her brother.
Payton is saying something to Diane, gesturing in a way that doesn't seem too over the top.
Next to her, Owen, the lawyer's boyfriend, tosses in the occasional comment to a conversation that's mostly Payton's.
"She's fine. She just has a hard time with new places, and she's actually pretty nervous." Cassidy goes back to the fridge, grabs the sodas, and opens the upper cabinet for the glasses. "She changed her outfit at least three times before we left."
"Well, the ice queen doesn't really look like one." Kenny nods, proud of his own observation. He turns and steps closer to his sister. "What about you—you okay? Did you make her pay for everything she put you through?"
Cassidy smiles the same mischievous way Kenny used to when he'd come home covered in dirt and swear up and down he had absolutely nothing to do with wrecking that awful woman's garden—the one who'd given his sister a dirty look.
"Oh, I absolutely did." She bites her lip and shakes her head.
Three months have passed since that night they made their pact, the night Diane promised Cassidy she'd do everything in her power to prove that, even though her own cowardice had left her blindfolded, she was capable of tearing that blindfold off no matter the cost and becoming a less terrible version of what she'd shown herself to be.
At first, Diane Carter seemed lost, with no idea how to keep that promise, and their first real date didn't go especially well.
"This place is beautiful," Cassidy said, looking around as she settled into the table a waiter had led her to.
The dining room was small, understated, but with high ceilings and a soft, warm light that invited intimacy. The day before, Diane had called her in that serious tone of hers to announce she'd made a reservation and they'd be having dinner the following evening.
"Without asking whether I was free, or whether I even wanted to have dinner with you?" The blonde was pretty sure she'd heard teeth grinding on the other end of the line.
A short throat-clearing told her Diane was preparing to rephrase.
"I know a place with excellent food. Would you like to join me tomorrow evening?" The reworded question came out pretty mechanical, like an assignment you have to redo because the first attempt was a disaster.
In that moment, Cassidy understood what she'd gotten herself into: she'd given a chance to a woman who had no idea how to love.
She was certain Diane Carter had never planned a date like this, had never had to prove she could be someone for another person.
Her heart started beating a little faster—but that didn't mean she was going to give in easily.
She deserved to feel that this woman was as interested in her as she claimed.
"I'd love to. What time will you pick me up?" Cassidy heard a sharp intake of breath. Right, of course—Diane also hadn't realized that while it wasn't mandatory, it would be nice to pick her up at home. "Though if you'd rather, we can just meet at the restaurant."
"I'll pick you up at—" She cleared her throat, shifting gears. "The reservation's at seven. Would six work for you?"
"Perfect. I'll text you my address later."
And so there they were, sitting across from each other at their first official date—one outside of Whitestone, away from Diane's house.
Surrounded by couples holding hands over their tables and looking at each other like nothing else in the world existed.
Diane had her eyes fixed on the menu, and Cassidy would've bet anything she wasn't actually reading it.
"Find anything you like?" Cassidy said, her voice somewhere between honeyed and restrained. "The chicken parmesan is a solid choice."
When the blonde looked up, Diane was staring at her with slightly parted lips, her pulse visibly jumping at her throat. Cassidy fought back a smile. Watching the Cobra get nervous over something as simple as sitting across from a woman she'd been sleeping with for months was almost endearing.
"It is a good choice, though the Japanese wagyu tataki is incredible." She set the menu down and took a sip of water. "It comes with stir-fried vegetables in a soy glaze."
From there, the conversation began to flow with acceptable ease.
They talked about Diane's plans once she was fully out of consulting, and about how surprisingly comfortable Cassidy felt in the corporate communications department.
They danced around the edges of the topics that could sting—bringing them up on that first real outing didn't feel right.
The food arrived, and as naturally as if they did it every day, Cassidy tried the tataki—too rare for her taste—and Diane did the same with hers. A good while later they were walking under the July heat, at least more bearable at that hour, back to Diane's car, which took Cassidy straight home.
"Thank you for dinner. I had a really good time." Cassidy gave her a small, quiet smile.
Diane gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles went white. She pulled her gaze from the street and fixed her blue eyes on the woman beside her.
"I enjoyed it too." She paused and filled the silence with a slow breath. "I'd like to see you again, and—" She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. "If that's okay with you—"
"Diane." Cassidy stopped her with a small wave of her hand.
"I appreciate the effort, but this isn't you.
It's painful to watch you try to be someone else.
I get that this is the first time you've had to work at something that isn't your job, but the woman I'm interested in isn't this impersonation. "
Diane's lips pressed together, then her brow furrowed, and finally a short, sharp nod told Cassidy she'd understood.
"Good night," the blonde said, and got out of the car. It took Diane a few minutes to move. Something low in her stomach had been humming since the moment she saw Cassidy, and now it had turned into a deep, aching tremor.
The next time they saw each other, Diane took her to brunch at a winery—yes, surrounded by wine barrels that smelled absolutely wonderful—where they served perfect eggs Benedict and baked their own sourdough in-house.
"The pleasure and the punishment of a recovering alcoholic," she told Cassidy, who was calmly working her way through a sugar-loaded pastry.
"I love this place, and it also makes me proud of myself.
The mimosas here are the best in California.
I came to their opening a long time ago and had twelve of them. "
Cassidy's eyes went wide. It still struck her as almost unbelievable that this woman—so untouchable, capable of winning over even the most skeptical clients, meticulous and methodical—had ever struggled that badly with drinking.
The dates started coming more often: the first week they saw each other three times, the second, five.
Diane seemed more at ease, smiled more, and let those dry remarks that were so distinctly her slip out more naturally—though Cassidy couldn't help but notice how her body tensed every time they brushed against each other in public.
Diane's eyes would sweep the space around them, searching for some imaginary photographer who might catch the moment and somehow get that shot into the hands of all eight billion people on the planet.
It didn't worry Cassidy right now, but it was something they'd need to talk about eventually—if the dates kept going this well.
She wasn't willing to be part of a relationship that only worked behind closed doors.
What Cassidy set for herself as a hard and fast rule was no physical intimacy.
No kissing, and absolutely nothing that involved taking any clothes off.
It was her way of keeping whatever was happening between them intact, without the magic of sex clouding her thinking.
It wasn't easy. She'd often get home, lock herself in her room, and take care of herself until her body finally gave her a break.
Diane
Come over tomorrow?
Cassidy read it a few minutes before stepping into the elevator to leave work.
Diane had been away from Whitestone for a few days, and though she'd planned to stay the full month to ease the transition for the new head of development, the executives had preferred to let her go early.
They didn't trust her. Her departure caused a stir.
The Delacroix Group reorganized its strategy and merged that department with marketing, putting Clara Fitzgerald at the top, with a woman they'd chosen themselves beneath her, and then Cassidy, who left internal communications that same day—which turned her workdays into a nightmare, with the faint hope that it would only be like this while the corporate world adjusted to functioning without Diane.
The gate swung open the following day at six ten in the evening.
Cassidy walked in almost dragging her feet from exhaustion.
The front door was slightly ajar; she pushed it open, and her lungs immediately filled with that familiar scent—dry wood and cool musk.
She hadn't been back to this house since the day she'd shown up with her throat in a knot, knowing something was wrong with Diane.