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trust is something you earn, and I haven’t earned yours yet,” Gemma added. “In fact, I’m glad you don’t trust me. It shows that you’re discerning, and I like that. But don’t worry. I’ll earn it.”
“Begging’s only fun if everyone’s on board.”
“What’s so wrong with being an amateur, hmm? Hobbies are pure pursuits. I thumb my nose at your capitalistic attitude toward the commodification of crafts and recreation.”
“The point is that you don’t know a lug nut from your left nut and therefore have no business wielding power tools, my friend.” His brows rose. “Or sports equipment.”
“Touché. I’ll put it this way. My family makes the Carringtons look close-knit, the Bluths functional, the Drapers devoted, and the Bundys touchy-feely.”
“And I can’t be curious about you, too?” Tansy slipped the book back onto the shelf where it belonged. “Because I am. Curious.” “Careful.” Gemma took a smaller sip of scotch. “Curiosity killed the cat.” “You’re forgetting the second half of the saying. But satisfaction brought it back.”
What Gemma had said didn’t sound stupid at all. Wanting to be wanted, wanting to be loved.
whiskey warm and cinnamon sweet—wafted
This. This is a description of everything I love.
“You told me you weren’t looking for romance.” “You’re right.” She nodded. “I wasn’t looking. But lo and behold, lucky for me, I found you anyway.”
“I shouldn’t.” “Shouldn’t as in no, thanks, or shouldn’t as in I want another glass but wine makes me slutty so I’d better pass?”
Tansy (11:25 p.m.): Oh, please. You’re enough of a handful all by yourself. Gemma (11:26 p.m.): That, Tansy, is why you have two hands.
Her heart squeezed, just shy of painful. This was new for her, too. Not just the wonderful, swoony bits, but letting someone do nice things for her. Care for her. She’d been taking care of herself for so long that it was a knee-jerk reaction to refuse handouts.
How quickly everything had changed. All because of this woman with wild hair, a penchant for charmingly hideous grandma cardigans, and a dogged determination to take care of who and what she loved. She deserved to be cared for, to be loved, just as fiercely.
Gemma (12:34 p.m.): Come on. Indulge my domestic fantasies, darling. I want to share a Costco card with you. Tansy (12:36 p.m.): That’s strangely romantic, you know that?
“Now, Gemma, sweetie, you know I’m thrilled to see you, but could you be a dear and point me in the direction of the bar? I had a long drive and the Venn diagram of people in this room who are staring and people who hate my guts is a circle. I could use a drink.”
Gemma pouted. “I’m traumatized. Brooks! My mom! There was—there was cavorting.” Tansy snickered. “Cavorting? Really?” “Yes,” Gemma stressed, hands clutching Tansy’s waist over her coat. “Cavorting.” “Oh, the horror,” she said, all mock severity. “And we know what cavorting leads to.” Gemma’s brows rose. “Canoodling,” she whispered, bursting into laughter at the horrified look on Gemma’s face.
well, failure is an inescapable part of life. But failing doesn’t make you a failure.
