Two for Tea: Welcome to Azathé (Cambric Creek #4)

by C.M. Nascosta

Calling her a good girl was the fastest way to drench her panties, and doing so in combination with freeing her from the arduous task of thinking was her personal catnip.

“Tea is more than hot water and some dried-out leaves. It’s an elixir of health, and it reminds us to make time for simple joys. Nothing can rush a steeping leaf, and there is no problem that cannot be paused to enjoy a hot cup. Tea forces us to slow down and exist uninterrupted in a small moment. That’s what’s left at the bottom of your cup — the dregs of your problems. Reading the leaves will help you realize what you need to do to banish them from your life.”

There are some things that transcend what we are, child. We all walk beneath the same moon, and grief is eternal. So yes, I miss her a great deal.”

“Grief is the wound love leaves on our heart,” he continued, again as if he could audibly hear her thoughts, and at that, she could not hold in the tears for another second. Her sob came out in a strangled wheeze, but unlike everyone else in her life who acted as if her emotions were some hideous, embarrassing thing that she should feel shame over, Holt seemed unbothered.

“The strength of that ache is the tenacity of love, and it never fades.” His voice, so full of vehemence just a short while ago, was now somber, gentled, but no less full of conviction. “What does happen, is that your heart will heal around it. Yes? It’s not something that ever goes away, and like any bruise, to poke it will ache. But your heart will grow around it, protecting it, and it simply becomes a part of you. Don’t ever expect that ache to go away, little one. But stop considering it a negative thing. Grief is a gift. Do you understand?”

Others may be disappointed in the path you forge for yourself, but you must remember that their disappointment belongs to them and them alone. It is not yours to manage.

Fuck me and call me a good girl. I’m a simple girl with simple needs. Harper had never understood how anyone could be attracted to a collection of parts first and the person operating them second. It didn’t matter how attractive society told her someone was — until she got to know them, a tumbleweed had a better chance of falling out of her dress than her libido kicking into overdrive because of someone’s abs.

“Good books. Hot tea. Someone to call me a good girl as they hold me down and fuck me into next month. Maybe one of those little fruit tarts. Hot soup. A pumpkin on my doorstep. Very simple needs.”