“Where’s Sol today?” I ask, throwing out the clear plastic plates we used for the cake.
“Lottie had stuff going on all day,” Yasmen says, washing a few dishes. “So she dropped Lupe off and ran.”
I nod, pulling the trash bag out, tying it off, and taking it to the bin in the garage. When I come back, she’s still at the sink. I stand beside her, reaching for the soap to wash my hands. Our shoulders brush, and a current of electric heat runs between us. Well, I can only speak for myself, but what I feel at the contact, it’s electric and hot, skittering across my nerve endings. I glance over at Yasmen, paused in washing the dish, hands submerged in water, her breath hitched.
Yeah, she felt it.
“I needed to talk to you about something,” I tell her.
It’s true, but I also need a distraction from the tension that keeps sparking between us.
“What’s up?” She turns to face me, leaning one hip against the sink. Water from the dishes has splashed onto her dress, and the material is nearly transparent and clinging to her breasts. It’s driving me out of my mind. I drag my eyes to her face.
“It’s about Vashti.”
Her expression shutters, but her gaze goes alert. “I think I know what you’re going to say.”
“You do?” I doubt it, but I’m interested to hear what shethinksshe knows.
“I, um, saw the two of you on New Year’s Eve. After I stepped out of the cellar. I looked back and the two of you were…” She blinks down at the hardwood floor. “Hugging.”
I lift my brows, not sure where she’s going with this.
“I assume you want to tell me that you two are getting back together,” she says in a rush. “I know you still care about each other and—”
“She wants to go to Charlotte.”
Shock flares the gold flecks in her eyes, but there’s something else. Before she has time to disguise it, relief flashes across her face like a neon sign.
“When you saw us hugging on New Year’s Eve, she had told me she wants to take the position as head chef at Grits Charlotte, and I said that would be fine.” I watch Yasmen for more clues to how she really feels. “She’ll spend the next few months making sure Cassie is ready to take over here, which shouldn’t be a problem because—”
“Cassie’s great,” she cuts in absently. “She won’t miss a beat. How do you feel about this?”
“You mean do I think we’ll be okay here in Atlanta? Yeah, I think we’ll be fine as long as—”
“Not about Grits. About Vashti leaving.”
“It’s what she wants to do,” I say, shrugging, but not quite meeting her eyes.
“But she loves it here. She’s always said she wants to be here.”
“Not anymore.”
“Because you two broke up?”
“Because she thinks you and I will eventually get back together, and she doesn’t want to see it.”
I didn’t intend to say it, to tell her the root cause of Vashti’s departure, or maybe I did. Like a chemist in a laboratory pouring the truth all over litmus paper. I want to see what color Yasmen turns.
“She-she does?”
“Yeah.” I lean against the counter and grip the rim of the sink. “She thinks it’s only a matter of time.”
“Did you tell her that’s ridiculous?” Yasmen asks, eyes fixed on my face, and her breaths coming out shaky. “That you don’t want me anymore? That you wouldn’t touch me with a six-foot pole?”
I’m a glutton for punishment and a fool for lust because despite going weeks convincing myself one night would have to be enough, I cup her jaw and lay my hand at her waist, drawing her into me.
“I’m touching you now.”