Kathleen turned scarlet. Then the gallery owner called Natalie away, and she looked regretfully at Kathleen and hurried off.
Outside, the air was cool. Kathleen took a long breath. “That wasn’t so bad,” she said.
Veronica smiled. “Do you want to get something to eat or drink?”
Kathleen turned to her. “Do you want to come back to my place for a drink?”
“I’d like that.”
Her apartment was how she liked it—quiet, ordered, clean. She could feel Veronica taking it in. Not judging, exactly, but reading. The colour-coded sticky notes, the pen tray, the tidy botanical sketches. Kathleen had tried living with clutter once and it made her tired.
In the kitchen, she said, “Do you drink coffee in the evening?”
“I can.”
“I don’t. It keeps me up for twelve hours. Literally twelve. I’ve timed it.”
“Tea, then?”
“Chamomile. One brand only. The others taste like dust.”
Veronica gave a half-laugh, but didn’t push back.
They sat with their mugs. Kathleen felt the pressure of expectation. She knew why Veronica was here. Knew what most clients wanted at this point, but she wasn’t most clients. If she let this go on without speaking up, she’d end up… disappointing her. Then Veronica raised her hand, slowly, her fingers brushing against Kathleen’s jaw, barely there. The contact made her flinch, but she didn’t pull back completely.
Veronica leaned in.
Their lips met, soft, cautious, not even a full kiss, simply the faintest brush of skin. Kathleen froze. It was like her body forgot how to breathe. Panic swept up her spine, tight and cold, and she jerked back instantly, one hand rising between them without thinking.
“Sorry,” she gasped, her voice brittle. “I…no…I can’t?—”
Veronica was already pulling away, hands up, her voice calm. “It’s okay. It’s alright.”
Kathleen turned her head, breath sharp in her chest. “I thought I could. I really thought I could.”
“You did fine,” Veronica said softly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I wanted to,” Kathleen said, voice barely a whisper. “I…my body doesn’t listen.”
“I know.”
Kathleen kept her face turned away, ashamed, humiliated by her own reaction, her own useless wiring.
Veronica didn’t move. She didn’t fill the space with reassurances or apologies. She just stayed. When Kathleen finally looked back, there was no judgment in her face, but patience. And something harder to name—something like respect.
“I’m sorry,” Kathleen said again, quieter this time.
“You don’t need to be,” Veronica replied.
Kathleen didn’t know what to say after that.
They sat in silence again, no longer shoulder to shoulder, but still close, breathing.
Veronica didn’t reach for her again.
She sat quietly beside her, letting the air between them settle. Kathleen pressed her fingertips against her temple, trying to will the flush from her cheeks. Her stomach churned, not with fear, but with a kind of hollow shame. She hated the part ofherself that responded like this, that couldn’t accept something as simple as a kiss without flinching like she was under attack.
Veronica’s voice came after a long moment. Soft and even. “Would it help if we talked about something else?”
