This Time of Year by Jea Hawkins

Author:Jea Hawkins [Hawkins, Jea]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: historical romance, lesfic, lesbian fiction, wwi romance, world war i romance, later in life romance, women loving women, lesbian, lesbian romance, sapphic
Publisher: Wicked Hearts Publishing
Published: 2022-08-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

May 23, 1969

Marty hadn’t expected to stay out so late, but her aunt insisted on introducing her to a proper, multi-course French dinner, something they hadn’t yet enjoyed together. It was, of course, exquisite. The restaurant, food, and people were enough to distract Marty from her concerns for a few hours.

“Vera can look out for herself,” Celia had said when they sat at their table. “I left her something easy to heat and eat when she gets home from work. You need to take care of yourself once in a while, too.”

By the time they returned from dinner, it was nearly ten at night, and Marty’s worries returned in full force. She was sure Vera would already be in bed, knees drawn up as she sat back against the pillows, reading a book. It was a charming habit of hers, to read a few chapters of a French novel every night. She explained that it kept her immersed in the language, not just hearing it, but also seeing it. Marty had tried it herself, but was an abject failure. She stuck with reading the local newspapers, instead, in hopes of improving her language that way.

The bed they shared, however, was empty when Marty got home. Of all the places Vera could be, Marty hadn’t expected to find her on the balcony with a bottle of champagne beside her. Yet there she was, tall, slender glass in hand, bubbly liquid filling it halfway. Marty hesitated in the doorway, unsure of how to proceed. She couldn’t even remember ever seeing Vera drink in their long history together.

Surely, she had at some point, but Marty wondered if she was to blame for this particular circumstance. The talk they’d had less than a week ago about trust still weighed heavily on her.

“Hey,” Marty said, uncertainty tightening her voice.

“Hey.” Vera raised her champagne flute. “I’ve already had two of these. That makes this number three, but sometimes it’s nice to let go.”

“Let go?” Of all the people Marty knew, Vera seemed the least likely to need to let go. If anything, her carefree attitude had always appeared to come naturally. As easy as breathing. But Marty saw more and more that what a person showed the world could be deceiving. “What do you need to let go of?”

“Oh, come on Marty-not-Martha. You have more questions than that.” Vera turned the champagne flute in her fingers. Her cheeks were flushed and her words ran together like water. “You want to know why I can’t seem to quit Paris. Now that I’ve had two glasses of this stuff, it’s as good a time as any to explain, before I lose my nerve.”

Marty glanced at the bottle again and winced. “Not now. Not like this.”

“I’m not drunk, I promise. Just...” Vera shrugged and wiggled the fingers of her free hand. “Just relaxed, a little tipsy, and ready to tell you what you need to hear. To say what I need to say. Please, let me get this out.

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