The Bookstore on the Beach - Brenda Novak Page 0,80
that was true. The question was, why not? They typically saw each other every day. Other than what Sierra had said before she’d left last night, Taylor had no reason to believe this morning would be any different. “Are you upset?”
“With you? No.”
Taylor wasn’t sure she could believe that. She dragged over a stool and perched on it while Sierra went back to work on the bike. “Then what’s going on?”
“I always lead with my heart. Can’t seem to stop doing that. But like my dad says, it’s fucking stupid. I need to use my head once in a while.”
Taylor was beginning to figure out that Sierra actually admired her father in many ways. They were close in spite of his drinking and their epic fights. In some ways, they acted more like friends than father and daughter. “What does that mean?”
“It means I need to be smart enough not to walk off an emotional cliff if I can avoid it. That’s what it means.”
Taylor shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand.” She couldn’t help noticing how Sierra’s T-shirt clung to her torso as she finished tightening a cap on the bike.
“It’s what I said last night, okay? I’m different, and you should be aware of that.”
“In what way?”
She sighed audibly. “Really? You haven’t figured it out?”
“I think I can guess. But...how do you know I’m not different, too?”
“Because you seem to have a choice.” She removed the pan she’d used to catch the old oil. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
“You’re saying you’d never sleep with a boy.”
“I have no desire to. That’s what I’m saying.”
Taylor lifted her hair off her neck to help with the heat. “How do you know, if you’ve never been with one?”
Sierra laughed but Taylor could tell she didn’t find this funny. “See what I mean? If you were like me, you’d understand.”
“Not everyone can be as sure as you are, Sierra. Maybe for you, guys aren’t appealing at all. Maybe for me, some of them are. It’s also possible I just never realized there was something more appealing out there.”
She put the pan away and turned around. “So are you interested in me or not?”
“I’m not sure I’m gay, but... I know I care about you. That I enjoy being with you. That I’ve never met anyone like you. So I’m open to finding out if...if whatever is happening between us goes anywhere.”
“That’s just it,” she said. “If you have a choice, you don’t want to choose me.”
Taylor blinked in surprise. “Why not?”
“You know why not.”
“Then I’ll be different, too,” Taylor guessed.
“Yes. Everyone says love is love. But trust me. You’ll be judged by people who feel they have a right to tell you how to live. Some will look down on you and believe, even if they don’t say it out loud, that God hates you or that you’re going to hell. You can feel that negative shit washing over you and threatening to carry you away into self-loathing. It’s hard no matter how many times you think, ‘Fuck ’em.’ And even if none of that happens—at least to your face—people will gawk at you for something as simple as holding my hand in public. Do you really want to live like that?”
“I understand,” she said. “But if I don’t explore what I feel with you, I could be missing out on the greatest thing to ever happen to me. You’re different. Special.” In so many ways. It wasn’t just that Sierra had stepped up to help her with the baby; that was only part of what revealed the kind of person she was.
For the first time since Taylor met her, Sierra seemed unsure of herself, vulnerable. “So...what are you saying?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“I’m saying we can’t decide anything too soon. We’re still getting to know each other. But I’m willing to see what happens—if you are.”
The tension around her eyes disappeared. “It’s a risk,” she said, but matter-of-factly.
“For both of us,” Taylor agreed.
Sierra pursed her lips as she thought it over but, finally, cracked a smile. “Oh, what the hell. I’ve always been a risk-taker.” She picked up the rag so she could wipe her hands again. “Let me get showered, and we’ll take the bike to the beach for a picnic.”
Taylor never felt freer than when she was riding on the back of the motorcycle, her head in the bubble of her helmet, the roar of the engine drowning out everything else and the wind whipping at her clothes.