Chapter Text
Carla found herself in yet another Lisa situation.
There have been more than a few situations with Lisa over the past few months, much to her growing misfortune. Most of which Ryan was now privy to. He’d caught Carla in countless moments of crisis and become her self-appointed confidante, endlessly nosy and persistent in his pestering. Eventually, he pried the truth out of her.
It had been quite the revelation. Nearly fifty, and only just twigging that her lifelong assumptions about her own straightness might have been a tad off. A string of failed marriages, an almost murder charge involving her father figure, and the relentless, terrifying, gorgeous DS Swain interrogating her through it all had forced her to re-evaluate.
So, naturally, Carla ended up in a late-night spiral on Google.
The article "So You Think You Fancy Women? 10 Signs You Might Be Right" mocked her in the search results. She clicked it.
- You find yourself drawn to her.
Maybe. Alright, definitely. - You feel protective of her.
If Kit upsets Lisa again, she might end up in a cell herself. - You can’t stop thinking about her.
Her face, whether she’d eaten or slept, if she should send that text… - You feel awkward or flustered around her.
The thumbs up. Oh god, the thumbs up. - You notice every little detail about her.
The freckle near her temple, the fiddling with her watch strap when she was deep in thought, the extra sugar she sneaked into her coffee when no one was looking. - You imagine spending time with her in more than a friendly way.
Next question. - You find yourself wanting to impress her.
Two cancelled client meetings and £600 festival tickets later… - You get jealous of other people around her.
Dee Dee could lay it on thick, couldn’t she? - You start questioning everything you thought you knew about yourself.
Well, here she was, taking this quiz at 3 a.m. - You imagine what might happen if you acted on it.
And that’s enough of that.
Even if Carla had double-checked her results with a few more quizzes (for science, obviously), that was nobody’s business but hers.
Anyway, said woman was now in her flat, most likely nursing a biblical hangover on Carla’s sofa after getting thoroughly bladdered in the Rovers the night before. Between slurred regrets about missing her late wife’s birthday and recounting a blazing row with Betsy, Lisa had been an emotional wreck. Ryan had fired off an SOS text, and Carla, being the saint she apparently now was, had swooped in to rescue her beautiful, woefully sad friend from drowning in whiskey and an alarming quantity of crisps.
Witnessing the formidable Detective Sergeant Swain like that had been heart-wrenching and hilarious. Normally so straight-laced and serious, it was almost impossible to reconcile the image of her trying to start a singalong in an empty pub on a Thursday night, only to nearly topple into Sally’s immaculately pruned hedges on the way home. Carla had bundled her onto the sofa, plied her with water, and left her to conk out in a heap.
By morning, Lisa was mortified. Of course, Carla couldn’t resist teasing her just a little before the poor woman bolted to the en-suite to chuck her guts up. She’d looked adorably dishevelled, though, with her hair sticking out in all directions and her smudged eyeliner. That’s when Carla knew she was in real trouble.
Unfortunately for Lisa, Ryan had let himself in that morning and stumbled across the detective in his aunt’s dressing gown, casually moisturising her legs. At least she felt comfortable, Carla thought wryly.
“You’ve definitely copped off,” he accuses, swanning into Carla’s office without so much as a knock and flopping into the chair in front of her desk.
Carla protested loudly and indignantly, but Ryan, with his annoying waggling eyebrows, clearly wasn’t buying a word of it.
For the record, they hadn’t. She would never have taken advantage of Lisa in that state. What kind of person did he think she was? And besides, Lisa wasn’t interested. She’d made that crystal clear the last time they’d broached the subject: Carla was just another straight tourist dabbling in sapphic curiosity. But the thing was, Carla wasn’t a tourist; she wanted to emigrate.
Now, Ryan, in his infinite wisdom, insisted that she was just stubborn and that Carla needed to pursue Lisa. If only it were that simple.
Rattled, she'd mumbled something about being in uncharted waters, some self-protective nonsense that hadn’t even convinced her, let alone Ryan. Of course, he’d seen straight through her and delivered one of his irritatingly blunt pep talks: it’s the same no matter who you fancy.
And maybe he had a point.
But even if Carla were brave enough to lay all her cards on the table, now wasn’t the time. Lisa was probably neck-deep in beer fear, fragile as glass, and the last thing she needed was Carla turning up and sticking her tongue down her throat. No, Carla had decided she’d stay the course, be a steady support system to Lisa and Betsy and keep those big feelings tightly under wraps. It would have to be on Lisa’s terms if anything were to progress. And, realistically, Carla wasn’t about to count her chickens.
She supposed she’d better check on Lisa and make sure she was still in one piece. After a night like that, she was probably in bits, and Carla’s stomach churned just imagining the state she might be in. There was nothing worse than a hangover in your forties, especially one fuelled by cheap spirits.
Bracing herself, she opened the door to her flat and almost had a stroke. Lisa was half-dressed, standing in the middle of the living room in her navy silk shirt, which hung open over a simple but tasteful dark cami. For a moment, she genuinely considers risking it all and dropping to her knees at the copper's feet.
“Hi,” Lisa drawls as if she hadn’t spent all morning with her head down the loo. “I’m just getting dressed. Think I’m back to factory settings now, thanks to you.”
Carla barely hears her. How, after drinking half the Rovers’ stock and belting out Gnarls Barkley, did Lisa manage to look like that? It wasn’t fair. She was gorgeous. Stunning. If Carla didn’t fancy her so much, she might actually be jealous.
“Don’t—” Carla starts, the word slipping out before she can stuff it down.
Lisa turned to her, brow raised. “Don’t what?”
Don’t get dressed.
The thought came sharp and fast, threatening to escape her lips. She bottles it.
“Don’t... you still feel rough?” she recovers, voice a little too high.
Lisa laughed, running a hand through her freshly washed hair. “Nah, I’m good. A bacon butty, and I’m right as rain me.”
Realising she hadn’t said a word for a solid ten seconds, Carla boots her brain back into gear and plasters on a smile. “Oh... nice,” she manages, then instantly cringes. Nice? What was that?
“I mean, well, you look nice. That top suits you. Well, I suppose it will... when you do it up proper.” For God’s sake. “Erm, coffee? Was just checking you were alright.”
Lisa stared at her like she’d completely lost it, but mercifully didn't comment. Carla bolts for the kettle, desperate for something to do with her hands before they move on their own accord, and tries to drag her thoughts somewhere—anywhere—more innocent. But all she could think about was undoing that stupid shirt entirely, tugging the sexy little reserved cami over Lisa’s head, and backing her into the bedroom.
The kettle is almost boiled when Lisa taps her lightly on the hip. Carla jumps so violently that she nearly gives herself third-degree burns.
“I feel like I should be asking you if you’re alright,” Lisa says, leaning against the kitchen side with a lopsided smile, though there's a hint of concern behind her eyes.
“Yeah, sorry,” Carla says, fumbling for something coherent. “Just been a bit of a mad rush this morning at the factory. Thought I was going to miss a deadline, got me in a tizzy, but all sorted now.”
Tizzy? Who says tizzy? She berates herself, but Lisa seems amused enough to let it slide. She accepts the mug of coffee Carla hands her, and they end up side by side on the sofa.
Lisa still hasn’t buttoned the shirt, and Carla is valiantly trying not to look at her chest. Lisa apologises again for the night before, and Carla waves it off. “Don’t be daft,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m here anytime you need me... maybe avoid going out drinking alone next time, yeah? You can talk to me.”
Lisa nodded, and for a fleeting moment, Carla thought that was the end of it. But then Lisa shifted closer, so close that their knees knocked together.
“Can I have a hug?”
It throws Carla completely. Lisa never initiated touch. Carla almost always starts it. Finding excuses to brush shoulders, nudge her arm, or occasionally press a hand to the small of Lisa’s back after a few wines at the Bistro. Nothing overt, nothing that couldn’t be written off as friendly affection, though it took every ounce of self-restraint not to do something stupid, like stroke Lisa’s cheek or push her up against a wall and...
She paused too long again, and Lisa’s face flickered with embarrassment. Before she can pull back, Carla moves a little too quickly and grabs her around the waist. It isn’t smooth. Lisa jolts into her with an undignified umph, but after a second, she thankfully relaxes into it.
The angle is awkward with them perched on the sofa, and her back twinges, but Carla doesn't dare pull away. Lisa’s hands wander in slow, cathartic circles, and her warm breath puffs against her neck. Carla clenches her hands at the top of Lisa’s back, resisting the overwhelming urge to bury her fingers in her soft hair. Instead, she rocks her gently, hoping to disguise her internal panic.
Lisa pulled away first, her cheeks pink and her teeth worrying the plump of her bottom lip. “Thanks, Carla,” she says quietly, one hand gently stroking down her arm. “You’re so good to me.”
Carla opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Lisa spoke again, “Let me take you to dinner tomorrow. I need to make this up to you.”
Carla found it a little sad that Lisa felt she needed to repay her for something as simple as giving her a place to sleep off a few drinks, but she wasn’t about to turn down spending more time with her.
“You don’t need to make anything up to me, Lis. But… I’d love to go to dinner with you.” A bit over-eager, Carla thought, but Lisa didn't say anything. The detective actually seems quite chuffed.
She also suggested that Betsy take the afternoon off so Lisa could make amends there. Lisa's eyes go glassy with gratitude, but Carla pretends not to notice.
Once Lisa had gone, she dropped onto the sofa, her head in her hands. She debated her next move. Go back to work and bury herself in spreadsheets, or head to the bedroom, whip her vibrator out of the drawer, and deal with this ridiculous tension at barely 10 a.m.
The dinner, it turned out, was at that swanky new tapas place in the city centre—one Carla had offhandedly mentioned a couple of weeks ago that she’d love to try. The DS had apparently been paying attention because she’d booked them a table for 6 p.m. sharp. And now, once again, Carla found herself in another Lisa situation, with Ryan gleefully taking the piss.
She’d already changed her outfit three times and might have nipped into the salon earlier for a professional blow-dry. She was flapping. Big time.
“Carla, you need to take a chill pill,” Ryan says from his perch on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. “It’s just dinner. With a friend, as you keep insisting.”
“I know that, Ryan,” she snaps, rifling through her jewellery box and discarding necklace after necklace. “I just… I want to look nice, alright? The place is quite posh.”
“Yeah, right,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You mean you want to impress DS Swoon and kiss her?” He drags out the last words with a sing-song voice, earning himself a swift slap to the back of the head.
“Order me an Uber,” she barks, pointing at him with a face like thunder, “before I’m late and I harm you!”
Ryan, of course, obeys, still snickering under his breath.
In the end, Carla settled on a sleek black dress with long sheer sleeves, chunky-heeled boots, and her dark designer coat. She didn’t look overly different from usual, but still like she’d made more of an effort. Ryan had said she looked nice, but now she was sitting in the back of a taxi, overthinking it all: maybe she’d overdone it, and maybe Lisa would think she looked silly. She considered asking to turn the cab around to swap everything for leggings and trainers and throw her hair up. She needed to get a grip.
Nobody had ever made her feel like this before. Usually, men fell at her feet without much effort on her part. She’d never been one to agonise over what to wear or spend hours getting ready, never really wanted to. But Lisa… Lisa had her heart machine-gunning and her palms sweating at the thought of sharing a bit of bloody patatas bravas. It was pathetic.
Before she has time to unravel completely, the taxi pulls up outside the restaurant. She takes a deep breath, plasters on her most confident smile, and steps out, making her way towards the entrance.
The front-of-house hostess is the epitome of cool. Hipster with a shaggy haircut and a nose piercing, making her look oddly juxtaposed with the smart black suit she was wearing. She greets Carla warmly and leads her through the dimly lit restaurant to their table.
Carla nearly trips over her own feet when she sees her.
Gone was the usual oversized shirt buttoned up to the collar; in its place was a deep blue velvet blazer with a plunging neckline, hinting at what looked suspiciously like a lace bralette underneath, paired with fitted black trousers. Her soft hair frames her sharp jawline, and her lips have a lovely pink hue. She looks... hot. Carla feels a heat spark low in her stomach, and it only gets worse when Lisa stands, pulls her into a tight hug, and kisses her squarely on the cheek.
For a split second, Carla wonders if she's having some sort of episode.
Scrambling to collect her last few remaining brain cells, she blurts out, “You look incredible.”
Lisa’s eyes widened. “Oh, um... thanks,” she says, raking her teeth over her lip and looking bashful.
They sit down, and Lisa quickly busies herself with the bottle of red she’d already ordered. “I hope you don’t mind, I thought we could share this,” she says, pouring Carla a healthy glass with a seemingly nervous smile.
“Perfect,” Carla manages, though her heart is still pounding. Lisa seemed to be a glass ahead.
The waitress reappears, efficiently placing a bottle of water on the table before disappearing again. Carla pours a small glass and necks it, willing herself to calm down and praying Lisa won't notice the faint sheen of sweat starting to bead on her hairline.
The detective, thankfully, seems oblivious, filling the silence with light chatter about the restaurant’s rave reviews and how hard it had been to get a last-minute booking. Carla nods along, trying to follow the conversation instead of how Lisa’s blazer shifts every time she moves, offering torturous glimpses of the black lace beneath.
By the time their first dishes arrive, Carla is reasonably sure she isn't going to keel over from sheer tension. However, as Lisa sipped her wine, a drop spilt over her lip, and she darted her tongue out to catch it. Carla feels her pulse between her legs. It was going to be a very, very long night.
They decided to share all the dishes, which initially seemed like a brilliant idea. It was now proving chaotic, with tiny plates stacking up and their wine glasses edging dangerously close to disaster.
Carla listens intently as Lisa recounts taking Betsy out for cake the night before. Things between them weren’t entirely resolved yet, but Lisa sounded hopeful, saying she thought her daughter had forgiven her for missing Becky’s birthday.
Carla felt a pang of protectiveness. Betsy had been through so much, and she couldn’t help but want to keep an eye on her. She made a mental note to check in on her more at the factory and make sure she was coping with college and staying out of trouble.
Lost in her thoughts, she doesn't immediately notice Lisa holding out a piece of chorizo on her fork. When she finally realises, she leans forward unthinking, grabs Lisa's wrist, and wraps her lips around the tiny piece of meat.
The second it happened, Carla froze. It was far too intimate a gesture for something you’d do with a mate. She quickly pulls the chorizo off with her teeth, swallowing hard and almost choking as panic bubbles. Her cheeks burn, and she stares hard at the table, willing herself to disappear as she braces for Lisa’s reaction.
“What’s with the face? Do you not like it?”
Carla tries to laugh it off, but her voice comes out awkward. “No, it’s good! Sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Should’ve just used my plate.”
Lisa seemed fine. Why did she bother saying anything?
“It’s fine, relax,” Lisa says, smiling as she reaches for her wine. “You’re so dramatic sometimes.”
As Carla reaches for her glass, she realises her hands are shaking. The weight of her feelings for Lisa is becoming increasingly difficult to hide, no matter how hard she tries to ignore them.
Lisa, detective's eye and all that, noticed and placed her hand over Carla’s, stopping her.
“Hey,” Lisa said softly, more seriously. “Are you alright? You seem a bit... away with the fairies.”
Carla nods, ready to apologise or deflect, when the waitress appears at their table again.
“How’s everything going? Enjoying the food?”
“Lovely, thanks,” Lisa replies quickly, leaning back into her chair but not moving her hand from Carla’s.
The waitresses' eyes drop to their joined hands and linger on Carla’s wedding ring. “Are we celebrating anything tonight? An anniversary, maybe?”
Carla coughs, wide-eyed, but before she can stammer out an awkward correction, Lisa jumps in, “Oh, no, nothing like that,” she says. “Just a nice dinner out.”
“Well,” the waitress says, bashfully looking between them, “you look stunning together. Enjoy the rest of your meal.”
Once she walked away, Lisa cleared her throat and pulled back her hand. “Sorry,” she says a little regretfully. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I didn’t want to embarrass her.”
Carla shakes her head and laughs it off, though it feels like the universe is mocking her. “It’s alright. At my old age, I’ll take the compliments where I can get ‘em.”
Lisa raised an eyebrow and scoffed. “Old? Don’t be ridiculous. You’re beautiful.”
Carla’s stomach somersaults. She opens her mouth to reply, but nothing comes out.
What could she say to that?
She barely had time to process it before Lisa pushed the dessert menu towards her.
She tries to pull herself out of the low mood she is slowly sinking into and enjoy this time with her friend. If the closeness between them was coming naturally, maybe she didn’t need to overthink it so much. Lisa seemed to be having a great time, so why shouldn’t she?
She watches in mild amusement as the blonde orders a decadent pistachio tiramisu. For someone so petite, she couldn’t half pack it away.
“You sure you’ve got room?” Carla teases, eyeing all the empty plates between them.
“There’s always room for dessert.” Lisa shoots back, lightly patting her stomach.
The waitress is back, beaming at them with wide doe eyes as Lisa orders. Carla waves it off, explaining that she's stuffed. “I’ll bring two spoons,” the waitress says knowingly. “My girlfriend always says she doesn’t want anything, then nicks half of mine.” With a playful wink, she disappears again.
The word girlfriend flashes through Carla’s mind, bouncing around like the old DVD screensaver. Lisa’s laugh snapped her out of it.
“She’s besotted with us, isn’t she?” Lisa says, amused. “Not that I mind. It’s nice, you know? Kids seeing queer relationships in public and thinking nothing of it.”
She gestures vaguely between them, “Even if that’s not what this is.”
It stings more than Carla wants to admit. But she can't resist. “Oh, don’t kid yourself, Lis. You’d be punching.”
Lisa’s mouth fell open, stunned for a split second before narrowing her eyes. “Excuse me?”
Carla laughs, low and husky.
“The cheek,” Lisa scoffs, grabbing a stray olive from a dish and chucking it at Carla.
And, because miracles apparently happen, Carla catches it in her mouth.
She chews slowly. “Smooth, eh?”
Lisa is ruffled but pretends she isn’t. She shakes her head and looks away, but not before Carla catches the telltale pink blooming across her neck and chest.
“Alright, fine,” Lisa says, leaning back in her seat and adjusting her blazer. “I’ll give you that one.”
The dessert arrives, and Carla tries not to let her eyes wander. She really does. But then Lisa wrapped her lips around the spoon, licking the cream off the back of it in a way that could only be described as sinful.
The soft moan that follows is unexpected, and Carla’s brain instantly derails into unhelpful territory—specifically, imagining how the blonde might sound with her mouth buried between her legs.
Her eyes lock onto a smidge of mascarpone clinging to Lisa’s top lip, and for one fleeting, reckless second, Carla almost leans in to lick it off.
She catches herself just in time and realises she's staring. And worse, she wasn’t listening— again. Lisa said something, and the brunette had no idea what until she pushed the plate towards her, waving her spoon in front of her face.
“You gonna try it, or are you waiting for me to feed you again?”
Busted.
Carla reaches for her wine glass to try to replenish the liquid in her body that seems to have receded south. “Oh, the waitress would love that,” she shoots back, forcing herself to temper down her mortification and her skyrocketing arousal.
Lisa laughed, low and breathy, and Carla felt like she might melt into the chair.
She feels like a horny teenager, and it's driving her up the wall. She’d always enjoyed sex, but she’d never been consumed by thoughts of someone like this before. Each time she was around the angel-faced detective, Carla’s mind went straight to the gutter. She’d never even slept with a woman, never really thought twice about it. Sure, she’d admired their beauty every now and then, but not like this. Not obsessing over how they’d taste, how they’d sound, how their fingers would feel inside of her.
It was exciting to discover this new part of herself, but it was also deeply frustrating. It was costing her a small fortune in batteries, and she was sure she was on the verge of developing carpal tunnel.
She also felt mildly guilty about it, as if she was crossing some invisible line. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get there without picturing the beautiful blonde detective. Even Channing Tatum wasn’t doing it for her anymore, and he’d always been a sure thing.
Carla crossed her legs and tried to avert her eyes, focusing instead on nosing around the restaurant. Unfortunately, it was quite a romantic setting, with most tables adorned with couples enjoying date night. She tells herself not to read too much into it. She had mentioned wanting to come here, after all. It wasn’t like Lisa had planned this as a date. They were friends. Just friends.
Lisa breaks Carla out of her daydreaming with a light kick to the ankle. “Coffees or the bill?”
Carla didn’t want the evening to end and secretly hoped Lisa didn't either. “Fancy a walk round the Christmas markets? See what overpriced tat we can buy? Could always grab a boozy coffee there.”
Lisa’s eyes light up with the suggestion and motions to the waitress for the bill. They argue over who's paying, Carla insisting Lisa didn’t need to, but the copper was quicker. She snatches Carla’s card off the table before she can tap it and pays with her phone instead, leaving Carla to huff in defeat.
Not one to back down entirely, she leaves a hefty cash tip for the young girl, who smiles at them almost wistfully. As they stood to leave, Lisa pinched her side. “You’re very sweet when you want to be.”
Carla reaches for the door, holding it open with a flourish. “After you, my lady,” she says with an exaggerated bow. Lisa elbowed her as she walked through, but she linked her arm with Carla’s all the same.
The night was cold, and Carla quickly realised Lisa hadn’t brought a coat. The blazer she wore wasn’t doing much to keep her warm, and from how she was shivering, she clearly hadn’t expected to be venturing outdoors. Trying to hide it, Lisa stuffed her hands into her pockets, but Carla noticed the red tip of her nose and couldn’t take it.
Carla stops, rolling her eyes. “You’re going to catch your death in that,” she says, gesturing to Lisa’s skimpy outfit.
Lisa shrugs sheepishly. “Well, I didn’t think we’d be going anywhere else, did I? I’ll be fine.”
She was not fine. Carla raises an eyebrow at her friend’s hunched shoulders and barely suppressed shivers. She makes a decision. “Wrap your arm around me and get in here,” she says, already loosening the buttons on her coat.
Lisa blinks up at her. “What are we going to do? Have an arm each?”
Carla jabs her in the side. “Obviously not. But if I put my arm around you, I can pull it around us both. Up to you, but if not, we’re heading back. I can hear your teeth chattering from here.”
Lisa considered it briefly, idly scraping her shoe against the floor before shaking her head lightly. “Alright, come here then, you,” she says, stepping closer.
She awkwardly slides her arm around Carla’s waist, and Carla tugs the length of her coat over both of them. She can feel Lisa’s cold fingers through her dress as they fumble the first few paces, but soon enough, they fall into step, and Lisa relaxes against her. “Chivalry isn’t dead,” she jokes, smiling up at Carla. The height difference is more apparent this close.
Carla rolls her eyes and gives Lisa’s side a quick tickle, earning a laugh and a playful shove. They stroll toward the market stalls and stop to order two hot chocolates spiked with Baileys. With her arm still draped around Lisa, Carla awkwardly holds her cup in her left hand. She’s already splashed some over her knuckles, but her hands are so cold she can barely feel it.
They casually browse the stalls, happy to enjoy the stroll and each other’s company. When they reach the food section, the crowds thicken, and Carla instinctively pulls Lisa closer to help them through.
Out of nowhere, a booming voice calls out, “Swainey!” A burly bloke heads towards them, looking a few mulled wines deep and grinning ear to ear as he spots Lisa.
Lisa laughed, clearly delighted. “Ade! Bloody hell, it’s been years!”
He approaches with a tall red-haired woman by his side, who smiles politely but looks slightly embarrassed. “Since graduation, right?” Ade says, clapping Lisa on the shoulder. “I’m old and married now, kiddie on the way. Making the most of our last Christmas of freedom! This is my better half, Francesca.”
Lisa beams. “Congrats, mate! That’s amazing. Francesca, lovely to meet you.”
Ade turns to Carla with a grin. “And what about you? I take it this lovely lady is your partner?”
Carla feels a flicker of awkwardness but smiles anyway. “I’m Carla. Nice to meet you both.” She left it at that, neither confirming nor denying.
Lisa didn't clarify either, instead smoothly steering the conversation. “Glad to see you’re doing well, Ade. We’ll have to grab a pint in the new year.”
“Absolutely,” Ade agrees, and after a few more pleasantries, they say their goodbyes and move on.
They wander to a quieter part of the market, the silence between them suddenly heavy and oppressive. Carla can't shake the feeling that she’s royally messed up this time, but Lisa’s expression gives nothing away. The only thing giving her the faintest sliver of hope is Lisa’s arm, still loosely draped around her.
Eventually, the quiet becomes unbearable, and Carla feels brave (or desperate) enough to break it. She clears her throat and speaks, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. "Look, I’m sorry if I..." She trails off, unsure how to finish. “I didn’t mean to make things weird. I just thought it’d save you an explanation. He didn’t seem to know about everything that’s happened and—”
Lisa stopped abruptly and threw herself into Carla’s arms, nearly bowling her over. Her fists cling tightly to the fabric of Carla’s dress, and Carla can feel her taking deep breaths against her shoulder.
Unsure of what else to do, Carla wraps the oversized coat more snugly around her and holds Lisa close. She stayed quiet, letting Lisa calm down until the blonde finally pulled back. Lisa looked teary but smiled affectionately as she looked up at Carla.
“No, please don’t apologise,” Lisa says resolutely. “It caught me off guard, but I’m not upset. Honestly, I’m glad you did that. Sometimes, I freeze up, not knowing what to say, and you just... knew what to do. So, thank you.”
Relief washes over Carla, and she smiles back. “Anytime.”
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder about the tears. Lisa’s arm was still around her, offering reassurance, but Carla’s mind lingered on what might have brought them on and whether she’d done enough to help. All she wanted was to protect Lisa, scoop her up and put her in her pocket.
“Oh… I think I might’ve smudged some makeup onto your dress.” Lisa said as she reached out and traced her fingers over a spot near Carla’s collarbone. The touch is fleeting, but it burns through Carla, leaving her a little breathless. She forces herself to shake it off. “Don’t worry. I’ll send you the dry cleaning bill.”
Lisa gave her a self-conscious laugh and stared at her feet. “Sorry for being all emotional and clingy. Don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Don’t be silly,” Carla says gently, tilting Lisa’s chin up so their eyes meet. “It’s been a rough few weeks. You’re allowed to feel this way.”
Lisa looked like she wanted to say something else, but someone accidentally knocked into them with a pram. The young lad pushing it immediately starts apologising profusely.
“It’s alright, don’t worry,” Carla assures him, gently moving herself and Lisa out of the way. She smiles and gives the toddler a little wave, whose face is smeared with chocolate. She is staring up at Carla with wide, curious eyes. Lisa watched her, fond, though Carla remained oblivious as she turned back, ready to keep moving. The markets are getting busier, so they decided to call it a night shortly after and order an Uber. The driver is thankfully not in the mood for small talk, which means the ride back is quiet but comfortable.
When they reach Lisa’s, she leans over before getting out and kissing Carla lightly on the cheek. “Get home safe, yeah? I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Promise I’ll text you when I’m back.”
As Lisa stepped out, Carla leaned toward the driver. “Hang on a second, will you mate? Just want to make sure she gets in alright.”
She watched as Lisa fumbled with her keys in the dim light. Finally, she unlocked the door and gave a small wave before disappearing inside.