Two Hearts Together

By Harper Bliss

After finding their way to each other in Two Hearts Alone, Zoe and Anna must now navigate the waves of a budding relationship, and the scrutiny that comes with living in a small town.

Will Zoe be able to make the compromises needed to be with Anna?

Or will Anna’s anxieties get the better of her and doom the relationship before it even has time to flourish?

Find out in part two of this brand new novella trilogy by lesbian romance best-seller Harper Bliss.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ladylit Publishing
• Release date: Mar 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9789887441502

Harper Bliss

Harper Bliss is a best-selling lesbian romance author. Among her most-loved books are the highly dramatic French Kissing and the often thought-provoking Pink Bean series. She is the co-founder of My LesFic, a weekly newsletter offering discount deals on lesbian fiction.Harper lived in Hong Kong for 7 years, travelled the world for a bit, and has now settled in Brussels (Belgium) with her wife and photogenic cat, Dolly Purrton.

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1

Zoe

I can’t help myself. I leave a few bright-red candles in the window display. Not for the benefit of anyone who might have forgotten Valentine’s Day and wants to surprise their loved one a few days too late, but for my own pleasure. And perhaps also to rile up Anna a bit. I grin at my reflection in the window while I think of her. Every time I do, and I do so often, my mind wanders to the stack of books that arrived this morning. Five copies of The Complete Guide To Autism Spectrum Disorder In Women.

When I found myself alone in the store, I started reading immediately, even though just glancing over the table of contents made my head spin. Terms I’ve never heard of like time agnosia, alexithymia, and demand avoidance wouldn’t usually draw me into a book, but I want to know more about Anna, so my interest is piqued regardless. It’s not a book I will read in a matter of days—it’s a bit too dry for that, despite my special interest in the subject—and I have a store to run.

I never expected the Tuesday after Valentine’s Day to be very busy, and it’s not, but I have already sold two of the wrapped blind-dates-with-a-book that I put on display only this morning to replace most of the Valentine’s Day stock. Maybe Anna was onto something with that idea.

I watch the wall clock above the counter, which I’ve noticed myself doing much more since the previous weekend—since Anna and I kissed. She should have set off on her daily walk by now, which means she and Hemingway will walk past the store in a few minutes—and hopefully come in.

But it’s not Anna who opens the door next. It’s a man I vaguely recognize from Bookends’ opening party, but whose name, for the life of me, I can’t recall.

How can I help you? I put on my best smile.

Hi, Zoe. Can I call you Zoe? He runs a hand through what’s left of his hair.

Of course. It’s my name.

Hi, I’m Tom Granger. I just ran into my buddy Joe, who bought a book date or something?

Blind-dates-with-a-book. Yes. I nod, remembering Joe from earlier today.

It made me think… He shifts his weight onto the balls of his feet. About going on an actual date, albeit not a blind one.

Is that so? I keep a neutral expression on my face as snippets of memory of the previous interaction I had with this man come back to me. The memories aren’t overly pleasant.

Yeah. He beams me a smile. What do you think, Zoe? You and me? A few drinks at Lenny’s?

It’s very kind of you to ask, Tom. I make my way behind the counter. But I’m not looking to date.

Oh. But you’re a single mom, right?

As if this fact would automatically make me want to go on a date. I am, but… I’m a lesbian. I don’t date men. Never have. Never will. Sometimes, you just really need to spell it out and Tom Granger looks like someone who needs the reason for him being rejected thoroughly explained to him.

"What? You? He shakes his head. No. He follows up with an even more vigorous shake of the head. No, I don’t buy that."

That’s very offensive, actually. I haven’t been in retail for that long and I do hope I can keep my cool, because Tom is starting to get on my nerves. Then again, Anna’s mother had the exact same initial reaction when I told her. Maybe this reaction will be fairly universal in a town like this, where my appearance doesn’t fit in with the general idea of a lesbian.

He taps a fingertip to his chin. "Are you an L Word lesbian? Because, frankly, I never believed those really existed."

Look, Tom, I’m not going on a date with you. I ignore his stupid comment because it’s not deserving of a reply.

Just then, the door opens, and this time, it is Anna who walks in, Hemingway hot on her heels.

Oh, hi Anna, Tom says, as though he hasn’t just made the biggest ass of himself in front of me.

Tom. Anna gives him a curt nod.

Tom was just leaving, I say, to make sure he’s catching my drift. I have half a mind to walk up to Anna and kiss her fully on the lips in front of him, but I don’t want to use Anna in that way. Besides, seeing her, and her face that always has a slight hint of bemusement, I’ve already forgotten about Tom Granger’s inappropriate comments.

Have a lovely day, ladies. He manages a grin before turning around and walking out the door.

As soon as he’s gone, I roll my eyes.

What’s wrong? Anna asks.

We’ll talk about it later. I hurry from behind the counter and drag her toward me. Give me a proper hello first.

Anna opens her arms wide and curls them around me. Hello, she whispers in my ear. Is that proper enough? She plants a kiss on the side of my neck.

It will do. For now. I kiss her right back. I’ve missed you. Hemingway gives a quick bark, as though he’s the one replying to what I just said. What are you doing tonight? I ask, as we step out of our embrace.

Nothing in particular. Although I’ve been thinking about bringing over your painting. If you’re free.

I’m free.

I’ll bring it after closing time then. Anna smiles at me.

Want to stay for dinner?

Anna hesitates, then wrings her hands together. I would, but I don’t want to encroach on your time with your daughter.

I nod my understanding. I guess I can see how that would be awkward. How about I come over to yours after I’ve given Brooklyn all the mommy time she can stand. I’ll just take the painting home myself.

Anna looks at my arms as though they’re not capable of carrying one of her paintings.

You should see me haul boxes of books into here, I say.

I would love to see that, actually. Anna hasn’t stopped smiling since Tom Granger left.

If seeing my guns is what you’re after, it’ll be a while before it’s short-sleeve season. I take a step closer to her again.

Spring will be upon us before you know it. Anna takes my hand in hers.

I can’t wait for that snow to melt. A shadow glides by the shop window and, as though by instinct, Anna takes a step back and drops my hand.

I—I suppose we should go on another date, Anna says.

Are you asking me out? I say coyly.

Does you coming by tonight qualify as a date?

Sure.

We can’t be standing around in Bookends like this every day. People will start talking. She says it with a grin on her face.

Your mother will find out in no time.

Anna rolls her eyes. Tonight, then.

Should I bring you leftovers? I joke.

Anna shakes her head. I can take care of myself perfectly.

2

Anna

With a spring in my step, I walk from Bookends to Sean’s office. As I approach, my jauntiness fades, because I know that he will inevitably ask me about my date with Zoe. Miraculously, Jamie managed to keep his mouth shut at lunch on Sunday. He must have given Jaden a talking-to as well, because my nephew barely mentioned Brooklyn. All throughout lunch, however, I could sense that my mother was on to something. I can’t explain how I knew—maybe it was in a glance that lingered a bit too long, or in the twitch of her lips as she bit back a comment—but I did. The question will come sooner rather than later and because it’s not something I can control, it’s stressing me out already, before anything has even happened. So I consider practicing talking about Zoe to Sean. The fact that I’m not related to him should make it easier, yet I have my doubts.

Once he’s done showering Hemingway with affection, he pours us each a cup of coffee.

Do you want to talk? he asks.

About?

Come on, Anna. It’s me. You know you can talk to me.

The thing is that I can’t. Conversation has never been how I have expressed