Beneath the Surface (Pink Bean Book 2) Read online

  Beneath the Surface

  Pink Bean Series - Book 2

  Harper Bliss

  Contents

  Special Offer from the Author

  1997

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  2007

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  2014

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  2016

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  A Note from Harper

  Get Two Books FOR FREE

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Harper Bliss

  No Strings Attached

  In the Distance There Is Light

  The Road to You

  Get two Harper Bliss books FOR FREE

  Sign up for the no-spam newsletter and get HIRED HELP and SUMMER’S END for free.

  Details can be found at the end of this book.

  For the members of my Launch Team. You always perk me up. Thank you.

  1997

  Chapter One

  Sheryl checked her watch. She’d told Aimee repeatedly she didn’t have time to chat, but Aimee, her boss, never listened. She just talked. And when Aimee talked, Sheryl had to listen. But Sheryl could hardly be holier than thou about running late. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have a very persistent tendency to be tardy for many appointments, no matter how hard she tried to manage her time properly. But this was not an appointment to be late for. When Sterling Wines agrees to sponsor your fundraising party, you have to show your gratitude by, at the very least, showing up before the delivery guy arrives.

  Sheryl rounded the corner and jogged into the alley that held the back entrance to the party venue for the next day. She didn’t see anyone waiting for her. She relaxed her pace to a brisk walk and felt for the door key in her pocket. She breathed a sigh of relief: she’d made it on time to accept the generous wine delivery. The other women on the organizing committee would be there soonish to help stock the refrigerators with the about-to-be delivered wine, but Sheryl was in charge of smooth acceptance of the goods. She, Sheryl Johnson, who didn’t drink a drop of alcohol, who didn’t know the faintest thing about wines and their grapes of origin and what made them palatable, had been in charge of procuring the sponsorship.

  Just as she inserted the key into the lock, a white van pulled up at the entrance of the alley. She looked as a man dressed much like herself—jeans and a T-shirt—jumped out, followed by a woman whose pale gray skirt suit didn’t exactly indicate she’d come to help unload the boxes.

  Sheryl had only spoken to Miss Park on the phone. She had no real reason to be present for a simple wine delivery. Sheryl straightened her posture as the woman walked toward her while the man opened the side door of the van and started unloading boxes onto a trolley.

  “Miss Johnson,” the woman said, hand extended. “I’m Kristin Park.” She gave Sheryl a quick once-over and followed up with a smile that seemed to show a little appreciation for the way Sheryl had clinched a sponsorship deal worth a few hundred dollars—a fortune for the LAUS.

  “Very nice to meet you, Miss Park,” Sheryl tipped her head and took Kristin’s hand in hers. Very nice indeed. She let her gaze linger a little longer than was perhaps socially acceptable in a situation like this. Sheryl couldn’t in good faith claim her gaydar was alerting her to something, but of course Miss Park knew exactly what kind of event her company was sponsoring.

  “We’re trying to make inroads with the lesbian community as well as with the gay one,” she’d said when Sheryl had first called up the marketing department of Australia’s largest wine distributor. How very advanced of you, Sheryl had thought, while her eyes rolled all the way to the back of her head. But she knew she had to be grateful because, even though things were slowly shifting—and Mardi Gras was turning into a celebration more than a march for rights every year that passed—not every company would be willing to sponsor this Mardi Gras fundraising party that the university’s lesbian association was throwing.

  “And you,” Miss Park said, “please call me Kristin.” Was she responding to Sheryl’s glance? To the way she narrowed her eyes and pulled the corner of her mouth into a hint of a smile—not too much so as not to offend?

  “How very nice of you to come all the way down here.” Sheryl tried a full-on smile now.

  “It’s no trouble,” Kristin said. “Just a good excuse to get out of the office on a Friday afternoon.”

  “Would you like to inspect the venue where your wares will be served?” Sheryl gestured at the open door. Meanwhile, the delivery man had piled boxes onto his trolley and was rolling it in their direction.

  “Sure.” Kristin followed Sheryl inside.

  Sheryl flipped on the lights. The venue was small—especially compared to where the boys partied—and Sheryl hoped it would be packed tomorrow. She eyed the room. They had a lot of work to do before then. But Sheryl got that tingling feeling deep inside her belly that it would be good. Excitement mixed with a sense of contributing to her community. The concept of Gay Pride wasn’t foreign to her. If anything, it was the only thing she hadn’t struggled with throughout her formative years. When everything else was going to hell, Sheryl always had that to hold on to. That and the fact she wasn’t born ten years earlier. That she had come of age in the eighties, when LGBT youth groups started popping up in Sydney—an agonizing one-hour bus ride from Campbelltown where she lived with her father, who didn’t much care what she was up to, anyway.

  Sheryl had found her community early on and it had made her thrive, of that she was sure. Now it was time to give back. Out of gratitude for the people who had come before her and battled for her rights in a way she would never have to, and for everyone who was less fortunate than her. The women’s studies department of the University of Sydney where she was doing her PhD was a veritable paradise for lesbians.

  “I can see the potential,” Kristin said, snapping Sheryl out of her reverie.

  Sheryl plastered the most seductive grin on her face she could muster and turned to Kristin. “Your name is on the guest list, of course. You’re very welcome to come see for yourself how Sydney’s lesbians are enjoying your wine.”

  Kristin gave a nervous laugh—the first sign of her being nervous at all. “Maybe I will,” she said.

  “I’ll look out for you.” Sheryl had to stop herself from winking.

  “Where do you want these?” the delivery man asked.

  “Just over there by the bar, please,” Sheryl said, and the moment had passed. Though she had a sneaking suspicion Kristin might very well show up tomorrow night. “I’ll give you a hand.” Sheryl helped unload the boxes from the trolley so the man could go for the next round in the van while, from the corner of her eye, she watched Kristin walk about the venue. She stood where the dance floor would be, and Sheryl tried to picture her dancing under the pulsating light, wondered if she danced at all. Maybe she would find out tomorrow. Maybe.

  Kristin paced in front of her bedroom mirror. She hadn’t planned to go to this party. She hadn’t even p
lanned to escort the wine delivery yesterday afternoon. Sterling Wines sponsored many events. If she accompanied every delivery, she wouldn’t get any actual work done. But Sheryl Johnson had sent her a leaflet with the Lesbian Association of the University of Sydney’s mission statement and a group picture of the women who ran it. She’d read the names underneath the picture with great interest, hoping she’d come across Sheryl, whose deep, warm voice she’d only heard on the phone.

  When she reached Sheryl, crouching in the bottom left corner of the picture, she’d found herself uttering a little appreciative sound in the back of her throat. That wide, confident smile. Those light blue eyes. Kristin didn’t really know what her type was, although, as she approached thirty, she was quite certain her type was female and not male. The image of Sheryl combined with her voice had convinced her to call up Ari in the warehouse and ask him to wait for her so she could tag along on the delivery for the LAUS.

  And now there she stood. Kristin didn’t like parties with loud, thumping music. Places where people were ogled and scored for how they looked. She had plenty of suitable attire for the many work receptions she had to attend, but what on earth did one wear to a lesbian party? And would there only be women? She’d felt a warm rush of something travel through her when Sheryl suggested she come to the party, as though she had somehow known that Kristin was only there that afternoon to meet her in the flesh.

  Goodness, she was being silly. She wasn’t going to that party. She really didn’t have anything to wear. This was not what she did. Which was exactly the reason Kristin hadn’t extensively tested her newfound self-awareness—or was it acceptance?—that no man would ever do to her what a woman could.

  She’d gone on a couple of dates with women who had advertised in the classifieds’ section of Lesbians on the Loose. One of them had been quite nice. Maybe not exactly what Kristin was looking for, but really, how could she possibly know what she was looking for? She and Petra had gone out a couple of times, had sort of hit it off, and Kristin had—foolishly—believed that was it.

  She was sleeping with a woman for the first time in her life, and even though the sky didn’t come crashing down, it was infinitely more pleasurable to be touched by a woman’s hands than by a man’s. Because Kristin didn’t know any better, she believed she had found The One. Until, only five dates into their short-lived affair, Petra told her it wouldn’t work out. Kristin’s heart wasn’t broken, but the rejection stung enough to have her retreat. She even, if only for a split second, considered going back to men because it would be so much easier. Her parents would be happy, for one. Now they—almost silently—tolerated that Kristin wasn’t even engaged to be married on the cusp of her thirtieth birthday.

  Kristin looked at herself in the mirror again. She had to go. She could call Cassie and ask her to join. Kristin knew Cassie would do that for her. Apart from the women Kristin had furtively dated, Cassie was her only friend who knew about her wanting to be with women.

  “Don’t be such a coward,” she said to her reflection. “You’re not like this. You’re not like this at all.” Kristin had found that saying things out loud to herself worked toward spurring her into action. It wasn’t enough to think it or whisper it. The thought had to be voiced as loud and combative as possible. She conjured up Sheryl’s smile. Had she known that Kristin was a lesbian? Kristin didn’t think she looked like one at all, though it was starting to dawn on her, perhaps lesbians came in all shapes and sizes. Ha. What a novel idea. So what had given her away? The way she carried herself? Just her being there? Or perhaps Sheryl was just guessing. Perhaps she had even been engaging in some wishful thinking?

  “I’m going to this party,” Kristin said out loud. “I’m a grown woman. Less than two weeks away from turning thirty. I am going to that lesbian party.” She took a deep breath, dug out a pair of jeans she didn’t often wear and a red blouse from her closet, applied a minimal amount of makeup, and went on her way.

  Chapter Two

  Sheryl had put herself down for three shifts at the party. The LAUS only had so many volunteers and she wasn’t that much of a dancer anyway. If she was working, she could do what she liked to do: look. She’d taken the first shift selling drink tokens, when the queue was still short, but someone had to be there for the early birds. Now she was on admission duty, collecting cover charges and doling out stamps to partygoers. Both jobs gave her an excellent opportunity to scout who turned up. Most of the faces were familiar, but she was pleased to note, many of the women she had never seen before, which meant that whatever PR they had done for this party had reached its target audience.

  Inevitably, a few of Aimee’s students had showed up, one of whom had been ogling her from a spot across the hallway for at least half an hour. Not all TAs adhered to the university’s no fraternizing rule—Sheryl had seen that in action quite a few times since she had started the PhD program—but she wasn’t one of those. It was unethical. Although, of course, Professor Aimee White herself was notorious for picking a different student to bed each semester.

  “Notoriety is not known for it’s truthfulness,” Aimee had told Sheryl when, in an extremely unguarded moment, Sheryl had confronted her with the rumors.

  Sheryl sighed. She would talk to the girl later, after this shift had ended. She’d be cordial but distant enough to make clear that whatever was in the girl’s head was never going to happen. Then she focused her attention on the growing queue in front of her. The crowd was gathering. She was surrounded by lesbians and undoubtedly a few straight allies. Before every event, within LAUS, they always had very heated discussions on whether men were allowed in. Sheryl always argued for all-inclusiveness, but not all her colleagues shared her vision. In fact, most of them didn’t.

  “Hey.” Sheryl had been focused on receiving much-needed money for the cause and stamping the inside of people’s hands when a familiar voice caught her attention. She looked up and straight into Kristin Park’s face. Her lipstick matched her blouse, and oh my, Sheryl liked the non-business look on her—a lot.

  “You came.” A huge smile spread on Sheryl’s lips.

  “I did.” Kristin offered her hand. Sheryl took it in hers and, as gently as she could, applied the ink of the stamp to the skin of her palm, as though Kristin’s hand was much more delicate than all the other hands she had treated to the same ink before, and the application of it needed special care.

  “Enjoy the party.” She shot Kristin an encouraging smile. “I’ll be done here in a bit.”

  Sheryl didn’t have time to watch Kristin be swallowed up by the ever-growing crowd. She had people to admit to the party, and the rest of her shift was spent on automatic pilot, working as fast as she could. Sheryl was no stranger to organizing parties like this. She’d joined LAUS as a student almost ten years ago, when it had still been in its infancy and they had trouble being recognized as an official university association. She was a veteran now. It took bigger things to faze her than a long queue of women eager to party. Like the thought of Kristin on the dance floor, being hit on by someone else. Sheryl couldn’t wait for her shift to end. Kristin had come, which could only mean one thing.

  As Kristin advanced into the mass of women—more women than she’d ever seen gathered in one place—she hoped she wouldn’t run into Petra. Or anyone from work—though would that really be so bad? After picking up some drink tokens, she made her way to the bar and ordered a glass of white wine. She was glad to find it nicely chilled and welcomed that first fresh sip sliding down her throat. A few more of those and most of her nerves would be kept at bay.

  She tried to catch a glimpse of Sheryl, but there were too many people between her and the entrance. She checked her watch and hoped that Sheryl’s shift would end on the hour. Though she shouldn’t get her hopes up too high. Kristin was sure a woman like Sheryl had plenty of admirers. Perhaps she even had a girlfriend and she’d just been courteous to Kristin yesterday afternoon. Even so, no matter the status of Sheryl’s love life, Kristin
applauded herself for making it there. Not only had she taken a big step, she was supporting a good cause, which was as much her own as all the other women present.

  Granted, the music was a little loud, smoke hung thick in the air, and she was forced to stand a little too close to strangers for her comfort, but she was there, and that’s what mattered. She had come on her own. She was no longer a coward hiding behind the myriad of work-related events she could always choose to attend on any given weekend night. Networking never stopped, and it was the perfect excuse for someone like Kristin to neglect her personal needs. She was career-oriented, she always told herself. Work came first. It was easy enough to win that argument with herself.

  Kristin downed her wine and elbowed her way through the crowd at the bar to fetch another. A woman with a long blond braid hung over her shoulder smiled at her and Kristin smiled back. She actually knew the song the DJ had just put on, and her hips, as if of their own accord, started to swing a little. This was a lot more fun than another restaurant opening or the re-opening of a bar where she was always hit on by men she wasn’t remotely interested in but had to give a little bit of her attention to nonetheless because why else was she there but to network?

  At this party, she could be the part of her she’d kept hidden for too long. The side of her her family must know about, though talking about it would be considered a grave faux pas. Don’t ask, don’t tell all the way. The thought of just being herself at this party was so freeing, so exhilarating, she didn’t mind any longer when someone bumped her shoulder into hers or spilled some beer on her shoes. A tingle ignited in her belly at the sight of the two women on the outskirts of the dance floor, kissing with no qualms. The whole atmosphere of the place was intoxicating.