“Oh God – I look at her in a certain way? Fuck, what if she knows?” Bette panicked.

“Don’t worry, Bette, it’s only because I know you so well. Anyway, I hope things won’t get awkward between us now – I don’t want them to.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Emily. I like you, a lot, and you are really so beautiful…”

“Don’t say these things, Bette. If it’s not going to happen, if your heart is occupied, who am I to try and take it?”

“No, please, you don’t understand…” How was she supposed to explain that being with Emily would feel wonderful, would make her feel loved and reassured that she indeed was someone worth having feelings for. She would be proud to take Emily to places, to romance her, to give her the love she deserved. And maybe she could forget all about ms Kennard because of her – but the latter she couldn’t tell Emily about, she would only feel like she was a replacement, a cure.

Bette decided to stop using words to make clear what she meant. She lent in closer to Emily, softly rubbing their noses together.

“I’m not completely indifferent to you either,” was the last thing she said before she kissed her best friend softly. They soon lost themselves and tumbled down. Bette combed her fingers through Emily’s thick hair, enjoying the feeling of this kiss. And maybe she imagined this to be ms Kennard, just a little bit.

#

Tina and Jesse had been on a couple of dates and it was clear that they had a lot in common. Jesse had always wanted to study history, but his father wouldn’t allow him, convinced that this didn’t get you anywhere in life. So he had a Master in Marketing, but he had never done anything with his degree. He had launched himself on an old passion of his, dating back from his childhood: writing. He had lost it out of sight when high school life began, where he wanted to fit in and played football and dated girls. In college, he didn’t have the time because the stuff he studied was so complicated he needed all his time catching up. Now he wrote novels – some of them historic, others romantic. Jesse Portland wasn’t a very famous writer, but with the support of his aunt, he was able to make a living.