Falling into the Chaos

Twelve: Ignoring the woman of the deepest, darkest desires.

Aditya

I SPOTTED them the minute they arrived at the park. There were two reasons for this.

First, Little Star was one of the biggest vendors at this market and that afforded us a prime location for our pop-up tent.

From this position in the horseshoe-shaped assembly of vendors, I had an unobstructed view of foot traffic from the street. I couldn't miss five young women who appeared equally lost and hungover.

And second, I hadn't stopped watching for Zoya since the market opened at eight this morning.

I knew it was pointless, that watching for her wouldn't make her materialize any sooner-or at all.

But I couldn't help myself.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about her since leaving her tea garden yesterday.

She looked...happy.
Perhaps the liquor was to blame-there'd been plenty of it in that drink-or it could've been her friends.
Or a combination of the two.

But she'd been happy and it looked so fucking good on her.

The strappy little sundress too, the one that left her shoulders bare and dipped low over her breasts.

I couldn't get it out of my head.

And I'd tried. I'd spent the whole damn night messing around with tweaks to my newest jam recipes while memories of that purple dress pushed to the front of my mind. I'd burned a batch of blueberry lemon while thinking about the way the fabric settled into the valley between her breasts.

I'd thought about trailing a finger from the base of her throat into that valley and then lower....The jam scorched right around the time Zoya started begging me for more.

Of course, Cheeku had bolted awake with the sound of the smoke detector and came downstairs, asking what the fuck was wrong and whether we needed to abandon ship.

Nope.
Full steam ahead and very hard to port.

I hated myself as I thought about Zoya while I was in bed last night.

Hated how easy it was for these depraved thoughts to take over my days and my dreams.

But at the same time-and this was the part I hated the most-I didn't hate it at all.
I didn't care that I did terrible things to her in my mind.

I didn't care that she'd leave again and I'd never recover.
I didn't care because I knew what it felt like to hold her and kiss her and nothing else in the world mattered.

Nothing fucking mattered.

Especially not when she looked happy for the first time since meeting her all over again.

The smile I'd caught yesterday, the lightness in her-I hadn't realized I'd missed it until it was there again, bright and warm and magnetic.

I was so fucked.

Zoya and her friends went straight for the breakfast sandwich vendor.

The woman who'd worn jean shorts and that top too small for any of Cheeku's dolls...looped an arm around Zoya's waist, her head resting on Zoya's shoulder.

The one with the deep olive skin and dark hair-Sveta, I thought-broke out some salsa moves while the high school jazz band started their set. Salsa didn't match the tunes but I got the impression that the woman cared little for matching.

The other one, the one who'd been conked out yesterday, studied the tents and banners of each vendor in the park. I saw it the moment she found me and Cheeku , or, more specifically, our blue-gray tent printed with the farm's name and our iconic hand-drawn stars.