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Charis chapter 5

Three days after their lunch date, Hannah texts Grace.
Hey.
Hey, what's up?
Nothing, how's your day?
Boring. How's yours?
Really boring. I have some eager marketing kids trying to pitch me something or other. They're not doing well.
Hey, you were an eager kid a while back. Give them a chance.
Hannah smiles and turns her attention back to the painfully young-looking man giving the presentation. After a few seconds her phone buzzes again.
Mamrie says do you want to come out tonight?
Her heart leaps. All of a sudden she can't think of anything in the world she wants more.
Sure, where and when?
Ten ish? We'll hit the coolest bar in town.
The Hart?
Obviously.
Hannah chuckles quietly and the young man giving the presentation stutters a little. She ignores him.
I'll be there.
She hesitates for a long moment, before gathering her courage and sending another message.
Is Eric invited?
Her phone goes silent, and she tries not to panic. She puts it down and refocuses on the meeting, trying to work out whether it's gone long enough to cut it off without making it too obvious they never had a chance. An agonising half hour passes and the meeting finally ends and Hannah looks back at her phone. There is a message from Grace and three from Mamrie. She reads Grace's first.
Of course.
She checks Mamrie's messages next.
Are you fucking insane?
Seriously? You want to put your HUSBAND and GRACE in the same room?
This is going to be a trainwreck. What the hell are you thinking?
Hannah has to admit that's a good question. She really isn't sure what made her ask and if she's honest she has no intention of actually bringing him. She texts them both with identical messages.
Actually I think he's working. It'll just be me.
Thank fuck for that. Mamrie replies. Grace doesn't reply at all. She sends Eric a quick message letting him know she'll be out late and turns back to her work. When 9pm rolls around, she finally steps away from her desk, stretches for a moment and heads out of the building. She hails a taxi rather than taking her car and when she pulls up to the bar she's surprised to see paparazzi swarming around the entrance. She pushes through and when she makes it to the door she's stopped by an absolute mountain of a man with the word SECURITY emblazoned across his chest.
"Name?" He asks brusquely.
"Um, Hannah. Hobbs."
He checks the clipboard he's holding and makes a tick, then nods to her.
"You're on the VIP list. Enjoy yourself."
Hannah's eyebrows rise slowly and she slips through the door. Within ten seconds of being inside she spots three pop stars, two actors and at least six socialites. She's suddenly very conscious of her work-rumpled clothes as the flash of cameras from outside light the bar in sharp bursts. She makes her way to the bar and doesn't see Mamrie, so she pulls out her phone and texts her.
Where are you? And what the hell is going on?
Mamrie replies quickly.
We're in the office. Come up!
It takes her a minute to locate the door that hides the stairs and then she's knocking nervously on the office door.
"Get your butt in here, Hannah," Mamrie calls. Hannah enters and briefly sees Grace lounging in a chair before she's engulfed in a hug.
"Mamrie!" Hannah says, hugging back. "Why is your bar full of famous people?"
Grace laughs softly.
"Yeah, we forgot to mention, today's the anniversary of the opening. When the Hart throws a party, people come."
"Damn right they do," Mamrie says, winking at her. Hannah rolls her eyes.
"Then why aren't you guys down there?" She asks.
"Nobody knows who my silent partner is," Mamrie replies, "and we want to keep it that way. Besides, if I go down there I'll end up working the party. I want to actually enjoy myself tonight!"
Hannah shrugs. "Okay then. Where's the scotch?"
The noise of the party downstairs filters through occasionally but for the most part it's just the three of them, like it used to be, swapping awful jokes and laughing until their stomachs hurt. Around midnight Eric texts her to say goodnight and she sends him a quick reply and turns her phone off. Grace is telling a story about a man she knew in Los Angeles who was apparently a 'semi-professional hula hooper' and Mamrie is shaking with silent laughter and in danger of sliding off her chair. Just as Hannah thinks she might actually burst a blood vessel, there's a knock at the office door and a uniformed barman pokes his head in.
"Sorry boss," he says to Mamrie, "I think we need you. Some D-lister is running up a tab and I don't think he plans on paying it. I'd get Marlowe to deal with it but with the press around..."
Mamrie sighs heavily but the smile doesn't leave her face.
"Yeah, okay, I'll come down. You guys are not allowed to have any fun until I get back, got it?"
Grace salutes lazily as Hannah giggles. Mamrie follows the man out, leaving the two of them in comfortable silence.
"Hey Hannah," Grace says softly, her voice a little blurred from the scotch, "you having fun?"
"I am," Hannah assures her, grinning.
"Good. I didn't want things to be awkward, you know? I miss us. This. You know what I mean."
"I know," Hannah says, still smiling. "I'm glad too."
As they wait for Mamrie to get back, Hannah pours them both another drink and laughs at Grace's exaggerated care in taking her glass.
"Shut up," Grace grumbles, scowling good-naturedly. She points an unsteady finger in Hannah's direction.
"You're drunker'n I am, Tiny," she accuses.
"Probably," Hannah agrees amiably. The easy silence returns as they sip their drinks.
"Tell me about Eric," Grace says.
Hannah is too drunk to be shocked, exactly, but she does frown uncertainly.
"Why?"
"You married him. He must be something special."
Hannah smiles, only vaguely registering Grace's intent tone.
"He is," she says fondly, "he's great. Really funny, kind, amazing cook."
"Do you love him?"
"Yeah," Hannah replies without hesitation, "I do."
"I mean do you love him?" Grace insists. Hannah frowns at her.
"You know I can't."
"Then why are you with him?"
The alcohol may have slowed her senses, but Hannah can still see the tension in Grace's expression.
"Because I love him and I made a commitment," Hannah says slowly, "and we're happy together. We have a good life."
Grace stares at her and Hannah thinks she's going to argue, but instead she shrugs.
"Okay," she says with apparent indifference.
"Why do you care?" Hannah asks tensely. The walls of the room seem to crowd in on them and she crosses her arms defensively.
"Because you're my friend," Grace replies, looking away. Hannah shakes her head.
"That's not it," she insists, standing up. "If you have something to say, Grace, then say it."
"I don't," Grace says shortly. "It's your life."
"Yeah. It is." Her tone is sharp and Grace stands up too, pointing an accusing finger at her.
"Hey, don't yell at me. I'm not doing anything wrong here."
"So I am?" Hannah demands. "Just because I don't love him the way he thinks doesn't mean I don't love him, Grace! I do!"
"So you don't go out and sleep with girls behind his back?"
"No!" She insists. Nadine's face flashes into her mind and she mentally adjusts her response. Not any more.
"Fine. You're a saint. Whatever."
"What is your problem, Grace?" Hannah demands, and somehow they're almost nose to nose, close enough that Hannah can smell the scotch on Grace's breath.
"I don't have one. Everything's fine. You married some dude and moved continents and everything's fine. We're totally back to normal. Just like that."
"Fuck you," Hannah snarls, "I don't have to explain myself to you."
"Yes you do!" Grace hisses, and before Hannah can respond, Grace is kissing her.
For a split second, she doesn't react. Grace's lips are on hers and Grace's hand is on the back of her head and Grace's body is pressing into her and Hannah just stands there, frozen. After a second though, her body kicks into gear. She pulls Grace even closer, biting her bottom lip and running her tongue over it. Grace sighs and her lips part and the world fades away.
She's kissing Grace. Her entire body is awake and humming with want. Her hands slide down over the firm curve of Grace's ass and Grace moans ever so quietly.
Grace is kissing her. Grace's hands are sliding into her hair and her tongue is slowly tracing Hannah's and her hips are rocking slightly in a way that makes Hannah ache.
She doesn't know how long the kiss lasts, but eventually her brain shifts back into gear. She steps away from Grace, her hand instinctively covering her kiss-swollen lips, and stares at the other woman.
"Hannah," Grace says, and it could be an invitation or an apology.
Hannah doesn't say anything. She grabs her bag and flees.