When the car rumbled along the unpaved road and came to a stop in front of the Winhill hotel, Julia's heart and jaw unclenched. She'd been afraid, perhaps irrationally so, that she wouldn't make it out of Deling City, or at least, make it very far. Her burgeoning music career, and her deepening friendship with one of the army's most promising officers, made her something of a local celebrity in the city, and the frequent target of reporters and casual gossipmongers alike.
She knew she should be glad, that the increased interest was a sign—a price—of success, but it had become suffocating. She'd planned her Winhill escape for weeks—just a weekend away from the hustle and bustle and endless questions—and could have cried with joy when the driver who picked her up at the train station asked for her identification.
Here, it seemed, news arrived slowly, if at all. The perfect place for her to clear her head and make some big decisions.
Her first whiff of Winhill air was intoxicating, and she immediately drew another, deeper breath. Crisp, clear mountain air, tinged with the perfume of the flowers that grew all around and the tang of salt from the nearby sea. So, this is what freedom smelled like.
The lobby was warm and welcoming, vases of flowers placed throughout, the little adjacent restaurant humming with the noise of post-breakfast cleanup and lunch preparations, but it paled in comparison to her room—spacious and rustic, the whole room was infused with the multi-hued glow of morning sun streaming through stained-glass windows, and Julia felt as if she were stepping into a fairytale house as she entered. Once again, flowers were prominent—an entire corner of the room was stacked with vases of blooms of various species in a rainbow of pastels—and strips of exposed brickwork formed delicate, deliberate designs. Sturdy wooden furniture decorated the room, and Julia immediately became enamored with a delightful roll-top desk, sitting down in front of it and running her hands across its surface, wondering what it would feel like to compose music and dream up lyrics there.
Winhill certainly had a knack for charming its visitors from the start.
Julia stayed in her room, sitting at the desk or lying on the bed, alternately daydreaming and dozing until lunchtime, when she visited the restaurant downstairs for a bowl of soup and a sandwich served on crusty bread. The meal was nowhere near as fine as those she'd become used to in the city, but it was hearty and tasty, and most importantly, filling. After lunch, she decided to take in the town. The driver had told her that the town square was only about a half-hour walk away, and passed through scenic territory.
He was not lying. She had scarcely left the hotel behind before she found herself among the flowers, fields of fragrant blooms flanking the road, stretching as far as the eye could see, interspersed here and there by a tree or two, and set against the backdrop of mountains still capped with snow. Julia breathed in the scent until she was dizzy, and even then it felt as if she could not get enough of it. She smiled when she saw a weathered metal sign painted with a chocobo, and a thin, worn trail intersecting the road and the flower fields. She scanned the area for the birds, but did not see any; perhaps they did not like to wander through town under the broad light of midday.
She stopped at a flower shop and spoke a while with the older woman who ran it. The woman was knowledgeable about most of the blooms in the shop, save for a delicate white flower she said was quite temperamental.
"I've never gotten a whole batch of seeds to bloom," the woman said, shaking her head and gently fondling the petals. "Sure, they'll sprout, but then most of them simply wither and die. I'd say only about a quarter of mine make it to flower."
"Is there a reason why?" Julia leaned close and peered at the flowers. They looked ordinary, like any one might find growing alongside the road.
"Can't say for sure. It seems you just need the knack." The woman sighed. "Now, take Raine—she owns the pub in the town square—she can make these flowers bloom with a single word. Potfuls of them. Most of my stock comes from her. I don't know how she does it…she just has that special touch."
"Hmm." The whole story seemed farfetched to Julia; why would flowers grow for one person and not for another? She suspected it might be a tourist presentation, a bit of manufactured lore to entertain visitors. Perhaps it was even a cross-promotion for the flower shop and the pub—pique a visitor's curiosity to visit the other. In the latter case, it worked. Whether or not there was any truth to this story, Julia now wanted to see this Raine the woman spoke of, and her potfuls of flowers that would grow for nobody else.
With its bright red awning and casks of flowers outside, the pub was impossible to miss. It also seemed to be empty at the moment, but the door was open, so Julia stepped inside, removing her sunglasses and letting her eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through yet more stained-glass windows, and was greeted by a cheerful voice.
"Hello there! Welcome to the pub. How can I help you?" A woman in a floral-print blouse smiled at Julia from behind the bar, her long brown hair pulled back from her face by a wide headband, delicate earrings swinging with every movement. She glanced down and wiped the bar, then looked up at Julia again.
"What would you recommend?" Julia walked up to the bar, noticing the pots of tiny white flowers near the door, and the long-stemmed white flowers in bowls on the tables along the way. Their scent was still evident, even beneath the odors of smoke and alcohol.
"Since it's midday, nothing too stout. How about a Shennard Sweet? Cold tea with a splash of Tantal and a twist of lemon, sweetened with an herbal syrup."
"That sounds good. I don't think I've heard of that drink before."
"I figure you wouldn't. It's a regional specialty." The woman fetched a glass from the shelf behind her and began preparing the drink. "So, where are you from, and what brings you to Winhill?"
"Just a weekend getaway. I'm from Deling City, and I needed to get away from the noise, and…sort out a few things."
"I suppose I don't have to tell you we get a lot of your type of tourists around here." The woman laughed. "Makes me glad I live in Winhill, though it can be inconvenient sometimes."
"Have you ever been to Deling City?"
"Just once, for a weekend, years ago. Oh, it was so disorienting for me! I really admire people who can live like that."
Julia smiled. "Tourism here suggests that even we can't live like that forever." She accepted the drink and slid the payment across the bar, then ventured a sip. The Shennard Sweet definitely lived up to its name, candy-sweet at first taste, then mellowing into an herbal flavor before offering the lightest sting at the back of the throat. "This is delicious!"
"Glad you like it." The woman went back to wiping down the bar. "What do you do in the city, if I may ask?"
Julia swallowed another mouthful of her drink. "I'm a musician. A pianist, mostly, though I've been dabbling in lyric writing."
"Fascinating! Anything I might know?"
"I'm afraid not, at the moment. I'm only just branching out on my own. I've been playing in a lounge since I was seventeen." Julia chuckled. "They actually posted a guard at the bar so I couldn't sneak a drink!"
"You did anyway, right?"
Julia blinked at her. "How did you know?"
"Kids will find a way." The woman set down the cloth and extended her hand. "I'm Raine, by the way. May I ask your name?"
"Julia." She shook Raine's hand, wondering what was so special about this touch that could coax impossible plants to bloom. It was certainly warm, and gentle beneath the calluses, but when Raine gave her hand a squeeze, the magic in Raine's touch hit Julia like a lightning bolt. What a strange interplay of opposites—soft and rough, strong and gentle—it certainly coaxed uncharacteristic thoughts into her mind in the mere moments of the handshake. She tried to shake them off as she turned back to her drink and Raine repeated her name.
"I'll be sure to remember it," Raine said with a grin, "so that when you do become famous, I can say I met you back when."
"I hope you have a long memory," Julia replied, swirling her straw in her drink, "because right now, things are moving very slowly."
"How so?"
Julia looked up, into Raine's eyes. What a beautiful shade they were, a soft blue, full of curiosity and kindness! They were eyes that inspired confidence, eyes that invited confessions. So, without really meaning to, Julia launched into her story, and ordered another Shennard Sweet to help it along. She told Raine about leaving her hometown on the Monterosa Plateau at the age of eight to study at a music conservatory in Deling City; in learning to live more or less on her own in dorms and hotel rooms; of landing the spot as the lounge pianist at the Galbadia Hotel, a position many of her classmates looked down upon, as she would be playing mostly old standards to people too drunk to care.
"But I didn't mind, because the lounge manager would let me sneak in some of my own compositions, as well. It didn't matter if most of the people in the lounge didn't care, because I knew someone, someday would. And…he did." She went on to talk about the man who inspired her to try her hand at writing lyrics, the handsome soldier with the long black hair and beautiful eyes that were always turned toward her.
"He was actually quite awkward, the one time I did speak with him," she said with a laugh. "He kept pacing the room nervously, and when I offered him a glass of wine, he drank it in one gulp and passed right out!"
"A lightweight," Raine sighed, then grinned. "They're surprisingly common among soldiers. I suppose they get used to whatever cheap beers they can afford, so that once something of any real weight hits them—out like a light."
"Exactly! And oh, did he snore! But he really was a lovely man, polite and good-natured."
"Where is he now?"
Julia frowned. "I wish I knew. He was called away that very night, on an urgent mission, and I never heard from him again. It's been almost a year."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
"I was hoping he'd at least write." She took another drink and felt both vitriol and the courage to express it flare up in her chest. "I know it sounds horrible of me, but sometimes, I do hope something happened to him. Not out of spite, but…as some kind of explanation. Why wouldn't he write? He knew where to send the letters! Why wouldn't he write, unless something bad happened?" Tears stung her eyes and she furiously wiped them away. Why should she cry, here, now? She didn't need her beautiful soldier anymore; she had a career ahead of her and a perfectly wonderful officer waiting for her back home. He wasn't beautiful, but he was understanding and generous and stable. He cared for her, she knew, even if he was slow to admit it—he supported her career development, helping her contact producers and secure studio appointments to record demos. He listened to her practice on his rare days off, and he wrote her letters—letters, from his office right there in Deling City, encouraging her and wishing her luck.
He was besotted with her; perhaps a little too much for her comfort. If she were perfectly honest with herself, she'd come to Winhill just as much to dodge his overwhelming affection as to dodge the reporters and their questions about it.
All of this tumbled out of her in a tearful tirade, and when she was finished, Raine's hand slipped over her own.
"No wonder you came out here," Raine said quietly.
"Needed space to think."
"And we have plenty of that here. Why don't you go clean yourself up, and then we can talk about something a little more lighthearted."
Julia nodded, then followed Raine's directions to a restroom at the back of the pub. She looked at her reflection and silently cursed herself. Bloodshot eyes and a swollen face even splashes of cold water did little to help. Why had she shared so much? Why had she allowed herself to cry over it all? Raine was supremely easy to talk to—but weren't most bartenders? But there was something about her eyes, something that convinced Julia she understood, if not exactly what Julia experienced, then at least the pain of heartache and confusion in general. After a few more splashes, Julia dried her face and headed out, prepared to apologize for her behavior.
But when she returned to the front of the pub, several other patrons had arrived. She resumed her place at the bar and ordered another drink, and despite her initial hesitation, was soon drawn into the conversations around her, ranging from tourists' stories to local gossip. As the afternoon wore into evening, and she exchanged the Shennard Sweet for the smooth warmth of Mimett, the beautiful soldier and besotted officer and burgeoning music career faded to the back of Julia's mind. She laughed with the other patrons, twirled to the music playing on the radio, even danced with a few men. She was practically glowing, heat radiating from her body, sweat soaking her shirt, by the time Raine pulled her aside and suggested she'd had enough.
"You're probably right," she said slowly, her tongue feeling far too large in her own mouth. "I better go." She giggled and stumbled forward, grasping at Raine's shoulder for balance.
"I definitely am." Raine's friendly voice had taken on a stern undertone. "But I'm afraid I can't let you leave like this. You're liable to get hurt."
"No. 'm fine, 'm fine. Just walk past the flowers…past the choc'bos."
"Absolutely not. Listen, I can get a driver for you—"
"Needn't bother."
"Or, you can sleep it off."
"Here?"
"Yes." Raine took her by the elbow and guided her toward a flight of stairs leading up. "I have a spare bed in my apartment. I've dried out quite a few drunks up there."
Julia giggled again. "So, back to your place, then?"
"Nothing of the sort. Now, come on, hold onto me, and step…and step."
Julia was climbing stairs, and Raine's arm was around her. That was about all she could register at the moment, between the haze of alcohol and the distracting weight of Raine's hand at her waist. Her fingers were strong, almost like a man's, but her touch was light, careful. Her big blue eyes were focused on the steps ahead, and those delicate earrings of hers, two little pearls on dainty silver chains, swayed tantalizingly in front of Julia's eyes. She didn't know what she was thinking, other than she wanted to hold Raine tight, that she wanted to kiss her.
So she did.
Raine gave a surprised cry and pulled away, but when Julia moved in again, she didn't resist. In fact, Julia could have sworn she reciprocated, just a little, tugging at her lower lip, pulling her closer. But it was all over in an instant, when Raine broke the kiss with a gasp.
"We shouldn't," she whispered, breath ghosting over Julia's still-seeking lips. "You're drunk."
At the word, Julia nodded and faced forward and didn't try anything further. She vaguely remembered being led to a bed, and remembered being covered and left there alone. And she remembered resenting it. And she remembered wanting.
Wanting.
* * *
Did any building in this town have clear windows? Julia woke to the warm glow of the morning sun through stained-glass, but she was not in her hotel room. She sat up slowly, her head feeling as if her brain were floating freely inside her skull, bumping into bone and sending shockwaves of pain throughout her body. She was met almost immediately by a glass of water and a palm holding a pill, and their bearer's far too cheerful, far too loud voice.
"It's about time, sleepyhead," Raine teased, offering her the painkiller. "It's half past ten. You've been out for almost twelve hours."
"Uh…Raine?" Slowly, the day before came back to Julia, and she buried her face in her hands with a groan. What a fool she'd made of herself! What had she said, what had she done? "I'm sorry."
"Hey, it happens. That's why a lot of city folk come out here. A place to abandon all worries, and not have anyone you know see it! Now, take this pill. It'll help your headache."
Julia did as she was told, then gingerly rose from the bed. Her body ached all over, but she was desperate to get back to the hotel, to leave the scene of her shame behind. "Thank you for your help, for your hospitality, but I really should be going."
"Yes, you should. And I'll walk with you."
"I'm fine on my own, thank you."
"You're still a little wobbly. Anyway, I have some errands to run, and I open late on Sundays. It gives my patrons time to recover." Raine winked.
"If you're sure…"
"Of course. Let's get going." Raine led her down the stairs and handed back the sunglasses she had left on the bar. Even with them on, the late-morning sunlight was brutal, and Julia squinted her way through the town square. By the time they approached the flower shop, the painkiller had begun to take effect, and she straightened and waved to the shop owner. Raine did the same and began to point out the different kinds of flowers in front of the shop and in the fields beside the road.
"The bright red ones there are called 'Siren's Kiss,' and the yellow ones beside them are sunbuttons. The pale pink ones are maidenblush, and the purple, 'Dragon's Blood.' And these," she knelt beside the road and gently touched one of those white flowers the flower shop owner had bemoaned not being able to grow, "are 'Fairy's Blessing.' I guess because they look like snow, and that's how the children up north refer to snow, so I've heard."
Julia smiled. "The woman at the shop said they're difficult to grow."
"For some people. We haven't really figured out why. They're delicate flowers; perhaps it has to do with the environment in which they're grown."
"She said you have tremendous luck with them."
Raine chuckled and looked away. "I like them, a lot. I guess they're just returning the favor."
They didn't say much else on the way back to the hotel, but as Julia's mind cleared, one memory of the night before played through it over and over, like a film made up of the same ten-second scene. She wanted to apologize for the kiss, but she wasn't sure how, and she wasn't sure how genuinely. She knew she had overstepped a boundary, but she also knew that it was the most thrilling and satisfying kiss she'd had in a while, though it didn't last long. She was far from a blushing virgin—she'd had her share of lovers even before setting her sights on the beautiful soldier—but she had never even considered kissing another woman. There was no denying, however, the pleasure in meeting lips as soft as her own, sighs as delicate as those from her own throat blowing over her mouth.
And Raine did return the gesture, however briefly. She was sure of it! But now…would it be inappropriate to ask if she'd meant to? And, if that answer was yes, would it be inappropriate to ask for another?
They were quickly approaching the hotel. If she wanted to know, now was the time to ask. Julia took a deep breath.
"Raine," she said, "would you mind coming to my room? There's something…I need to talk about."
Raine tilted her head, questions in her lovely eyes. "You can talk here."
"I'd rather not. It's embarrassing."
"About last night?"
"Yes."
Raine smiled. "Very well. But I think I know what you're about to say, and there's no need to apologize. In fact, I should be the one apologizing. I never should have reciprocated."
"You did, then! I wasn't just imagining it?"
"No, you weren't, and I’m terribly sorry for overstepping my bounds."
"Oh, don't be! I…truth be told, it was quite pleasant. I simply didn't assume you were attracted to women."
"And men." Raine shrugged and grinned. "When you live in a town this small, you've got to keep your options open."
Julia laughed, but quickly sobered when Raine asked about her own preferences. "I'd never given it much thought, until last night. I always assumed I strictly preferred men. But you were so kind, so gentle with a drunk like myself, it was…alluring. It could have been the alcohol clouding my mind, though…I simply don't know."
"Really. Maybe I can help you figure it out." With a mischievous glint in her eyes, Raine leaned forward and pressed her lips to Julia's. It was a relatively chaste kiss, the kind shared by curious teenagers, but it brought all the warmth of the night before into Julia's body. She hummed against Raine's lips, and slipped her arms around her. Raine parted her lips and lightly pulled on Julia's lower lip, as she had done last night, and with that little movement, Julia abandoned herself to Raine's charms.
"Won't you please come to my room?" she asked after they parted. "I want this to last a little longer. Only a little longer…"
"Are you sure that's what you want?"
"Absolutely. This, and so much more."
And that is how Julia first felt the magic of experienced hands and lips, of a body as familiar with hers as it was its own. For Raine moved masterfully with kisses and caresses, over lips and skin and every delicate part each piece of clothing revealed on its removal. That is how Julia found herself lying on the charming wooden bed in the fairytale room, sheets gathered in her fists, breathless pleas and wanton moans echoing off the walls as Raine buried her fingers in her depths, knuckle-deep, her mouth working magic all the while. And that's how she found her leg resting against Raine's bare shoulder as Raine slotted herself against Julia and moved, smoothly, erratically, desperately, slick heat against slick heat, the sensation building until Julia could bear it no longer and let out a howl, her body quaking, her vision dimming, her heart stopping for one unbelievable moment.
They lay in each other's arms after that, gulping down air, the scents of sweat and arousal and skin mingling with those of the flowers in the corner. Julia pressed a kiss to Raine's forehead and licked the salt from her lips. "That was…unlike anything I've experienced. Thank you."
"No need." Raine laughed. "I got just as much out of it as you did."
"Still, you didn't have to indulge me."
"Why not? To be perfectly honest, I wanted to indulge you the moment you walked in, looking lost as any traveler, but so much more composed. Confident. Smart. And then when I heard what you do for a living…oh, did my mind wander to your hands!" She lifted one of Julia's hands to her lips and kissed each finger individually. "But I had to remain professional, of course. And there was no way of telling whether you'd be interested, anyway…I really can't believe my luck with you."
"I suppose I always was a little curious," Julia admitted. "Especially given my recent affairs with men." She chewed her lip and thought of the officer waiting back in Deling City. What was he like, in the intimate sense, she wondered. Could he make her feel as good as this small-town pub owner just did? Would he take the time to? Or would he simply take her body for granted? There really was only one way to find out, she knew, and she hoped that the passion that he put into courting her would carry over to pleasing her once he was successful.
The clock on the wall ticked by the seconds, and slowly, Julia's heartrate returned to normal. She was getting drowsy, snuggling into the pillow, when Raine sat up quickly beside her with a muttered curse.
"The time," she cried, scrabbling for her clothes. "Look at the time! I still have to run errands, then open the pub. Oh, I'd waste the day away with you if I could, but…!"
"I understand." Julia sat up, smiling sadly, and watched Raine dress.
"Yes, but I don't want to leave it like this! You're leaving soon; we need to have a proper goodbye."
"Plenty of time for that. I don't leave until late tomorrow morning." She watched Raine struggle into her boots. "I can stop by the pub tonight."
"Tonight? Yes, that would be great. Tonight it is, then! See you soon, Julia!" And after one last peck on the forehead, Raine rushed out of the hotel room.
Julia flopped back against the pillow, sighing contentedly and laughing softly at the absurdity of the situation, at the stolen moments that had shaken her to her very core, and opened up new avenues of pleasure. She skimmed her fingers over her body, sucking in air through her teeth when she brushed against places still sensitive to touch. Yes, she would pay Raine a proper farewell; she would pay her back for this pleasure, as well as she was able.
When night fell, she went to the pub, and nursed one drink through the evening. She wanted to be alert for this, wanted to not give Raine any excuse for turning her away. Raine glanced at her throughout the night, casting furtive little grins and winks, and even chanced to brush against her back, surreptitiously but deliciously, when she was clearing a nearby table.
The last patrons seemed to linger forever, and Julia's anticipation was quickly souring into frustration by the time the last of them staggered out. Raine locked the door behind him, flipped the sign and turned out the lights. Then, wordlessly, she took Julia by the hand and led her up the stairs, this time with intent, this time with desire flooding their veins.
They held nothing back in that little apartment above the pub, hands and mouths exploring every inch of the other's body, teasing one another to the edge of release and backing off again. This time, however, Julia prostrated herself before Raine's glistening folds and ventured a taste, and then another, thrilling to the shuddering sighs and little stuttering groans coming from Raine's throat. She worked her tongue slowly, reverently, heady with a scent and taste at once familiar and so, so different than her own. How each stroke drew more from Raine, how delightfully she trembled under Julia's hands! And when at last she uttered a string of curses and clamped her thighs tight about Julia's head, Julia surfaced for air, finding it thick with the scent of flowers, the taste of salt coating her tongue.
When her climax ebbed, Raine pulled Julia up and kissed her own essence off of Julia's lips, then offered her thigh as relief. Once more, Julia did not hold back—her strong voice, which had heretofore only been wrapped around sentimental lyrics and painfully appropriate interview answers, now warbled incoherently, rapturously, recklessly.
So, this is what freedom sounded like.
Spent, she collapsed into Raine's arms, and fell asleep to a profusion of tiny, fluttering kisses.
* * *
Julia sat primly in the leather chair of the studio set, hair meticulously coiffed, wearing a dark blue suit and bright red lipstick. The interviewer finished introducing her album to the audience, then turned to her with questions. The usual: where do you draw your inspiration? How did you make the move from instrumental to vocal? What is the story behind "Eyes on Me?" Julia answered each question politely and by rote, having developed a significantly abridged—and frustratingly vague—explanation for "Eyes on Me."
And then, the interviewer asked a new question.
"We all know that 'Eyes on Me' is the massive hit on this album," he said, "but I want to talk about another song: 'Flowers and Salt.' Maybe it's because I'm from Winhill, but I can't help but pick up little allusions to the town in the lyrics. Tell me, Julia, have you ever been to Winhill? Was that the inspiration?"
Julia's eyes widened. "Flowers and Salt" was a deep cut on the album, a paean to that rapturous, reckless weekend with Raine. She'd never expected anyone to really listen to it, let alone ask about it. But she took the question in stride and nodded. "Yes, on both counts." She smiled demurely. "I went there once, just for the weekend."