What to Do Outside Tremont, page 1
part #3 of Cornwall Lesbian Romance Series
What To Do Outside Tremont
A Cornwall Lesbians Romance
Sabrina Kane
Copyright © 2023 Sabrina Kane
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 9781234567890
ISBN-10: 1477123456
Cover design by: Sabrina Kane, Countess of Carlsbad
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
Thank you to my lovely UK beta readers who helped me with making sure this book was appropriately British!
Catherine
Katherine
Lauren
Sian
What To Do Outside Tremont
A Cornwall Lesbian Romance
By Sabrina Kane
Chapter 1
Tina couldn’t help but feel as if she was in a movie scene.
She was outdoors, in lovely Killacourt Park, on a section of green grass which was close to the coastline, offering a spectacular view of Newquay Bay.
The weather was spectacular as well. A sunny Saturday afternoon, but not too warm, with a sea-scented breeze that felt more like a caress on her body. The sky was a gorgeous shade of blue and enhanced—rather than marred—by two small clouds that looked like perfect little cotton balls.
She was done with work for the day, the gallery having closed an hour earlier, at 2 p.m. Not only that, but today was her Friday, because she had tomorrow and Monday off.
And she was being serenaded.
Roger, sitting cross-legged on the grass in front of her and strumming his acoustic guitar, was singing “Thinking Out Loud,” by Ed Sheeran.
Around them a small crowd had formed, encircling them but also giving them a respectable amount of space, evidently knowing that they were witnessing a special moment between two lovers, and not wanting to intrude.
Knowing that they had an audience made Tina feel a little self-conscious, but on the whole she was feeling quite special, like the lead in a romcom. And knowing young women like she did—because she was one—she knew that any of the several women her age that were in the group watching them would gladly switch places with her.
Why not?
Not only was the scene Hollywood-perfect, but Roger was a good-looking bloke. He was quite fit and had a mop of curly hair that was always stylishly messy, like something you’d see in a cologne advert. In fact, if Roger was only taller, he might very well be able to find work as a model.
Wouldn’t that be cool?
She could do with dating a model.
She imagined meeting one of the girls she had gone to school with, one of the lot who were always horrid to her.
“Oh, you’re seeing someone, are you?” she’d ask. “And what does he do?...Oh, sits around all day scratching his arse, does he?...Me?...Yes, I’m seeing someone also...What does he do? Oh, he’s a model. You’ve probably seen him. The bloke in the adverts for that new cologne…Raging Hard-On, yes, that’s the one.”
Eventually, the song came to an end.
Roger acknowledged the applause from his small audience, and then the crowd started to disperse. When they were once more alone, he beamed at her.
“Not bad for a fourth date, huh?” he asked.
He was right, this was their fourth.
They hadn’t had sex yet, though. Tina had considered it—briefly—last night, on their third date, but decided again to make him wait.
Oh, they’d had a lovely time! He had taken her out to a nice-on-his-salary restaurant, which she appreciated, and he hadn’t acted obnoxious or boorish, the way men are so capable of doing. So, there really had been a good chance that he could have gotten laid.
The problem, however, was that she had been able to tell that he was expecting it. A little too much.
Throughout the date, he had practically been obsequious in his behaviour, which was out of character for him. He had even pulled out her chair for her at the restaurant! A first for her.
Not just with Roger.
With any bloke she had ever gone out with.
Women were different, not prone to using the old hacks like the pulling-out-the-chair gambit, which Tina appreciated.
In any case, that kind of…over-the-top attentiveness from Roger had put her off wanting to take him home and screw his brains out.
When it came to men—and women, naturally—of course she preferred politeness and respect from them, but when it crossed the line into being an act just to get in her knickers, it turned her off.
And so Roger hadn’t gotten lucky last night.
Today was looking fairly promising, however. A serenade in the park was a great start, and so far Roger had been acting like his normal self; that is to say, he wasn’t trying too hard. Roger only had his guitar with him now because he had just picked it up from his mate Tony’s flat before coming to meet her. Him then using it to sing to her had actually been her idea, not his.
Earlier, as they started walking through the park, she had mentioned that she had yet to hear him play or sing, at which point he had stopped, sat down on the grass, and in a short while had started “Thinking Out Loud.”
So…things were looking well for Roger right about now, she considered as they both stood up and resumed their walk to the chippie they had been on their way to. Provided he didn’t screw it up.
Which, being a bloke, he predictably did.
They had just exited the park and were walking along Trebarwith Crescent, the street the chip shop was on, when Roger chuckled.
“You’re daft, you know,” he said.
Tina glanced over at him, a small smile on her lips.
“You’ll have to be more specific,” she said. “I get called daft a lot.”
“Well, what I was referring to was you saying you had yet to hear me play and sing,” Roger replied. “I played for you just last week, Lucy. That exact same song! Don’t you remember?”
Tina stopped walking. After taking a couple of more steps, Roger stopped also, turning to face her, confusion in his eyes.
“Last week, was it?” Tina asked. “Erm…remind me again which day that was?”
“Tuesday,” Roger told her. “The night we met up with the lads at the pub.”
The night you told me you had to spend with your mum.
Tina closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Okay, so, two things,” she began, speaking calmly. “One, you’ve never played or sang for me before, of that I’m sure. Women tend to remember these things. Two…” She pointed at herself. “…it’s Tina, not Lucy.”
She gave herself a moment to enjoy watching the colour drain from his face before she turned on her heel and walked away.
“Luce…I mean, Tina!” Roger called out. “Shit!”
To his credit, he didn’t try chasing after her, spouting nonsensical excuses in an attempt to salvage any chance he still had with her.
Tina didn’t bother looking back. She just kept walking at a brisk pace, thankful that she was only a few blocks from her flat and a cup of tea.
***
Once she stepped into her flat, she toed off her ballet flats at the door and then headed straight for the kitchen, where she switched on her kettle. She decided to wait in that room for the water to be ready, leaning with her bum against the countertop above her washing machine, looking at the brand-new Breville.
Whoever said a watched pot never boils, never had an electric kettle, and the Breville was a beaut! She had treated herself to it shortly after moving into this flat, replacing her old kettle which she had bought at a car boot sale several years ago, and which had always made sinister-sounding noises each time she switched it on, as though it was plotting to blow itself up.
The Breville had been just one of the new items she had treated herself to upon signing the lease to this place.
This flat represented a huge milestone for her. At twenty-five-years-old, it was the first flat she’d ever had without needing roommates. In short, it was all hers!
Granted, it wasn’t much, just a one-bedroom and one bath, but the fact that she didn’t have anyone else’s messes to look at, anyone else’s noises to listen to, and could walk around starkers was an incredible feeling that she still hadn’t gotten over, even though she’d been living here for five months now.
She’d been able to finally afford a flat of her own once she had started working for the Linden Gallery Cornwall, here in Newquay. It had been last summer when she had started, but at the time, she was still tied into the lease at her old, two-other-roommates flat on the other side of town and had to wait until that was up before searching for a place of her own.
Her salary at the gallery wasn’t a fortune, but even when she had started the job it had been more money than she had ever earned. And now, it was even more. Robyn, her boss, had recently promoted her to assistant gallery manager, and the promotion had come with a pay rise. Not only that, every now and then, Robyn allowed her to sell some of her own paintings in the gallery, and—lo and behold—sometimes, people bought them.
So, she was still far from wealthy, but she was now able to live on he
When her tea was made, she took it into the living room and sat cross-legged on one of those new pieces of furniture…her sofa.
Directly across from her was a large 10’x10’ stretched canvas, leaning against the wall, which it almost covered entirely.
On the floor was a paint-splattered drop cloth, and beside the canvas, an equally paint-splattered stepladder.
On the canvas was her latest work, which she had been creating for the past three weeks. It was another one of her dystopian, steampunk-inspired pieces, and would eventually include a lovely young lady as the focal point. As with all of her other works, the young lady would seem as if she was in a rather treacherous setting, one in which she didn’t belong.
At first.
However, careful examination of the composition would force each viewer to wonder…
Was the young lady really in any danger? Or was she Danger herself?
Was she a captive in this strange, surreal world? Or was she the captor, inviting the viewer in so she could ensnare them?
Was she helpless? Or were you the one who needed help?
Tina hadn’t gotten around to painting the young lady yet. She was still working on the background and the details of the setting, wanting to get those on canvas first.
If she hadn’t wasted time today with Roger, she could have been home earlier, already continuing her work on it. As it was…
“I’ll have to get back to you tomorrow, girl,” she told the canvas. She thought of all of her paintings as female. After all, they came from her, and were a manifestation of her own spirit.
She checked her watch.
If she finished her tea quickly, she would have plenty of time to take a nap before needing to leave for Tremont for Robyn’s birthday party.
She smiled.
Robyn was a lesbian and lived with her girlfriend Tamsin in Tremont. Based on conversations she’d had with her boss at the gallery, most of their friends were lesbians too. This meant there was a better than average chance the birthday party would be lacking men!
Excellent!
A night out with only girls, away from Newquay, sounded perfect!
As she started sipping her tea, she thought about what had happened with Roger.
She wasn’t heartbroken, nor was she feeling sorry for herself. The thing with Roger (it could hardly be called a relationship in her mind) hadn’t taken root in her heart yet. Therefore, in situations like this, she was very pragmatic about things.
Thus, the way she saw it, she had dodged a bullet with Roger. He had shown himself to be a two-timing, lying twat, and she had discovered this before she had developed any feelings for him. Other women, right this very minute, were with other men like Roger, but didn’t know it yet.
So, she was better off for having found out about Lucy, whoever the hell she was.
Eh, sex is better with women anyway.
Her mobile rang.
“Ugh!” she groaned, looking at the display.
It was Roger. She had to give him credit for having the balls to try ringing her. She figured that was what he was counting on…her being impressed enough that he would call, that she would answer and allow him to talk his way back into her good graces.
Well, she had a solution for that.
She rejected the call and then took it to the next level. With a few additional taps on the screen, she blocked his number, and put the phone back down on the cushion next to her.
She continued sipping her tea, ruminating…
Today’s little episode with Roger the Lying Twat—his official new name—had decided something for her.
It was something she had been thinking about for quite a while now.
What Roger the Lying Twat didn’t know was that he had been the male sex’s last hope, so to speak.
For years now, Tina had tried her hardest to be a good bisexual. If she met a man she fancied, and he fancied her back, then she dated him. If it was a woman, then she dated the woman. It was very simple, and very Tina.
But to be frank…
Men were fuckwits!
And, okay, plenty of women could be fuckwits also, she knew, but men took fuckwittery to a whole other level! Not to mention arseholery, and jackassery.
Romantically, she had always had much better luck with women.
And, okay, fine…she wasn’t with anyone—even a woman—right now, but historically she had always enjoyed her relationships with women more than the ones she’d had with men.
Sexually, she had always had much better luck with women as well.
The exception, of course, was Benny. Benny had been the one bloke who had managed to satisfy her in bed, making her wish she could bottle whatever skills he had so she could give them to other men.
Benny had been so good in bed, that Tina had to actually stop herself from falling in love with him because it wasn’t her heart doing the falling in love, it was her pussy.
So, why wasn’t she with Benny right now?
Because Benny was also a fuckwit, an arsehole, and a jackass, and she had valued her emotional and mental health more than a good lay.
So…now she was deciding that she was done with men. Roger the Lying Twat had been their last hope. And she had known that when she started dating him.
When she had started up with him, she had told herself, If he’s a master at fuckwittery, arseholery, and/or jackassery, I am off men!
Turns out he was, so…adios to men.
No big loss, really. She had always considered herself to be bi-with-a-female-lean.
Which meant that, for the foreseeable future, she would stick with the ladies, and see if she could find her happily-ever-after person among that lot.
And that’s all she ever wanted: a somebody, of either sex, that she could settle down with.
“Okay, ladies,” she murmured aloud, after taking another sip of tea, “it’s up to you now…”
Chapter 2
Katelynn typed the next four characters of the article she had written, and did so with a flourish…
-30-
As in, The End.
Technically, here in the twenty-first century, she didn’t need to finish any of her articles that way. The -30- was a relic from journalism’s past, with roots going all the way back to the days of the telegraph, according to research she had done on it. But she liked it. It appealed to the history nerd in her.
The various editors she worked with didn’t seem to mind it. In fact, more than one had told her that other writers did the same thing.
History nerds unite!
The article she had just finished had been one of what she called “the fun ones”—pieces which she wrote which were light-hearted, funny, and easy reads, and which she could sell to any one of a number of outlets, including BuzzFeed, Popsugar, The Daily Beast, Reddit, or Upworthy.
This particular fun one, however, was slated for a more specific audience, and as such, she had already sold it to Autostraddle, whose content editor thought the concept was hilarious…
Pussies—The Ultimate Lesbian Accessory.
The title alone would earn the piece a lot of clicks, although readers will no doubt be surprised—perhaps even a little disappointed—to discover that it wasn’t those pussies she had written about.
Cats. Cats were the pussies that were subject of the piece, and after dating god knows how many women since her first one fifteen years ago at age seventeen, Katelynn had felt a humorous article about why lesbians and cats seemed to go together was due.
Now, she looked at her screen and sighed.
She ought to start editing the piece herself before sending it off to the real editor at Autostraddle. It wouldn’t take long to do. It was only 1200 words (give or take), and she could be done with it inside half an hour, unless she totally decided to rewrite entire passages of it. But she doubted that would be necessary.
Yet, she didn’t want to get started on that task right now.
Right now, she wanted some wine to celebrate finishing this article.
Wait a minute…
She quickly looked at the clock in the lower right corner of her laptop’s screen. It read 14:51. Stated another way, a perfectly acceptable wine drinking time.
Fabulous!
