Rain kept worrying the windows, a tender, looping murmur like spring fog at dawn. It tapped the garden leaves with a delicate persistence, washing every vein clean until each blade shone as if newly etched.
From the ceiling, the cloud-shaped pendants hung low and luminous, their warm halos puffed like fleece. That soft light drifted into every corner and, without fuss, salted the air with a decadent languor, deepening the ambiguity already living in the room.
Oakley Ponciano didn't know what to do with herself.
She had long since lost her bearings in the pull of Grace Barron's breath. One arm looped around Grace's neck while she tilted her chin to meet the hurried kiss that found her mouth.
Her answer—breathless, intent—only sharpened Grace's excitement.
Lips grazing, teeth almost clashing, their bodies surged hotter, like two passengers tucked into a small boat made of warmth. Under friendly sun, over a lake scrolled with light, they drifted toward the quietest chamber of a shared dream.
After a while, Oakley's breathing turned ragged; her skin burned so intensely it felt as if the thin cloth of her nightdress might spark and fall to ash.
She cupped Grace's straight, strong back in her palm, fixed her eyes on Grace's mouth, swallowed, and asked:
"This is how you say thank you?"
Her lashes lowered. The room's glow laid a little shadow on her lids, and her features sharpened into something deep and sculpted—as if the last wash of sunset in some mythic place had paused to sketch her.
In any light, she was beautiful enough to be mistaken for a mirage.
Grace held her close, one hand sliding to cradle her jaw. Nose to nose, she murmured, "Isn't this sincere enough?"
Oakley's mouth tipped at the corner; she smiled into Grace's arms and let a small laugh rise. "Not enough."
"Then…" Grace drew the vowel out, fingertips climbing one vertebra at a time, until she suddenly gathered Oakley tighter. "What would be enough?"
Her breath spilled across Oakley's ear, and Oakley's shoulders gave a quiet shiver.
"I don't know." Oakley licked her lower lip, studied Grace for a heartbeat, then couldn't help herself—she tugged Grace down by the neck and kissed her with a desperate, playful urgency.
Grace indulged her for a few seconds, then caught Oakley's chin and nudged forward. Their mouths broke apart; a sliver of space opened between them.
Oakley blinked, puzzled. Her eyes—round and bright like a small dog's when it begs for a treat—were glassed with a thin mist, glossy, almost wet. Innocence flickered there. And invitation.
Grace tipped Oakley's chin with a finger, her gaze gone sea-dark, her voice low and roughened: "You don't know what would be enough? What does that mean?"
"It means I don't know," Oakley said, tilting closer so Grace could scratch lightly at her chin, teasing and unguarded at once. "Exactly what it sounds like."
Grace had no idea whether Oakley's little provocations were accidental or chosen with care. She only knew she'd been caught again—deftly, effortlessly.
This woman could read her pleasures like sheet music and play them, easy as breathing.
"Oh?" Grace cocked her head, mouth slanting into the faintest grin, and looked straight into Oakley's eyes.
One syllable. Infinite suggestion.
"So… like this?" Grace widened her smile, mischief bright, and feigned pulling away—as if to leave Oakley alone in the warm, glowing room.
Oakley broke at once, pitching forward to catch Grace's sleeve. She shook her head, voice low and soft: "Don't."
"Mmm?" Grace narrowed her eyes slightly, studying the quick changes in Oakley's face.
Kneeling on the floor cushion, Oakley swept the hair that had spilled across her chest to her back and shuffled closer on her knees.
Sitting upright again, she pinched the fabric of Grace's shirt between her fingers, leaned in until they were almost one body, and opened those rose-red lips—new-bloom red, spring-rain red. "How about a hint? A secret. I'll tell you a secret, okay?"
Her mouth had always been beautiful—full and plush, the kind you could feel just by looking.
"A secret?" Grace turned her head, curious despite herself.
"Mm. A secret." Oakley nodded and smiled, eyes darting with a lively gleam. "Do you want to know?"
She was the little fox in an old painting suddenly come alive—eyes quick, tail swishing, begging to be stroked. No one could resist that kind of invitation.
"Of course," Grace said, amused. "Tell me."
Oakley folded against her, boneless with ease.
She was so slight and deft that draping over Grace's shoulder felt like a cat settling on a windowsill—weightless, assured.
Then she swept Grace's hair back from her ear, leaned in so close her whisper was hardly air at all, and said, "I'm not wearing anything underneath."
Her voice was a feather. It brushed Grace's skin and raised a field of fine, startled bumps.
In a breath, Grace was unmade. Composure slipped like a ring off a wet finger. Air grew scarce. Her lungs misbehaved.
She braced both hands at Oakley's warm, pliant waist and met those clear, black-and-white eyes. "Let me see?"
She slid her hand down.
In the same instant, Oakley clamped around Grace's forearm, tendons standing under her skin, the grip fierce enough to pull a thread of ache up Grace's wrist.
Grace watched the bite in Oakley's lower lip and felt her own throat sand-dry, as if she hadn't had a sip of water in days. Thought, usually so well ordered, scattered into bright, useless sparks. At her fingertips—heat, softness. The mind tensed and raced; everything unraveled.
"So you are," Grace murmured, turning her head so her words grazed Oakley's ear. "Did you mean to, from the start?"
Grace hadn't even truly begun, and Oakley had already gone weak. She sagged, almost collapsing against Grace's chest.
She was always like this—too alluring by half, able to draw desire out of a person who'd sworn to their own gravity. Under her guidance, even the most serious soul found their defenses turn to loose ribbon, and then to nothing at all.
Grace considered her for a long beat, then declined words entirely and kissed her again.
That ache to claim, to hold every part of her, climbed back to the heart's door and pressed harder.
"Grace," Oakley breathed at some point, teeth catching her lip.
"Mm?" Grace kissed the pale length of her throat, a touch that felt like a bright mark in the dark.
Oakley didn't answer in words. She found Grace's free hand in the half-light and threaded their fingers together, knuckle to knuckle, the interlacing a quiet vow.
When it was over at last, they lay together in a hush so complete it felt as if time itself had stepped out of the room to wait in the hall.
Grace gathered Oakley in, tugged a throw from the arm of a chair and spread it over her. She pressed a kiss to the little wing of Oakley's brow, then shut her eyes and held her tighter, as if she could bring her closer than close.
Possessiveness had been spreading through her unnoticed, a tide that knew no shore. She couldn't tell where "enough" began anymore.
"Grace," Oakley said, lifting her chin to find Grace's face.
"Mm?" Grace lowered her lashes and met her gaze.
In the light, Oakley's collarbones were fine and fragile, two shallow pools shining under the lamp—so lovely she looked like a porcelain doll you could warm between your hands.
"Nothing much," Oakley said, shaking her head. "Just wanted to praise you."
"Me?" Grace tilted her head. "For what?"
"You're… very good at this." Oakley always felt she was about to lift off the earth altogether.
Grace always found a way to bring her to the edge of that bright, winded joy.
When she'd agreed to marry Grace, she hadn't imagined this would be part of it. Not like this.
"Do you like it?" Grace teased a stray strand away from Oakley's brow with her forefinger.
"Mm. I do." Oakley nodded, small and certain.
Grace didn't know what possessed her, only that she wanted to kiss Oakley again.
Lately that wanting kept showing up, unannounced, like a bird that had learned which window would open. She wanted to hold Oakley, to cling, to linger. To do nothing but be near, until time frayed and day and night swapped names.
Oakley slipped her arms around Grace's waist and tucked her face into Grace's chest.
The feeling of not being able to do without her was growing. So this was what it meant—to watch yourself fall with perfect clarity and not reach for the rail. To know you'd gone soft in the head and keep going, helpless, complicit.
They held each other, heartbeat pressed to heartbeat, and the rest of the world politely vanished.
By morning, the rain had indeed moved on. Sunlight rinsed the sky.
The little yard outside the window—washed in the night—was suddenly saturated with color, a clean green brimming with life. Leaves glittered when the wind nudged them, as though each held a tiny star.
Grace shrugged on a charcoal coat and turned—just as Oakley blinked awake.
She lay on her side in a cream slip, cheek in the pillow's hollow, hair a mess, eyes heavy with sleep. Laziness draped her like a shawl.
"Awake?" Grace asked.
"Mm… Where are we going today? Hiking?" Oakley shifted under the duvet, finding a better curl.
She realized she hadn't actually asked for an itinerary. She knew the general shape—where, what—but the "when" of it all was a blank she'd contentedly left to Grace.
A faint alarm moved through her: she had grown used to leaning on Grace while traveling. Too used.
Grace closed the window she'd cracked, then turned back. "First, breakfast. Then we'll pick up the car. There's an eco-park—a little retreat—nearby, supposed to be gorgeous. They've planted big orchards. We can go scratch your picking itch."
"Deal!" Oakley's eyes lit.She'd been lingering in bed out of sheer stubborn coziness, but the words "you can pick" turned her into a kid on her way to a picnic. Sleep fled like a guilty cat.
Grace watched her delight and couldn't keep herself from smiling again.
Twenty-odd minutes later, Oakley was dressed and made up.
Since they were headed to an orchard, she leaned into the theme: a beige knit dress under a long, apricot-caramel cashmere coat. She braided her hair into a loose plait and drew it forward over her left shoulder.
From her bag, she fished out the woolen flower clip Grace had given her—soft yarn petals in cheerful colors—and hummed to herself while fastening it.
The look worked: lively, warm, a little retro with a small, bright pulse. Like a woodland sprite who'd wandered into a city and decided to stay.
Once satisfied, she looped an arm through Grace's and faced the mirror with her, tugging them both into a pose.
"What are we doing?" Grace asked, laughter lifting her voice as Oakley dragged her left, then right, then back again.
"Just looking." Oakley's dimples broke like small waves.
She truly thought they matched—so well it stole her breath. Surely there couldn't be a pair more suited than they were. Not anywhere.
It made her want to look—and keep looking.
"Hah." Grace touched her nose with the back of her hand, mock-sheepish.
"Okay, okay. Let's go." Oakley shouldered a small bag and jogged for the door.
Grace followed, half-turned, smiling at the sight ahead: Oakley dressed to the nines, light spilling off her, vitality singing along the hall.
She realized she didn't need anything complicated from Oakley. Oakley's happiness was a switch inside Grace: on for her, on for them both.
They ate a simple breakfast at the Airbnb and headed out to collect the car.
By then, the sun had climbed. Thin light sifted through the crowns of the trees, gilding their layered leaves with a mellow yellow.
Unlike Skylark, whose winters stay chilly and pale even in sunlight, this place warmed quickly. Wherever the sun touched skin, it left a soft, furry heat that made the body go slack with ease.
Oakley couldn't tell if the landscape was just that beautiful, or if it was the person beside her—either way, her mood lifted like a balloon and hung smiling in the blue.
At the rental lot, they signed, checked, and drove off. Oakley buckled herself into the passenger seat, smoothed the belt across her lap, and leaned back.
The car was tidy, scentless, with seats that welcomed. Music threaded in, and soon Oakley was yawning—last night running light, breakfast running carb-heavy. Sleep tugged at her like a sleeve.
Grace didn't speak, only tuned the cabin temperature to something gentle.
An hour and a half later, they arrived.
They showed their tickets, took two big baskets from a staffer, and followed a path into the trees—only to stop, struck silent by the abundance before them.
The orange trees bowed under their own generosity, fruit round and heavy, packed cheek to cheek along the branches until the limbs dipped. It was outrageous. It was glorious. Oakley was overjoyed.
"This is too good," she whispered through her fingers. "I can already see myself hauling home a mountain."
"I knew you'd like it," Grace said, satisfied.
"Hey?" Oakley pivoted from the trees to Grace. "How did you know?"
"I saw it," Grace said easily. "In your videos—you wrote about it in the captions."
Oakley's captions usually summarized the clips, then rambled a bit, her thoughts dribbling out like pearls she didn't mind dropping.
"Wait." Oakley's focus sharpened. "Videos? You mean mine?"
"Mm." Grace smiled. "What else would I mean?"
Oakley's eyes went wide. "You… watch my videos? On your own?"
She'd assumed Grace didn't. Grace had never brought them up.
"Is that strange?" Grace asked.
"No, of course not, it's just—" Oakley fumbled. "I didn't think you surfed much. Online, I mean."
She'd figured a polite like here and there on her feed was Grace's upper limit. People like Grace, Oakley always thought, didn't have time for the trivial nonsense that made Oakley's day.
But it felt… wonderful to be wrong. Like expecting to fall into a rice bin and discovering it was cake all the way down.
Grace, for her part, looked baffled. "Who doesn't surf? In our world, the holdouts are headed for sainthood."
Oakley's priorities were simple and singular. The smallest things could make her happy.
"So. What's your handle?" she asked, suddenly very interested.
Grace had to think. "Just my name."
"Okay." Oakley pulled out her phone, grinning. "Let me find you."
She was curious about everything that belonged to Grace. Even the empty corners felt precious.
"Fair warning: there's nothing to see," Grace said. "I barely post."
Oakley peeked over her screen and went back to tapping.
When the starry profile picture appeared, she tapped in. Sure enough, the page was so clean it looked freshly burglarized. Grace seemed to have no need to say anything to anyone.
But Oakley didn't exit. She lingered, nosy and delighted.
Discovering that Grace's "Favorites" weren't locked, she sneaked a glance at Grace, then slipped inside.
Five folders. Plain names: "Tasty," "Fun," "Useful," "Work", "Must try," and… "Wifey."
Oakley stared at the last one, stunned for a heartbeat.
She tapped it open. Every single one of her videos was tucked neatly inside.
This person…
When had she started doing this?
The more Oakley scrolled, the more her smile thickened, threatening to spill right off her mouth.
"What's so funny?" Grace asked. "There's nothing there."
"You wouldn't get it." Oakley backed out, secret saved and thrumming, her grin richer than before.
"All right." Grace frowned, conceding the mystery. "Your burner?"
"Oh." Oakley laughed. "Mine's called 'Ice Cream That Eats Puppies.'"
Grace blinked. "Of course it is."
She typed it in and, with a tap, landed on Oakley's page.
Unlike Grace's, Oakley's profile looked like a parade. Everything was there—tarot, sticker books, hand-carved stamps—a kaleidoscope with no patience for stillness.
If Grace's world was immaculate grayscale, Oakley's was riotous, difficult, alive with color. Opposite, and somehow exact.
Grace skimmed and paused at Oakley's bio line.
"I suddenly want to sleep until the end of the world."
Words can be blunt instruments. Often they fail to carry their own weather.
"Why sleep till the end?" Grace asked.
Oakley took two steps, stopped. "No reason. I was probably low that day. Too much at once. Felt like blowing up the planet, every morning."
Grace understood.
Back when they'd found each other again, Oakley had worn a hard, keep-out shine. Always braced for a fight. Even a hedgehog didn't keep its spines up that often.
Now she was lighter. Looser. You could see the difference without squinting.
"Hmm…" Oakley bit her lip, lifting her phone. "Since you've brought it up, maybe I should change it. Something that's not so… doom-scented."
She scratched her head and winced, theatrically pained. Inspiration: a clear blue sky.
"How about…" Grace held out a hand for the phone. "Let me?"
Oakley looked her up and down, then surrendered the device. "What are you going to write?"
"You'll see." Grace opened the editor.
Oakley craned her neck, scandalously obvious in her spying, but Grace's reflexes were a locked door. Oakley caught nothing but the patience of moving thumbs.
"Done." Grace handed the phone back. "Review and approve."
Oakley narrowed her eyes, unlocked the screen, and read aloud. "I suddenly want to…"
Her eyes rounded, then rounded more. She smacked Grace's shoulder, both appalled and amused. "I suddenly want Grace Barron to sleep beside me till the end of the world? What is that!"
Grace laughed. "But it isn't doom, is it?"
"Technically true," Oakley sniffed, "but why do I have to sleep beside you till doomsday? I sleep just fine on my own, thank you."
"Because…" Grace stopped, thought, then said it properly. "If it's the end, it'll be all wind and thunder and sheets of rain."
"You scare easy," she added softly. "You shouldn't be alone."
Oakley's heart gave a sudden, bright tilt. She lifted her head and fell into a pair of eyes that looked like night full of stars.
They stayed that way, the orchard bright around them, the future—however long or short—stilled for one gentle, lucid breath.