Under the wide vault of sky, the night had melted into itself. Wind moved through the trees, and the shadows shivered, swaying longer than they were tall.
When their eyes met, even their loose strands of hair seemed to lift and hush, as if the air around them had been brushed with a soft-focus glow.
After Oakley Ponciano's answer, Grace Barron's smile spread slowly, like moonlight working its way across a quiet sea. It rinsed her features clear.
A trace of shyness rose on Oakley's face.
They looked up at the sky. Down at the ground. At the trees. The grass.
A motorbike droned past; they both stepped aside in the same small dance. Then Grace held out her hand.
"What?" Oakley glanced at the offered palm, pride still tucked half-visible in her expression.
"Since we're dating now," Grace said, lashes lowered, thinking it through before she lifted her eyes to Oakley again, "holding hands isn't too much, is it?"
Oakley bit her lower lip. She rocked on her heels, then finally tugged her hand from her coat pocket, let it hover a beat in the air, and placed it on Grace's palm. "Fine. I'll let you."
Grace's fingers curled lightly, closing around hers.
Oakley's hand was long and fine-boned, clean and pretty—the kind of hand that could get hired to model jewelry. It had taken on a little winter chill.
"Then," Grace said, thumb tracing the small joints, eyes steady on Oakley's, "I should tell you something. I'm stubborn. If I hold on, it's for life."
She meant it.
She rarely wanted anything, but when she did, she wanted it entirely—and kept it.
Oakley laughed softly.
She hoped Grace meant every word. Who didn't want to be held that way—so firmly the fingers never considered letting go?
She pressed her lips together, then snorted a laugh. "You'd better not let go. If you dare, I'll…"
She frowned, hunting for the end of her own sentence.
"What then?" Grace asked, curious and amused, her gaze never leaving Oakley's.
Oakley widened her eyes, hooked a pale finger into the collar of Grace's coat, leaned close, and murmured, "I'll break both your legs. That way, even if someone else tries to take your hand, you won't be able to walk away."
She looked fearsome, like someone who might just do it.
But watch a little longer and the menace dissolved into play. All mock claws, no real bite—the kind of threat that was really an invitation.
Grace's eyes tipped into crescents. "Ha."
"What are you laughing at?" Oakley scolded, sticking out her chest, playing the part to the hilt. "You think I'm joking? I'm dead serious."
"I'm not doubting you." Grace coughed, reeling her grin back in, then studied her with a sincerity that warmed the air between them. "I was just wondering how you could be this adorable."
Depth in her eyes; truth in her tone.
It looked like she had room for one person only, and that person was Oakley.
Oakley's bravado melted. Even looking straight back at Grace felt suddenly difficult.
The smile at her mouth spread anyway. She accepted the compliment fully—then pushed it higher. "Of course I'm adorable. That's just who I am."
She tipped her chin like a queen surveying her realm, all the while glittering with a mischief that ruined the pose and made it irresistible.
"How does that happen?" Grace said, mock-serious. "We're all human, and yet somehow only you ended up this cute."
"Good question." Oakley's eyes flashed with a sly light. "Maybe I was raised on pure 'adorable.'"
The night gave her a small, playful glow that kept knocking into Grace's guard. Strange, Grace thought—she'd assumed nothing in this life could catch her interest again, and then luck sent Oakley to her. After twenty-odd years, this was the first time she knew exactly what luck felt like, and that it had a name.
Grace tightened her hold. "Then I'll keep a firm grip. I'm not letting the schemers out there get even a finger on you."
Oakley's smile ran all the way to her eyes. "You like me that much?"
"What else?" Grace lifted Oakley's chin, gaze draped over her face, slow and indulgent.
Like someone looking at their most precious thing.
A wind came through and made Oakley shiver. Grace glanced toward the car. "Let's go."
"Okay." Oakley nodded, her face still full of light.
They walked side by side, hands linked. Grace kept stealing looks, small and constant, the way a child checks that a treasure is still in their pocket.
Almost every time, Oakley caught her.
"Why do you keep staring?" Oakley asked.
"You're staring, too," Grace said, smiling.
"I am not." Oakley bit her lip and turned her head away, picking up her pace with theatrical dignity.
"Mm." Grace's laugh was soft. "If you weren't looking at me, how would you know I was looking at you?"
Oakley huffed and said nothing, marching ahead without turning back.
Grace looked forward, smile settled in place, and thought the night impossibly beautiful.
There were no glorious lights here, no curated scenery—nothing like the spectacle they'd just left. By any normal measure, this stretch of road couldn't compare.
And still, it was lovely.
Apparently all it took was walking beside the person who mattered, and everything acquired a gentle shine and secret meaning.
In the car, Oakley clicked her seatbelt and tilted her head. "So… does our contract still stand?"
"Contract?" Grace turned to her.
"Mm."
"When we're back in Skylark, I'll dig up that obnoxious paper and tear it to shreds," Grace said, looking out at the dark.
A truly obnoxious thing.
Oakley laughed again. Exactly. Obnoxious. And now, blessedly, irrelevant.
Grace was reaching for the ignition when her phone buzzed.
She paused and checked the screen. Sabrina Myers.
Just two characters: "A-Xian." A nickname, stripped of nonsense, oddly formal on her.
Grace's sense for people pricked; Sabrina was rarely solemn. If she was tonight, something had shifted.
"What's wrong?" Grace typed.
A minute passed—typing, deleting, typing again—and then: "When are you free? If you have time, let's eat."
Grace thought a beat, then glanced at Oakley. "Sabrina wants to grab dinner."
They were truly a unit now. Better, then, to put everything on the table and choose together. And this was Oakley's trip—her comfort came first.
"Right," Oakley said, remembering. "You said she was in town too. She's the one who recommended this place."
"Yes." Grace nodded.
"I'm fine with it," Oakley said. "When?"
Grace texted back.
The reply came quickly. Grace relayed it: "Tomorrow—no, it's already past midnight. Tonight."
"Let's go," Oakley said at once. Now that they were official, she wanted the whole world to know.
She wasn't built to hide good news.
"Okay." Grace confirmed with Sabrina.
The tires rolled. They crossed the street and slipped into the open road.
By the time they reached the Airbnb, it was one in the morning.
Oakley showered first. Grace went in after.
Oakley crawled into bed, propped herself against the soft headboard, pulled the blanket to her collarbones, and opened her phone.
She went through their selfies one by one, enlarging each frame, and wanted to cry for help in the best way—she loved all of them. How was she supposed to choose?
She gave up and posted several. On her feed she wrote:"After this, I want to walk through more years with you, see more horizons with you. Love you."
Typing "Love you" made her grin into the screen.
Before, when she shared small life-moments, she'd held back. Their relationship wasn't that, not yet; she had to swallow the lines she wanted to write while others flooded their feeds with wife-and-wife sweetness.
Now she could say it. Properly. The feeling was exquisite.
Night owls arrived in the comments and hearts flickered up the screen. Still, she wanted more.
She backed out to her chats and scrolled for a name: Natalie Pierce.
It was late. Maybe Natalie was asleep. Oakley, unable to lock her joy in, sent: "Natalie, Grace and I—official."
The reply was instant. "Official? As in… dating?"
"Yes," Oakley typed, radiant. "Just now. She confessed. From now on, we're real."
She told Natalie the whole story, especially the midnight surprise. It was so sweet she could live off the memory for years.
"Wow," Natalie wrote. "Perfect. If you both feel it, that sounds like exactly what the universe ordered."
"Right? That's how it feels," Oakley said, then blinked. "Why are you up?"
"Can't sleep."
"What happened?"
"Not sure. Just restless. Is it beautiful there?"
Oakley let the thread of worry go slack—if Natalie didn't want to say, pressing would only tangle it tighter. "It's lovely. The views, the food—both."
"Maybe I should come," Natalie wrote. "I haven't really rested since I got back. I'm winded."
"You should," Oakley urged. "You have staff at the shop; let them earn their keep. Come breathe."
"Let me see." A pause. Then: "I'm in."
Across town, Natalie set the phone down, turned a slow half-circle in her chair, and looked at a long black box on her vanity. She drew it close, lifted the lid, and stared at the hairpin resting on silk—subtle, luminous, expensive to the eye.
A gift. From a regular. From Sabrina.
She touched the pin, remembered the winter solstice, the box pressed into her hands, Sabrina introducing herself with that shameless, tilted grin and saying I like you as if it were weather. Natalie had panicked, said sorry, watched the light go out in Sabrina's eyes, and then watched the door close on her visits.
Since then, the shop had felt wrong-footed. She'd told herself it was nothing. It wasn't quite nothing.
She shut the box, exhaled without a sound, and booked a flight.
A screenshot landed in Oakley's chat. "Bought."
"So fast?" Oakley typed, half laughing.
"Second thoughts?"
"Please. I'm thrilled," Oakley wrote. "Two p.m. flight?"
"Two," Natalie said. "No place to stay yet. How's your Airbnb?"
"Clean, cozy. I'll send the link."
"Perfect. Dinner when I land?"
Oakley was typing Yes when the bathroom door clicked open.
Grace stepped out wrapped in steam and a robe, tall and long-limbed, a damp strand of hair dark against her neck, her eyes holding a fine mist. The sight was unreasonable.
Seeing Oakley half-speaking, Grace asked, "Something to tell me?"
Oakley didn't bother with preambles. "Natalie's coming to visit and wants to have dinner. Do you think Sabrina will mind if I bring a friend? If she will, I'll reschedule with Natalie."
People were different. Some loved a crowd; others wanted one chair pulled up to a quiet table. Oakley preferred to ask rather than scrape anyone's nerves raw.
Grace considered and picked up her phone. "I'll check."
"Okay." Oakley waited.
A moment later: "She says it's fine. Your friend is my friend, and my friend is hers."
"Good." Oakley typed her reply, then frowned a little. "Sabrina's still up?"
"Mm." Grace tied her belt and sat beside her. "Something's off. She said she's drinking alone."
"Weird," Oakley sighed. "What is it about this season? Everyone's a little wilted."
"Winter," Grace said, setting down her water. "It trims the sparks. Makes everything quiet."
"Oh?" Oakley leaned in, eyes bright. "You too? No spark, no pep? Then how did you confess to me?"
"When," Grace asked mildly, "did I say I had none?"
"Didn't you imply—" Oakley switched the terms without shame. "Tragic. You confess and immediately lose your passion—how will we survive?"
"Stop," Grace said, half-laughing.
"I refuse," Oakley said, sticking out her lip. "Alas, my fate is cruel."
Grace caught her chin and turned her face. "How would you like me to prove I have plenty of passion?"
Oakley's gaze snagged on hers. Her heartbeat flicked. "How would I know…"
"Like this?" Grace said.
Before Oakley could think, the kiss was there—warm, certain, a soft press that made their breathing careful and small. The night was cold; their arms locked harder, as if they could fold one body into the other and end the separation at last.
They kissed again. And again. Time let go of its count.
When they finally pulled back, they stayed close, noses touching, laughter in their mouths like stolen candy, a sense that butterflies might flutter straight out of their ribs.
"Oakley," Grace said.
"Mm?" Oakley stared into those unreasonably beautiful eyes.
"Nothing," Grace murmured. "I just wanted to say your name."
"You say it every day," Oakley teased, unable to stop smiling. "Isn't it enough?"
"No," Grace whispered, arms around her. "A lifetime won't be enough."
"You sure?" Oakley asked.
"Positive." Grace pretended to ponder. "I'll have to strong-arm St. Peter into giving us another round. And another after that."
"Grace Barron," Oakley laughed, tapping her forehead, "he's going to call you greedy."
"Can't help it," Grace said, eyes deep and tender. "I wasn't greedy for anything here—until you."
Their gazes struck and held. It felt like mountain wind moving through a dense forest—something private inside them shivered and turned toward sound.