Oakley Ponciano propped her chin in her palm and watched her for a long while, her crescent eyes bright, as if a handful of stars had slipped down to live there.
By day, with makeup, she could look a shade older, a little dangerous. Barefaced now, the years fell away; the edge she rarely showed was pared down to almost nothing, leaving only softness. Like a great cat rolling onto its back, offering the downy part of itself—unguarded, warm.
She gazed at Grace Barron in silence and then, toying with the tip of her hair, tilted her head and smiled. "All right then—be greedy. I don't mind."
Grace lifted her lashes and opened her arms, one brow winging up to beckon her closer.
Oakley didn't posture. She let her hair slip from her fingers and glided into Grace's arms.
Grace's hold was soft. And warm. Oakley felt like she'd stretched out on a small cloud.
It was a savvy kind of safety, like stepping into a thick, invisible shield. Here, she was steady. Here, she worried about nothing.
She'd never dated before; this was her first time. Yet none of the agony that the internet loves to trade in had truly found her. The love she'd touched was weighted far more with sweetness than with the sting of acid.
Here, she was warmed; here, she was glad; here, nothing was missing and nothing was brittle.
Here, she knew she loved this person—and knew this person loved her. Two currents running toward each other, not one lonely arrow.
Here, there was no testing, no mistrust. It felt like she'd been handed a fairy tale meant for adults alone.
So adult fairy tales could be thick, after all—thick enough to last her to the end of the book and the end of her life.
"Grace," Oakley said, listening to the even tide of her breathing, smiling as she played with Grace's fingers. She tilted her face up and grinned. "I want to kiss you again."
You can't get enough. She couldn't get enough.
Grace looked at her mouth. "Then kiss me."
Oakley's smile lifted higher. She sat up from Grace's embrace and, facing her squarely, studied her with meticulous care: the clean, fresh face from washing, fine-featured as if drawn with a steady pen; the long neck, the delicate collarbones; that lithe sense of resilience running through every line of her.
Like reeds by a lake—slender to the eye, but born with a tensile stubbornness you couldn't pluck out.
Just looking at her made Oakley unbearably fond.
Under the mellow lamp that gilded the room, Oakley leaned in, hooked a finger under Grace's chin, and pressed a warm kiss to her lips.
Two mouths met; some small chemistry flared to life. In that breath, both of them sank, fully and without remainder.
Grace's hand slid around her, palm to the soft line of Oakley's spine, deepening the kiss with a quiet hunger. The tangle between them drew tighter, the binding closer, as if separation itself were a kind of error.
Heat climbed in increments. Grace rolled and pinned her, kisses falling like small fires to Oakley's throat, her skin—igniting and consuming.
They didn't know how long it was before the world calmed. Oakley breathed in thin threads and held Grace close in the afterglow. Neither spoke. Eyes closed, they simply felt the other's existence.
…
Ten o'clock the next morning.
When they woke, daylight had already filled the room.
Cold-bright air and sun swelled the white lace curtains; every piece of furniture wore a soft sheen, as if dipped in milk. The hush was complete.
Oakley's eyes were still grainy. Even awake, she wouldn't move, hugging a pillow and pretending to sleep, her breath like feathers tossed into the room—light, shallow, sweet.
Grace watched a while, then couldn't help herself; she leaned over and kissed Oakley's smooth forehead.
Oakley's lashes trembled. Her eyes moved under their lids, then opened, hazy, to Grace. "You stole a kiss."
No one mumbled like Oakley Ponciano.
"I did," Grace said, combing loose strands away with her fingers. Even her voice held that indefinable contentment. "Am I not allowed?"
"No. Not allowed…" Oakley said earnestly. "I'm a one-of-a-kind cutie. A world heritage site. Kissing me has a price."
Half-lidded and dozy, her voice turned soft and syrupy, as if she held candy in her cheek.
Just watching her put a smile at the corners of Grace's eyes that wouldn't leave.
"Then tell me," Grace murmured, bringing a curl's tail to brush Oakley's cheek, tickling, "what's the price?"
The tickle made Oakley squirm. She kept chuckling with her eyes closed and still managed, "The price is a lifetime at my side. Locked to me. No escape."
Well then.
The longer Grace looked at her, the cuter she became. Grace bent for another kiss. "In that case, I'll need a few more."
Oakley collapsed into laughter, rolling, then swatted Grace's arm in mock outrage. "You menace."
Her mouth said one thing; her face said another. She never took her eyes off Grace.
"Enough mischief," Grace said at last, checking the time. She pushed up from the bed. "I'll wash up."
The indulgence stayed at her mouth.
"Mm." Oakley tugged her hand close and kissed the back of it lightly. "I'll go tell the sandman goodbye. Be right there."
Which meant—of course—she wanted a brief second sleep. Spring fatigue, autumn drowsiness, summer dozing, winter hibernation: the meaning of life was eating well, drinking well, playing well, sleeping well.
Otherwise—what was the point?
"Deal." Grace finally left the bed for real.
In the flare of window light, she glanced down at the kissed spot on her hand and smiled, soft as a ribbon.
She turned and walked to the bathroom. At the sink she dotted the brush with toothpaste and scrubbed, pausing now and then to meet her own eyes in the mirror.
A look. A small smile.
She wasn't sure who she'd become.
When she'd rinsed and cupped water to her face, the door clicked. Grace turned. Oakley stood there with a mop of pretty, chaotic curls.
"Awake?" Grace blotted her face with a towel and smiled toward her.
"Mm…" Oakley nodded like a pecking chick, palm over her belly as she slid in, plaintive. "I'm hungry."
"Hungry?" Grace tilted her head, tossing the towel. "What did your dream do to you?"
"In the span of two minutes?" Grace laughed. "What did you dream?"
Oakley sighed and rubbed her brow. "I dreamt I went out to buy food, but the shopkeeper said I had to beat him at a game before he'd sell me anything. I played and played—until the end of time. I wound up in the hospital on IV nutrition. Still lost. I was starving."
She marveled at her own brain. With an imagination like that, wasn't it a waste not to write? Perhaps she could spar on equal footing with Sabrina Myers after all.
Grace nearly choked on laughter. "I can't compete with your brand of weird."
"It nearly killed me," Oakley muttered, returning dutifully from daydreams.
"Then brush up," Grace said. "Once you're ready, we'll head out."
It was past ten; by the time they were dressed, it would be close to lunch.
"All right." Oakley set to washing, banishing the last of sleep.
Grace didn't leave. Arms loosely crossed, she leaned there watching, her gaze like water, mouth tilted up, body suffused with a pleasant ease.
She thought: I must look like a creep.
Oh well. Let me be a creep.
When Oakley finished and slipped into day clothes with a quick, natural face, they left the Airbnb together.
Grace wasn't sure if the winter sunshine here was unusually kind, or if happiness sharpened the world—but everything looked beautiful. Trees and shrubs, sky and buildings carried bright, polished colors, as if poured into a newly cleaned mirror.
After lunch, Oakley insisted on a local ice-cream shop she'd found online. It hid in a narrow alley where driving and parking were both a nuisance, so Grace left the car outside and walked with her in.
The lane was thin and old, the pavement hairline-cracked, the low buildings worn with years. Fresh leaves spilled constantly over the squat walls, catching sun into a scatter of light and making a crisp sibilance in the breeze. Old, yes—but with a boutique, unexpected freshness.
The ice-cream shop sat two-thirds down.
On the vermilion doorframe, a string of ceramic animal chimes clicked. A retro counter hosted a gigantic yellow-and-white cat—round-headed, round-bodied, a creature who had seen all of cat-life and was unimpressed.
The whole place breathed simple, unhurried charm.
At the owner's urging, Grace chose honeydew; Oakley went for a matcha-and-chocolate twist.
Outside again, Grace squinted down the alley and smiled. "This reminds me of the first trip we ever took."
Oakley bit too large a tip from her cone and shivered from scalp to spine. Warm winter or not, winter was winter. Eat ice cream like that and the crown of your head revolted.
She shut her eyes and reopened them, following Grace's gaze. "It does," she said, surprised. "It looks just like that alley."
"The one where you wanted to arm-wrestle me," Grace said.
She still couldn't forget that afternoon—Oakley in a pretty dress, dark curls haloed by sunlight. All posture and light, like a painting done in oil.
Grace didn't know when, precisely, she'd fallen. Only that every time she'd seen Oakley, something in her vision had brightened—as if Oakley were molded by some mythmaker to capture her, specifically.
At the mention of arm-wrestling, Oakley scowled and cut her a look. "Exactly. You ruined my record as the invincible mini-boss. Destroyed my 'Chuck Bass Oakley' title. You look string-bean skinny—where did all that strength come from?"
There's always a higher mountain.
"Want a rematch?" Grace grinned. "I promise I'll let you win."
"Forget it." Oakley licked the cone, pretending disdain. "I know a handicap when I see one. I'm not dumb. I don't need charity."
"Understandable." Grace raised a thumb. "Spine of steel."
"Of course." Oakley thought for a second. "Question. When did you decide you were definitely going to marry me?"
"Day one of that trip," Grace said, without a blink.
"Day one?" Oakley gaped. "You decided to marry me on day one?"
"Yes."
"Why?" On that first day, Oakley had been all prickles, afraid she'd drawn a bad card.
"Why…" Grace narrowed her eyes, thinking. "Maybe it's that knight-meets-princess gene waking up. You don't know it yet, but you're already sworn to the guard."
Oakley burst out laughing and patted her shoulder, then patted her own flushed cheek with a cold hand. "Say one more word and I'll actually be embarrassed."
"I mean it," Grace said, all joking gone. Her gaze was earnest to the brim. "That's truly how it felt."
Oakley finished her cone and glanced up, the corners of her mouth refusing to behave. "Okay."
A couple stood embracing farther down, and Oakley's eyes caught there.
She turned back, hooked a finger through Grace's. "I want to try something."
"What?" Grace asked.
Oakley didn't answer. She slipped her hand free and stepped behind her.
While Grace was still puzzled, Oakley wrapped both arms around her waist from the back.
Grace blinked and turned her head a fraction.
Oakley tightened her hold and set her forehead between Grace's shoulder blades. "Let me stay like this for a bit."
"That's what you wanted to do?" Grace smiled, her face softening by degrees.
"Mm-hmm. Is it odd?" Oakley murmured. "In books and shows, people always hug their person from behind. I've wondered forever what it felt like. I've wanted to hold you like this for a long time. But it seemed too clingy, too intimate—bad form to cross the line. So I didn't. Now I'm making up for it."
Every time she'd seen that scene, she'd wondered.
She'd just never gotten to live it.
Grace's mouth wouldn't stop curving. "So… what does it feel like?"
Oakley tightened again, fingers interlacing. "Like being full. Full to the brim."
Abstract, maybe. But exact once you held it.
So full it seemed something might spill from the heart's edge.
Grace looked at them in the shop window's reflection and nodded.
"And you?" Oakley asked. "What does it feel like to be held like this?"
"Me?" Grace's smile turned quiet. "Happiness."
The word hit her square in the chest; Oakley wiggled with glee. "Yes—happiness! I feel happy, too."
Grace stroked her knotted hands and laughed low.
So this was dating. Their IQs had gone down ten points; they'd both reverted to children. It was wonderful.
Sabrina Myers's text broke the spell.
She was on her way to the restaurant.
Grace realized it was already half past four; they'd set dinner for five.
She looked to Oakley. "Sabrina's heading out. We should go."
"Okay." Oakley tucked her hand into Grace's arm.
"Your friend?" Grace asked.
"She just got in," Oakley said, checking her phone. "Tired. Slept at the Airbnb. I don't know if she's up yet."
"No pressure. We're early," Grace said. "We'll head over. If she isn't there by then, we'll nudge her."
"Mm."
They left the alley, returned to the car, and drove to a place called Cloudhouse Chronicles.
Upstairs, the host led them to the second floor. From a distance, they spotted Sabrina.
Gray and black from head to toe, black knit beanie, gold-rimmed glasses; she was slouched into a sofa, one leg crossed over the other, scrolling on her phone.
Her face was expressionless; from afar it looked almost severe.
Sabrina was sharp-featured by default, but silliness usually rounded her edges. If she radiated chill, odds were her mood had dipped.
Grace sat with Oakley and tapped the table. "Sabrina."
Sabrina lifted her face. "You're here?"
"Mm." Grace studied her. Off. "Your ears are usually better than that. We sat down and you didn't notice."
Sabrina breathed out and gave a small, baffled shake of the head. The long phoenix slant of her eyes held a shadow of something unsteady.
Oakley felt it too. "You're not yourself."
Sabrina rolled her eyes toward Oakley, pressed fingers to her brow, and shrugged. "Maybe. I'm tired."
"So what happened?" Grace asked.
"Nothing major," Sabrina snorted. "Just that someone didn't want me."
It sounded helpless, and it looked it.
"You confessed to that shop owner?" Grace said, quick as a wire.
Sabrina didn't deny it; her smile cut at itself. "Yep. And judging from my face, you can guess how it went."
"What now?" Grace asked. She didn't like the brittleness under the breezy tone.
"Nothing," Sabrina said. "Maybe the universe wants me single for life."
Oakley thought that was hasty. "You won't try again?"
"For now, no," Sabrina said. "Her boundaries are firm. I'm not the right kind of pest."
Dogged pursuit only fits people who don't overthink.
"Your life, your call," Grace said.
"Mm." Sabrina sagged deeper. "Order?"
"Hold on," Oakley said, lifting her phone. "I'll check where my friend is."
Sabrina blinked. "My memory. Great."
Oakley typed, then looked up. "She's at the front door."
"Good." Sabrina pushed her glasses up. "We'll wait."
"Sure," Grace said.
Footsteps approached the stairs. Sabrina didn't bother to look, scrolling through a new chapter draft.
Then Oakley said to the person beside her, "You're here! Let me introduce you—this is my wife, Grace Barron."
Sabrina set her phone down and turned to greet Oakley's friend.
And stopped cold.
The newcomer's hair was twisted into a loose bun with a black pin, a long cream down coat tied in a neat bow at the waist. Elegant line, fine-boned face, a startlingly composed grace.
Oakley's voice chimed again. "Sabrina, this is my friend, Natalie Pierce. Natalie, this is Grace's friend, Sabrina Myers. Sit together!"
Natalie turned—swift as a swallow—and her gaze struck Sabrina's squarely.
They both blinked.
Both of them stilled.