The front desk clerk's comment came out of nowhere, abrupt enough to make anyone blink. Grace Barron cleared her throat quietly, knuckles resting lightly against her lips.
Oakley Ponciano, on the other hand, burst into laughter, eyes crinkling in amusement. "I mean—who just rolls around on a bed for no reason?"
The clerk realized how weird her own words had sounded and scrambled to clarify, scratching her head nervously. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean it that way—I just meant, as long as neither of you are wild sleepers or tend to push people around, it should be totally fine."
Oakley giggled, amused by her embarrassment. "Don't worry, I get it."
Then, turning lazily, she gave Grace a look through misty eyes and sighed with mock helplessness. "So… what do you think? She says we've got to share a bed."
Grace had noticed something about Oakley. Even when she wasn't trying to be flirtatious, she somehow always seemed like she was. That soft, teasing charm—it wasn't something she put on. It was simply her. Baked into her DNA. The kind that slipped beneath your guard and made a home there before you even noticed.
To be honest, Grace felt slightly conflicted. She was, after all, a lesbian. Even if she had long since sworn off love, it didn't mean she should throw boundaries to the wind. Her instincts whispered that this might not be the smartest move.
"What do you think?" she asked gently.
Oakley twirled a little info card between her fingers, her voice just as soft and airy as her silhouette. "I'm fine with it, obviously."
There was a subtle drawl to her tone, a kind of unconscious seduction wrapped around every syllable.
Grace dropped her gaze, trying to figure out how to respond.
Oakley's inky black eyes danced as she pivoted closer, stopping just in front of Grace. Her gaze roamed gently over her, then she leaned in slightly, lips curving. "What's wrong? Not willing? Are you scared I'll eat you up?"
Her perfume was faint but unforgettable—like a late-blooming osmanthus swaying in the night breeze, fragrant and dreamy.
Oakley was beautiful in that effortless, dangerous kind of way. The kind that made you think of summer storms and silk slipping to the floor.
Grace thought, If I were the type with less self-control, this would be a problem.
She chuckled softly, eyes on the floor. "That's not it. I just thought… you might feel uncomfortable since you didn't particularly like me before. Wouldn't sharing a room feel a little suffocating?"
Oakley chuckled, dimples blooming like wildflowers.
To her, Grace's sexuality wasn't really a factor. Women were women. Sisters, mostly. The only thing that truly mattered was whether or not Grace was a decent person.
And judging from the way Grace had treated her all day—with kindness, patience, and zero ulterior motives—Oakley figured she'd probably misjudged her back then.
Her gut told her Grace wasn't the type to cross lines.
Besides, she really liked the guesthouse. She didn't want to find another place over one leaky pipe.
"That was then; this is now," Oakley stated gently yet confidently.
There was no mistaking the message in her tone.
Grace couldn't refuse her now without being rude. She nodded slightly, then told the clerk, "Alright. Just put her in with me."
Sooner or later, they'd be sharing a space anyway. And really, what was the point of clinging to strict boundaries? She was a woman, not a man. There was no need to overthink.
The clerk, clearly relieved, beamed. "Great! All set!"
Back in the elevator, then up to the third floor. Oakley returned to her old room briefly, dragged out her suitcase, then gave Grace's door a soft knock. "I'm coming in."
Grace, now wearing a thicker coat, glanced back while adjusting the collar. "Come on in."
Oakley wheeled her suitcase inside, shut the door behind her, then knelt gracefully beside it. She unzipped it and pulled out two jackets, comparing them like a woman with a deeply unsolvable crisis.
Hand brushing her collarbone, she looked up at Grace. "Think I should change this dress? Is it too cold to go out with bare legs?"
The wind outside had picked up, and everyone knows wind-chill hits different.
Grace considered it. "Probably a little cold. But it depends—some people are only cold up top and don't feel it in their legs. Up to you."
Noticing a few bugs had flown in, Grace headed to the window and pushed aside the curtain. Sure enough, the window was open. No wonder.
Oakley sighed. "I think I'll change. Better safe than sorry."
"Fair enough."
Grace turned away from the window, just in time to see Oakley unzipping her dress. Right there. No hesitation.
As the zipper slid lower, fabric slumped, baring soft skin, the curve of her waist, and just a glimpse of one perfect hip.
Grace immediately spun around.
It hit her then—straight girls could be dangerous.
Especially when they friend-zoned you. That meant they saw you as safe. One of the girls. And that translated to… no boundaries.
Maybe she shouldn't have told Oakley she'd lost interest in people entirely. Maybe that's what gave her the green light to treat her like a roommate.
Too late now. No point in making it weird.
Grace grabbed a bottle of water from the nightstand, took a long drink to cool down.
When Oakley was quiet again, Grace capped the bottle. "Done?"
"Yep." Oakley now wore a white fitted tee tucked into blue denim skinnies, topped with a light beige trench. She pulled her hair out from under the collar and grinned. "What are you doing in the corner? Reflecting on life?"
Grace turned slightly, waving the bottle. "Just having a drink."
"Oh." Oakley tugged her sleeves into place. "So, what's for dinner?"
Grace pulled out her phone and walked over. "I found a place. Want to see?"
"Sure." Oakley stepped beside her.
Grace opened the app and showed her a colorful menu. "I thought this looked good—kind of a Southeast Spice-style rice platter."
Oakley, ever the visual creature, nodded. "Looks amazing. Let's do it."
Grace exited the app. "Shall we go now?"
"Yup."
They left the guesthouse and caught a ride. Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at a charming restaurant decorated in ethnic style. The patio was framed in wood, the roof made of woven banana leaves, and the place twinkled with colored lights—primitive, but in a carefully curated way.
They ordered the signature dish, a few light sides, and two drinks.
Once the menus were taken, the two women waited in quiet.
The moon was high, stars faint, the chill creeping in. Oakley looked around, snapped a few photos, then turned to Grace. "Hey, Grace."
"Yeah?" Grace looked up.
Oakley propped her chin in her hand, thinking. "Do you believe in aliens?"
Grace poured her a glass of lemon water and slid it toward Oakley. "Of course."
Oakley tilted her head, curious. "Why?"
Grace set the pitcher down and lifted her glass. "Life's too short. Believing or not, we all get the same cut of meat. But if you stop believing in anything... how dull is that?"
Oakley had expected something about the vastness of the universe or mankind's insignificance. Instead, Grace gave her something oddly refreshing.
And she was right. Why live so cautiously? Why demand proof for everything? That's not curiosity—it's a checklist.
"You're…" Oakley stared openly. "You're fascinating."
Grace smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Just then, the wind kicked up outside. Trees rustled violently, their leaves churning like waves. The moment felt cinematic—everything soaked in starlight and rhythm.
And then, suddenly, Oakley covered one eye with her pale, delicate hand. Her expression twisted slightly.
Grace leaned in. "Did something get in your eye?"
"Yeah…" Oakley's voice was soft, almost pitiful. "Something got in it. It really stings."
She started to rub.
Grace caught her wrist. "Don't."
"But—"
"No buts. Rubbing makes it worse. Let me check."
"…Okay." Oakley lowered her hand.
Grace moved closer, studying her eye. "Relax. Open wide, let me see."
Oakley obeyed, and the discomfort faded a little.
After a moment, Grace said, "Looks like you already rubbed it out."
Oakley blinked a few times, confirming the sting was gone. Her gaze shifted from the distance to right in front of her—onto Grace's face.
And what a face it was. The closer you got, the more stunning it became.
Long lashes framed light brown eyes. High nose, elegant. Her lips—full but not overly so, perfectly shaped.
Oakley's mind echoed a single thought:
Those lips look made for kissing.
She was so mesmerized that the words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them.
"Grace."
"Hm?" Grace was still focused, making sure nothing lingered in her eye.
Oakley leaned in, closer than she ever had, her eyes like stars breaking through the night. Her voice a soft, alluring whisper "Have you ever kissed anyone?"