On her way back from dinner, Grace Barron remembered that Sabrina Myers had stormed out after a fight with her parents and was coming to stay the night. She swung by a late supermarket, picked up the basics, and drove the quiet streets back.
By the time she reached home, night had deepened, the sky so heavy and dark it nearly smothered the glow of the garden lamps.
Grace switched on the lights and had just reached for a glass of water when the lock clicked open. She turned—and there was Sabrina, backpack slung over one shoulder.
"Grace, listen—I swear my parents have lost their minds…" Sabrina slipped in with a backpack and a stormy face, closing the door behind her, heading straight for Grace.
But Grace held up a hand, halting her mid-step. "Ma'am. Shoes."
"Oh." Sabrina blinked, turned, then fished a pair of new house slippers from the cabinet. "These are mine, right?"
Grace tipped her head at the size. "Who else in this house needs shoes that big?"
Sabrina pulled a wounded face. Same height as Grace, and yet her shoe size kept pace with half the men she knew. Fate had a sense of humor.
"Fine, fine." She slipped them on and moved closer.
"And next time," Grace added, "ring the bell first."
Sabrina stared. "What?"
They were close. Before the move, Sabrina had the passcode to Grace's old place and treated it like a windswept café—no knock, no call, in and out. Habits harden.
Grace, reading her, explained evenly: "Oakley's moving in a few days. It won't just be me anymore. Better to knock first."
"Ah." Sabrina dropped her bag on the sofa, paused, then raised her brows. "So you two really are living together?"
Grace set a glass of water in front of her. "Yes. We're married now. Sooner or later we would."
"Damn," Sabrina made a little hand sign like a teenager rating a stunt. "That's faster than I imagined."
Grace pulled a tissue, dabbed the ring of water off the table, and flicked the paper into the bin. "It's not that kind of cohabitation. We're not just a couple. Moving quickly changes nothing."
Sabrina tilted her head, eyes narrowed. "So you mean to tell me… you're really cold-turkey now? You can live with someone like Oakley Ponciano—gorgeous as she is—and feel nothing?"
She could say that because she knew Grace's type all too well. Oakley fit it from crown to ankle. Proof? None she could cite. Years ago, when Grace still painted, every feminine figure she sketched looked eerily like Oakley.
But Grace nodded without hesitation. "Mm."
Sabrina chuckled. "All right then, Iron Lady."
She sipped her water, grimacing. "Really? I come all this way and you give me tap water?"
"From your place to mine is twenty-eight kilometres, not across the ocean." Grace said, leaned back with a magazine. "Let's be precise."
Sabrina nearly spit the water. "Do you always take everything so literally?"
Grace smiled faintly. "My great-grandmother was one-quarter German. Comes with the territory."
"…Unbelievable." Sabrina held up an approving, silent expletive with her fingers, then asked, "Where's your tea? Surely you'll make me some at least."
Grace pointed lazily at a cabinet. "Over there. Self-serve please."
"You're cold as ice," Sabrina muttered, already moving.
"Parenting," Grace smirked. "I'm fostering independence. It's love in its highest form."
"God, you're unbelievable." Sabrina shook her head, then started rummaging through the drawers.
Grace's brow knit. "Don't root around like a terrier. Leave it how you found it."
Sabrina glanced back with a tin of oolong in hand, somewhere between speechless and amused. "So many rules when no one's looking. Oakley's going to lose her mind living with you." Thank Godness I didn't marry you."
"Don't worry," Grace said, lazy as a cat "I'd never marry you."
Sabrina choked on her own breath, then laughed, defeated.
When the kettle began to hum, Grace asked, "So, what happened? Why the jailbreak?"
"Don't ask," Sabrina said, measuring leaves. "Apart from pushing marriage, what else do parents do?"
Grace considered. "You could do what I did—find someone to play along."
Sabrina shook her head firmly. "No thanks. Your heart may be dead. Mine's still alive. I still believe in love."
Grace arched a brow. "Then why do you refuse to make the first move it? Love doesn't just tumble down the mountain into your lap."
The words seemed to hit a soft spot. Sabrina turned, eyes lit with something new. "Actually… I did meet someone recently. She makes my heart race."
"Oh?" A small spark of curiosity warmed Grace's tone.
"She's… unreal. Like she doesn't breathe the same air as the rest of us. The way she looks at you, the quiet in her posture—" Sabrina smiled into the steam. "I found her in a clothing boutique. She owns the place. Modern heritage pieces. First sight and I was gone. I've 'happened to pass by' seven times in two weeks."
"That's… nice," Grace said, genuinely pleased for her.
And then, with a rueful curve of her mouth: "Honestly, I'm not sure what 'true love at first sight' feels like anymore."
"It's when seeing her makes you happy for no good reason," Sabrina said, hands shaping the feeling. "You want to stand close. Your chest opens just to catch her scent, and something deep in you—like a dry ravine—fills. You have dated people. You know."
"I remember," Grace said thoughtfully. "It did feel like a ravine filling—cement poured to the brim.
What state was she in now?
Better than right after being cheated on, yes. But something had lingered. Most days she was oddly even. Too even. As if the dial on her feelings had been turned down and left there.
Not just the quickened pulse. Even joy—true, fizzy joy—came and went like a thin radio signal.
She knew what Sabrina meant. But the truth was, since her betrayal, Grace's emotions had flattened. She couldn't remember the thrill of desire.
If she was honest, the only person who raised a larger wave in her lately was Oakley. Grace was happy when they went out; she found Oakley irresistibly endearing and wanted, unreasonably, to be gentle with her. But it didn't line up neatly with Sabrina's description. When she tried to dig deeper than that, the shovel hit rock and irritation.
Sabrina paused mid-pour, looking over the teapot. "So your heart really did die."
Grace thought a moment, then lifted her eyes. "I have a question."
"Shoot."
Grace's brows knit. She shut the magazine with a thump. "When you say you want to be near her… you mean you mean emotionally, right?"
Sabrina blinked. "Of course. You don't start by wanting to do things to someone's body. God."
"But what if—" Grace frowned slightly. "What if it's only a bodily thing—an instinct, a wanting, a… response. What is that?"
Sabrina studied her for a long second, then shrugged. "Then you're just… horny?"
People draw their own maps of love. Sabrina's love began in the mind—feeling first, body second. She couldn't compute Grace's hypothetical any other way. If she tried, it ended at: hormones are driving the bus.
"I see." Grace said, watching the steam wreath the spout.
"Mm." Sabrina's eyes narrowed. A beat later she swivelled. "Hold on—why the sudden questionnaire? Don't tell me you're having a bodily response to someone."
Grace's head snapped around. She set the magazine down with a soft slap. "Nonsense."
Sabrina swirled her cup, smiling into it. "Then why ask?"
Grace glanced away, crossed to the fridge, and pulled out a colossal apple. She set a cutting board on the island and brought the knife down. "Just asking."
Sabrina wasn't easy to throw off a scent. She tasted the air and found something there. "Tell the truth. Did something happen with Oakley on your trip?"
Crack.
The blade split the apple cleanly. Grace froze, turned. "Nothing happened."
"For real?" Sabrina squinted.
Grace gave her a look. "You're sounding like your parents, gossip and all. You aware of that?"
Sabrina grinned shamelessly. "Fine. I'll stop. You know your own mind."
Still, she felt certain she'd grazed a truth. Otherwise Grace's eyes wouldn't have done that small, startled thing.
Grace's patience thinned. She rubbed her temple and slid the plate of fruit across. "Help me finish that. And occupy your mouth."
Sabrina laughed quietly, but let her be.
Grace ignored the bait, smoothed her sleeves, and headed down the hall. "I've got work in the study. Make yourself at home."
"Go," Sabrina said, lifting a slice. "I'll manage."
In the quiet of the study, Grace closed the door and leaned against it with her eyes shut. But the crease returned to her brow almost at once.
She saw Oakley again—Oakley leaning close, close enough that stars seemed to have fallen into her pupils, lips soft and full as she asked if Grace had ever been kissed. She remembered the shape of Oakley's mouth, the gloss, the softness implied.
Then Oakley asleep, arm looped around Grace, breath warm against the skin of her neck. A breath that tickled and sharpened all at once.
Grace's eyes flew open.
So maybe Sabrina was right. Maybe she was just… hungry?
If so, that was almost a relief. It meant her heart wasn't tangled. That nothing dangerous was happening. Hormones rose and fell; she'd ride it out.
She sat at her desk, opened her laptop, and forced herself into the current of work. The trip had been a joy, yes, but deadlines had stacked into a small mountain. She needed to clear the manuscripts waiting for her notes, then handle a few things for Devin's company.
After three or four days of steady grind, the heap thinned. She exhaled.
Tuesday, 7 p.m. The city outside her office windows had lit its necklace of lamps. Grace reached for her phone and noticed a message from Oakley—sent two hours earlier.
"I'm heading to your place."
Grace's mouth lifted, typing back. "You must be there by now. Pick whichever room you like."
No reply came. Probably elbow-deep in boxes.
She slipped on her coat and left the building.