At Grace's place, Oakley had cracked open the cartons that held her filming props and already felt wrung out. Now only she realizes, moving was actually a sport—one that left you aching in muscles you didn't know you had. Even when you only brought the essentials, it drained you dry. Half her closet was still back at the old apartment, half her life left behind in cardboard. But her arms trembled anyway, her back burned, and the thin cotton of her shirt clung to her spine with sweat.
She straightened, pressing a palm to the small of her back, and noticed how full the dark had become outside. Strictly speaking, it was early still, but late autumn cheated you, laying winter's night across the city long before the calendar said it was due. In the window, she caught her own reflection—hair stuck damp to her temple, face a shade too pale.
"Enough. I can't do it anymore" she whispered to herself. Rest first. Rebuild the batteries, then tackle the rest.
By the sofa, she tugged her bag upright, popped the clasp, and reached for her phone—only to watch a leaf slide out and twirling down to the rug. The one Grace had tucked behind her ear that morning.
It really was a beautiful leaf. Veins a delicate red, edges curled just so, a fragile thing that still carried the heat of daylight in its color. She crouched, turned it by the stem between her fingers. A silly trinket, and yet it eased something in her chest, let a quiet happiness climb into her face. She hadn't had the heart to throw it away.
Shoes abandoned at the edge of the carpet, she curled into the sofa's corner, leaf in one hand, phone in the other. The cushions still smelled faintly of Grace's linen spray—cedar and something citrus—and Oakley breathed it in without meaning to. Strange, how quickly the unfamiliar began to wrap around her.
Unlock her phone, open Apptalk, Grace's message blinked up at her "You must be there by now. Pick whichever room you like."
She glanced around at the chaos of boxes. "Okay. I just finished unboxing the essentials. "I'm wiped, so I will sort out the room later."
No answer yet. She went back to turning the leaf in the light.
A new message slid in suddenly—from Natalie Pierce.
"Oakley! I'm finally done with the crunch. Free at last. Are you around in the next two days? I could do today—what about you? Let me know when are you free"
Oakley frowned. Terrible timing. Her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, typing, erasing, typing again. Finally she sent: "I just moved. I can't do for these two days, I will be arranging furniture for a bit. How about Friday?"
Truth was, she wanted to see Natalie soon so badly as well.
"Works for me. You finally did it? Moved? "Natalie wrote.
"Yeah. Six months of dithering taught me my limits. Moving out is better for both my mental and physical health."
"That's good for you. But, where are you now?"
Oakley bit her lip. They'd both been too busy to trade proper updates. Some things she hadn't said out loud, even to herself.
Her fingers hesitated, deleted, retyped. Finally she sent: I moved into Grace Barron's place.
A beat. Then Natalie again, startled spelled out in every letter: "Grace… Barron? The Grace Barron?"
Oakley's chest tightened, but she confessed: "Uh-huh. We actually got married. Getting to know her, she's actually… lovely. Warm in her way. I had misjudged her in the past. Being with her is… easy and comfortable."
Another beat. Longer. She could almost see Natalie blinking at her screen.
"What? Married? When? What did I missed?"
"Yeah. Just recently. You know me, I don't like dragging things out." Oakley typed, easing a pillow behind her spine and tugging her hair up with one hand. "When I want something, I go for it."
"Then it's good," Natalie wrote at last. "But since it was so fast, advice from me—watch and learn. Protect yourself, don't get carried away. You know your radar is always off. No matter with friends, with lovers, or anyone. Don't get swept. Observe more. Guard yourself."
Oakley stilled. It wasn't cold water, it was sense. Natalie was right—her instincts about people weren't always good. Still, she promised: "I know. Don't worry, I will protect myself."
"So… you're now living together?"
"Yes…Mm no, I meant almost. Why?"
Natalie hesitated. "Nothing. It just sounds like… you like her. The speed, the decisions, eveything... Have you already fallen in to her?"
Oakley laughed at the screen, a brittle little sound. "Falling in to her? Hardly."
"No, I mean—did your heart catch? You sound happier in your messages. Lighter."
"That's my temperament." Oakley wrote quickly. "When I meet someone interesting, I light up. I was like that with my girls friends at the start, too—wanted to see them every day."
Later, after she had learned some people wilted under that kind of sun, she had tempered it.
"I see," Natalie wrote.
Oakley scrolled back, then asked, almost shy: "Do I really seem that happy?"
"Yes," Natalie replied. "On your trip you littered our chats with exclamation points and tildes. It read like you'd moved onto a cloud."
Oakley smiled, then sighed. "Maybe I was just that unlucky lately. And then, in the middle of it, I met Grace. Of course I'm happy."
"Maybe I overread it," Natalie said.
"So… you think I like her like that?" Oakley ventured.
"A little," Natalie wrote. "as an outsider, it feels that way."
Oakley almost fired back a denial. But something tugged. "Why do you think so?"
"Hard to say. A hunch."
"I'm… probably very straight," Oakley typed.
"Strictly speaking," Natalie replied, "according to research, most women are closer to bi than they think. Some notice, some don't. Or maybe my gut's wrong. Anyway—gotta run."
"Okay. Go." Oakley sent. But her eyes stayed fixed on the line about women and noticing.
She wanted to deny it and she did. But a memory rose—quick and specific. She remembered the way her heart leapt when Grace leaned in close, remembered the strange subtle thrum that rolled through her chest, an urge both strange and magnetic. Not like that silly time she kissed Amelia Hayes in a party game—this was sharper, a deeper, a wish to close the gap, to kiss, to slip into deeper contact.
And she didn't understand why. Why Grace?
Her pulse quickened, she chewed her thumbnail, then opened her browser and typed. Her fingers typed before she could stop them: "What does it mean if I want to kiss a woman?"
Her pulse ticked fast. She hesitated, thumb hovering over the enter key, as if pressing it might collapse her world. Then—click.
The page refreshed. The top line read, "It may indicate you have special emotional or psychological attraction to the same sex."
Oakley stared, silent. The words gleamed back at her like a verdict. Her breath stuttered. She wanted to laugh it off, to close the tab—but some traitorous part of her felt a flicker of recognition.
A sound in the hall. The door turned.
Grace entered, linen shirt and trench coat still crisp from the night air. Presence before words, her gaze sweeping across the room.
Oakley jolted. She didn't have much time to think, only to flip the phone and slide it under the throw pillow, then push a hand through her hair and force a smile. "Hi. you're back."
"I am," Grace said, looking at her.
Oakley wore a white, plush knit dress that hugged without squeezing, the fabric making her skin look almost translucent and tracing every curve. She was all shimmer and softness.
Grace's eyes lingered a fraction too long before flicking away to the clutter of boxes. "Done unboxing for everything?"
Oakley fussed with her hair. "Mostly. I'm tired. And starving though, so I stopped."
Grace nodded, calculating, then gestured toward the pantry. "Bread on the second shelf. Take the edge off; we'll figure dinner after."
"Hooray—thanks." Oakley smiled, slipping into her slippers, padding toward the kitchen happily.
Grace watched her go, set her tablet on the coffee table, and reached to straighten the tumble of pillows and throw. It was habit: fix, square, smooth.
Something slipped.
A phone. White with a cute phone case. It hit the floor with a loud thud.
Loud enough to snatch Oakley's nerves taut.
Oh no.
She'd lengthened her screen time-out because the black screen annoyed her. She hadn't cleared the browser. Which meant—
Which meant the screen was probably still bright. And the words she'd just searched were probably gleaming up at whoever picked it up.
She spun, panic flashing in her eyes. The moment she braced to sprint the few steps, Grace had already bent, lifted the phone, and stilled.
Her gaze caught on the bright screen.
Oakley's pupils tightened to pinpoints, beautiful eyes hardening with sudden fear. The room, for one long second, held its breath with her.