"Wait."Just as Oakley Ponciano's smile was about to break, Grace Barron seemed to remember something and her brow drew tight again.
"Mm?" Oakley had already been poised to climb into bed, but the sound of Grace's voice rooted her to the spot. She stood there, expectant, waiting for the rest.
Grace folded her arms across her waist, one hand pinching at her chin, eyes narrowed as she sifted for holes in Oakley's story. "Skylark gets fierce winter winds every year—strong enough to snap branches. How did you handle it before?"
Oakley's jaw loosened, her mind spinning up to full speed. Then she began to rub the stuffed rabbit's ears, lying without blinking. "My Snoopy, obviously."
She even christened the rabbit on the spot.
"Snoopy?" Grace arched a brow at the very-not-a-beagle in Oakley's arms.
Charmed, really—buy a rabbit and name it Snoopy. If it had been a dog, would she have named it Judy?
Oakley went on stroking the rabbit's glassy eyes, piling the lie higher. "Yes. You've no idea what a hero Snoopy is. All these years—in wind and rain—I've relied on Snoopy to get me through. Honestly, without Snoopy's company, I might not even be alive."
The longer she talked, the deeper she threw herself into the part. "Snoopy's like family to me, warm and irreplaceable. But I'm new to your house, not quite settled in this room—and with weather like this, one little rabbit doesn't have enough strength to prop me up. Snoopy's doing its best, but it's… overwhelmed."
Grace listened to Snoopy on the left and Snoopy on the right, rubbed her temple, and decided not to pick at what was so clearly improvised nonsense.
"All right, that's enough." She tipped her hand in a small, beckoning gesture. "If you want up here, get up here."
"Mm!"
With official permission granted, Oakley brightened like a Halloween imp handed a bucket of candy. She scrambled onto the mattress without another word. The rabbit slipped free mid-climb and bounced onto the floor; she didn't even glance down, just slid in beside Grace and pulled the duvet up over her chest.
Grace reached down, scooped the rabbit, examined it, then looked back at Oakley. "So you're abandoning your rabbit?"
Oakley gave it a cool, two-second look. "Let it rest. Put it somewhere."
Grace looked once more at the plush, brow lifting. For a companion that had weathered "years," it was impressively pristine. A tough little survivor.
She faced Oakley again. "So that's how you treat the rabbit that's carried you through storms—your family-level Snoopy?"
The prompt made Oakley realize what she'd just contradicted, but the primary objective was achieved and she was beyond the rules of consistency. "Not abandoning at all. I'm grown. Snoopy deserves a proper break. It doesn't have to look after me forever."
Grace set the rabbit aside and exhaled, letting it go. She had no desire to shred Oakley's flimsy theater. Instead, she lifted the book from her pillow. "I'm going to read a while."
After a day stretched thin, this was the one calm she allowed herself—night pages instead of fresh air, since there was no time for that. Without it, life flattened; too much gray, and depression came hunting.
Oakley didn't interfere. She nodded like a small bird pecking grain. "Okay~ I'll play on my phone."
Grace had just opened to her bookmark when she caught, with a razor glance, that Oakley was lying down to watch. She considered, then said, "Sit up, will you? If you keep watching on your side, you'll ruin your eyes."
Oakley was a connoisseur of comfort—if she could sit, she wouldn't stand; if she could lie down, she wouldn't sit—but because Grace asked, she pushed herself upright. The movement tugged her earbud cord loose; the variety show's audio spilled softly into the room.
"Want the tablet?" Grace asked. "Phone's too small."
"It's fine," Oakley said, shaking her head lazily. "My tablet's too far. I'm not trekking back for it."
The duvet was a kingdom; she'd reign there forever if she could.
"I have one here," Grace said. "Want it?"
Oakley's eyes rolled, bright with mischief. "Yes. Tablet me."
An unrepentant sloth. Grace's mouth tugged upward; she slipped from bed, crossed to the desk, and brought back the freshly charged device. "Passcode's 911911."
"Perfect~" Oakley cradled it, delighted.
She was seconds from typing when her fingers froze, her whole body going still, as if turned briefly to stone.
Grace felt the pause and looked up. "That fast? You forgot it?"
Oakley sneezed—small and kittenish—then rubbed her nose. "Did not. It's your birthday, isn't it."
She lowered her head and tapped in the numbers.
Grace's brow eased; she turned slightly, watching the angle of Oakley's face. September eleventh. Yes—her birthday.
A breath later: "You knew?"
Oakley unlocked the screen and swiped without ceremony. "Mm. The date's on our license, and in the agreement."
Grace's mouth curved and she returned to her page.
Oakley, meanwhile, took stock of the tablet—and discovered the wallpaper was still the factory default. This woman. Not even a picture she liked?
"Wow, it's like a newborn," Oakley murmured. "Fresh out of the box."
"It isn't," Grace said, eyes skimming print. "Had it over a year."
"Exactly why it looks new." Oakley huffed. "You never change the wallpaper? How do you stand it? I switch mine every month."
She burned out quickly on sameness. Cases, wallpapers—always rotating. Change the picture, change the mood; simple math.
Grace didn't register such things. "Feels like a hassle. I never bothered."
If it wasn't necessary to daily life, it could be delayed. Almost indefinitely.
Oakley wet her lips. "Is that so? Then let me change it for you—yeah?"
Grace didn't care much either way; she gave a small nod. "Go ahead."
Oakley acted the instant she'd decided, diving into a riot of wallpapers online and skimming through that kaleidoscope with breezy, ruthless efficiency. Before long she chose an abstract, sea-blue mermaid—sleek curves, glimmering scales, a whisper of tide—and set it as Grace's background.
Much better. Oakley pinched her own chin and smiled, satisfied.
Only then did she turn her attention to the tablet's apps.
So few.
Aside from the bare-minimum business utilities, there were only two music apps, two for video, and a single game.
The exact opposite of her own digital menagerie.
Her tablet was chaos in a case. Games alone—twenty something, though she barely played any of them. She was hopeless at it, died constantly. But having them mattered. In Oakley's worldview: I might not use it, but I must have it.
She and Grace—two different species entirely. Oakley still couldn't believe the person she'd married ended up being this sort of woman. She'd always imagined someone cut more or less from her cloth.
Scrolling, she accidentally tapped into Grace's photo library.
And found…pictures.
Not portraits or selfies. Group shots.
Oakley was curious, but she didn't want to snoop without asking. She tapped Grace's shoulder. "Hey."
"Mm?" Grace tilted her head.
Holding up the screen, Oakley asked, "I can look through your photos, right?"
Grace slanted a glance. "Sure. They're just company dinners. When they sent them around, I saved them here."Her life was clean lines and little to hide.
"Got it. I just want to see." Oakley opened a set.
There were a dozen or so images. Of those, only three even had Grace in frame. Oakley skipped the rest and studied those three—each with the same woman pressed very close to Grace.
The woman looked soft and dewy, a round baby-face and big eyes, glossy black hair falling straight as silk. Cheeks flushed, she leaned into Grace so closely she might as well have been draped over her.
Oakley narrowed her eyes, pointing. "Coworker?"
"My secretary."
"Oh. Secretary…" Oakley zoomed in. "Your office culture is impressive. She's closer to you than most people are to their best friends of ten years."
Grace kept it factual. "She was drunk that night. Couldn't stand straight."
"Drunk…" Oakley measured Grace. "Unsteady?"
"Mm." A nod.
Oakley dropped her gaze and kept staring at the photo, muttering under her breath, "Who knows if that was real drunk or pretend."
"What was that?" Grace hadn't caught the quick, quiet aside.
"Nothing~" Oakley puffed her cheek. "I said drinking is a terrible habit."
Drink first, do whatever, blame it after.
Grace's brow knit. "It is."
Oakley's mouth went quiet, but her mind kept buzzing.
She remembered the fortune-teller's words: Grace drew admirers like moths to a lantern. Then, unbidden, the girl with the blunt bangs—Jane MacAdam—floated up in her head. The way Jane had blushed when she asked for Grace's contact… Had they added each other? If they had, what did they talk about?
Except—what right did she have to ask? They were just partners at life, that was all. Even if they did everything couples do, this was still "making a life" together. No claim to police the borders.
Enough. Why chase that thought? What's it to me?
She took one last look at the so-called secretary, backed out of the album, and opened a streaming app.
For the next half hour they kept a peaceful truce—Grace reading, Oakley watching a show—quiet as snowfall, neither speaking.
At ten-thirty, Grace checked the time and shut her book. She turned to Oakley. "Still watching?"
Oakley slipped out both earbuds. "You're done reading?"
"It's about time to sleep," Grace said, setting the book aside.
She usually turned in around ten-thirty or eleven. Tonight fit the pattern.
"Okay, then I'm done too." Oakley closed the app without a trace of regret and set the tablet on the nightstand.
She hadn't come for television anyway. She just wanted to be near Grace.
"Lights?" Grace asked, a courtesy.
Oakley slid down, tucked the quilt beneath her chin, and nodded softly. "Mm. Go ahead."
A click. The room fell into darkness, save for a small amber night-light glowing like a kept secret.
Outside, the late hour made the silence ring. Inside, only the whisper of covers shifting moved through the dark.
Grace lay back, closed her eyes, and smoothed her brow with two fingers.
By instinct she kept her body half a meter away—proper, careful distance.
On paper, there was nothing wrong with that.
But Oakley felt a tug of loneliness even across those few inches. For her it was an ocean—the width of a river in flood, the span of a gorge.
She bit her lip and looked over. "Grace."
"Mm?" Grace turned her head.
Propped on one elbow, Oakley said, "We're too far apart. It feels…strange. Like strangers. I don't like it."