Oakley Ponciano thought for a moment, then shook her head.
What was wrong with her? Was she really going to suspect every single person who had ever crossed paths with Grace Barron? That would make her look petty—something she had sworn never to be.
The restaurant's dishes were exquisite, the ingredients fresh, the flavors delicate and rich.
But Jane MacAdam barely tasted any of it.
Halfway through the meal, her mind began to drift, wandering back to a time long ago.
She was thirteen the first time she met Grace Barron.
Back then, Jane was still in middle school in her hometown—a small, sleepy town tucked away from the world—while her older brother Jeff had just started college.
Their family was struggling. Jeff didn't return home for summer break; instead, he stayed in the city to work, hoping to earn enough to send money back and ease the burden.
But when Jane called, saying she missed him, Jeff remembered how she had never seen anything beyond their little town. Her understanding of the big city came only from television dramas, and in their calls, she often hinted at wanting to see it for herself. So when a family acquaintance happened to be traveling to Skylark, Jeff bought her a train ticket and asked that person to bring Jane along.
When she arrived in Skylark, she stayed in Jeff's rented apartment.
During the day, Jeff worked while Jane sat alone, bent over her summer homework. They barely saw each other except in the evenings, when they would stroll through the streets together.
A week passed before Jeff finally had a day off. He told Jane he was going out to dinner with some college friends—and naturally, as his little sister, she went along.
The moment Jane stepped into the private dining room, her throat tightened.
Everyone inside looked so polished, so effortlessly stylish.
She felt small, out of place—a timid little town girl. After murmuring a shy greeting, she suddenly excused herself to the restroom.
When she finished, she tried to wash her hands, but the faucet baffled her. There was no handle to turn. She watched someone nearby wave a hand under the spout, and water flowed. She tried to mimic them, but nothing happened. Panic prickled her skin. Sweat gathered at her hairline.
And then, a sharp voice behind her:"Hurry up!"
The impatience in that tone made her heart pound harder. Her cheeks burned. She stammered, "I—I don't know how… Our town doesn't have these things…"
The girl behind her snorted. "Figures. Country bumpkin. Just reach farther in!"
The word—bumpkin—landed like a slap. Jane froze, as if invisible wires had bound her limbs. Her blush spread down her neck, hot and humiliating.
Then, a voice—soft, melodic—broke through the tension:"Sweetheart, didn't your teacher ever tell you? Calling someone names isn't what good kids do."
Jane turned, startled.
It was Grace Barron—the woman she had glimpsed earlier in the dining room.
Tall and slender, dressed in a crisp white blouse, her dark hair falling straight like silk. Her face was luminous, serene—like a heroine stepped out of a film.
Before Jane could gather her wits, Grace moved closer, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Apologize to her," she said to the little girl.
The child hesitated, then muttered a reluctant sorry—perhaps thinking Grace was an adult from Jane's family.
Grace crouched slightly, waved her hand under the faucet, and water gushed out.
"There," she said softly. "Wash up." And then, with a smile that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds,"Don't let her words stick, okay? We all have things we've never seen before. It's normal to feel unsure. Even I have things I don't know."
Jane never forgot that smile—warm, tender, almost otherworldly. She washed her hands, dried them under Grace's guidance, and followed her back to the dining room.
The table was laden with dishes Jane had never seen—bright, intricate, like scenes from the dramas she loved. But she didn't dare touch most of them. What if she fumbled? What if they laughed? So she stuck to the simplest things, quiet and careful.
Until Grace placed a piece of crab meat into her bowl.
"Try this," she said. Jane stared, stunned, then whispered, "Thank you…."
She tasted it slowly, and it was the most delicious thing she had ever eaten.
That night carved itself into her heart.
Grace Barron wasn't just kind—she was like a fairy descended to earth.
From then on, Jane dreamed of seeing her again. But she never did—except once, fleetingly.
Still, that summer became a turning point. Back home, Jane studied harder than ever. She vowed that one day, she would go to Skylark, to the university Grace attended.
Now, sitting at the table, Jane bit into a piece of crab—and tears spilled before she could stop them.
Jeff noticed first. "Jane? What's wrong?"
She shook her head, dabbing at her nose. "Nothing."
Across the table, Grace and Oakley had both turned to look.
Jane felt their eyes but said nothing, only lowered her head and shoveled food into her mouth.
Later, they stepped out into the night. The city glittered like a sea of stars, yet beneath the lights lingered a faint loneliness.
Oakley lifted her gaze—and saw an arcade glowing in the distance, its neon lights pulsing like a carnival.
She hadn't set foot in a place like that for years. The thought stirred something restless.
"Anyone up for some games?" she asked, smiling. Grace raised her hand. "Me."
She realized she hadn't been to an arcade in ages—and never with Oakley.
Oakley turned to Jeff and Jane. "What about you two?"
Jane stayed silent, nudging a pebble with her shoe, her nose pink from the cold.
Jeff nudged her. "Didn't you say you wanted to play?"
Jane hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."
Just as they were about to leave, a bright voice called out, "Oakley?!"
Oakley spun around. A tall, slim woman strode toward them, dressed in a military-green bomber jacket, a cap pulled low over her single-lidded eyes. Her face was pale, sharp, and striking.
Grace glanced at Oakley—and saw surprise bloom across her wife's face.
"Lina?!" Oakley exclaimed. Lina Quinn.
Grace's heart gave a tiny, inexplicable jolt. The name sounded… intimate. Too intimate.
Oakley stepped forward, smiling wide. "What are you doing in Skylark?"
"Just some errands," Lina said lightly. "Heading home tomorrow. You look amazing, as always."
Oakley laughed. "You too." Her gaze dropped to a small fox charm dangling from Lina's bag. "You still have this?"
"Of course," Lina said. "You made it. I've kept it ever since. What about yours?"
Oakley's smile faltered. "Mine broke. It's in a drawer now."
Grace's lips tightened.
So Oakley had made those charms—matching ones. And Lina still carried hers.
Grace forced a polite smile when Oakley introduced them. "This is my wife, Grace Barron," Oakley said brightly.
Lina's expression shifted—just slightly, but Grace saw it. A flicker of something dimmer than before.
"Nice to meet you," Lina murmured, offering her hand. "I've seen your photos in Oakley's posts. You're even prettier in person."
Grace met her gaze. There was a chill there, buried beneath the smile.
"Thank you," she replied, her tone cool.
And yet, as Lina spoke, Grace felt a strange prickling under her skin. The way she said Oakley's name—soft, familiar—made Grace's chest tighten. Irrational, maybe. But real.
The arcade was packed, buzzing with laughter and flashing lights.
Grace was loading tokens into a basket when she turned—and saw Oakley pulled aside by Lina, both laughing at a dance machine nearby.
"We used to play that all the time," Lina said.
"Yeah," Oakley grinned. "I never beat you."
"Want to try again?"
"Sure. Tonight, I'll win."
Grace watched them, lips pressed thin—until a tug at her sleeve startled her.
Jane stood there, small and solemn.
"Grace," she whispered. "Will you… play the claw machine with me?"
Like that summer. Just once more. Grace glanced toward Oakley and Lina, then back at Jane.
"Okay," she said softly. "Let's go."
As they walked away, Oakley turned, searching for Grace—only to see her standing beside Jane, feeding coins into a pink claw machine. Jane's face was lit with a rare smile.
"Not going to call her over?" Lina asked lightly.
Oakley hesitated, then shook her head. "She looks busy."
And with that, she turned back to Lina, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.