The night pressed close, its light soft and muted, like a veil of gauze draped across the car windows. It slipped into Grace Barron's eyes, lending them a depth that shimmered faintly, as if secrets lay pooled beneath the surface.
She looked almost wounded—like someone nursing a quiet grievance, her expression tender and plaintive, the very picture of a little wife sulking in silence. The sight startled Oakley Ponciano. For a moment, she simply stared, her own thoughts scattering like startled birds.
Just minutes ago, her chest had been tight with a vague, restless unease. Yet now, that fog seemed to dissolve, thinning into nothing. Grace's features sharpened in the dim glow, every line and curve suddenly clear, achingly familiar.
She's been thinking about me this whole time?
The realization struck like a pebble dropped into still water, sending ripples through Oakley's heart.
"You…" Oakley bit her lip, her voice low, uncertain. "Weren't you having fun with that girl?"
She had seen them—more than once. Every time she turned, Grace was still at that claw machine, laughing softly with Jane MacAdam, their heads bent close. It hadn't looked like someone preoccupied with her wife.
Grace's brows lifted, a faint curve of irony tugging at her mouth.
"Fun?" she echoed.
If only Oakley knew—her heart had been anything but steady tonight.
"You were there forever," Oakley teased, her tone light but edged with something sharper. "Every time I looked, you two were chatting away. And you still had time to think about me?"
Grace paused, then smiled—a quiet, knowing smile.
"I was talking about you," she said simply.
Her voice was calm, but the words landed like a spark in dry grass.
Oakley blinked. "What?"
She hadn't expected that. Not at all. She had imagined their conversation flowing easily, full of shared memories or idle chatter. Certainly not… her.
Grace's gaze softened.
"What else would we talk about? We don't work together. We barely know each other. So we talked about you—your quirks, your habits, the things that make you… you."
Oakley's lips curved, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners.
"Me?" she murmured, almost shy. "What's there to say?"
Grace's eyes glimmered.
"Plenty," she said, her tone rich with meaning. Then, as if remembering something, she straightened.
"Oh—wait."
Before Oakley could ask, Grace was unbuckling her seatbelt, pushing the door open. Cold air rushed in, sharp and biting, curling around Oakley's ankles. She turned, startled, watching Grace stride toward the trunk.
The street lay hushed under a heavy sky, lamps casting pale halos on the pavement. Through the glass, Oakley saw Grace's breath plume white in the chill as she lifted the trunk lid and reached inside.
Moments later, the door swung open again, and a burst of icy air swept in—along with something enormous and soft that tumbled straight into Oakley's arms.
She gasped, clutching instinctively.
"What—" Her voice broke into laughter as she wrestled the plush mass into view.
It was a goose. A ridiculous, oversized white goose, its round body and vacant eyes radiating pure, unrepentant silliness.
Oakley's heart flipped. She had adored these memes for months, collected stickers and trinkets, even toyed with buying the plush herself. And now—here it was, warm and absurd and perfect.
"Oh my God," she breathed, hugging it tight. "It's so stupid. And so cute."
Her fingers sank into the soft fabric, kneading, squeezing, as if she could press all her joy into its cotton heart. It felt like holding a bundle of love—filling every hollow space inside her.
Grace watched her, lips curving unconsciously.
"Do you like it?" she asked, though the answer was written all over Oakley's glowing face.
"Like it?" Oakley laughed, her voice bubbling with delight. "I love it."
She hugged the goose tighter, rubbing its neck, its belly, her smile bright enough to light the dark.
Grace exhaled, a quiet sigh of relief.
"Good," she murmured. "I spent forever trying to win it."
The admission made Oakley pause. She turned, eyes wide.
"So… all that time at the machine—you were doing this for me?"
Grace nodded.
"Of course."
Sweetness flooded Oakley's veins, warm and dizzying. It was like honey poured over her heart, seeping into every corner. She stroked the goose again, unable to stop smiling.
"Then why'd you hide it in the trunk?" she asked softly.
Grace's lashes dipped.
"I wanted to give it to you right away. But when I turned around, you were gone. Jeff said you'd stepped out with Lina, so… I put it away."
Oakley blinked, then laughed under her breath. Somehow, the goose looked even cuter now—because it carried Grace's effort, her thoughtfulness, her quiet care.
"Come on," Oakley said gently, glancing at the frost outside. "Get back in. It's freezing."
Grace slid into the driver's seat, fastening her belt. Then, almost hesitantly, she asked:
"So… what were you doing with Lina?"
Oakley tilted her head, amused by the faint shadow in Grace's tone.
"Nothing dramatic," she said lightly. "We just stepped out for snacks. I was starving."
Grace nodded, her tension easing.
Oakley rummaged in her bag, then pulled out a slim bar wrapped in dark foil. She held it out with a grin.
"Here. Found these at the store. Thought of you."
Grace took it, her brows lifting in surprise.
"You remembered I like this?"
Oakley's smile turned mischievous.
"I remember a lot of things," she said. "More than you think."
Grace's curiosity sparked.
"Oh? Like what?"
Oakley twirled a strand of hair, her dimples deepening.
"For starters—you hate mint when it's too strong. You go through phases where you crave sour candy. In high school, you loved manga so much you nearly missed class hunting down a rare issue."
Her voice flowed like a river, spilling secret after secret—tiny fragments of Grace's past, her quirks, her quiet loves. Things Grace herself had almost forgotten.
Grace listened, stunned.
"How do you even know all that?"
Oakley's eyes danced.
"Because I'm a fairy," she teased. "I see everything."
Grace laughed, shaking her head.
"Try again."
Oakley bit her lip, then confessed, almost shyly:
"I found your old apptalk account."
Grace froze.
"My… college account?"
Oakley nodded.
Grace stared, speechless. That account had been abandoned for years—its password lost, its posts buried in time. And yet Oakley had gone looking. Had read every word.
A slow smile curved Grace's lips, tender and bright.
"So you've been… watching me?" she murmured.
Oakley's eyes widened.
"Why? I'm not allowed?"
Grace shook her head quickly.
"No. I didn't say that."
"Then why look so surprised?" Oakley challenged, her tone playful.
Grace's lashes lowered, her voice soft as a secret.
"Because… it makes me happy."
The words slipped out like a sigh, warm and unguarded. Her gaze lingered on Oakley, gentle as moonlight. There was nothing sweeter than knowing the person you love has been loving you quietly, all along.
Oakley turned away, cheeks flushed, pretending to fuss with the goose. Her dimples bloomed like tiny flowers.
Outside, a couple stormed past, their voices sharp even through the glass. Oakley caught fragments—accusations, bitterness, the sound of love fraying at the edges. They walked apart, anger burning like wildfire, their distance a chasm.
Oakley watched them go, then looked back at Grace.
If tonight's misunderstanding had been theirs, it would have ended in ruin. But here they were—soft laughter, quiet warmth, a goose between them like a ridiculous peace offering.
She thought suddenly, fiercely:
We'll be fine. Not just for now. For a lifetime. For every lifetime after this one.
The thought wrapped around her like a net of light, pulling her under. And before Grace could start the engine, Oakley leaned over and kissed her—quick, bright, like a spark in the dark.
Grace blinked, startled.
"What was that for?"
Oakley smiled, eyes glinting.
"You're my wife. I kiss you because I want to. Do I need to file a report first?"
Grace laughed, the sound low and rich.
"Never. Kiss me whenever you want."
The car rolled forward, streetlights sliding past like falling stars. Outside, winter lay cold and silent. But inside, spring unfurled—soft, sunlit, endless.
And Grace thought, as music spilled gently through the speakers:
Maybe this is what love is meant to be. Simple. Beautiful. Forever.