Helen laughed, a soft, breathy sound. “Oh, good. I’m glad I’m not the only one waiting.”
Dragonfly sat very still, her palms pressed flat against her knees. Heat flared across her cheeks, and she shifted her gaze to the embroidery on the tablecloth.
She had nothing to add. She had no stories, no touch that had left her breathless in the dark.
“I don’t know why I get so shy,” Hadria said. “Aries and I have been nearly naked together so many times. But when he touches me, I still feel like... like I should hide.”
Helen gave a shy smile. “I used to feel that way too. Nic’s hands are so rough—he’s all calluses—but he’s careful. I like it now, when he...”
She trailed off, and both girls giggled behind their teacups.
Dragonfly looked down at her lap. She ran a fingertip along the crease in her skirt. The conversation felt like a mysterious garden whose gate she wasn’t allowed to open. And yet, here she was, sitting just on the other side, close enough to hear everything.
“Has Nic ever kissed you inotherplaces?” Hadria asked, her voice low and sly, her smile half-hid behind her teacup.
Helen’s blush deepened. “Yes, and I thought I woulddieof embarrassment,” she whispered.
Hadria let out a squeal and leaned in, delighted.
Helen giggled, covering her mouth. “But now I love when he... and hereallyloves when I...” She trailed off, her eyes dancing.
They’d fallen into a bubble—soft, private, fizzy with shared secrets. Not excluding her on purpose. But Dragonfly felt it all the same, the way the air shifted. She didn’t belong in this particular conversation.
She shifted back in her seat, trying to seem relaxed. Her fingers worried at a thread in the cushion seam. Heat crawled up her neck.
She couldn’t even imagine what it felt like to be touched like that. Not with skin and breath and closeness. She didn’t know if she’d shy away or lean into it. The thought alone made her chest tight and her stomach twist.
Her friends were still whispering, laughing softly. Hadria murmured something about Aries’s stubble scratching her skin. Helen said Nic’s lips were always warm, that his hands were rough but sweet. That he listened when she told him what she liked.
Dragonfly swallowed hard and took a sip of her tea.
The way they talked—so freely, so easily—it made something bubble up inside her. Longing, maybe. Curiosity. Envy she didn’t want to name.
They spoke about these men as if their bodies were familiar ground: chests, shoulders, smells, textures, tastes. Intimate maps she hadn’t even unfolded.
She thought of the forest. Collin’s arms around her after the panther—the pressure of his body, the way she’d buried her face against his neck. The scent of soil and sweat and him had soaked into her, stayed there long after. It had lived in her skin for days, maybe weeks, stirring back to life in quiet moments, stealing into her breath like heat in spring.
Hadria’s voice broke through her thoughts. “When you’re doingthings, does it ever feel like he’s pressuring you?”
Helen paused. “No, but Iknowhe wants more—of course he does—but he always stops when it’s too much. He’s careful. Attentive.”
Helen stirred her tea with slow circles, the spoon clicking lightly. “I just... I want to figure out what to do,beforewe go too far. I don’t want to end up with a baby.”
“Oh, I’ve been thinking about that too,” Hadria said. “But I wouldn’t knowwhoto ask. I’d feel so awkward.”
Helen nodded. “There’s no one. I can’t talk to my mother, and Nic’s mother—god, she’s a midwife! No way I’m asking her anything.”
“The other midwives are worse,” Hadria muttered. “They’d have the whole town talking before you could blink.”
Their chatter softened into a quiet, thoughtful rhythm. Outside, the boys’ voices drifted in—lower now, but still laughing, murmuring secrets of their own.
Helen twirled her spoon. “I just... I just want to know what to expect, you know? There’s so much I don’t know.”
“There are books like that,” Dragonfly offered before she could think better of it. Her cheeks burned as both girls turned to look at her. “At the hospital. I—I saw one once. I was there for a cough, and I noticed the volumes on the shelf.”
The title came back to her suddenly—the heavy spine with its curling gold lettering.
“It had a Blue Isle mark on the cover. I think it was calledA Liberation of Womanhood.”
