“Explain. Now.”
Her palms went clammy. She’d rehearsed this a dozen times, and every version had ended with her either passing out or accidentally proposing. Neither of which was exactly what she was going for.
“I’m here,” Alix blurted. “Forever. If that’s okay with you.”
Grace froze. Her eyes went wide, and then she made a small, disbelieving sound, half laugh, half gasp, before launching herself at Alix again. They stumbled into another kiss, messy and grinning, Alix’s borrowed suitcase nearly tipping into the gutter.
When they broke apart, Alix pressed their foreheads together, breath hitching. “I want to give us the best chance possible,” she said, a mixture of bashful nerves and headfirstcertainty. “And that isn’t cross-country. Lola already talked to a friend who owns a salon in… someplace called Wilton Manors? Which sounds fake, like a retirement home for drag queens, but apparently it’s a real place. And I’m willing to get a car. Like, a real car, not a vintage beater money pit. And I don’t want to pressure you in any way, so I was thinking I’d find my own apartment first and?—”
Grace cut her off with a kiss that was all heat and disbelief and pure, unfiltered joy.
When she finally pulled back, her eyes were glassy. “Do you want to drive my car back to my place?”
Alix blinked. “What? No. I’ll wait for you. I’ve got a good book, and I should probably start figuring out what the hell my hair’s going to do in this humidity before I start charming local business owners.”
Grace laughed. A full-body laugh that made her throw her head back, radiant. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah,” Alix said, trying to steady her voice. “That’s what everyone keeps telling me. But usually in a less romantic context.”
Grace leaned in, kissed her once more, gentler this time. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”
Alix smiled, brushing her thumb over Grace’s cheek. “Believe it, Gator. You’re stuck with me.”
After an afternoon and a chapter she had to re-read four times, she was standing in Grace’s twenty-first-floor condo, staring at two fat Siamese cats who were very clearly judging her.
The larger one, Icarus, she knew from the hundreds of photos she’d seen of him, lounged in a sunbeam like a throw pillow with aspirations of grandeur. The smaller one, Sheila,glared from atop a cat tree with an expression that saidSo this is the homewrecker I’ve heard about.
“Wow, she’s really sizing you up,” Grace said.
Alix rocked on her heels. “Cool, cool. Love that the cats are leading the inquisition.”
She crouched down, holding out a hand. “Hey, Icarus. You’re very handsome. I can see you’ve been doing your squats.”
He blinked once. The feline equivalent ofI acknowledge your presence but don’t get attached. After a beat, he rolled onto his side, exposing a belly the size of a small planet.
“She’s fat-shaming you already,” Grace told him, mock-offended. “I told you they’re Cuban, so of course they’re a little curvier.”
“I’m simply complimenting his core strength,” Alix corrected. “I can respect a man with confidence.”
Sheila responded with a low, offended trill and hopped down to hide under the couch.
“Okay,” Alix said, straightening up. “So fifty-fifty approval rating. That’s a win in my book.”
Grace laughed, that bright, unguarded sound that always turned Alix’s ribs into glass. “You’re doing better than I thought you might.”
“Well, I didn’t forget to get a gift for my tiny Valentines, too,” Alix said, producing freeze-dried salmon treats from her backpack. Suddenly, the cats were much more amenable to her presence, even if Sheila grabbed her treat and side-eyed Alix as she ate it. Icarus asked for seconds, then thirds, and finally Grace had to scold her to stop giving him more.
Grace’s waterfront condo was exactly what Alix had imagined: a breathtaking view, warm light, tidy surfaces that didn’t feel staged, books stacked sideways, Post-its on the fridge in an organized chaos that screamed lawyer brain. A half-empty wine bottle sat beside a vase of fresh daisies. There was life here,and effort, and the most comforting scent everywhere — citrus and Fabuloso and something faintly floral that Alix couldn’t name but wanted to drown in.
Grace turned in the doorway, suddenly uncertain. “It’s not much.”
Alix looked around, her chest tight with something too big to name. “It’s perfect.”
And then Grace kissed her.
It wasn’t frantic like before. It was slow and sure and unbearably tender. The kind of kiss that saidWe made it.
They found their way to the bedroom, tripping over the pink suitcase, laughing when Sheila’s indignant yowl echoed down the hall. The air was heavy with heat and possibility. Grace’s skin was silken under her hands, her pulse steady and strong. Every movement felt like a promise — of forever, of showing up again and again and again.
