“Did you enjoy it?” Grace asked, gesturing to the table.
“It was ridiculously good,” Alix said, leaning back in her chair, her eyes closed in appreciation of the warm night and good food and better company. “Why do I live in LA again? I’m moving immediately.”
Grace’s laugh was small but real. “You’d miss it. Admit it.”
“I’d miss Phyllis,” Alix corrected, grabbing the last piece of yuca. “She’s the only thing keeping me grounded. Also, if we’re being honest, I don’t know if she could afford the house without me, so we’re stuck together for now.”
“Is Phyllis really the only reason you’re still in LA?” Grace asked.
Alix shrugged, swirling her wineglass.
Grace tipped her head, watching her with an expression Alix couldn’t name. Thoughtful. Curious.
The air shifted, almost visible in the space between them. A small charge, quiet but undeniable. Alix felt it at the base of her throat, a pulse that didn’t know how to hide.
She became aware of everything at once. The sound of the crickets. The faint clink of glass on wood. The warmth still radiating off the plates. Grace’s gaze steady and unhurried, like she was studying something she intended to remember.
It hit Alix then that she’d felt close with Grace while getting to know her, but they had never actually been this physically close before. Not without a screen or a phone or a thousand miles to blur the edges. Now there was only the night air and a few inches of table.
She should have looked away. She didn’t.
For one long moment, the world contracted to the sound of Grace breathing, the dark sweep of her hair along her collarbone, the lush curved shape of her mouth.
Grace finally looked down, a small smile playing there, and covered a yawn with the back of her hand. “We should probably go to bed,” she said, her voice low, a little rough at the edges.
Alix nodded, even though her body was still catching up to the idea of movement. “Yeah,” she said. “Probably.”
Inside, Alix quickly claimed the couch by fully flopping onto it, limbs spread like a starfish. “No, really, I’ll take the couch. You look like someone who requires three pillows and perfect darkness. Don’t deprive yourself.”
Grace muttered something about impossible Pisces but didn’t argue further.
They said good night in the living room, both shuffling their feet like teenagers. Grace lingered in the doorway. “You sure?”
“I’m sure,” Alix said, twisting onto her side with exaggerated confidence that hid the springs now digging into her hip bones. “Luxury accommodations.”
Grace shook her head but smiled, retreating down the hall. Alix stared up at the ceiling fan, every slow turn reminding her to breathe, to relax, to not make Grace feel weird with whatever was beginning to bloom behind Alix’s ribs.
Chapter Nine
GRACE
Tryingto ignore the doll in its plexiglass prison clearly built for the sole and sinister purpose of being creepy AF, Grace stared at the textured ceiling. She didn’t normally sleep in the kind of T-shirt fired from a cannon. Scratchy. White. “Cruisin’”splashed across her boobs, with no indication whether it promoted a love of ocean voyages or trolling for sex with strangers. She didn’t even normally sleep outside her own bed, and never without a travel bag. But of course, even dropping off a freaking pumpkin pie had upended Grace’s plans.
She shut her eyes tightly enough to see a million points of silvery light, and they each judged her for letting Alix’s trip spiral into disaster. God, Alix. She’d probably go back to LA with a hundred stories about the weirdo she met on an app.
Rolling onto her side, Grace tried to convince herself that nothing was as bad as it looked. That she had a habit of catastrophizing. Naomi had happily agreed to pop by her condo to take care of Icarus and Sheila. It was just a few days, and Alix was either an award-winning actor, or she really didn’t mind sleeping in Marie Kondo’s personal hell.
The memory of Alix smiling at Sylvia’s collection of weird-ass rocks triggered something bright and fizzy in Grace’s chest. There was no better sport on the planet than Alix. She’d rolled with every unexpected turn like she was excited to see what was next. Grace couldn’t imagine that level of patience, but she’d empty out her 401(k) for it.
Once she’d conjured the image of Alix in her mind, she couldn’t think of anything else. Her cool hair and easy swagger and mesmerizing eyes and those fucking dimples. Grace groaned into a lumpy pillow and resisted the urge to scream. She couldn’t be attracted to her. That was creepy and embarrassing. Worse, it fed into the stupid stereotype that lesbianscouldn’t be just friends.
Plus, there was no way that Alix would be attracted to her in return. Alix’s aura was blindingly bright. She was sweet and thoughtful and so comfortable in her own skin… skin that was tanned and flawless and tattooed and —no.
She couldn’t let herself develop a stupid crush. Alix was the only person in her life she could be herself with, and that was irreplaceable. She couldn’t mess it up. It was probably just her brain confusing her excitement about a new friend with something else.
Sleep wouldn’t show up no matter how hard Grace tried. She blamed it on not having her green noise machine, lavender pillow spray, or weighted blanket. Although, her sleeping pills strong enough to knock out a rhino would’ve been clutch.
Grace’s mind was drifting somewhere between the warm brown of Alix’s eyes and interrogatory responses she had to finish drafting for a client, when an ear-piercing alarm sent her flying to her feet. Scrambling in the unfamiliar room in the dark, Grace slammed her toes into a dresser before finding the doorknob.
