Grace didn’t answer with words. She just leaned forward, closing the distance in one swift, impossible motion. The kind that made the rest of the world vanish.
The first touch was clumsy and quick, all teeth and laughter and cold noses bumping. Then Grace exhaled against her mouth, and the sound undid her. Alix pushed herself up, holding Grace against her as the world narrowed to that single breath, to the way Grace’s lips yielded against hers. The kiss deepened, still tentative at first, then certain, unguarded, real.
The cold vanished. Alix’s senses flooded. Grace’s gloved fingers tracing her jaw, the faint taste of peppermint lip balm and winter air, the warmth of her body pressed close through too many layers. Every nerve ending seemed newly awake. The dizzy rush in her chest spread through her ribs, down her spine, until even the tips of her fingers felt electric. She pulled Grace to her, greedy for heat, for closeness, for proof.
She’d wanted this for so long, and now it was happening, and she was going to savor every damn second.
Grace made a low-pitched sound against her mouth, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, and Alix felt it vibrate through both of them. She wanted to memorize everything about this moment. Memorize the weight of Grace’s coat under herpalms, her hair brushing Alix’s cheek, and the slow, shivery rhythm of breath shared between them.
When Grace finally pulled back, the air between them crackled, visible in the faint fog of their breathing. Her lips were pink and kiss-swollen, her eyes glassy and bright, and Alix could still feel her everywhere like she was stitched into the wild, racing thrum of her pulse.
“That was…” Grace started, then stopped, smiling like she couldn’t quite believe herself.
“Was it okay?” Alix’s heart thudded against her ribs like it wanted out.
Grace’s grin widened, pure and blinding. “Yes, Alix. It was okay.” She snorted in amusement.
Alix couldn’t stop smiling. Couldn’t do anything but gaze at her, sprawled across her chest, haloed in the pale winter sun. She was giddy, unmoored — the kind of wild joy that made everything else feel like static.
Grace shifted, and Alix reached instinctively, steadying her. Their eyes met again, a silent, tender truce, and something inside Alix settled with a quiet, contented click.
“Come on,” Grace said, breathless but still smiling. “Before we pull an Amy March and fall through this ice.”
“Yeah,” Alix said, still half-dazed. “But for the record, not going to happen.”
Grace laughed again as Alix stood and offered her hand. Grace took it, wobbling back up to her feet.
When Alix glanced down at the ice, their skates had left twin arcs that curved toward each other, meeting right where they’d fallen.
After an early dinner, Alix was hunting through the bathroom cabinet for extra Band-Aids that she swore used to live under thesink when her hand brushed something familiar. A smooth black box, the weight of memory in her palm.
She pulled it out and smiled. “Huh.”
Grace leaned in the doorway, wearing one of Alix’s old sweatshirts that swallowed her down to mid-thigh. She looked comfortable in a way that made Alix’s chest ache.
Alix pulled the shears from the case, light flashing off the silver blades. “Man, these were like the first nice pair I ever bought myself.” She turned them over in her hands, nostalgia curling through her voice. “When I was a teenager, I used to be a receptionist at this tiny salon in town. It was owned by the only gay man I knew back then. He taught me more than cosmetology school ever did. Probably more than most adults ever did, period.”
Grace’s eyes warmed. “He sounds like someone special.”
“He was.” Alix smiled faintly. “I think he moved to Denver when he got married. We lost touch, but sometimes I wonder if he knows how much he changed my life.”
Grace watched as if considering her. Then, quietly, but with that steady spark in her gaze, she said, “Will you cut my hair?”
Alix looked up. “What?”
Grace tucked a strand behind her ear, almost shy. “I’ve had the same haircut since high school. Maybe it’s time for a change. Just… something small. Some layers?”
Alix’s pulse did something ridiculous. She twirled the scissors in her fingers, pretending to think. “You’re serious?”
Grace nodded. “I trust you.”
“Well,” Alix said, squinting at her. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”
Grace sat on the tall barstool at the kitchen counter, leaning back over the sink while Alix adjusted the faucet and tested the temperature with her wrist. “Tell me if it’s too hot.”
“It’s perfect,” Grace said, eyes already half-closed.
Alix ran her fingers through Grace’s hair, wetting it in slow, careful passes. The water made a quiet rhythm against the porcelain. She worked in shampoo and began to massage, her thumbs tracing small circles at the base of Grace’s skull. At her salon back in LA, they had a dedicated hair washing assistant, but she’d always enjoyed how relaxing it felt to give someone a massage.
