Grace’s hand was warm in hers as they stood near the Concourse A windows, snow feathering the tarmac like someone had cut open a pillow. They’d already circled the concourse twice under the pretense of finding better coffee, then settled for something that tasted like brown water and anxiety. Every line felt like a countdown. Every sip felt like avoidance.
“Okay,” Alix said, because saying nothing made the ache in her throat louder. “Pitch: I can hide in your carry-on to Miami. You poke air holes in the bag. We save on airfare.”
Grace’s mouth curved. Her hazel eyes did that soft-warm thing that made Alix feel like she’d stepped into a lamp’s circle of light. “Tempting. But I think most airlines frown on living cargo.”
“They also frown on being drunk on a plane,” Alix said, “and I’ve broken that rule at least four times.”
Grace laughed, then exhaled, and the sound went quiet at the end, like she’d put a hand over her mouth. She glanced at the departure board, at the snow fattening outside. “Your gate’s Concourse C, right?”
Alix nodded, suddenly interested in the cracked top of her coffee lid.
Grace’s fingers tightened around hers for a heartbeat, then loosened. “We should…”
“Yeah,” Alix echoed, because neither of them had invented a way to stop time.
They didn’t walk so much as hover toward Grace’s gate, side by side like they were keeping balance on ice. When the line began to form and people started doing that anxious shuffle that saidnone of us trust the concept of assigned seating, Alix forced herself to turn and face her.
Grace’s hair was still a little wavy from sleeping on it damp, her normally sleek hairstyle softened by the cut she’d entrusted Alix with. She’d put on lip balm while they were sitting, and the faint shine made Alix’s chest pull tight. This was ridiculous. It was an airport. People said goodbye at airports every day. People survived it. She could survive it.
“You’re going to text me when you land,” Alix said, trying to sound like a person with a normal heart rate.
Grace nodded. “When you get home, send me a picture of Phyllis.”
“I’ll bribe her.”Alix smiled but felt the edges of it wobble. “God, I’m being a baby.”
Grace stepped closer until there was no reason to reach because they were already in each other’s arms. “You’re being a person I’m going to miss, and it’s very cute.”
“Cool,” Alix said, voice wrecked. “Okay.”
The announcement droned about a small delay in boarding. People shuffled. Someone’s roller bag tried to amputate Alix’s ankle. None of it mattered, because Grace’s hand slid up the back of her neck, fingers warm, and then Grace kissed her.
It wasn’t a quick airport peck. It was long enough that Alix forgot the world around them existed, letting everything fade. Grace tasted like coffee and winter air. Her mouth moved like a promise. Alix curled a hand around Grace’s waist and held on, feeling the clean slide of fabric under her fingertips, the little smile that happened in the middle of the kiss like they couldn’t help it.
When they broke apart, Grace’s cheeks were flushed and her eyes were glossy. “You should go find your gate before I rip off your clothes or have a full breakdown in public,” she whispered, like the words themselves were fragile.
“Yeah.” Alix swallowed. “Okay.”
One more press of foreheads. One more swipe of thumbs.
Outside, the snow was no longer feathers. It was confetti. The kind that dampened everything and refused to stop. Concourse A blurred into a slow-motion documentary. She waved. She told herself to pull herself together. She managed to, but only just enough to turn away and walk, dazed, back toward the train for Concourse C.
Her mind drifted to saying goodbye to her family that morning, just for an extra kick of melancholy to add to the current moment. Her dad had hugged her, her mom had cried. She’d promised to visit again soon, and strangely, she meant it.
She had at least an hour until boarding began, and she rode the train to Concourse C, then wandered into a bookstore. She touched spines. She stared at covers. She picked up a thriller and read the first sentence four times without absorbing a single word. Everything smelled like paper and peppermint.
A display of novelty mugs had one that readI LEFT MY HEART IN COLORADO. She snapped a picture and typed:
Alix
too soon?
Three dots. Then a crying-laugh emoji and a little pink heart. It loosened something under her ribs.
She set the thriller down and paced the aisle between cooking and travel, trying to remember how to be a person who didn’t count seconds between texts. The announcements turned a little sharper.
Her phone buzzed.
Grace
