Ruby
The glassblowing demonstration was mesmerizing in a way that made Ruby forget to breathe. The artist—a woman in her forties with forearms covered in old burns—worked molten glass like it was clay, shaping and twisting until a formless blob became a swan, delicate and perfect.
“How does she make it look so easy?” Celeste murmured beside her.
“Years of practice. And probably a lot of failures along the way.” Ruby watched the woman dip her blowpipe back into the furnace, the heat shimmering in the air. “That's what people don't see, the thousand attempts that came before the one that worked.”
“Is that what stopped you? Fear of the attempts that might not work?”
Ruby felt the words land too close to the truth. “Maybe. Or maybe I just got tired of trying.”
They watched in silence as the artist finished the piece, setting it aside to cool. The crowd applauded, and Ruby joined in mechanically, but the conversation had left her feeling exposed.
“Come on,” Celeste said. “Let's find something to eat. I'm starving.”
Ruby was grateful for the escape. They discovered a food truck serving jambalaya so good Ruby actually moaned on the first bite. Celeste laughed at her but then tried it herself and made the exact same sound.
“Okay, you win. This is incredible.”
“Right? This is what I'm talking about. You can't schedule discoveries like this.”
“You absolutely could if you researched food trucks in advance.”
“But where's the fun in that?”
Celeste opened her mouth to argue, then stopped, a smile tugging at her lips. “You know what? You're right. This is better.”
“Did Celeste Russo just admit I was right about something?”
“Don't let it go to your head.”
“Too late. I'm going to bring this up constantly. Remember that time when you said I was right—”
Celeste kissed her, effectively shutting her up. When she pulled back, her eyes were sparkling. “There. Problem solved.”
“I'm going to be right about things way more often now.”
They spent the rest of the afternoon wandering, and Ruby tried to memorize every detail. The sound of Celeste’s laugh when a street performer made balloon animals and created something that looked more like an alien than a dog. The way she leaned into Ruby when they stopped to watch a group of kidspainting a mural, their small hands creating something chaotic and beautiful.
Ruby knew this was temporary and it had to end. But God, she wanted to hold onto it forever.
As evening fell, they found themselves in front of a small outdoor stage where a blues musician was setting up. The man was probably in his sixties, with silver hair and hands that looked like they'd been playing guitar since before Ruby was born.
“Stay for this?” Ruby asked.
“Definitely.”
They found a spot in the growing crowd, and when the music started, it was like nothing Ruby had ever heard. The harmonica sounded like it was crying, the guitar like it was telling secrets. The musician's voice was rough and weathered, singing about love and loss and the spaces in between.
Celeste leaned against Ruby's shoulder, and Ruby wrapped an arm around her, holding her close. They stayed like that through three songs, both content to just listen as the sky grew into a deeper shade of blue.
Ruby wanted to tell Celeste how much this meant—not just the music, but this. Being here together. But the words felt too big, too dangerous, so she just held on tighter.
By the time they made it back to the hotel, night had fully fallen. The Quarter was still buzzing with energy, music pouring from doorways, people laughing on balconies, the air thick with the scent of food and flowers.
Back in their room, Ruby collapsed onto the bed while Celeste ordered room service. “I'm exhausted,” Ruby announced. “In the best way possible.”
“We walked probably ten miles today.”
